Tenth Commandment

7

On Saturday, the March sky was hard, an icy blue whitened by a blurry sun, and in the west a faded wedge of morning moon. Not a cloud. But an angry wind came steadily and swirled the streets.

I took a cab uptown and marvelled at how sharp the city looked, chopped out, everything standing clear. The air was washed clean, and pierced.

I was wearing my good pinstripe suit, vested, with a white shirt and dull tie. Stilton and I had agreed to dress like undertakers: conservative, solemn, but sympathetic.

Men to be trusted.

A dusty-blue Plymouth was parked in front of the Kipper townhouse. Behind the wheel was a carelessly dressed giant of a man with a scraggly blond moustache that covered his mouth. Percy sat beside him, looking like 417

a judge. He motioned me into the back seat. I climbed in, closed the door. I held my scruffy briefcase on my lap.

'Josh,' Perce said, 'this slob is Lou, my partner.'

'Good morning, Lou,' I said.

'Got all the paper?' Stilton asked.

'Everything,' I said, feeling slightly ill.

'Good,' he said. 'When we get inside, let me do the spiel.

You follow my lead. Just nod. You're the shill. Got that?'

'I understand.'

'Act sincere,' he said. 'You can act sincere, can't you?'

'Of course,' I said in a low voice.

'Sure you can,' he said. I knew he was trying to encourage me and I appreciated it. 'Don't worry, Josh, this is going down. This is going to be the greatest hustle known to living man. A classic.'

Lou spoke for the first time.

'The world is composed of five elements,' he stated.

'Earth, air, fire, water, and bullshit.'

'You're singing our song, baby,' Percy told him. 'Okay, Josh, let's do it.'

Chester Heavens came to the door.

'Gentlemen?' he said sombrely.

'Good morning, Chester,' I mumbled.

'Morning,' Percy said briskly. 'I am Detective Percy Stilton of the New York Police Department. I believe we've met before. Here is my identification.'

He flipped open his leather, held it up. Heavens peered at it.

'Yes, sah,' he said. 'I remember. How may I be of service?'

'It's important we see Mrs Kipper,' Stilton said. 'As soon as possible. She's home?'

Chester hesitated a moment, then surrendered.

'Please to step in,' he said. 'I'll speak with mom.'

We waited in that towering entrance hall. Heavens had disappeared into the dining room and closed the door. We 418

waited for what I thought was a long time. I fidgeted, but Stilton stood stolidly. Finally Chester returned.

'Mom will see you now,' he said, expressionless. 'She is at breakfast. May I take your things?'

He took our coats and hats, hung them away. He opened the door to the dining room, stood aside. Percy entered first. As I was about to go in, Chester put a soft hand on my arm.

'Bad, sah?' he whispered.

I nodded.

He nodded, too. Sorrowfully.

She was seated at the head of that long, shining table.

Regal. Wearing a flowing, lettuce-green peignoir. But her hair was down and not too tidy. Moreover, as I drew closer, I saw her face was slightly distorted, puffy. Staring, I saw that the left cheek from eye to chin was swollen, discoloured. She had attempted to cover the bruise with pancake makeup, but it was there.

Then I understood Godfrey Knurr's smarmy comment:

'I think I persuaded the lady.'

Stilton and I stood side by side. She stared at us, unblinking. She did not ask us to sit down.

'Ma'am,' Percy said humbly, 'I am Detective — '

'I know who you are,' she said sharply. 'We've met.

What do you want?'

'I am engaged in an official investigation of the Reverend Godfrey Knurr,' Stilton said, still apologetic. 'I hoped you would be willing to co-operate with the New York Police Department and furnish what information you can.'

She turned her eyes to me.

'And what are you doing here?' she demanded.

'Mr Bigg asked to come along, ma'am,' Percy said swiftly. 'The request for an investigation originated with his legal firm.'

She thought about that. She didn't quite believe, but she 419

didn't not believe. She wanted to learn more.

'Sit down then,' she said coldly. 'Both of you. Coffee?'

'Not for me,' Perce said, 'thank you, Mrs Kipper. You, Mr Bigg?'

'Thank you, no,' I said.

We drew up chairs, Stilton on her right, me on her left.

We had her surrounded, hemmed in. I don't think she expected that.

She shook a cigarette from an almost empty pack.

Stilton was there with his lighter before I could make a move. I think his courtesy reassured her. She blew smoke at the ceiling.

'Well,' she said, 'what's this all about?'

'Ma'am,' Stilton said, hunching forward earnestly, 'it's a rather involved story, so I hope you'll bear with me.

About two weeks ago the NYPD received a request from the police department of Gary, Indiana, asking us to determine if the Reverend Godfrey Knurr was in our area.

A warrant had been issued for his arrest. Two warrants, actually.'

'Arrest?' she cried. 'What for?'

'One was for blackmail, Mrs Kipper. Allegedly, for a period of many years, Knurr has been blackmailing an elderly clergyman in the neighbourhood where he grew up.

The other warrant was for desertion.'

We were both watching closely. She may have been an actress, but she couldn't conceal her reaction to that. The hand that held the cigarette began to quiver; the bruise stood out, a nasty blue. She leaned forward to pour herself more coffee.

Maybelle Hawks had been right; she hadn't known.

'Desertion?' she asked casually, and I noted that the charge of blackmail hadn't stirred her at all.

'Oh yes,' Detective Stilton said. 'Knurr was married about twenty years ago and has never been divorced or legally separated. Mr Bigg, do you have the licence?'

I plucked it from my briefcase and held it up before Tippi Kipper, making certain it did not leave my hands.

She leaned forward to read it.

'Yes,' she said dully, 'I see.'

Percy leaned back in his chair and folded his hands comfortably on the tabletop.

'Well,' he said, 'the request from the Gary, Indiana, police was circulated, and a copy came across my desk.

Ordinarily I would just file it and forget it. I'm sure you appreciate how busy we are, ma'am, and how an out-of-state request gets a very low priority on our schedule. You can understand that, Mrs Kipper?'

I admired the way he was taking her into his confidence — even confessing a little weakness with a small chuckle.

'Oh sure,' she said, still stunned. 'I can understand that.'

'But the name caught my eyes,' Detective Stilton went on. 'Only because I had interviewed Godfrey Knurr in connection with your husband's unfortunate death. So I knew who he was and where I could find him.'

She didn't say anything. She was pulling herself together, sipping her coffee and lighting another cigarette.

Fussing. Doing anything to keep from looking at us.

'Then,' Stilton continued, speaking gently and almost reflectively, 'before we had a chance to reply to the request from the Gary police, Mr Bigg came to us, representing the attorneys he works for. They wanted us to dig deeper into the case of a missing client of theirs. A Professor Yale Stonehouse. He had disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Well, we looked into it and discovered that prior to his disappearance he had been the victim of arsenic poisoning. Mr Bigg?'

I whipped out the chemical analyses and held them up before her eyes. I don't think she even read them, but she was impressed. They were official documents. I began to appreciate Detective Stilton's insistence on such evidence.

They could be true or false, but printed foolscap carried weight.

'So,' Percy went on, sighing, 'we dug deeper and discovered that the poison had apparently been administered by Glynis Stonehouse, the daughter of the missing man. In addition, we found out that Glynis has been having an affair, is still having an affair, with the Reverend Godfrey Knurr. We do not know for sure, but we suspect that Professor Stonehouse has been murdered and that Knurr is deeply involved. So we are here, Mrs Kipper, to ask you to help by telling us what you can about this man. He's already charged with blackmail and wife desertion. It's only a matter of time before we can bring a first-degree homicide charge against him.'

For a moment I thought we had her. She stood up, circled her chair, started to sit down again. Then she stalked off to a far corner of the room, twisting her hands.

We watched her. She stood, facing a blank wall, then turned and came back. The air vibrated; you could feel it.

I had to admire her. She had been rocked, there was no doubt of that, but she rallied. I thought of the word

'spunk.'

She sat down again, carelessly this time, sprawled. No longer the queen. She dug a last cigarette from the crumpled pack. Percy Stilton was there with his lighter. She inhaled deeply, let the smoke escape lazily from her nostrils.

The silver-blonde hair was damp and tangled. The profile had lost its crispness; the bruise bulged an entire side of her face. The eyes seemed muddy, the thin lips were tightened and drawn. The chin she once carried so high had come down; there was soil in the wrinkles of her neck.

Her body had slackened; the breasts sagged under the peignoir, the thighs had flattened.

Is it possible to suffer from an excess of sympathy? At that moment I felt sorry for her. She was being buffeted 422

cruelly, but was far from surrender.

'This is very, uh, distressing,' she said finally.

'I can imagine,' Detective Stilton said.

I nodded madly.

We stared at her, silent again.

'All right,' she burst out, 'the man was a — a — '

'Close friend of yours?' Percy suggested.

'Not exactly,' she said quickly, already cutting her losses.

'More like a — a — '

'Spiritual adviser?' I said innocently.

She looked at me sharply.

'Yeah,' she said, 'spiritual adviser. For a few years. All right — bad news. Now he turns out to be a bummer. He's wanted. But what's it got to do with me?'

The use of the slang — the 'yeah' and the 'bummer' — was the first indication I had that she was slipping back to her origins. The grand lady was fading.

Stilton, the gentleman, still treated her with soft politesse, leaning towards her with a manner of great solicitude.

'Let me tell you what we've got, Mrs Kipper,' he said.

'Warrants have been issued for Knurr's arrest and the arrest of his paramour, Glynis Stonehouse. In addition, we have search warrants for her home, his home, and his houseboat. Sooner or later we're going to pick him up.'

'So?' she said. 'Pick him up. It's got nothing to do with me.'

Percy sat back, crossed his knees, selected a cigarette from his case and lighted it with slow deliberation.

'I think it does,' he said, looking at her steadily. 'I think it has a great deal to do with you. In addition to the out-of-state charges and complicity in the disappearance of Professor Stonehouse, the Reverend Godfrey Knurr will also be charged with the murder of Martin Reape.'

'Who?' she croaked. 'Never heard of him.'

'No?' Stilton said. 'Your late husband employed him.'

He motioned towards me. 'Mr Bigg, the cancelled cheques, please.'

I dug into my briefcase, came up with copies of Martin Reape's bills and the cancelled cheques. I showed them to her. She looked at them with smoky eyes.

'Martin Reape was a private detective,' Stilton went on inexorably. 'He was pushed to his death beneath the wheels of a subway train. We have the testimony of two eyewitnesses placing the Reverend Godfrey Knurr at the scene of the homicide at the time it occurred. Reape's widow was also murdered. We have evidence proving Knurr's complicity in that homicide as well.'

He lied so skilfully I could hardly believe it. His lies were 'throwaway' lines, spoken casually, as unemphasized as if he had mentioned 'Chilly out today.' They were absolutely believable. He was stating falsehoods and giving them no importance. He was saying, 'These things exist; everyone knows it.'

Tippi Kipper had gone rigid. She was motionless.

Frozen. I think that if I had flicked her flesh, it would have pinged. She was in an almost catatonic state. Every time she had adjusted to a blow, thought she had countered it, Stilton had jolted her again. He kept after her, feeding her confusion.

'So,' he said, 'on the basis of this and other evidence, the investigation into the circumstances of your husband's death has been reopened, Mrs Kipper. If you doubt that, I suggest you call the New York Police Department and verify what I am saying. We now believe your husband was murdered.'

'Murdered?' she cried. 'Impossible! He left a suicide note.'

Detective Stilton held out a hand. I gave him the notes I had taken from Tippi Kipper's dressing room. Percy held them up before her.

'Like these?' he asked stonily.

She glanced at them. Her face fell apart.

'Where did you get those?' she yelled.

'I, uh, obtained them,' I said.

She whirled and glared at me.

'You little prick!' she said.

I bowed my head.

'As I said,' Percy went on relentlessly, 'the investigation into your husband's murder has been reopened. We know how it was done: Knurr staying in an empty room overnight, going upstairs, killing the victim, running downstairs, going out the door only to turn around and ring the bell, coming right back in again while all of you were at the body in the backyard.'

'Ridiculous,' she said. 'You'll never prove it.'

'Oh, I think we will,' Stilton said. 'We've filed for a search warrant for these premises. On the basis of what we've got, I think it will be granted. We'll come in here and tear the place apart. The lab boys will vacuum every inch.

They'll find evidence of Godfrey Knurr spending the night in an upstairs room. Dust from his shoes, a partial fingerprint, a thread or crumbs of his pipe tobacco, maybe the weapon he used. Maybe just a hair or two. It's impossible for a man to sleep somewhere overnight without leaving some evidence of his presence. And we'll confiscate that house diary the butler keeps. It shows Godfrey Knurr arrived the afternoon before the day your husband was killed, with no record of his departure. Oh yes, I think we have enough for an indictment, Mrs Kipper. Godfrey Knurr for homicide and you as accomplice. Both of you are going down the tube.'

She made gulping sounds. Stilton continued lecturing.

'And even if we can't make it stick,' he said tonelessly,

'there's the publicity. Tabloids, radio, TV. The fashionable Mrs Tippi Kipper, active in social and charitable affairs, with a prior arrest record for prostitution.'

I could barely hear. Her head was down. But she was saying, 'Bastard, bastard, b a s t a r d. . '

Percy Stilton looked around. He spotted the handsome, marble-topped sideboard with a display of decanters. He went over, inspected the offerings, selected a captain's decanter bearing a porcelain label: BRANDY. He brought it back to the dining room table, poured a healthy wallop into the dregs of Tippi Kipper's coffee cup.

'Drink up,' he ordered.

She drained it, holding the cup with trembling hands. He poured in another shot, set the bottle on the table close to her. She dug, fumbling, into her empty cigarette pack.

Percy offered his case, then held his lighter for her again.

He didn't look at me. There was no triumph in his manner.

'Mrs Kipper,' he said, 'I've been as honest with you as I know how. As of this moment there is no warrant out for your arrest. But I think it's time we talked about you, your legal position, and your future.'

'Now comes the crunch,' she said bitterly.

'Correct,' he said equably. 'Now comes the the crunch.

We're going to pick up Godfrey Knurr; you know that.

We're going to lean on him. Do you really think he's going to remain steadfast and true? Come on, Mrs Kipper, you know better than that. He's going to sing his rotten little heart out. Before he's through, the whole thing will be your idea. You seduced him, you planned the murder of your husband; he was just the innocent bystander. You know that's how he's going to play it. That's the kind of man he is.'

She rose abruptly, scraping her chair back on the polished parquet floor. She stood leaning forward, knuckles on the table: a chairman of the board addressing a meeting of hostile executives. But she was not looking at us. She was staring between us, down the length of that gleaming table, the translucent china, the silver candelabrum. Wealth.

Gentility. Security.

'The first one in line makes the best deal,' Detective Percy Stilton said softly.

Her eyes came back to him slowly.

'Talk business,' she said harshly.

We had her then, I knew, but Perce didn't change expression or vary his polite, solicitous manner.

'This is how I suggest it be done,' he said. 'We didn't come to you; you came to us. You called Mr Bigg at the law firm that represented your late husband, and Mr Bigg then contacted me. But you made the initial move. You volunteered. Mr Bigg and I will so testify.'

He looked at me. I nodded violently.

'What was my motive for calling in the cops?' she asked.

'You wanted to see justice done,' Stilton said.

She shook her head. 'It won't wash,' she said.

'Duress,' I said. 'Physical assault. Knurr threatened you. So you went along with his plan. But now you're afraid for your life.'

Percy looked at me admiringly.

'Yeah,' Tippi Kipper said, 'that's just how it was. He said he'd kill me if I didn't go along. I'll take off my makeup and you can get a colour picture of this.' She pointed at the puffy bruise on her cheek. 'He punched me out,' she said furiously. 'He has a wicked temper, and that's the truth. I was afraid for my life.'

'Beautiful,' Percy said. 'It fits.'

'You think the DA will believe it?' she asked anxiously.

Stilton leaned back, crossed his knees again, lighted another cigarette.

'Of course not,' he said. 'He's no dummy. But he'll go along. You're going to be his star witness, clearing up three homicides and probably four. So he'll play ball. We're giving him something.'

'What do you think I'll draw?' she asked him.

'Bupkes,' he said. 'Time suspended and probation.

You'll walk.'

'And the prostitution arrest?' she demanded.

'Buried,' Stilton said. 'Nothing to the press. You have my word on that.'

She took a deep breath, looked around that lovely room as if she might never see it again.

' W e l l. . ' she said, 'I guess we better get the show on the road. Can I get dressed?'

'Of course,' Percy said, 'but I'll have to go upstairs with you. I hope you understand.'

We all moved out into the entrance hall. Chester Heavens, Perdita Schug, and Mrs Neckin were gathered in a tight little group in the corridor to the kitchen. They watched, shocked, as their mistress and the detective entered the elevator. I retrieved my hat and coat and left hurriedly. I didn't want to answer their questions.

Lou, behind the wheel of the blue Plymouth, saw me coming. He leaned across to the passenger's side and rolled down the window.

'How'd it go?' he asked.

'Fine,' I said. 'They'll be coming out soon.'

'Is she going to spill?'

I nodded.

'It figures,' he said. 'That Perce, he's something. I'm glad we're on the same side. If he was on the wrong, he'd end up owning the city.'

Then we waited in silence. I didn't want to get into the car. I wanted to look at that pure sky, breathe deeply in the sharp, tangy air. I didn't want to think about what had just happened. I wanted to savour the wide, wide world.

They came out in about fifteen minutes. Tippi Kipper was wearing a belted mink coat that seemed to go around her three times. She was hatless, carrying an oversized black alligator purse. She had removed her makeup. The bruise was hideous. Percy Stilton was carrying a small overnight case of buttery pigskin.

He opened the back door of the Plymouth for her. She climbed in without looking at me. Perce put the little suitcase in the front seat. Then he took me by the elbow, led me aside.

'End of the line for you, Josh,' he said.

'Can't I — ' I started, but he shook his head regretfully and interrupted.

'It's all official from now on,' he said. 'I'll call you as soon as we get something. Where will you be?'

'Either at the office or home. Perce, promise you'll call.'

'Absolutely,' he vowed. 'I'll keep you up on things. You deserve all the credit.'

'Thank you,' I said faintly.

He looked at me narrowly.

'They were divorced, weren't they?' he said. 'Knurr and that Sylvia? And she and the old priest are a couple of whackos. Am I right?'

I nodded miserably.

He laughed and clapped me on the shoulder.

'You're good,' he said, 'but not that good. Never try to scam a scammer.'

I watched the Plymouth pull away, Stilton sitting next to Tippi Kipper in the back seat. When the car had turned the corner and disappeared, I walked over to Fifth Avenue and headed south. I decided to walk down to the TORT building.

I should have been exultant but I wasn't. It was the morality of what I had done that was bothering me. All that chicanery and deceit. I would have committed almost any sin to demolish Godfrey Knurr, but conniving in the escape of Tippi Kipper from justice was more than I had bargained for. And I had connived. I had worked almost as hard as Percy Stilton to convince her to betray Knurr. It had to be done. But as Perce had said, she was going to walk. An accomplice to murder. Was that fair? Was that justice?

I realized I didn't really know what 'justice' meant. It was not an absolute. It was not a colour, a mineral, a species. It was a human concept (what do animals know of justice?) and subject to all the vagaries and contradictions of any human hope. How can you define justice? It seemed to me that it was constant compromise, moulded by circumstance.

I would make a terrible judge.

The brisk walk downtown refreshed my spirits. The sharp air and exercise were cleansing. By the time I signed in with the security guard at TORT building, I had come to terms with what I had done. I was still regretful, but guilt was fading. I reckoned that if all went well, in a few weeks I would be proud of my role in bringing the Reverend Godfrey Knurr to justice — whatever that was.

Mrs Gertrude Kletz had left me a sheaf of notes and a stack of requests for investigations and research. I set to work with pleasure, resolutely turning my mind from the Kipper and Stonehouse cases and concentrating on my desk work.

I laboured all afternoon with no breaks except to rise occasionally to stretch, walk into the corridor to loosen my knees. I accomplished a great deal, clearing my desk of most of the routine matters and making a neat list of those that would require personal investigation.

Shortly before 5.00 p.m., after trying to resist the urge, I called Percy Stilton's office. I was told he was 'in conference' and could not come to the phone, so I assumed the interrogation of Tippi Kipper was continuing.

I put away the Kipper and Stonehouse files, emptying my cruddy briefcase. I considered buying a new one.

Perhaps an attache case, slender and smart. But that battered briefcase had been left to me by Roscoe Dollworth and I was superstitious enough to believe it had magical properties: good luck and wisdom.

I left the TORT building at about 5.50, remembering to take with me the wrapped red kite, string, and winder. I signed out, walked over to Broadway and took a bus down to West 23rd Street. I went directly to Woody's Restaurant, trying to recall how long it had been since I had enjoyed a decent dinner.

As usual, Nitchy was on duty, looking especially attractive in her exotic, gypsy way. I told her so and she tapped her fingers against my cheek.

'No princess tonight, Josh?' she asked.

'Not tonight,' I said, smiling tiredly.

I think she caught my mood, because she ushered me to a small table in a quiet corner and left me alone. I had two Scotch-and-waters, a club steak, baked potato, string beans, salad, a bottle of beer, coffee and brandy.

When I left, I was subdued, thoughtful, content. I carried the kite back to my apartment and settled in to wait. I tried to read but ended up with a copy of Silas Marner on my lap, staring into the cold fireplace and trying to make sense of everything that had happened in the last month.

I came to no great conclusions, was subject to no great revelations. I tried to understand what motives, what passions, might drive apparently sane men and women to commit the act of murder. I could not comprehend it, and feared the fault was mine: I was not emotional enough, not feeling enough to grasp how others of hotter blood, of stronger desires, might be driven to kill.

I was a mild little man, temperate, reflective. Nothing in my life was dramatic except what was contributed by others. It seemed incredible that I could survive in a world of such fiery wants and insatiable appetites.

When the phone rang at about 8.20, I did not leap to answer it, but moved slowly, calmly. I think I may have been dreading what I expected to hear.

'Josh?' Stilton's voice.

'Yes.'

'Percy. She spilled. Everything. It went down the way you figured. She doesn't know exactly how he did it — a karate chop or a hunk of pipe. She didn't ask. She didn't want to know. Ditto Martin Reape and his wife. Knurr just told her not to worry, he'd take care of everything.'

'And he did,' I said.

'Yes,' Perce said. 'Jesus, I'm tired. Anyway, we're organized now. There's a team up at the Stonehouse apartment, looking for the will. Another at Knurr's place in the Village. And another staked out at his houseboat.

We're also going into the Kipper townhouse. I don't think they'll find anything there, but you never can tell.'

'No hairs?' I said. 'Dust? Crumbs of tobacco?'

'Come on,' Stilton said, laughing. 'You know that was all bullshit.'

'Yes,' I said.

'Anyway, we've got a fistful of warrants. Lou and I are going up to the houseboat. Want to drag along?'

I came alive.

'I certainly do,' I said.

'Pick you up at your place,' Percy said. 'Josh, do us a favour?'

'Of course. Anything.'

'We're starved. Get us some sandwiches, will you? And maybe a six-pack?'

'That's easy,' I said. 'What kind of sandwiches?'

'Anything. We'll pay you.'

'Nonsense. This will be on Tabatchnick, Orsini, Reilly, and Teitelbaum.'

'You're sure?'

'Absolutely.'

'We'll be outside your place in half an hour.'

I had secured the sandwiches and was waiting on the sidewalk when the dusty-blue Plymouth pulled up, Lou driving. I climbed into the back seat. I handed the brown paper bag to Stilton, up front.

'I got them at a deli on Tenth Avenue,' I said. 'Roast beef on white with mayonnaise, and bologna on rye with mustard. Two of each. And a cold six-pack of Miller's. Is that all right?'

'Plasma,' Lou groaned. 'Plasma!'

They dived into the bag and ripped tabs from the beer cans. Percy turned sideways, talking to me as he ate.

'We got the Stonehouse will,' he said. 'They're going through Glynis's personal stuff now. She wasn't there. Her mother says she went to a matinee this afternoon. She's probably with Knurr. No sign of the two of them yet. If we haven't picked them up by midnight, we'll put out an all-precincts, then gradually expand it if needed.'

'They're searching Knurr's social club on Carmine Street?' I asked.

'Oh sure,' Stilton said. 'Found a lot of financial records.

He was doing all right. How does half a mil grab you?'

'Incredible,' I said.

'Ah, well,' Lou mumbled, starting another half-sandwich, 'he was a hard worker.'

'What about Chester Heavens' house diary?'

'Got it,' Percy said. 'Also Tippi's collection of notes her husband wrote her. Josh, the DA will want all the paper you're holding. Monday morning will be time enough.'

'Does Tippi have legal counsel?'

'She does now,' he said. 'Not from your firm. Some hotshot criminal lawyer. He and the DA's man are kicking it around right now, sewing up the deal. Lots of screaming.'

'Do you really think she'll go free?'

'Probably,' he said without interest. Then he looked at me closely. 'Josh, it happens all the time. You give a little, take a little. That's how the system works.'

They finished the sandwiches and four of the beers.

'Dee-licious,' Lou said, scrubbing his moustache with a paper napkin. 'Now I'm ready for a fight or a frolic.

Thanks, pal.'

'We're going up to the boat basin,' Stilton told me.

'We've got a search warrant for the houseboat. There's a car with two men on Riverside Drive at 79th Street and one guy on the dock. The three of us are going into the boat.

We'll be in touch with the others by walkie-talkie in case Knurr shows up. If the radios work.'

'They won't,' Lou said casually. 'Let's go.'

We drove north on Tenth Avenue, into Amsterdam, and turned west on 79th Street. The two detectives talked baseball for most of the trip. I didn't contribute anything.

We parked in a bus-loading zone near West End Avenue. We got out of the car, Percy and Lou taking their radios in leather cases. They didn't look around for the stakeout car. We walked across the park, down a dirt path.

We came to the paved area and the rotunda.

It was a ghostly place, deserted at that hour. I thought again of an archaeological dig: chipped columns, dried and cracking foundation, shadowed corridor leading to the murky river. It was all so broken and crumbling. Ancient graffiti. Splits in the stone. A world coming apart.

We walked down the steps to the promenade by the river. A few late-hour joggers, pairs of lovers tightly wrapped, solitary gays on benches, an older man frisking with his fox terrier, several roller skaters doing arabesques, a few cyclists. Not crowded, but not empty either.

Stilton rattled the gate, calling, and when the marina manager came out from his shed to meet us, Percy and Lou showed their identification. Stilton held up the search warrant for the man to read through the fence. He let us in, pointing out Godfrey Knurr's houseboat south of the entrance.

We paced cautiously down planked walkways floating on pontoons. They pitched gently under our tread.

'You said you've got a man on the dock?' I asked anxiously.

The detectives laughed.

'The guy with the dog,' Lou said.

'Al Irving,' Stilton said. 'He always takes his mutt along on a stakeout. Who's going to figure a guy with a dog is a cop? That hound's got the best assist record in the Department.'

We stepped down from the wharf on to the foredeck of Knurr's long fibreglass houseboat. There was a thick cable leading to an electric meter on the dock. The sliding doors to the cabin were locked. Lou bent to examine them.

'Piece of cake,' he said.

He took a leather case of picklocks from his jacket pocket. He fiddled a moment, pushed the door open. He stood aside.

'Be my guests.' he said.

But I noticed he had unbuttoned his coat and jacket and his hand was on his hip holster. Percy Stilton went in first.

His revolver was in his hand, dangling at his side. He found the switch and turned on the lights.

'Beautiful,' he said.

And it was. We went prowling through. Chairs, tables, couches. Drapes and upholstery in cheery plaid. Plenty of headroom. Overhead lights. Tub and shower. Hot water heater. Toilet. Lockers and cabinets. Wall-to-wall carpeting. Beds, sinks. Larger than my apartment, and more luxurious. A floating home.

We searched all through the houseboat, stared at the twin engines, bilge pump, climbed to the sundeck, marvelled at the forward stateroom and the instrument panel in the pilothouse. We ended up in the galley, looking at an electric range/oven and an upright refrigerator, And a horizontal chest freezer.

It didn't look like the standard equipment. It had been jammed into one corner, tight against a bulkhead and the refrigerator. The lid was secured with a cheap hasp and small padlock.

The two detectives looked at each other.

'Wanna bet?' Lou asked.

'No bet,' Percy said.

Lou leaned down to examine the padlock.

'Five-and-dime,' he reported. 'I saw some tools in the engine room.'

We waited, silent. Lou was back in a minute with a small claw bar. He hooked the curved end into the loop of the padlock and yanked upwards. It popped with a screech of metal.

'Cheese,' Lou said, flipping open the hasp. He gestured towards Percy. 'Your treat,' he said.

Stilton stepped forward and threw back the lid of the freezer.

We all craned forward. He was in there, wrapped in what appeared to be drycleaner's bags. I could make out the lettering: THIS BAG IS NOT A TOY.

He had been jammed in, arms folded, knees drawn up.

Plastic had frozen tightly around his head. I could see the face, dim and frosted. A long, sunken face, boned, gaunt, furious.

'Professor Stonehouse, I presume,' Percy Stilton said, tipping his hat.

'Shut the goddamn lid,' Lou said, 'before he thaws.'

I turned away, fighting nausea. Percy was on his walkie-talkie, trying to contact the team on Riverside Drive and the man on the dock. All he got in return was ear-ripping static.

'Shit,' he said.

'I told you,' Lou said. 'They're great until you need them.'

We were standing there discussing who would go to the nearest telephone when we heard the thump of feet on the outside deck and the houseboat rocked gently. Before I knew what was happening, the two detectives were crouched by the galley door, guns drawn.

'Josh,' Stilton hissed, ' drop! '

I went down on all fours, huddled near that dreadful freezer. Percy peered cautiously around the door frame.

He smiled, rose, motioned us up.

'In here,' Stilton shouted to someone outside.

Glynis Stonehouse entered slowly. She was wearing her long fur coat, the hood thrown back to rest on her shoulders. Following her came the Reverend Godfrey Knurr, dressed like a dandy: fitted topcoat, wide-collared shirt with a brocaded cravat tied in a Windsor knot, a black bowler tilted atop his head.

After them came Al Irving, grinning. He was holding his fox terrier on a leash. In his other hand was a snub-nosed revolver. The dog was growling: low, rumbling sounds.

'Look what I got,' Detective Irving said. 'They walked into my arms, pretty as you please. I tried to contact you.

These new radios suck.'

'What is the meaning of this?' Godfrey Knurr thundered.

It was such a banal, melodramatic statement that I was ashamed for him.

Percy Stilton gave him a death's-head grin and took two quick steps to the freezer. He threw back the lid.

'What is the meaning of this? ' he demanded.

Then nobody had anything to say. We were all caught, congealed in a theatrical tableau. Staring at each other.

Only the pallor of her face marked Glynis Stonehouse's agitation. Her hands did not tremble; her glance was steady and cool. Did nothing dent her? She stood erect, aloof and withdrawn. Her father lay there, frozen in plastic, a supermarket package of meat, and she was still complete, looking at all of us with a curious disdain.

Godfrey Knurr was feeling more — or at least displaying more. His eyes flickered about, his mouth worked.

Nervous fingers plucked at the buttons of his coat. His body slumped slightly until he seemed to be standing in a half-crouch, almost simian, taut and quivering.

His stare settled on me. So indignant, so furious. He looked me up and down, disbelieving that such a meek, puny creature could be responsible for his downfall. He made a sound. Like a groan. But not quite a groan. A protest. A sound that said, 'It isn't f a i r. . '

'Listen, Joshua,' he said hoarsely, 'I want you to know something…'

None of us moved, intent on what he was saying, waiting to hear what he wanted me to know.

'I think you — ' he said, then suddenly whirled into action.

He was so fast, so fast!

He pivoted on his left foot, turned, clubbed down with the edge of one hand on Detective Al Irving's gun arm. We all heard the crack of bone. Knurr completed a full turn, a blur, and bulled his way past Glynis and Lou, all shoulders and elbows.

Then he was into the main cabin, running.

Stilton was the first to recover.

'Watch the woman,' he yelled at Lou, and took up the chase. I went rushing along at his heels.

Godfrey Knurr hurtled down the wharf, swerved left on to the pontooned walkway. It tilted and rocked under his pounding feet.

A young couple was approaching, chatting and laughing. He simply ran into them, through them, over them.

They were flung wailing into the fetid water.

Stilton and I charged after him. I didn't know what I was doing, except that I didn't want Percy to be alone.

Knurr smashed through the gate and headed for the south staircase leading up to the rotunda. Stilton had his gun in his hand, but there were people on the promenade, strollers and cyclists. They scattered when they saw us coming, but Percy didn't want to risk a shot.

Godfrey Knurr went leaping up the steps, two at a time.

I remember that his derby flew off and came bouncing 438

down. By then we were straining up the stairs. I thought I was fast, but Percy was stronger, he was closing on Knurr and I was falling behind.

We all, the three of us, went thundering through the arched corridor, a crypt. Two pedestrians, hearing and seeing us coming, flattened themselves in terror against the stained wall.

We came into the rotunda. Knurr circled to his left, running frantically, hoping to gain the exit. His unbuttoned coat flapped out behind him.

Now Percy Stilton had a clear field of fire. He stopped, flexed his knees, grasped his massive revolver with both hands, arms extended, elbows slightly bent.

'Hold it right there!' he yelled.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, Knurr rounded the fountain basin and came racing back towards us. His hair was flying, the bearded face twisted, bright with rage.

'Hah!' he shouted, raising one hand high in a classic karate position, fingers together, the palm edge a cleaver.

'Oh for God's sake!' Percy Stilton said disgustedly, sighted carefully, and shot the Reverend Godfrey Knurr in the right leg. I saw the heavy slug pucker the trouser a few inches above the knee.

The blow spun Knurr around. He pirouetted as gracefully as a ballet dancer. His momentum and the force of the bullet kept him turning. His arms flung wide. A look of astonishment came to his contorted features.

He whirled, tilting, and fell backwards over the rim of the ruined fountain. He went down heavily. I heard the sound of his head smacking cracked cement. His legs and feet remained propped up on the basin rim. His head, shoulders, and torso were flat within.

We walked up to him cautiously, Stilton with his gun extended. Knurr was beginning to bleed, from the wound in his leg and from a head injury. He looked up at us dazedly.

'Idiot!' Stilton screamed at him. 'You fucking idiot!'

439

Godfrey Knurr's vision cleared.

He glared at me.

I turned away, walked away, went over to one of the scarred pillars and pressed my forehead against the cold concrete.

After a moment Percy came over to me, put an arm across my shoulders.

'Josh,' he said gently, 'he wasn't a nice man.'

'I know,' I said dully. ' S t i l l. . '