Anatomy of Fear

55

There were two local uniforms hanging outside the apartment door, a big redheaded guy, the other black, both looked as if they were fresh out of the academy.

“You’ve just been standing here?” I was practically shrieking, ready to tear their heads off, fumbling to get the key in the lock.

“We just got here,” said the redhead. “I knocked, but there was no answer.”

“You call this fucking backup?” I said to Terri.

She steadied my hand on the lock, said, “Take it easy,” and I almost took her head off too.

The young black cop said, “Our orders were to check out the premises, not to-”

I’d already drawn my gun and pushed the door open, so he didn’t finish, just got his revolver out while his partner did the same.

I led them into the apartment, holding my breath. I called out, “Uela!”

There was no answer.

The big redhead cop spied the Eleggua by the door. “What’s with the voodoo shit?”

I almost punched him.

Terri told him to go canvass the rest of the building, probably just to get him out of my face. Then we started down the narrow hallway I’d known all my life.

“Stay here,” she said to the black cop. “And watch our backs.”

He flinched. “You think the perp’s still here?”

Terri didn’t answer him and I had no idea, my usual radar buried under anxiety.

We checked everything. The front-hall closet was crowded with coats and scarves, impossible to hide in; the living room wide open; the cuarto de los santos produced raised brows from Terri, but she didn’t say anything, and it was empty; so was the bathroom.

“Looks clean,” she said. “Can you try calling her again?”

“This is her only phone.”

“No cell?”

“My grandmother? You kidding? She hasn’t even graduated to a cordless.”

We went back to the kitchen, and I spread the drawing that I’d taken from Wright’s trash onto the table.

“Did I read this wrong?”

The young uniform leaned over my shoulder. “What is it?”

“A drawing of this building, can’t you see that?” I had no patience. All I could think was that Tim Wright had been here and taken my grandmother with him. But where?

“Looks it,” he said. “But the number’s wrong.”

“What?” The guy was really working my nerves.

“This isn’t 106. It’s 301, according to the address we got on our orders-and that’s what it says outside.”

Jesus, he was right. I hadn’t noticed until he said it. The minute I’d seen the sketch and recognized it as my grandmother’s building, I’d just reacted. Now I looked at the three sketches we’d taken from Wright’s work table and tried to see if I’d missed anything else.

The cop Terri had sent out to canvass the building came back breathing heavy. “Fuckin’ elevator is out.”

“What about the neighbors?” she asked. “They see-hear-anything?”

“Place is practically deserted. Maybe ’cause it’s Sunday,” he said, “And because of the holiday.”

“What holiday?” I asked.

“It ain’t a biggie-unless you ask my wife, Maureen-Feast of the Annunciation. She’s like an expert on everything Catholic. I don’t know what it’s about, the feast, I mean, but Mo, she doesn’t miss a single-”

I stopped listening. “One-oh-six,” I said aloud. Then it clicked, and I saw it: what Wright was planning to do. “Jesus Christ!”

“Yeah,” said the redheaded cop. “I guess he had something to do with the feast.”

I heard my grandmother’s words when I’d kissed her good-bye. Change my clothes and go to church.

“A church!” I shouted, already moving, halfway out the door. “That’s where Wright’s headed. One-oh-six is 106th Street. My grandmother’s church. Saint Cecilia’s.”