“Play the new piece,” Claire called after him. “I don’t think Bernice has heard it.”
Seth sighed as he sat down at the piano. In the last few days, he’d been so busy that he hadn’t had the time to play whatever came to his mind. The still-unnamed cat jumped up onto his lap and settled in. Seth warmed up for a few minutes before launching into a tune that Bud, Di’s husband, had made famous in the late 1940s. After Bud’s song, Seth started in on the abbreviated versions of the movie scores he’d been working on. These songs were going to have words set to them. With any luck, they would be radio hits, encouraging people to come to see the movies. Right now, they were just portions of Andy Mendy’s larger concertos.
Time passed.
As was always the case, Seth had no sense of time while he played. His spirit tracked the beginning and end of the music. He looked up when Claire came near him. She waved him back to the table, and he nodded. He played to the end of a passage. He looked at the wall clock. Three hours had evaporated. Getting up, he went to the table.
“Take a seat,” Claire said.
“Can I get anyone anything while I’m up?” Seth asked.
“We were just talking about getting lunch,” Bernice said. “Claire said that you wanted to return the money today as well. We thought we’d head over to Harlem and get some real food.”
Grinning at Bernice, Seth sat down at the table.
“Before we start, you should know that the New York City Manhattan Prosecutor filed a case against Hamnet Seurat and Alanzo Panteli Jr. for Delmer and Delilah’s murders,” Claire said.
“That was fast,” Seth said.
“He wants to be sure Seurat never sees the light of day,” Claire said.
Seth nodded in agreement.
“What did you find here?” Seth asked.
“A lot of nothing,” R.J. said. “That woman kept track of everyone and everything.”
Claire and Bernice smiled.
“I thought it was nice,” Claire said. “Like a look back in time.”
Bernice nodded.
“We set up everything into piles,” Claire said. “This large pile is mostly useless information. On top is the sheet that tracks your lessons with Bud. I didn’t know if you wanted them for your biographer.”
“Biographer?” Seth snorted a laugh. “No. We can recycle that.”
“We’re not throwing anything away,” R.J. said
Claire and Bernice nodded.
“Did you find anything about Seurat and his mother?” Seth asked.
“I was just getting to that,” Claire said. She put her hand over a smaller stack of paper. “This is about everything related to Delilah and Delmer. Di doesn’t specifically reference Seurat. She notes him as Delilah’s child.”
Seth took a breath to speak, but Claire held up a finger.
“This small stack holds a few questions,” Claire said.
Claire nodded to Bernice, and Bernice picked the first sheet off the top of the stack.
“There’s so much here that we had to be careful to focus on just what we were looking for,” Bernice said. “A few times, we were each lost in a memory of some fun time or event. Di has everything documented. If it’s okay with you, Seth, I’d like to keep this. I’ve been thinking of writing a memoir. This would be really helpful.”
“Sure,” Seth said. “Of course. Is it up to me?”
“Seems to me,” Bernice said.
“Well, I’m sure that we’d all like to help you with anything you’d like to do,” Seth said.
Embarrassed, Bernice nodded and looked down at the first sheet.
“Di kept track of everything that had to do with her ‘girls,’” Bernice said. “She has here the dance lessons each of the girls took and those they gave too. There are some interesting assessments of the girls’ skills. This doesn’t specifically relate to our current situation. I put it here because I thought it showed the level of care Di gave. She must have been devastated when Delmer and Delilah were killed.”
“She spent a small fortune getting them buried,” Seth said.
“It shows here,” Bernice said. “The girls were not property to Di. They were some cross between children and real friends. For me, it makes more sense as to why so many people were devastated by her death. Well, you remember. The church was overflowing with upset people.”
R.J. gave a curt nod. Claire looked like she wanted to say something, but she remained quiet to keep things moving.
“I guess if we cut to the chase . . .” Bernice said. She looked at Claire and then R.J. The three seemed to come to some consensus. “Di did not like this child, Hamnet Seurat. That’s just my opinion . . .”
“Mine, too,” Claire said.
R.J. nodded and looked away.
“Di wasn’t . . . well . . . we loved her,” Bernice said. “But you probably know that she judged people the moment she met them. She adored Delilah and hated her child. She writes here that she thought that he was ‘possessed’ or just not right. Of course, the child was deformed and sick. But . . .”
Bernice sighed.
“I don’t know,” Bernice said. “Maybe Di didn’t like the child because he was weird. It doesn’t feel right to me because Di had so many weird-looking friends. But I will tell you, she did not like this child.”
“So, it’s possible that Seurat hurt animals or started fires,” Seth said. “Something that made Di suspect the child wasn’t good.”
“I don’t think that we can rule out plain prejudice,” Claire said. “Hamnet Seurat was a weird-looking kid. I mean, we don’t like to see prejudice in our friends, but it happens. Those were really different times and . . .”
“She was right,” Seth said. “There is something wrong with Hamnet Seurat that goes way beyond his deformities and his illness.”
“That boy has a deformity in his soul,” R.J. said with a nod.
“Did you find the recipe or whatever that helped the child?” Seth asked.
“Well . . .” Claire said.
“I found the page,” Bernice said.
She held up a sheet from the Filofax. The bottom half of the page appears to have been torn off. Seth winced at the sight of it.
“Any ideas?” Seth asked.
“We thought you could give it to Oscar and see what he comes up with,” Claire said. “Maybe the person who took it left prints or DNA or something that is traceable.”
“Does it say anything about the person who invented this remedy?” Seth asked.
“It was one of Di’s girls,” Bernice said. “She went by the name of ‘Black Rail.’”
“Like the marsh bird?” Seth asked.
“Secretive,” Bernice said. “Or at least that’s what Di wrote. Her birth name was Ethel. Di called her Black Rail because she was secretive.”
“And she was known to be a voodoo priestess,” R.J. said.
“Is she Wilma’s mother?” Seth asked. “Supposedly Big Daddy’s sister?”
“Her,” Bernice said with a derisive sniff.
“So Di had a copy of Ethel’s remedy in the Filofax,” Seth said. “We believe that this remedy helped to keep Delilah’s child well, or as well as possible. We don’t know what the remedy is because someone stole it.”
“Right,” Bernice said.
“Interesting,” Seth said. “Any idea who?”
“None,” Claire said.
“Could have been Di herself,” R.J. said. “It’s clear that she thought that the child was evil. She could have destroyed this remedy to make sure he never got the help he needed.”
“I assume Panteli Jr. has asked for it before,” Seth said.
“Not from what’s in here,” R.J. said.
“I don’t remember anything like that,” Bernice said. “Big Daddy didn’t like the Italian Mob — the Pantelis, in particular. They did their business, and he did his. Their paths never crossed.”
“Did Big Daddy work with other gangs?” Claire asked.
“Sure,”
R.J. said quickly. “You have to work with people to keep the business moving.”
Bernice nodded. Seth didn’t say anything for a moment while he thought it through.
“What do we make of all of this?” Seth asked.
“I thought we could go and ask Louise about it. According to this . . .” Claire gestured to the Filofax. “Louise and Ethel were good friends. Louise could have easily taken the recipe for her friend’s child.”
“At the very least, Louise might know how it was made,” Bernice said.
“Since we’re heading in that direction,” Seth said with a grin.
“We knew you’d say that,” Claire said.
“Who’s buying?” Bernice asked.
Claire and R.J. pointed to Seth, who pointed his own thumb squarely at his chest.
“I know just the place,” Bernice said with a smile.
They got up from the table. Claire and Bernice returned to their apartment for their purses and jackets. Seth went to get the stacks of cash. He left the cat in his room and closed the door. R.J. was waiting for him in the living room. They left the apartment and went to Claire’s. They had to wait only a few minutes before they were heading downstairs to the ground floor. Seth hailed a taxi and they sped across New York City toward Harlem. On the way, Claire called Louise to invite their friends from the Bethune Towers to lunch.
The four of them were soon joined by Louise, Ruby, and Justine. They’d just finished ordering when Che’Linda arrived with her baby. Hazel, Billie, Carl, and his wife were not far behind.
“Didn’t want to miss out on O’Malley buying some expensive lunch,” Carl said as he shook Seth’s hand.
“My pleasure,” Seth said. He took the stack of bills he’d found in Carl’s apartment and gave them to him. “I believe these belong to you.”
Carl’s eyes welled with tears. Seth patted the man’s back and gave a bundle to Louise. The last bundle went to Che’Linda. When Che’Linda tried to protest, Bernice was the first to assure her that the money belonged to her.
“Now you can buy me lunch!” Seth said with a laugh.
Claire pushed Seth’s shoulder. He bumped into Ruby, who spilled water all over him. Everyone laughed while Seth dabbed at the mess with his handkerchief. The rest of the meal was a combination of great food and even better company. Seth had not seen Bernice this happy since Big Daddy had died. Seth wished that Ava could have been here to meet the people who lived like legends in Seth’s minds. They were wise, strong, silent partners in the building of America. He felt like he was literally touching history. After paying the bill, Seth took a picture of himself with everyone so that Ava could see the magnificence of these people.
With promises to keep in touch, they trickled out of the restaurant. Claire was just giving Louise the replacement bottle of Hennessey when a young woman rushed down the street in their direction.
“Are you Claire?” the woman asked. She pointed to Seth. “O’Malley?”
Seth stepped forward to greet the young woman.
“How can we help?” Seth asked.
The woman’s face was a mask of terror and exhaustion.
“I need help,” the woman said.
Bernice stepped out of the restaurant.
“Wilma?” Bernice asked with genuine concern. “You look terrified. Come inside. We’ll sort this out.”
Ever the queen, Bernice turned and gestured for the young woman to go inside. Claire and Seth were turning to follow her inside when they heard the crack of a handgun.
Twenty-Six
The young woman slumped against Seth. Their eyes caught, and she pressed something into his chest. She slid against his body and onto the ground.
Claire screamed and dropped down to the girl.
It was only then that Seth felt the searing pain of being shot. He looked down at his abdomen. His mind worked out that the bullet had gone through this girl — “Wilma” Bernice had called her — and hit him in the abdomen, near his left hip. He slumped.
“Claire!” Bernice pointed to Seth.
“Oh, my God!” Claire jumped up. “Bernice! Call the cops!”
Claire’s voice was so hysterical that Seth felt his own soul drive him to comfort her. But he was in too much pain to move. He looked up at Claire.
“Take this,” Seth said. “It’s got to be the recipe. Get it out of here.”
“I will not leave you, Seth O’Malley,” Claire said with the same fierceness she’s shown as a fourteen-year-old girl. She dropped down to sit cross-legged next to him. “They will just have to kill me, too.”
She tucked the papers into her bra.
“Are you dying?” Claire whispered.
“I hope not,” Seth said. “Just knocked out my teeth. You think they’ll grow back this time too?”
That earned a watery grin from Claire. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw R.J. rush at someone or something. There was another crack of a handgun.
“Keep him from killing himself,” Seth said vaguely, but Claire had already jumped up to help R.J.
He felt someone grab his arm and drag him to his feet. He was suddenly face to face with Alanzo Panteli Jr.
“Thought you could sic the DA on me, did you?” Panteli Jr. said.
Panteli Jr.’s breath smelled of whiskey and desperation. Seth groaned. Panteli Jr. dragged Seth toward a waiting car. Seth heard the sound of running feet. Their lunch companions had run back to the scene. Claire was hitting Panteli Jr. in the face with her bare fist. Panteli Jr. reared back and punched Claire straight in the face. Seth heard some women scream and felt more than saw Ruby jump Panteli Jr.
Ruby clearly was an expert martial artist, but Panteli Jr.’s innate meanness, combined with his desperation, made him strong. He easily knocked Ruby off him and threw Seth into the back of a waiting car. Panteli Jr. was just closing the door when the crack of a handgun sounded again from outside the car. Billie, the soft, pleasant, elderly dance lady of the Savoy Ballroom, was holding a snub-nose revolver pointed at the vehicle. Panteli Jr. grunted and fell into the vehicle. The car took off. Billie fired the rest of her bullets at the back window of the vehicle. Seth ducked when the bullets broke the back window.
Seth’s mind whirled. There was little blood on the outside of his wound. But the woozy feeling meant that he was losing blood inside his abdomen. He glanced down to see that Panteli Jr. had fallen over into his lap. Expecting the man to get up, Seth pushed his shoulder. Panteli Jr. fell into the crack between the seats. Seth leaned forward to check Panteli Jr.’s pulse.
Alanzo Panteli Jr. was dead.
Grunting with pain, Seth leaned over the back seat to speak with the driver.
“Panteli Jr.’s dead,” Seth said. “I will make it well worth your time if you could take me to the hospital.”
“I can’t do that,” the driver said.
It took great effort to turn and look at the driver’s face. He’d assumed the driver was one of Panteli Jr.’s men. A woman was driving. He squinted and remembered that someone had told him that Seurat had married someone in the Panteli clan.
“Mrs. Seurat?” Seth asked.
The driver snorted at the name. She drove like a maniac around cars and pedestrians.
“I’m going to pass out in a few minutes,” Seth said. “If you want something from me, you’re going to have to get me to a hospital, or I’m not going to be here to help you.”
Seth’s eyes drooped. His head felt heavy, too heavy to hold up. He allowed his head to fall forward.
“Don’t bullshit me,” the driver said. She banged her hand against the wheel of the car. “Everyone is always trying to bullshit me. First it was my fucking father — ‘We don’t have none of that in my family.’ And lo and behold, I have a fucking cousin . . . and that’s why my own fucking father doesn’t have any other children or the dead piece of shit next to you and . . . I marry that disgusting creature, give him my bone marrow — pieces of my own body — and what? He did the whole fucking thing to get
back at you, and now he’s dying and . . .”
Seth opened his eyes to see tears run down the driver’s face.
“Your child is sick,” Seth said.
The driver’s head moved up and down in a nod.
“Do you know who I am?” Seth asked.
“Sure, you’re the great O’Malley,” the driver said.
“I always keep my word,” Seth said. “If you take me to the emergency room, just push me out at the entrance, I will do everything in my power to help you and your child.”
“Why would you help me?” the driver asked.
The light changed to red right in front of them. The driver drove straight through the red light.
“You see all those red lights?” Seth asked. “That means that the NYPD knows you’re here. No matter where you go now, they will put up red lights. It’s only a matter of time before they find you. You will be charged with every single piece of this bullshit, including Panteli Jr.’s death. Your child will die a painful death without you. What purpose does that serve?”
Seth spent the last of his energy on those words. He collapsed forward. The driver made a sharp turn into an alley just off of Central Park and jerked the car to a stop. She went around the car and opened the door to the back seat. Seth felt her push him back onto the seat.
“There’s no blood,” she said, almost to herself.
“Inside,” Seth managed. “Bullet.”
He pointed to the spot where he’d been shot.
“Shit!” she said.
“Victim,” Seth pointed to her. “You.”
She reeled back as if he’d hit her. She stood outside the car for a moment.
“Just need help,” Seth said in as loud of a voice as he could manage. “Dying.”
She reached in and grabbed him. Seth felt himself dragged across the asphalt of the alley. He wondered what he would tell Claire when she saw that his pants had holes in the knees. He could just hear her chide him about being a child. The thought made him smile.
The Cigarette Killer Page 21
