‘And lo, there was a great earthquake; and the sun became black as sackcloth of hair,’ the old man intoned.
‘Well, perhaps it hasn’t been a good day,’ said Charles.
‘A woman clothed with the sun, and the moon at her feet.’
What is Mallory’s day like? What is she up to right now?
‘And there was war in heaven.’
That might not be far from the mark.
Now the old man parted company with Charles, as the invisible partner in conversation led the man down another path of revelation and gravel covered over with snow.
When Charles came to the site of the murder, the yellow strands of tape were still in evidence, stake-tied by their broken ends and waving in the white wind of snow.
He walked to the place confirmed by Heller’s map as the original murder scene. He stood by the water and looked around in all directions. So far he had learned nothing that Mallory might not have gleaned from the map. The site was within view of the path along the water. That fit nicely with Mallory’s theory of a spontaneous act. There was not sufficient cover to do a murder undisclosed.
The murder had taken place on a rainy day. Few people walked in the rain and the snow, but those who did were habitual in their defiance of the elements. He stared up at the towering building on Central Park West. The upper floors reached above the tree line of bare branches. Mallory might be looking out of one of those windows at this moment.
He walked around the leg of water to the path lined with benches, and then he sat down to wait. He had not been sitting there for very long before the one he waited on came walking along the path – the other walker in the snow.
He nearly missed her, though she was close. The bright snow had strained his eyes, and he had to work to pick out the particulars of her, the white face, white hair covered by the white woolen cape. She was as close to invisible as one could be without being a figment of the mind.
Cora pulled the hood of her white cape close about her face.
Too late.
He had seen through her camouflage. The man was very tall, but not threatening in his stance. She squinted to focus on his face which became clearer as he walked toward her.
Well, with that silly, wide grin, she might assume that he was one of the more docile lunatics who roamed the park at will. No, he was not dangerous.
Her hands went past the layers of sweaters beneath the white cape, and into the deep pockets of her white woolen trousers, looking there for a few coins.
‘Excuse me,’ the man said, standing before her now and bowing down to her so the wind wouldn’t take his words, and no matter if it did, for she read the words off his lips.
She drew the coins from her pockets and offered them to him. ‘Now promise me you won’t spend this on wine.’
‘Oh, no thank you. It’s not money I need.’
And now her suspicions were aroused anew. He didn’t want money? Well, he must be crazy, and perhaps dangerous as well. She turned away from him. He circled round to the opposite end of the path, but kept a courteous distance. There was an apology in the way he stood, and a foolish, hopeful look to his eyes, the pair of which had entirely too much white around the irises.
Oh yes, he was quite mad.
‘I need your help,’ he said. ‘It’s about what happened there on the morning of the nineteenth.’ He turned to point to that place across the dark water where the broken yellow tapes were waving in the wind. He turned back to face her before speaking again. He had already picked up on the fact that she was a lip-reader. That spoke well for presence of mind.
‘Ma’am, I don’t suppose you were out walking that morning?’
He seemed sane enough now. The shape of the words on his mouth had a good neighborhood to them, without slang or slur of form, and she could find no fault with his manners.
‘Yes, young man, I was out walking that morning.’
‘Did you happen to notice two people, a man and a woman, standing over there?’
He must be speaking of the young lovers, Blue Legs and the tall umbrella. Oddly, she felt protective of the young couple. Who was he to pry into their secret meeting?
‘Why do you ask?’
When he was done explaining that the lovers were murderer and victim, she felt the need to sit down. He sensed this and guided her to a bench a few feet up the path. He dusted it for her with touching chivalry and sat down beside her.
Now the man’s face was all concern. Was he reading the new horror that was setting in behind her eyes? She had taken Blue Legs’ wound for a flower. What a fool she had been. A rose in winter? Why hadn’t she known the young woman was on her way to dying? Perhaps she could have…
Oh yes, she could have. If only she had not the fool’s idea to go out without her glasses and her hearing aid. And now she bowed her head with the weight of a dark understanding. In the same way she had prevented the carnage twixt a beetle and a spider, with only the flick of her wrist, she might have prevented a murder.
So a bug survived, a woman died.
Blue Legs, I am so sorry.
He touched her hand lightly to call her face back to his so he might ask another question. Had she seen anything else, anything out of the ordinary?
Well, no. The young lovers had taken all her attention.
A speeding blur of red cap and jacket with churning blue-jeaned legs ran past them in a boy’s whiff of spearmint gum and wet wool. A dog was fast on the heels of the boy. Dog and boy left the path and put new tracks in the virgin snow of the incline behind the benches. Then they were gone.
‘Oh, the dog. Yes, there was a dog racing up that hill, and he caught his leash in the brambles. I suppose I should have thought it odd to see the dog with the leash and no human attached to the other end. But you know, people will let the dogs run wild in the park, though it is against the law.’
‘There’s someone I’d like you to meet,’ said the man. And now she found his smile quite engaging – though still a bit loony.
When they stopped to speak with the doorman at the Coventry Arms, the man’s friend, Mallory, was not at home. The doorman checked the name against a list on frayed, creased paper. He smiled broadly and invited them to wait for Miss Mallory in the lobby.
‘Mallory, just sit down and shut the hell up.’
To Coffey’s surprise, and he hoped it was concealed surprise, she sat.
‘Don’t you ever walk out on a meeting again. I don’t want any more grief from you. Don’t you even think about irritating me any more, no more insubordination, none of that crap. I’ve got Riker for that. If he thinks you’re stealing his song and dance, he won’t like it.’
‘I’m not going to work with Palanski.’
‘No, you’re not. But that was my decision, not yours. And now about that other little job I gave you. Did you pull the records for me?’ Did you steal them for me?
She said nothing and he had to make what he could of the silence. He was operating by Mallory’s rule book now.
‘I hope you’re doing this discreetly.’ Don’t get caught.
Silence.
‘I’ve got an idea Palanski does a lot of overtime.’ He’s on the take.
She only nodded, but that was promising.
‘He seems to have some kind of radar for homicide scenes within smelling distance of money – even on his days off. He was on vacation time when the body turned up in the park. Oh, sorry, Mallory. I’m telling you what you already know. That’s rude, isn’t it?’
He was close to joy when the side of her mouth dipped with annoyance. So even Mallory had buttons. ‘Did you bring me the records?’
‘You don’t want to see his records,’ she said.
‘Mallory – ’
‘Markowitz never turned on a cop.’
‘Shut up, Mallory. Granted, I’m no Markowitz, but neither are you. Your old man was a detail fanatic. He’d take any information he could get, from anywhere, anybody. You should have learned more from him w
hen you had the chance. Your lone cowboy attitude isn’t something I expect to cure in a day, but I do want to keep you alive long enough to bring you up on charges the next time you cross me. Someone at the Coventry Arms tipped Palanski to the activity. It might be your perp, or it might be you rattled another cage and it’s unrelated. If I’m going to plug the leaks, I need the dirt on Palanski.’
Her arms folded across her chest. No, she was telling him, she was not going to roll over on a cop.
‘I’ll handle Palanski,’ she said. And then she threw in, ‘If you like,’ as a concession. It was a small gift from Mallory, a consolation prize as she was telling him to go to hell. Another round was lost.
‘Okay, you handle it.’ Was he losing his mind, loosing her on Palanski, giving her carte blanche? ‘Don’t do anything Markowitz wouldn’t ask you to do.’
‘Understood.’
Later, in the washroom, he saw a ghost in the mirror over the sink. It was Markowitz – no, it was Jack Coffey wearing Markowitz’s old worries over Mallory and what she did and what might come back on him. Breaking laws to keep them was the norm now.
He was so easily seduced by her.
He was going to kill her. It was the only way. But first, a little fun. He would make her pay for torturing him, and she would pay slowly.
Thoughts of her came and passed. When she was in his mind, she brought with her a burning sensation, inflicting a hot red flush all through his body and his brain. When he thought of her, it was her eyes he saw before him, the bright lanterns of an onrushing accident, running mindless, relentless, along a single track, no one at the wheel, no way to stop her.
And each time that moment of helpless fear and panic passed on, he was left with exhausted humiliation and anger. Now his hands balled into fists so tight, his nails left red indentations on his palms. One of those indents was filling with blood.
He looked down at the bleeding flesh. She had reached out and done this to him. She had drawn first blood, and she would be sorry.
A fat gray bird strutted along the ledge by his open window. It was still there when he returned from the kitchen with the bread. He crumbled a slice in his hand and slowly reached through the window to lay a line of crumbs for the bird.
It jerked and started and cocked its head to look at him with one eye only. It was a city pigeon and unafraid of humans, who had failed in all their pathetic attempts to annihilate its entire species as a defecating public nuisance. Contemptuous of the hand which lay only inches away, the bird concentrated on the meal of bread crumbs which brought it ever closer to its death.
A young woman stood at the desk in the lobby. Something was concealed behind her back and concealed quickly at first sight of the couple being pointed out to her by the man behind the desk.
Formal introductions were made to Cora by her new friend, the man with the foolish smile, and now the small party moved up through the floors of the tall building to the spacious apartment which did not fit the personality of the young woman called Mallory.
‘Mallory, you were right,’ said the man whom Cora now called Charles.
He was well mannered in the way he kept his face toward her so that she should not miss any part of his conversation with the young woman.
‘Amanda was meeting him in the park that day. It was a spontaneous act, as you said. And the murder occurred at 7:45. We have a witness. Mrs Daily, may I introduce my partner, Mallory? Mallory, this is Cora Daily, who likes to take long walks through the park in bad weather.’
‘How do you do,’ said Cora. The child before her was so lovely, but there was an aspect to the girl that was inhuman. Eyes like a cat she had. Well, that was all right, in fact, that was fine. In seventy-eight years, Cora had outlived many cats and had no fear of Mallory.
‘What did you see?’ asked the young woman, who was also quick to pick up on the lip-reading. She brought her face low and close. ‘Did you see the murder?’
‘No, I’m afraid not.’
‘Did you see him strike her? The first blow?’
‘No. But I did see the meeting between them.’
‘So you can identify the killer?’
‘No, you see I wasn’t wearing my glasses. But I know he was a tall man.’
And now Cora could tell this was not news to the girl. She felt she had let down the charming Mr Butler. ‘I saw the red wound to the side of her head after he struck her. There was an umbrella in the way when the blow must have been struck. But he was holding on to her before and after the wound appeared. Is that helpful to you?’
‘Tell me more about the perp.’
‘Excuse me? The…’
The perpetrator, you said he was tall. How tall?‘
‘He was taller than the woman.’
‘How much taller?’
‘Hard to say. The umbrella was an impediment most of the time. And I suppose the way he held it made him very tall, but – ’
‘Do you think I’m very tall?’
‘Oh, my, yes.’
‘Are you even sure it was a man? Or did you assume that because you thought they were lovers?’
‘You’re quite right, of course. I shouldn’t have assumed that. I haven’t been very helpful, have I?’
‘Of course you have,’ said her young man, gallantly jumping into a breach of uncomfortable silence. He looked up and exchanged expressions with the young woman. His face said, Play nicely. And her face said, Why the hell not. And now the young woman smiled.
‘You were better than most. I have nightmares that any case will hang on an eyewitness. Eyewitnesses are never any good. Their testimony is the worst evidence you can bring into a court room. But you confirmed the scene of the crime. That’s useful. You placed the time of the murder, that’s helpful. You saw the first blood. I like that. All in all, a good job.’
And now the smile evaporated, and Cora could read nothing in the young woman’s face any more.
Charles leaned forward, still careful to include Cora in the conversation by not averting his lips as he spoke. ‘Mallory, do any of the suspects have dogs?’
‘Everyone in the building has a dog. Why?’
‘Cora tells me there was a dog running through the park that morning. He was dragging a leash. Maybe one of your suspects walked the dog that morning and then lost track of the animal while he was doing a bit of murder.’
Mallory turned to Cora. ‘You saw the dog?’
Cora nodded.
‘What was the breed?’
‘I’m afraid I couldn’t say. My glasses – ’
‘What size was it?’
‘Oh, a standard size, not awfully big or very small. I’m sorry, I can’t – ’
‘What color was it?’
‘I don’t remember, but I think it might have been dark – but not black, not that dark – maybe a brown dog.’
‘Maybe?’
She had no answer for that. She had underestimated the young woman, and now she was wondering if there had been a dog at all, or a pair of lovers. Could they have both been women? Might the dog have been -
‘Well now,’ said Charles, lurching once more into the silence. ‘You place a dog on the scene, and you’ve ruled out toy poodles and Great Danes.’
The young woman nodded. This was useful to her, which seemed to please Charles very much. Any fool could see he was in love with the girl. Well, at least he was happy. Good job. She had come to like this man.
When she rose, announcing that she must take her leave of them, he escorted her down in the elevator and handed her into a cab. He insisted on paying her fare to the driver. As she shook hands with him, she said, ‘You were born in the wrong century, my dear.’
When he returned to the apartment, it was difficult to miss the sharp knife lying on the coffee table next to the canvas duffel bag. As if she didn’t own enough weapons. First there was the very large gun which bulged under the blazer. She removed this now and took it into a back room. Then there was the gun that she ought to be carryi
ng, the one the police department actually approved of. He supposed she kept that one at home. And last, there was Markowitz’s ancient Long Colt, which she kept in the desk of her office at Mallory and Butler, Ltd. He would never have pictured her with a knife.
He picked it up and turned it in his hand. On the reverse side of the blade was the crest of Maximillian Candle.
‘It’s probably none of my business,’ said Mallory, walking back into the room and nodding towards the knife, ‘but I wondered what was going on in the basement. I just came from there. The door was unlocked, and the partition for Max’s equipment was wide open.’
‘My fault, I left in rather a hurry. You didn’t by any chance pull that knife out of the target, did you?’
She nodded.
Charles stared down at the knife and forgot to ask what had brought her to the basement, so great was his surprise. It was the wrong knife of course. All the blades that came from the interior of the target were partial blades without points, and fixed to the mechanism. They could be pushed back into the compartments but not drawn out, and not with a full blade and a point.
When he had explained it to Mallory, she asked, ‘Could anyone else have been in the basement with you and Justin?’
‘Well, it’s possible, but I doubt it.’
‘Did you tell the parents what happened in the basement?’
‘Yes, of course. I called them from the office. It took me forty minutes to track them down to a cocktail party. The child had been in trauma. They had a right to know he was upset.’
‘Well, you also left the basement door open. Has the boy had time to go back and change the knives, the boy or one of the parents?’
‘But the front door of the building wasn’t unlocked. It’s self – ’
‘And we both know that a kid can bypass that security. How tough do you think it would be for an adult?’
‘I just can’t picture one of them – ’
‘Easier to picture that scenario than a knife flying through the air on its own. Someone has gone to some trouble here, and this is quite an escalation from flying pencils. This business has got to be cleaned up, and it’s up to you. I’ve got my hands full with a murderer.’
The Man Who Lied To Women Page 20