Stone Angel

CHAPTER 19

When Charles knocked on Augusta’s door, Henry Roth admitted him and made the common sign for silence. “Augusta has company.”

Charles entered the kitchen as Riker was holding out his identification and detective’s shield for Augusta’s approval.

She bent low and squinted over the small card bearing the detective’s photograph. “I need my eyeglasses. I won’t be but a minute.” She gave Charles a curt nod in passing and hastily disappeared into the other room across the hall.

Glasses?

She had never needed them before. In fact, on the day they met, he had found it odd that she could read the fine print on his business card with no trouble at all.

Now he turned to Riker, who was looking around the room with great interest.

“Let me guess,” said Charles. “You’ve been following Henry.”

“Yeah.” Riker turned around to face the sculptor. He spoke slowly for the benefit of the man he believed to be a deaf lip-reader. “Not your fault, pal. You were pretty good at shaking off that rookie deputy, but you didn’t figure on a second cop, did you?”

Augusta returned with a pair of glasses set low on her nose. The antique frames and thick lenses must have belonged to some ancestor with badly impaired vision. Her eyes were greatly magnified.

Curious.

“Now let’s have a good look,” she said, leaning closer to Riker’s identification card. Now she was staring intently at his face. “Well, that’s a real good picture of you.” She introduced him to Henry and Charles, adding, “Mr. Butler’s been kind enough to help me with a few legal problems settling an estate.”

It was an interesting moment in the complications of deceit. Riker had not acknowledged him, in keeping with the lie that they were unconnected; Augusta was maintaining the executor’s ruse; and Henry appeared to be keeping everyone’s confidence, or, in plain parlance, he ducked. Charles elected to follow suit as he shook hands with Riker.

Augusta went to the stove and began to stir the contents of a pot. “You’ll all stay for lunch, I hope.”

“I don’t want to trouble you, ma’am.” said Riker. “I’m looking for information on the sheriff’s prisoner. Her name is Mallory.”

“Well, I can direct you to the sheriff’s office. You go through the cemetery and come out on the road back to the bridge and – ”

“I’ve already seen the sheriff. He says the prisoner broke jail, ma’am. Day before yesterday.”

“Oh, my Lord.” She turned slowly and walked back to the table in faltering steps. Alarmed, Charles moved toward her. Standing just behind Riker, Henry Roth motioned him to back off.

Augusta sank down to a chair at the table, and Henry’s hands flew into silent explanation. “It’s the strategy of the southern woman. She can lift her weight in canned goods, but right now she’s trying to convey that she is fragile.”

She seemed to be conveying it rather well. Riker’s face was filled with genuine concern. He only saw the gray hair, the lined face, the greatly enlarged blue eyes of a woman who must be half blind to need such thick lenses.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” said Riker. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Augusta waved the air weakly, as though fighting for breath. “Water?”

Riker flew to the sink to fetch a glass and fill it. He brought it back to her and then pulled up a chair on the other side of the table.

“Why, thank you.” She gripped the glass with both hands and sipped the water. “I can’t imagine it. A murderer loose in Dayborn.”

“I don’t know if she actually killed anybody,” said Riker. “I don’t think you’re in any danger.”

“Now that’s a real comfort. Do you think you’ll catch her soon?”

“I don’t have the authority to arrest anybody, ma’am. I’m just visiting in Louisiana.”

Augusta’s hand delicately fluttered up to her face and she smiled almost shyly. “Oh, well isn’t that nice.”

Henry’s hands were flying with the translation: “Dithering ambiguity to avoid tipping her hand or taking up sides.”

“I think this Mallory woman can help me,” said Riker. “You see, I’m working on a homicide case.”

Augusta’s hand covered her mouth. “Oh, well isn’t that awful.”

Henry explained that this was a companion tenet to ‘Isn’t that nice,’ and had about the same meaning.

“I understand her mother was killed by a mob. Do you have any idea what – ”

She moaned and put the back of her hand to her forehead. “I can’t bear to think back on that terrible murder.”

Henry explained that this rather antiquated maneuver was called ‘the vapors.’ It was used to table a discussion, and bide time.

“I’m sorry to put you through this, ma’am,” said Riker. “But I really need your help.”

“I’m so flattered that you think I could help you.”

Charles looked at Henry, who shook his head. “She would never give aid and comfort to the enemy, not even if Riker was bleeding to death.”

Since Charles was standing in plain view of the detective, he could not return the courtesy of apprising Henry of Riker’s reactions. It was clear that Augusta had gone too far with her cliché when she picked up a sheet of paper and began to fan herself, casting her eyes up to heaven. Riker’s eyes flashed with understanding and a silent Gotcha! The detective was reappraising Augusta as an adversary now.

Riker scanned the kitchen, eyes flying from one surface to the next. He breathed deeply, taking in the odors of cleaning solvents. And now Charles also looked around the room.

Yesterday the kitchen had been relatively tidy, but today it was immaculate. The glass of the cupboard doors was invisible now, free of the yellow tobacco tinge from Augusta’s cheroots. Inside the cabinets, all the canned goods and boxes were perfectly aligned. The copper pots gleamed and lustered. Even the herb pots on the windowsill had been shined up, and now each one was equidistant from each other. Most unnerving, all the plant leaves gleamed as though they had been recently washed. This cleaning job was definitely beyond the norm, nearly deranged. She might as well have left her fingerprints on the sparkling, stain-free porcelain sink.

So Riker had found Mallory.

“You know, ma’am, I’m not surprised that you’re upset,” said Riker, very sure of himself now. “Sleepy little burg like this. Now back in New York, we take this kind of thing in stride. We got a thousand fugitives on the loose, and every one of them would cut your throat for spare change. Things move faster. It’s a deadly place to live.” He leaned toward her and smiled with the artful suggestion of a dare. “You gotta be quick.”

Augusta returned Riker’s smile and inclined her head slightly to acknowledge that the rules had changed. They were onto a new level of gamesmanship. Knives and guns had not yet come into play – but they might.

“You only think New York is dangerous, Detective Riker.” She removed her glasses. “We got five varieties of poisonous snakes, and deadly spiders. Our alligators are longer than two New Yorkers put together, and you can throw a saddle on the average mosquito.”

“In New York, we got rats that could run on a racetrack at Belmont. We got a gridlock of automobiles from Harlem to the Battery, and two rivers full of dead fish and murdered taxpayers.”

Augusta slapped one hand flat on the table. “We can outpollute you and outkill you. You seen the chemical plants along the river? We got those cancer factories on a signed legal contract with Satan and his elected minions. And it didn’t cost us one extra cent to have ‘em poison the wind and the water. Ain’t that a deal and a half? We don’t accept corruption here – we demand it. All you’ve got, Riker, is a little pissant island with a bad traffic problem. I know all about New York City.”

“Miss Trebec, I think I’m in love.”

“Then you must call me Augusta.” She smiled with exquisite insincerity, a second cousin to flirtation.

Riker melted a bit. Admiration was in his eyes, but that did not prevent his closing shot. “You’re tough, Augusta, I’ll give you that. So when Mallory came to the door, you just chucked a rock at her, and she ran off right?”

Riker sat back in his chair and lit a cigarette. The room was so quiet, his burnt match made an audible ping against the glass ashtray, landing among the butt ends of her cheroots. “I need to talk to Mallory. It’s important. Tell her that.” He blew a cloud of smoke into the air and stared at the door to the next room, as if he could see Mallory standing on the other side.

Augusta lightly drummed her fingers on the table. “I don’t think she’d come here. I like to believe my reputation for ruthless brutality precedes me. But if I do see her, I will certainly shoot her for you.”

“She can reach me at the hotel in the square.”

“Or the sheriff’s office,” said Augusta in the tone of an accusation.

“Yeah, there too. But I wasn’t planning to mention this little conversation to the sheriff,” said Riker, his light sarcasm implying that he could do some damage if he wanted to.

“I have no secrets from the sheriff,” said Augusta, clearly unimpressed. “I’ve had one or two occasions to swat his bottom and wipe his runny nose. So maybe I’ll tell him myself. Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t stop to think. Would that create a problem for you – if Tom thought you were holding out on him?”

Riker rose from the table and made a mock bow, graciously conceding the win to Augusta. Then he did something so out of character, Charles was startled. Riker leaned across the table, took up her hand and kissed it.

Charles walked outside with him. “Looks like you’ve met your match.”

“Yeah, she’s something.” Riker glanced back at the door between the staircases. He put one hand on Charles’s shoulder and led him farther away from the house. His tone was more confidential now. “I had a look around that chapel – your friend’s studio? Charles, would you say the little guy was fixated on Mallory and her mother? Maybe dangerously fixated?”

“That’s absurd. He’s a very gentle man.” A man who kept a grisly list and cheerfully entered into a plot to torture residents of Dayborn, but still, a gentle soul. He shook off Riker’s hand. “I can’t see Henry killing – ”

“Ease up, Charles. I’m just asking. If you were thinking straight, you wouldn’t be looking at me as the enemy. You know it and I know it. This is Mallory’s work.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t spoken to her since you came to town. You think you know her so well, and here you are maligning her on – ”

“Yesterday, you asked me if I knew she could play the piano. I heard her play once. It was a surprise party for Lou Markowitz. The musicians had gone home, and so had the families. It was only cops in the hall, and the party wasn’t slowing down any.”

Charles knew he was being softened up, suckered into a warm moment of shared intimacy. But Riker told stories so well, he fell for this, time after time.

“So Lou calls out, ‘I want music.’”

This was when life was still good to Louis Markowitz. His wife, Helen, had not yet been killed by the cancer. Louis was a family man with a cop for a daughter. His father and grandfather had been cops, and that tradition was going to continue. The old man was in high spirits that night. “He wanted the party and the music to go on and on. He was standing by the piano, yelling, ‘Can’t any of you bastards play?’ ”

Mallory sat down at the piano and began a child’s study piece. “It was a tune my niece played when she was taking lessons. Just a simple little song, pretty and sweet. And now a hall full of drunken cops quiets down – no noise at all – only the music.”

But what Riker remembered best was the look on Louis’s face. He had raised her from a child of ten and never knew she could play the piano. She had always been so secretive about her past. But that night, Mallory played for him. This was a gift for her father. It was an elegant gesture, for she only played that one time, only played for him, and never again.

“Lou Markowitz really pissed me off when he got himself killed. Now I’m afraid for his kid. I lose a lot of sleep worrying that she’ll spin out of control if there’s nobody to care about her and keep her grounded. I know how you feel about her, Charles, and so did Lou. I think her old man was counting on you to give his kid a little ballast in the wind. But you screwed up. She’s here to hurt a lot of people, and you’re helping her.”

“That’s unfair, Riker.” It was unfair, wasn’t it?

“I was at the hospital last night. I wanted to see the deputy, but he couldn’t have visitors. You remember that woman who crawled out of the cemetery yesterday? Her name was Alma Furgueson. They were bringing her in the door as I was leaving. The ambulance driver told me she slit her wrists.”

“My God.” Charles kissed his soul goodbye as it was edging away from him, trying to avoid association by proximity.

“They got her to the hospital in time. She’s gonna pull through. But what if she’d died? You came real close to killing a woman for Mallory. How much further will you go?”

How far was he prepared to go for Mallory? Oh, straight down to the center of the earth, where he imagined hell must be. He anticipated being barred from heaven because of what he had done to Alma.

Before he could answer to Riker, the sheriff’s car came spinning out of the trees and across wet ground from the direction of Henry’s cottage. It stopped in a wide lake in the grass and spun its wheels, then freed itself and pulled to a stop twenty feet from Riker and Charles. The car was splattered with mud and fresh scratches from low branches.

The sheriff leaned out the window and yelled. “Riker, if you still want to talk to Travis, you better come quick. He wants to make a confession. The doctor says he’s not gonna last all day.”

“We’ll talk later,” said Riker in a low voice.

“Maybe I’ll see you at the hospital,” said Charles. “I think I’d like to visit Alma Furgueson.”

“Good idea.” Riker walked across the grass toward the sheriff’s car. The passenger door was hanging open.

When the car was out of sight beyond the trees, Charles heard the basement door open and close behind him. He turned around, not really surprised to see Mallory standing there. But he was unsettled by the changes in her. The running shoes had been replaced with boots, and she wore a flowing white blouse from another era. A dark bandanna covered her throat. There was nothing to cover her gun. A heavy belt dipped low on her right hip with the weight of the revolver – in the best tradition of a gunslinger.

When they had cleared Augusta’s yard, the sheriff’s car pitched into a lake of rainwater flanked by trees. The wheels turned while the car went nowhere.

Riker leaned over to light the cigarette dangling from the sheriff’s mouth. “You don’t think it would have been easier to leave the car at Roth’s place and walk to Augusta’s?”

They were rolling forward again.

“Yeah, but I do like to annoy that old woman. She thinks she’s got her place locked off from the rest of the world. So I come through in the car every now and then, just to thumb my nose at her. Most days she yells at me, and it’s a lot more fun. You know small towns. We’re all so easily amused.”

Yeah, right. “How’d you know where to find me?”

“Oh, my deputy tailed you out to Augusta’s.”

“The deputy was on my tail?”

“Well, yeah. Real early, she caught on that you’d seen her, so she started to follow Henry instead, just to throw you off. Then she let Henry lose her so she could double back and pick up on you again. Don’t let it bother you, Riker. She did say that for a city boy, you did a good job of staying with Henry. I understand he took a real snaky route.”

Now Riker had to wonder if the deputy’s act in the bar had been a double blind. The sheriff was that convoluted.

“So Travis is dying,” said Riker. “You’ve been waiting for this a long time, haven’t you?”

“Seventeen years. I thought that little bastard’s heart would never give out. Glad to have you with me, Riker. I need a witness if that deathbed confession is gonna carry weight in court.”

The car turned onto the wide highway.

“Oh, by the way, Riker.” The sheriff was grinning. “When you see your old friend’s foster daughter, you tell Detective Mallory she can have her pocket watch back anytime she wants to come and get it.”

Riker slumped down in his seat and stared out the window. “Okay, you got me.”

They rode in silence for another mile. There was a comforting monotony in the endless fields of sugar cane, the flat landscape with nothing higher than a tree. No surprises out there.

“Professional courtesy, Riker, cop to cop? Is Kathy a good detective?”

“She’s as good as it gets. You’re not half bad yourself, Sheriff. I suppose you ran Markowitz through the back door – a warrant call on a New York car registration?”

“Yeah, but that only told me he was a dead cop. I got the rest from Jeff Mckenna in Missing Persons. You know him?”

“Sure. That old bastard’s been around for a hundred years.”

“I met him eighteen years ago when I was hunting a runaway. I knew the boy was in New York, so I called Mckenna. He found him a month later when the kid got picked up in a drug sweep. I met the man when I went up north to fetch the boy home.”

“So you called Mckenna and asked after your old friend, Louis Markowitz, who you never met in your life.”

“That I did. And Mckenna breaks the news that old Lou is dead. Then I asked what became of Mallory, and he says she’s still on the force, and she’s got a detective’s shield now.”

“And then you asked about me?”

“Oh, he had a lot to say about you, Riker. Yeah, good old Mckenna – memory like an elephant. He even remembered the name of the boy he tracked down for me. We were lucky to get the kid back as quick as we did. He was sick as a little dog, but no holes in him bigger than a needle, thank God. Interesting town you got there, Riker. Children getting stoned on drugs, people pissing on the walls, perverts cruising Forty-second Street, looking to buy little boys. Must get you down after a while.”

“Yeah, you’re right. But now I’ve found the Lord in Louisiana.”

The sheriff smiled. “I heard you were drinking with the New Church roadies in Owltown. Pick up anything useful?”

Riker pulled a crumpled pamphlet from his pocket, held it out at arm’s length and read from it. “ ‘You are on a long journey over perilous ground. You can take the tortuous road, or buy a miracle and fly.’ ” He wadded the pamphlet and tossed it to the floor of the car to join the debris of empty beer cans. “I don’t get it. A religion based on fortune cookies and airline commercials?”