Cold Day in Hell

by Richard Hawke

  “I’m a private investigator. I’m looking into what happened to Robin. It would be wonderful if-”

  She interrupted me. “I know who you are.”

  “You do?”

  “You’re the detective. You live across the street from Robin’s.”

  “I don’t actually live there.”

  “But it’s you. Robin talked about you a lot. She said you were a real calming influence. That’s a quote.”

  I asked, “Could we sit somewhere?”

  “Sure.”

  I followed her over to a bench near the door, and we took a seat. She crossed one pipe over the other and shifted around to face me.

  “Yeah. She liked you. I mean, this whole past year it’s like everyone was always trying to get a piece of her. First that asshole Fox, then all the magazine and TV people. Those creeps who were calling her up and writing to her. Who could blame her for getting all paranoid about people? All Robin wanted to do was crawl into her bed and put her head under the pillow. She said you seemed different. Like you really cared. It’s really cool to get the chance to meet you. But, I mean, well, not under the circumstances.”

  “I’m sorry about what happened.”

  “It still creeps me out. I mean, I still can’t believe it. You couldn’t meet anyone sweeter than Robin, I swear. Her hooking up with Fox in the first place was the craziest thing, I’m telling you. It was like some kind of weird fantasy. When he got arrested for killing those two women, Robin literally threw up. Literally. She’d slept with this guy for something like three months. I mean, I’m not pretending she was some kind of saint or anything. I’m not saying that. She had her thing.”

  “Her thing?”

  “Sex. Robin had a healthy sex life. Normally healthy. Not a freaky sex life, like they tried to say during the trial. She was a healthy American girl living in New York City in the twenty-first century, hello? You don’t go out and slaughter a person just because she wasn’t a virgin.”

  “Is that your theory? That someone killed Robin because they were disgusted with what they considered an immoral lifestyle?”

  “God, I don’t know. I’m just thinking out loud. Who can get into the mind of a freak? She was a good person. She was a good Quaker. It’s Robin who got me into the whole Quaker thing. She brought me along one day, and I really enjoyed it. You don’t have to sign up or anything like that. That’s part of what’s so cool about it. They accept you however you are.”

  I spotted Edward Anger over by the sweets table. “What about him?” I said.

  She followed my gaze. “Edward? What about him?”

  “I understand he kept in touch with Robin while she was holing up.”

  “Sure. He called her now and then. I think he went over to see her a few times. Checked up on her.”

  “Any Quaker queasiness on his part about Robin being caught up in this whole Fox thing?”

  Michelle laughed. “Oh, you mean like a scandal? No way. I just told you, the Quakers are very cool people. They’ve got that whole thee and thou rap, but come on, have you ever been to a Catholic church? I’ll take thee and thou over smite and hellfire any day.”

  “Mr. Anger was quite eloquent,” I said.

  “Oh, sure. Edward can’t say ‘good morning’ without turning it into a beautiful speech. That’s just the way he is.”

  I let it drop. “Did Robin ever talk to you about Zachary Riddick? I remember seeing some of her testimony. Riddick did a real sleaze number on her.”

  Michelle rolled her eyes. “No kidding. I was right there in the courtroom when he started up with that crap. Robin asked if I could be there for moral support on the days she was testifying. Were you watching the day he actually hit on her right there on the stand? Unbelievable. This is a defense attorney? The man is cross-examining the witness and he’s practically reaching a hand up her dress. I don’t mean literally. But really, he might as well have been. Robin told me afterward that was exactly how she felt up there. It was disgusting. Explain to me what is the relevance of a witness’s personal life, anyway. That whole thing was so disgusting, what they did to her. Fox is the one who seduced her, not vice versa. He’s the one with the reputation. But Riddick was trying to make Robin out as the aggressor. Like she was some sort of slut. Which couldn’t be farther from the truth.”

  “I know he was,” I said. “He was wrapping his whole defense around the fact that Fox and his wife got back together once he’d managed to free himself of all these wanton women who’d been taking pieces of him just because he was a celebrity down in the dumps. Riddick was just trying to find the angle to make the guy look wholesome.”

  Michelle exploded. “He murdered two women! What the hell kind of wholesome is that?”

  Heads turned our way. Tears had leaped to Michelle’s eyes, and she wiped at them angrily with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry, but he was a real freakazoid. I mean, Riddick. Fox, too. But Riddick. Do you want to know what he did?” She dabbed at her eyes with the back of her wrist. “When he was getting ready to put Robin on the stand, he called me into his office. I don’t know why I went. It was a stupid thing to do. But I don’t know how these things work. I thought, Anything I can do to help Robin. I got there, and he tried to get me to give him dirt on her. On Robin. I couldn’t believe it. But here’s the thing. He’d actually investigated me. He started telling me about stuff I’d done, he had a list with some of the men I’d dated, stuff like that. Like I was relevant to any of this? There was this one guy I’d gone out with just a couple of times, but there really weren’t any sparks. Riddick had dug this up. We hooked up with Robin one night, and there was actually some chemistry between them. Things were already fizzling with us, and he called up Robin and asked her out. Robin checked with me first. There’s no way she would have gone out with him if it had bothered me, but I could’ve cared less. I told her to go for it. They dated a bit. I think they slept together a few times. And it ended. Nothing to it. Life in the city.”

  “But Riddick was trying to pump it up?”

  “You bet. He kept trying to get me to say that I was secretly pissed off at her, that she was sexually aggressive and was a man-eater and all this crap. I told him to go to hell.”

  “It’s an old ploy,” I said. “Lawyers try that move all the time.”

  “Well, here’s the thing. While I was in his office? He came on to me. Big-time. It was just like he did with Robin when she was on the stand. The guy’s digging into my sexual history, and I don’t know, I guess it gets him all turned on. For some reason, he thinks he’s God’s gift to women. But I can tell you, he was no gift to me. I probably should have contacted some lawyers’ association or something. That couldn’t have been ethical, what he was pulling. You know what his basic move was? He started telling me what I looked like. I mean, like, describing me in detail. To me. As if I don’t know what I look like? Maybe he thought he was coming off as complimentary and sexy, but no way. I couldn’t wait to get out of that place. Then two days later, I was at a café near where I live. A place I always go. And there he was, just sitting there. Like he was waiting for me. With this big smile on his face.”

  “Are you saying he was stalking you?”

  “I don’t know. But it happened another time, too. I saw him on the subway platform. I mean, I guess it could have been a coincidence. But it was so soon after seeing him in the café. And there was that smug look on his face again. He started to come down the platform, but the subway pulled in right then, and I got on it. I hopped off at the next stop and waited for the next train.”

  “Did you tell anyone about this?”

  “About Riddick stalking me? Not really. I mean, I told a few friends. But I made a point not to mention it to Robin. Things were tough enough for her already. Still, it spooked me. I’ve been looking over my shoulder ever since.”

  “I guess there’s no need for that now.”

  “You mean with Riddick being dead? Yeah, well, you’d think so. But can I tell you s
omething?” Her eyes traveled around the room again before returning to me. Her voice lowered, and she scooted closer to me. A scent of vanilla scooted over with her.

  “Even though he’s dead and everything? I’ve still been having this really creepy feeling that someone is still watching me. Or, you know. Following me. I’m probably nuts, but I really feel it. It’s like…I don’t know. It’s like somebody’s eyes are literally on my skin. I can’t describe it, but it’s kind of freaking me out.”

  “Have you actually seen anybody?”

  “Seen seen? No. But someone’s there. I just know it. Right after I heard about Riddick being found dead in the park, I was heading back to my apartment, and I could have sworn there was someone following me. And it’s happened once or twice since. I don’t like it. First Robin’s killed, and then Riddick. And the phone message that was on Robin’s machine? I don’t know what to say. This town is beginning to freak me out. I’m getting really scared.”

  I gave her my card. “If it happens again, call me. Chances are you’re just being paranoid, which is perfectly understandable. But call me anyway. Just get yourself somewhere very public and call.”

  Michelle shuddered. Tears had come again to her eyes, but they didn’t fall. “I just can’t believe what happened to Robin. I mean, one day she’s alive and then…I can’t even begin to think how scary that must have been for her. Jesus. What kind of monster would do something like that?”

  I tapped the card. “You’ll call me.”

  “Oh yeah.” Her moist eyes blinked at the card. “You’d better believe it. I’ll cry bloody murder. Top of my lungs.”

  I prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

  12

  TWO BLOCKS WEST of the Quaker meetinghouse, I ran into Megan Lamb. She was behind the wheel of a departmental Crown Vic, which was angled against the curb. A man was behind the car, leaning his full weight against it, while Megan called out to him through the open driver’s-side door.

  “Get to the middle! The grid’s going to take out your leg!” She glanced up as I approached, showing no sign of surprise. “Malone. Do you want to make yourself useful?”

  I continued past her and positioned myself next to the guy who was leaning against the trunk. Young guy. Fresh-faced. “Watch out for the grid,” he muttered. “It’ll take out your leg.”

  The Vic had fudged the turn onto Fifteenth Street, and the left rear tire had found an icy groove of snow. No traction. A thin rectangular metal mesh grid had been wedged under the tire. The two of us leaned against the trunk.

  The guy grimaced. “She’s going to race it.”

  He was right. Megan laid on the accelerator as if kicking out of the gate at Daytona. The tire let out a giddy squeal as it spun in place. The rear of the car trembled but otherwise didn’t budge. Megan’s voice sounded above the squeal.

  “Push!”

  The guy and I shared a look. “You tell her,” he said. “I’m less than zero.”

  I stepped over to the open door as Megan let off the gas. “All you’re doing is polishing the ice,” I told her. “We’ve got to get you rocking forward and back. On the forward, just tap it.”

  She gave a noise that seemed to be an assent, and I returned to the rear of the car. We managed to get it rocking slightly, and after a few back-and-forths, Megan began tapping the gas. Third time was a charm. The fresh-faced guy and I leaned hard in to the car. The acid burn went through my arms, and the car swerved slightly to the right then stuttered back onto the street. A blur sailed past my knee. The metal grid. It impaled itself in a snowdrift.

  As Megan eased the car over and double-parked, the fresh-faced guy turned to me. “Ryan Pope. You’re Fritz Malone.”

  Nice of him to handle both sides of the introduction. I asked, “You’re Megan’s partner?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Maybe she should be letting you drive.”

  “Do you know what the sane man said to the control freak?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  Megan got out of the car. Her hands were bright pink and she cupped them, blowing into them. “He telling you about the flat?”

  “You had a flat, too?”

  “Uptown. On Lexington,” Pope said. He indicated the knees of his pants, which I now saw were soaked and soiled.

  “And then you got down here and skidded into the curb.”

  “I guess there’s no point in my buying a lotto ticket today,” Megan said.

  “I don’t know. I came along. Maybe your luck has changed.”

  “Are you coming from the Quaker place?”

  “I am.”

  “I guess it’s all over?”

  “Yes.”

  Megan frowned. “Then my luck hasn’t changed.” She looked up into the blank sky for a few seconds, then back at me. Her cheeks were two fierce pink spots. “Joe warned me you’d probably be poking around on the Burrell murder.”

  “Keen instincts your boss has got.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s any point in my even going over there.”

  “To the meetinghouse? There are probably still some people hanging around. They do the coffee-and-pastries thing afterward.”

  Megan addressed her partner. “Ryan, why don’t you get over there and see who’s left to talk to. If you find any live ones, hold on to them. I’ll be right there. I want to debrief Mr. Malone here first. I have the sense that he got all the goodies.”

  Pope nodded wordlessly and started off down the street.

  I turned to Megan. “Newbie?”

  “Pope? Not any longer. He’s growing up fast. Joe paired me with him when I came back in April. The kid didn’t exactly have the clout to say no.”

  “Why would he want to say no? Not because you’re a woman?”

  “Please. The woman thing was the least of it. You know perfectly well why.”

  “Madden.”

  She nodded. “Cops get spooked about cops who lose their partners. It was easier for Joe to assign me a greenie.”

  She was referring to Detective Christopher Madden, Megan’s partner the night she unloaded her entire service weapon into Albert Stenborg, the Swede. Having just nailed the identity of the monster who had been brutalizing young women in the city for over two months, Megan had radioed Madden from Chinatown that she was headed to Stenborg’s houseboat in Sheepshead Bay and to meet her there. She’d arrived to find her closest friend mutilated and dead at Stenborg’s feet, and after taking the monster out, she’d also discovered Chris Madden’s body on the galley floor, surrounded by a pool of blood. His heart had been carved out of his chest and stuffed into his mouth.

  “Let’s go someplace,” Megan said. “I’m not built for this cold.”

  We found a Joe Jr. on Third Avenue and took a booth by the window. Megan pulled out her cell phone and punched in a number. “Who am I looking for? At this Quaker place.”

  I was shrugging out of my coat. “You’re not going to believe me.”

  “Try me.”

  “Edward Anger.”

  She cocked an eyebrow at me then spoke into the phone. “Ry? Megan. See if someone named Edward Anger is still there. If you find him, call me.” She disconnected the call.

  The waitress came by, and we ordered a pair of coffees. Megan asked, “What gives? Did you speak with this Anger guy?”

  “No, but you’ll want to. He’s big cheese at the meetinghouse. They call them elders. It seems he was checking on Robin’s mental health from time to time.”

  “Interesting. In person?”

  “I believe so. I got this from a friend of Robin’s. Michelle Poole.” Megan was jotting the names down in her notebook. “Edward Anger gave a nice speech about how Robin’s spirit was still with us.”

  “Lovely. It’s what happened to her body that’s my concern.”

  “I assume you saw it,” I said. “I mean the body.”

  “Oh, I saw it all right. What kind of sick bastard does that thing with the mirror
glass? Do you know about that? He shoved a piece of her bathroom mirror right here.” She placed her fingers on the upper part of her throat. “Like he wanted her to watch herself die. Real cute.”

  “I saw the photos.”

  “Try it in living color.”

  “No, thanks.”

  She flipped her notebook closed. “All I keep thinking about is her up on the stand testifying. You could see she knew she’d made a mistake, ever mixing herself up with Fox. She regretted the whole thing. Do you remember what she said? When she broke down on the stand?”

  “I missed that part.”

  “‘I just want my life back.’ That’s what she said. ‘I just want my life back.’ I don’t know where you happen to stand on the great hereafter, but if there is one out there, what do you think that poor girl is cooing now? Same thing. ‘I just want my fucking life back.’”

  Our coffees arrived. Megan ignored hers. Her gaze went out the window to where a snowball battle was taking place on the sidewalk. One of the snowballs hit the glass just below Megan’s face. She showed no reaction.

  She turned from the window. “Joe says you knew her? Robin Burrell.”

  “Not really. I talked with her a few times.”

  “A few times. I guess she made an impression. I’ve got to figure there are better places you could spend your Sunday mornings than a Quaker meeting.”

  I felt as if I was slipping into a version of the conversation I’d had with Margo. The difference was, Megan Lamb sounded genuinely interested. She placed her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. “What gives?”

  I shrugged. “Sometimes things get under your skin. You must know about that. Robin Burrell was ninety-nine percent a total stranger to me. A few short meetings, nothing more. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t like that someone thinks they can burst in on someone else’s life and take it away like that. It pisses me off.”

  “You take it personally.”

  “I don’t take it personally. Don’t try to put that on me. It’s one of the things I do. I root out the creeps who do this kind of thing to people. I get a better night’s sleep when I can drag them through your door and hand them over to you. If I’d been the priest my mother wanted me to be, I’d have a different take on it.”