Well, he could relax a little. She wouldn’t actually kill the kid, because Markowitz wouldn’t have liked that. In the absence of a normal sense of right and wrong, good and evil, Mallory was much guided by what would have pissed off Markowitz and what wouldn’t.
Now they were in the Wall Street area, deserted on Christmas Eve. She pulled into a blind street closed off by construction signs. Her eyes roved over the bins of debris left on the site.
‘No, not here,’ she said. ‘Sorry it’s taking so long, sir. I’ll get rid of him on the next block. Okay?’
‘I won’t tell!’ screamed the kid.
Mallory said nothing as the minutes rolled by slow with the creep of the car, stopping in dark places, shaking her head and driving on.
‘I gotta wonder where that gun came from,’ she said at last, ‘and I gotta wonder what you’ve done with it.’
Riker found it interesting the way her expensive education fell away at warm moments like this one. Her voice had a rough edge that would scare any sane person into backing off with no sudden movements. He could only guess at what was going through the kid’s mind. His own body was pressing into the upholstery of the back seat.
Mallory and the perp looked so young to him. With their unlined faces and blond hair, they might have been brother and sister. But he could almost feel the car dip to one side with the power on the driver’s end of the front seat.
‘Are you in a lot of pain?’ asked Mallory, her voice switching gears, all mother love in her tone. ‘Yeah, my gut hurts something awful,’ said the boy. ‘Good. I noticed there weren’t any bullets in the gun. That’s not too bright, is it?’
The kid looked from the gun to Mallory and back to the gun, genuinely startled.
‘So you stole the gun, but not the bullets? When I wash this registration number through the computer, am I gonna find out that some taxpayer was burgled by a moron who thinks the gun makes its own bullets? What else did you steal?’
‘Nothing, I didn’t – ’
Riker jolted forward as Mallory slammed on the brakes. The boy didn’t fare as well. With hands cuffed behind him, his head hit the dashboard. The boy moaned and Riker looked away, the better not to see Mallory drawing first blood of Christmas morning.
Wall Street was a ghost town after the financial houses’ end of business day. You could do what you liked in this neighborhood without fear of another pair of eyes.
Mallory leaned over to grab the boy by his shirt collar. ‘You are stupid. When I run the gun through, you think they won’t mention the rest of the stuff?’
‘It was nothing. There was a ring and a bracelet, but it was junk. I took it to a jeweler. He said I’d be better off selling it at a flea market, and that’s the truth. I’ve known him all my life. He wouldn’t lie to me.’
Riker shook his head and smiled. A baby felon who took stolen goods to his neighborhood jeweler. The criminal class was getting dumber every year. And no bullets. Didn’t these kids learn anything in school?
He listened as Mallory called in on her car phone to run the dates and the jewelry description. But she neglected to mention that she had the suspect in custody, and she never mentioned she had the gun, and at the last, she said, ‘Sorry, it doesn’t match up,’ and closed the call.
‘It checks out,’ she said to the boy. ‘I’m gonna cut you loose. But you never tell anyone you saw the deputy police commissioner drunk in an after-hours bar. Deal?’
The kid nodded his head like a trick pony. Yeah, whatever she wanted, so long as she didn’t hurt him any more.
Riker stopped smiling. He sat still in the dark at the back of the car and tried not to lose the glow of the previous six-pack of beer. No good. He was becoming unwillingly sober as he crept up on Mallory’s mind.
Of course. It all fit.
It was only the thief’s gun she wanted. He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling of the car.
Ah, Markowitz, you bastard. How could you die on me and stick me with your kid? Can you hear me, you son of a bitch‘? Look at what your baby’s doing now. She’s robbing another baby.
‘If I don’t see you when I count to ten, I don’t shoot you. Okay?’
She leaned across him to open the door on his side of the car. Riker listened to the metallic mechanics of Mallory unlocking the irons. She sat back. But the boy was tied to the upholstery by fear, and she had to finally cut the cords with ‘GET OUT, you idiot!’
The boy did his dumb-pony nod again as he was half falling, half stumbling from the car. He staggered in a weaving line for all the seconds it took to understand that he was free, and then he ran.
Riker got out of the car and slid into the front seat.
‘I’ll take the gun, Mallory.’
‘No, it’s mine.’
‘You never planned to take him in, and that wasn’t to save me the embarrassment of showing up at the station house drunk. Everyone already knows I’m a drunk. No, you wanted his gun for a throwaway piece. You wanna save it for the perp in the condo. Now if I’ve got this wrong, just stop me.’
But he wasn’t about to let her stop him, and he went on with the relentless energy of a train running at her full speed, because it was the only way to deal with her – if he lost, his breath, he lost his turn, and the train would turn around and crush him.
‘You figure the perp’s weapon of choice is his hands. If you have to kill an unarmed man, the Civilian Review Board will get you. But if you pull another gunslinger stunt, let’s say you get him in the knees, Coffey will get you for it. He’ll lock you up in the computer room, and you’ll never see the street again. Almost seems like you can’t win. But if the perp has a weapon lying on the floor beside him, if it looks like he brought his own gun to the party, you can’t lose, can you?’
She wouldn’t look at him.
‘Markowitz never carried a throwaway piece, not in all the time he put in on the force. He hung out there in the breeze with all the rest of us. He played it straight, and that took guts. Maybe you don’t have the stuff, Kathy. Did you learn anything hanging out with the old man? Anything at all?… Kathy?’
‘Mallory to you,’ she corrected him.
‘You’re going to give me that gun, or I’ll beat the crap out of you and take it. I loved Markowitz longer than you knew him. I’m not gonna let his kid screw up. Give it to me. You know I don’t bluff. Never have, never will.’
Nothing.
She was rigid, deaf and blind to him.
‘Now, Mallory, or it starts to get real ugly.’
She handed him the gun. ‘And Merry Christmas to you too, Riker.’
The device on his belt gave off the annoying beeps, the mechanical, nagging request to call in, and quickly. He picked up the car phone and dialed the number for Special Crimes Section.
‘Yeah,’ he said into the receiver, ‘I know him… No, it’s no problem, I’m on my way.’
To Mallory he said, ‘Charles is at the station. He needs something and says I’ll vouch for him. You coming?’
‘No, I’ll drop you off.’
‘Trouble between you and him?’
‘Charles asked for you, not me. He doesn’t need my help. He made that pretty clear.’
When he stepped out of her car ten minutes later, he leaned down to say softly, ‘Have you given any thought to the toy gun on the inventory sheet?’
Her eyes shone with sudden understanding. She smiled slow and sly. He really hated it when she did that.
Charles sat on a yellow plastic chair which was too small to accommodate his long body. His legs crossed and uncrossed, tucked in and splayed out, looking for a way to look unfoolish.
At three in the morning, there was a constant activity under the bright fluorescent lights. A woman, wrapped in a blanket and screaming, walked past between two uniformed officers. A dazed and docile teenager was led along by a plain clothes detective Charles knew slightly. Two tourists came in yelling. By the snippets of their conversation, he deduced that they were minus thei
r luggage, wallets and jewelry. Next in the parade, two young men in handcuffs were escorted by four officers.
Merry Christmas, said the bright silver paper letters strung over the desk of the civilian clerk who had taken his report.
Charles looked down at the lines and pockmarks on the floor until he saw the familiar scuffed pair of worn brown shoes, topped by a bad suit and a cloud of beer that was Riker’s breath.
Riker nodded to him and walked on in the company of the two officers who had tried to reason with Charles and failed to communicate that there was no way to catch a kid who didn’t want to be caught. They had no problem catching grown-up felons, they told him, but kids could fit into hiding places they had never dreamed of. Then, in desperation, Charles had resorted to the crime of name dropping. One phone call from the desk sergeant, and only minutes later, here was Riker, the improbable knight.
Now Riker was sitting down at a desk and nodding amiably as the two officers leaned down to tell him all their problems with his friend the lunatic. Riker picked up the phone, and Charles watched him make three calls in quick succession. On the fourth call, Riker smiled into his telephone, eased back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk. His hand waved to tell the officers they could go on about their business. In parting, one officer put a friendly grip on Riker’s shoulder.
Riker set down the phone after another minute and motioned Charles over to the desk. He picked up the sheet of paper which Charles recognized as his report, and began to read it aloud.
‘So, your small friend had a little red coat that didn’t quite fit, right? Mismatched shoes and socks, matted brown hair and light colored eyes?’ Riker did a double take on the next line. ‘She was unwashed, malnourished, but excellent motor skills, good reflexes, three feet six inches tall, approximately seven years old, and in a big hurry?’
‘Yes, that’s her.’
‘And she had head lice, Charles. You left that out. I found her. You done good. You scared the little brat right into a shelter for runaways. They know this kid as a regular. She came in with big eyes and gave them this fairy story about being chased by a giant. I guess that was you.’
‘I didn’t mean to frighten her.’
‘Good thing you did. She’ll get a hot meal and a bed.’
‘What else can I do?’
‘Nothing, Charles. You’ll never see that kid again. You’ll never find out what happened to her. I won’t even give you the name of the shelter, because a deal is a deal. Normally, they won’t tell us anything at all. You see, we hold the legal position that the kid belongs to the parent. The shelters sometimes take the view diat the kid will live longer if we butt out. But this supervisor owes me one. So, with the understanding that we never had this conversation, I tell her about my crazy friend who wants to turn NYPD upside down to keep a kid off the street on Christmas morning – and she asks me how tall you are.’
‘I’m a fool.’
‘Don’t ever change.’
‘I’ve ruined your holiday.’
‘My wife left me on Christmas Day. It isn’t much of a holiday for me. Let me buy you a drink.’
‘I insist on paying.’
‘No, my treat. I’m gonna get you the best scotch money can buy. Come with me.’
They passed through the swinging doors that led down the familiar corridor on the way to Special Crimes Section. When Markowitz was alive, Charles had been this way many times – up the narrow staircase and into the cavern of dimmer lights and dead quiet, broken now by the plaintive ringing of a single telephone. Two detectives sat alone in separate pools of light on the other side of the wide room. One lifted his head and waved to Riker.
Riker opened the door to Jack Coffey’s office, which had once been Markowitz’s office. He sat down in the chair behind the desk and seemed at home as he pulled out a wire, jiggled the lock on the bottom drawer of the desk, and extracted a bottle and a half-empty package of plastic cups.
Charles folded his long frame into the opposite chair, smiling and utterly companionable in this small criminal activity. He accepted one of the poured shots and lifted his plastic cup in a toast. ‘Merry Christmas, Riker.’
‘Merry Christmas, Charles.’ Riker downed his shot and smiled. ‘So what’s the problem between you and Mallory? Anything I can help you with?’
‘We had an argument at the wrong time. She’s not speaking to me. Did she tell you about the Riccalo boy?’
‘Flying objects, and no hands in play? Yeah.’
‘There’s something she sees in the boy that I can’t see. Something like a memory, a kinship or a likeness. I need to know what the link is. But she’s not talking to me any more. What should I do? Apologize?’
‘Oh no. Worst possible idea. You don’t ever want to lose face with her. Never show a weakness.’
‘Then what do I do?’
‘What makes you think there’s a tie?’
‘Well, it’s not logical of course, I’ve got nothing to support the idea, but I do believe she sees something of herself in the boy.’
‘You mean the kid’s a monster?’
‘I was thinking along the lines of abuse. Do you know what her past was like before she went to live with Louis? Any clue at all?’
‘Markowitz did wonder about it. He spent a lot of time trying to trace her. Helen was hot to adopt the kid. But Mallory wouldn’t cooperate, not even for Helen. She would have died for Helen, but never told her a thing. After a while, Markowitz and Mallory came to an understanding. It was her history, not his. And he backed off.’
‘Did he ever speculate on it?’
‘He respected the kid. Whatever he figured out, he never let on, never shared.’
‘You think child abuse could’ve been a factor in her early history?’
‘If anyone had tried to abuse her, the bastard could’ve figured on losing an arm… No, Charles. You only think I’m kidding. I watched her grow up.’
‘But surely – ’
‘When Markowitz pulled the kid off the street, he recognized her position on the food chain – she was a baby predator. Mallory may rack up suspensions, but she’ll never lose her job with NYPD. None of us could stand the strain of having her on the other side. All you need is a few simple rules – don’t ever let her down, don’t ever rat her out, and don’t ever trust her.’
Was Riker changing the subject, or was this his imagination?
‘I need her connection to the boy. This is very important.’
Riker pulled out his wallet, which was falling apart at the creases, and slid a photograph out of the cracked plastic holder. ‘Maybe you’ve seen this before. It’s the one Markowitz always carried. That’s what the brat looked like at ten. See anything familiar?’
Charles stared at the photograph. She had been so defiant when she posed for it. Yes, there was an unsettling aspect of the boy in Mallory, that same look of damage.
‘Riker, do you think it’s possible that Mallory witnessed a murder when she was a child?’
Riker spilled a portion of his drink, and it was not from lack of coordination. Wasting liquor was a breach of Riker’s religion.
Curious.
Riker reached down into the drawer and pulled out a brown bag, upending it and spilling a passel of deli napkins on the desk. He kept his eyes down as he mopped the desk with the napkins, buying the time to recompose himself. Now he shrugged as he looked up at Charles. ‘She was out on the street for years. She could’ve seen a murder, I guess. She never said.’
‘Perhaps I should ask Edward Slope. He’s known her as long as you have.’
And now something in Riker’s face said he wished Charles wouldn’t do that.
What might Riker be holding out on him?
Charles looked down at a roll of paper in the path of the spreading puddle. He picked it up. It was a computer printout, and scrolling on forever, the words said: I PROMISE TO SHOOT TO KILL. I PROMISE TO SHOOT TO KILL, line after line. Charles held the roll up to Riker.
‘What lunatic did this?’
‘Mallory,’ said Riker. ‘Turns out the kid has a sense of humor after all. Coffey reamed her out, and she dropped that on his desk the next day.’
‘Why is Coffey angry with her for not killing the mugger? He was holding a gun on an elderly man, and she – ’
‘Coffey figured she was playing with the perp, and she was. I backed her on that one, but Coffey was right. She screwed up. When you draw a gun to shoot an armed perpetrator, you’re trained to shoot for the widest part of the body, the best shot you can place to stop the perp cold.’
‘That sounds pretty brutal.’
‘It is. You may only have that one chance to save your life. And every civilian in the area is in your care when you draw that gun. From the moment she arrived on the scene, that old man, the victim, was in her care. If she’d blown the shot, the old man would’ve taken the bullet after hers.’
‘All the people on the Civilian Review Board – ’
‘Yeah, the Review Board, the city’s grand experiment with amateurs. So this week, Mallory’s a hero. But if the perp isn’t happy with the crook of his little finger after the surgery on his gun hand, he’ll sue the city for a million dollars. It happens. Your high-minded civilians will remember they’re also taxpayers. They’ll turn on her. Every one of them will curse her for not killing the perp, because dead men don’t sue. I love this town.’
‘What am I going to do about her? She knows something crucial about Justin, but she won’t talk to me.’
‘Learn to think like Mallory.’
‘How can I? I don’t have an underprivileged childhood to draw on, and I still don’t know much about hers.’
‘Charles, you’re a very smart man. I think that’s why Lou asked you to look after her. Now think. She’s too old to need a nanny, right? The old man figured you were the only one with a prayer of outsmarting her. He left her to you, not one of his old cronies like Doc Slope.’
‘Yes, he would have been my choice. Edward Slope is a very intelligent man.’
The Man Who Lied To Women Page 23