Tenth Commandment

by Lawrence Sanders

  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 432

  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.'

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  '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.

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  '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.

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  '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 discussin
g 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! '

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  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.

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  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!'

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  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 . . . '

  8

  There was a party at the house in Chelsea. The last had been such a success they all wanted another.

  It was a marvellous party. All the tenants were there, of course, and a boisterous bunch from the music world, Madame Zora Kadinsky's friends. Captain Bramwell Shank had invited a few cronies from his seafaring days aboard the Staten Island ferry. They were cantankerous old coots who spent most of their time at the two card tables set with food and drink.

  The party was well begun, noisy with talk and laughter, when I arrived. At the last minute I had run out and bought a two-pound box of chocolate-covered cherries at the local drugstore. I presented it to Mrs Hufnagel and got a warm kiss on my cheek in return. Madame Kadinsky insisted on introducing me to all her friends. I didn't remember any of their names, which seemed to be composed solely of consonants.

  As we moved about the apartment, my eyes were searching for Cleo. After the introductions were finished, I 440

  finally saw her in the kitchen, talking to Adolph Finkel. Or rather, he was talking and she was listening, a bemused expression on her face. They both held paper cups of wine.

  I observed her a few moments before I approached. She looked so clean to me. Physically clean, of course, but more than that. There was an innocent purity about her.

  She seemed untouched by violence, or even by evil. I could not conceive of her acting through malice or hate, greed or envy.

  She was wearing a loose chemise of challis wool in a sort of forested print. She was without makeup; her face was clear and serene. How could I ever have thought her plain?

  She was beautiful! That high, noble brow; the lovely hazel eyes; a dream of a nose; lips delicately sculpted. Her teeth were not large and prominent at all; they were jewels, sparkling. The chestnut hair fell free, gleaming. And when I remembered that elegantly sle
nder body, now hidden within the billowing chemise, I felt a surge of blood to my face, my breath caught, and my knees turned to water.

  I waited a moment longer, until my respiration had returned to normal, then I went towards the kitchen. Cleo looked up, saw me approaching. Her eyes widened, her face became animated, she glowed.

  'Josh!' she cried happily. 'Where have you been? '

  'Out of town,' I said. 'How are you, Cleo? Finkel, good to see you again.'

  'Bigg,' he said.

  Cleo, speaking in her soft, shy whisper, began telling me how concerned she had been — all the tenants had been concerned — because no one had seen me or heard me moving about since Thursday morning, and they feared I had met with some misadventure.

  I assured her I was in good health, all was well, and I had a great deal to tell her about matters we had previously discussed.

  Adolph Finkel had listened to this intimate dialogue 441

  with some discomfiture, his pallid features becoming more and more woebegone. I thought tears might flow from those weak eyes. He looked mousier than ever, the dull hair a tangle, a doomed smile revealing the discoloured tombstone teeth.

  'Well, Bigg,' he broke in suddenly, 'I guess the best man won.'

  He drained off his paper cup of wine, gave us a look of such martyrdom that I wanted to kick his shins, and shambled away, shoulders slumping. We looked after him with astonishment. I turned back to Cleo.

  'The best man?' I said, remembering Hamish Hooter and Yetta Apatoff.

  Then Cleo and I were giggling, leaning towards each other, our heads touching.

  'Listen,' I said, 'can we leave as soon as possible?

  There's so much I want to tell you.'

  She looked at me steadily.

  'Where do you want to go?' she asked.

  'Woody's. It's open on Sundays. Good food. I know the woman who runs the place. We can have dinner and drinks in real glasses.'

  'You're sure you want to go out with me?' she said, still looking into my eyes. She knew I had been afraid of being seen with her. Mutt and Jeff.

  'Positive,' I said stoutly.

  'I'd love to go to Woody's with you,' she said smiling.