Old Black Magic
Page 21
NeVille apparently believed that Sweeney was his great protector and that Ryan had been the sole force behind his arrest at age seventeen, as well as the subsequent beating. Sweeney convinced NeVille that the most powerful expression of revenge would be to rape and butcher Ryan’s wife. When my friend read those lines, he blanched, tossed the files aside and strode out of the office without another word. He hasn’t looked at the records since.
Partly through the diary and partly through our own investigative efforts, we’ve discovered how horrifyingly circumstantial Sweeney’s selection of victims had been. Eileen Anderson’s ex-husband wrote an article on his failed marriage for a prominent men’s magazine, which Sweeney read and must’ve identified with instantly. Hope Williams met Sweeney at a hospital where he’d gone for stitches. Betty Galonardi encountered Sweeney in a bookstore on the occult and later hired him to check out a neighbor who’d been harrassing her. From Sweeney’s friends on the NOPD, we discovered that he knew murdered cop Peter Strampos personally and had most likely fixated on his ex-wife Lisa after meeting her at the Strampos funeral.
One interesting side note: Troy suspected that his cousin and Sweeney had had some kind of physical relationship as well, though we never found any evidence to confirm that.
From what we can gather, Fitzhugh Chamelle’s only apparent connection to the murders was his fixation on framing NeVille, an obsession that Sweeney had hoped to use to his own advantage when the right day came. Of course, his perfect scheme never did come to pass, thanks to the impact of a speeding F train with worn brakes. On the other hand, Chamelle’s body has never been found, so Sweeney was right on that one.
The two other pieces of the puzzle I managed to latch onto were small, but helped me to reach some kind of closure. Chamelle was the man who met K.T. at Café du Monde and followed her back to the hotel. I assume that the reason for his interest had been the final minutes K.T. had spent with Lisa Rubin, but this too will have to remain a mystery. Sweeney must’ve been the one who had ordered breakfast for me and worn the skeleton mask outside the Napoleon Bar. Both events bear the mark of his unique brand of game-playing.
The phone jangled inside. I heard K.T. scamper through the kitchen and snap up the receiver. After a moment, she shouted to me from inside the house. “It’s Beth. She and Carol are leaving Brooklyn now. They should be here in a couple of hours.”
I nodded to myself, sat up and stretched. Beth was handling Dinah’s abandonment fairly well, though I feared she was focusing so much of her energy on Carol, she might not have emotions in reserve if and when a new partner appeared on the scene. Meanwhile, Dinah and I have worked out a temporary financial agreement, pending sale of the brownstone, which doesn’t feel much like home these days.
K.T. stepped out onto the deck, rubbing her palms together nervously. “Honey, we better do this now, before they get here.” In the full sunlight, K.T. looked more beautiful than ever. Her copper-red hair brushed softly along her bronzed shoulders, the spark in her green eyes had returned, and her full lips puckered into a sweet, tentative smile. Helen of Troy had nothing on my honey.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” she asked.
I lifted Mallomar off the chair, then strode over to K.T. and folded her into my arms. “You better believe it. Now where is that darn tank?”
“In the bedroom, silly. Along with the syringe.”
“Well,” I said, taking her by the hand. “We better get going. It’s baby-making time.”
K.T. laughed lightly and followed me in.
As we climbed the stairs, arms around each other’s waists, I wondered out loud if she’d mind giving the baby my last name. After all, I am the dominant partner. The slap on my butt was all the answer I needed.
Miller-Bellflower would have to do. For now.
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