Viper

18

Greenwich Village, New York City It was one of those icy nights when the sky looks sharper than a sixty-inch plasma screen and the stars shine so brightly that kids try to touch them. Jack spent most of it walking around, while the rest of the house slept. The house was cold. The heating was off. He sat in the kitchen and brewed coffee. While he waited, he looked again at the slip of paper Creed had given him. Luisa Banotti, Patricia Calvi, Donna Rizzi, Gloria Pirandello and Francesca Di Lauro. Their deaths in his hand. It had been clever of Creed to imply that, to write them down and press them into his palm. Stigmata of responsibility. It made it hard for him just to screw up the paper and forget them. The coffee boiled and Jack drank it black, warming his hands around a Yankees mug. Five missing women, their disappearances stretching back more than half a decade, linked by a strange pervert who had crossed continents to try to get him involved. It was no wonder he couldn't sleep. His mind was churning with thoughts about Howie too. The big fella was all beat-up. The divorce had knocked him sideways, and then the bottle he'd sought solace in had laid him out. Punch-drunk.

Jack crept back into bed sometime before five and the warmth and close comfort of his wife's body sent him to sleep.

Less than two hours later his cellphone woke him.

He'd forgotten to mute it and by the time he found it in the dark, it had tripped to voicemail.

'Sorry,' he said as Nancy turned over and stared at him.

The message was from Massimo Albonetti, and it wasn't the kind that anyone should start the day with.

'It's okay, put the light on,' she said. 'I'm awake now.'

She watched as he listened to the call, and didn't like what she saw on his face.

He clicked off the phone. 'Massimo.'

'This Naples thing?'

'Yes, this Naples thing. Massimo wants me to go out there.'

Nancy ran her hands through her hair to untangle it. 'Oh, he does, does he? And when exactly does he want you there?'

'Early next week. Just to talk to the local cops, brief them on Creed, share the documents he gave me, that sort of thing. It could all be important.'

Nancy did little to hide her exasperation. 'Is there any point me pleading that we're supposed to be on holiday? That this is our one break together? That it's almost Christmas and I still have to help Mom and Dad prepare?'

Jack put his arm around his wife so she had to lean on his chest. 'Listen, honey. I feel bad about this guy Creed going AWOL. I feel even worse about things I found at his hotel and comments he made to me. I have to do this.'

'Like what?' she snapped. 'What did he say?'

Jack recalled Creed's comment… more will die and both you and I will feel like we have blood on our hands. 'Stuff, Nancy; just stuff.'

She screwed up her face.

'Listen, he might be a killer. If he is, then I don't want to think that I could have done something to prevent someone dying, but didn't.'

'And if he's not? What if he's just a weirdo, like you said?'

'Then there's no harm done, and I'll be back before the weekend.'

Nancy pulled herself from under his arm and headed for the bathroom. Sometimes her husband drove her crazy. Why didn't he just come straight out and say he wanted to be involved, admit that he ached to be out there in the thick of the action, racking his brains and testing himself? 'You'd better come home soon, even if he turns out to be Charlie Manson's murderous twin brother.'

Jack swung out of bed, smiled and told his first lie of the day. 'Don't worry, I'll be back on time, I promise.'