The Covenant Of The Flame

by David Morrell

  'Actually dead child. Infant. Remind me – how old did you estimate Joseph to be?'

  'Early thirties.'

  'Let's make it thirty-two,' Craig said. 'Because that's how old the other Joseph Martin would be today if he hadn't been killed in a car crash along with his parents in 'fifty-nine.'

  'And I'll bet there were no surviving close relatives.'

  'Oh?' Craig assessed her. 'You understand how this is done?'

  Tess spread her hands. 'Someone who wants a new identity chooses a community at random and checks the obituaries in the local paper for the year in which he himself was born. He looks for an infant who died that year and was either an orphan or was killed along with his immediate family. That way, he doesn't look older or younger than he says he is, and there's no one who can contradict his claim to be that person. The next step is to find out where the child was born. That information is often in the obituary: "so-and-so was born in this-or-that city." The person seeking a new identity then writes to the courthouse in that city, tells its record office that he lost his birth certificate, and asks for a replacement. People often lose their birth certificates. It's not unusual for someone to ask for another copy, and clerks almost never bother to check if the name on the birth certificate matches the name of someone who's dead. As soon as he gets the birth certificate, the person sends a photostat to the Social Security office, explains that he lived abroad for many years and didn't need a Social Security number but now he does. The Social Security office seldom objects to such a request. With a birth certificate and a Social Security number, the person can get a passport, a driver's licence, a credit card, all the documents he needs to appear legitimate, to enter the system, get a job, pay taxes, etc.'

  'Very good,' Craig said, continuing northward. 'I'm impressed.'

  'Reporters pick up all kinds of information.' Tess certainly didn't intend to add that the real way she'd learned about assuming false identities was by overhearing her father's phone conversations with business associates.

  Craig brooded, passing Forty-Ninth Street. 'With some cooperation from the federal government, I've been able to learn that Joseph began to use his assumed identity in May of last year. That's when he first started paying income taxes and Social Security. Since then, he's had two jobs, not counting his present one. The first was in Los Angeles, the second in Chicago. Obviously he didn't want to stay in any place too long, and he felt the need to put a lot of miles between one location and another. In each case, he worked for a video documentary company.'

  'Okay.' Breathing too fast, Tess concentrated not to hyperventilate. 'So Joseph had something to hide. Everything about him was a lie. That explains why he didn't want me to get close to him. The question is, what the hell was he hiding?'

  'Maybe you'll be able to tell me when you see where I'm taking you. Certainly I can't figure it out,' Craig said.

  'Figure out what? Where are we going?'

  'No. Not yet.'

  'What?'

  The problem is… See, first I have to explain some other things.'

  Tess raised her arms in exasperation.

  'Be patient. When I talked to the accountant where Joseph worked,' Craig said, 'I asked to see the paychecks he cashed. They're too large for a supermarket or a liquor store to accept them. He'd have needed to take them to a bank. And the bank would have sent the cancelled checks to his employer's bank, which in turn would have sent them to the employer's accountant. As it happens, Joseph cashed all his checks at the same bank. Back there.' Craig pointed. 'We just passed the bank on Fifty-Fourth Street.'

  'So you went to the bank, showed them a court order allowing you access to their records, and examined Joseph's account,' Tess said.

  Craig assessed her again. 'You'd have made a good policeman.'

  'Police woman.'

  Craig ignored her correction. 'Yes. That's what I did. I went to the bank, and the address they had for Joseph was the mail service on Broadway. That was also the address he told the bank to print on his checks. No surprise. What was surprising is that the microfilm records of Joseph's cancelled checks show that he hadn't made any payments for electricity or rent. Obviously he had to live somewhere and pay his utilities, so how was he keeping his landlord and Con Edison happy? Turns out, every month he sent a check for thirteen hundred dollars to a man named Michael Hoffman. Now take a guess who Hoffman is.'

  'An accountant,' Tess replied.

  Craig studied her with greater intensity. 'You're better than good. Right. An accountant. Clearly, Joseph was trying to increase the smokescreen that protected his privacy. So I spoke to Hoffman. He told me that Joseph and he had never met. They conducted all their business through the mail and over the phone.'

  'But Hoffman paid Joseph's major bills,' Tess anticipated.

  'No compliment this time – you're correct.'

  'Okay. With Hoffman's records and cooperation from Con Edison, you ought to be able to find out where Joseph lived.'

  'In theory.'

  Tess frowned. 'Another smokescreen?'

  'Right. Joseph's arrangement with his landlord was that the landlord would pay the utilities and Joseph would reimburse him. So Con Edison couldn't help us.'

  'But the landlord could.'

  Craig didn't answer.

  'Whenever you purse your lips like that… What's the matter?' Tess asked.

  'The landlord is a real-estate conglomerate that owns thousands of apartments. All their records are stored in a computer. They looked up Joseph Martin's name, gave me his address – in Greenwich Village – but when I went there, I discovered that the agency had given me the wrong address, that Joseph didn't live there. In fact, the real-estate firm didn't even own that apartment.'

  'You mean, someone made a mistake and typed the wrong information into the computer?'

  'That's one possibility. The agency's looking into it.' Craig scowled toward a traffic jam on First Avenue.

  'One? What's another possibility?' The lieutenant's somber expression made Tess nervous.

  'Suppose… I keep thinking of smokescreens. I'm suspicious by nature. I keep wondering if Joseph found a way to access the firm's computer and tamper with their records. He might have been that determined to keep someone from finding out where he lived. Or maybe he bribed a secretary to falsify the records for him. However Joseph did it, it makes me more determined to find out why,' Craig said.

  'But if you don't know where Joseph lived, where are we going?' Tess rigidly clasped her hands together.

  'Did I say I didn't know? I made a few assumptions. One was that since Joseph's bank is on the East Side and he arranged to meet you at Carl Schurz Park- '

  'And died there.' Tess squeezed her eyes shut, repressing tears. 'The upper East Side.'

  'That maybe Joseph's apartment is in that direction. Of course, his mail service is on the opposite side of town. But given his phobia about secrecy, it's logical for him to break the pattern. So I asked the precincts around here to find out if anything unusual happened from Friday night onward, something that might help us. That's how we caught Son of Sam. While the bastard was shooting his victims, he overparked and got tickets. On the weekend, there were lots of incidents. But after I sorted through the reports and eliminated several possibilities, I read about a fight in an apartment building on East Eighty-Second Street. An apparent attempted mugging. One of the tenants, a man, was assaulted. He ran from the building, chased by several men. They made enough noise that several other tenants woke up and peered out their doors, seeing shadows struggling on the stairs. Someone coming in late from a party noticed what appeared to be a gang chasing a limping man down the street.'

  'East? Toward the river?'

  'Yes.' Craig sighed. 'And this happened on Saturday night – or rather at half-past two on Sunday morning.'

  'Oh,' Tess said. 'Jesus.'

  'I spoke to some of the tenants who were wakened. They said the fight began on the seventh floor. That building has only four apartments per
floor. This morning, I got there early enough to talk to the people who live in three of those apartments, but I didn't get any answer at the fourth. The tenants in the other apartments said it had been several days since they'd seen the man who rents that apartment. Not unusual apparently. They hardly ever see him. He's a loner. Friendly but distant. Keeps to himself.'

  Tess frowned, more rigid.

  The name on the downstairs mailbox for that apartment is Roger Copeland. Of course, that means nothing. Anyone can put a false name on a mailbox. The neighbors describe the man as handsome, tall, in excellent physical condition, in his early thirties, with dark hair and a tawny complexion.'

  'My God.' Tess winced. 'It certainly sounds like Joseph.'

  The thing is, what the neighbors noticed most were his eyes – gray, with what they described as a glow.'

  Tess quit breathing.

  'And his unusual way of speaking,' Craig added. 'On the few occasions they spoke to him, he didn't say "Good-bye," but "God bless. "'

  Tess felt a chill.

  'Joseph used that expression often, you told me. So I got some keys from the landlord, checked the apartment…'

  'And?' Tess fought to restrain a tremor.

  'I'd rather not describe what I found,' Craig said. 'It's better if you see it fresh, without expectations. But I really don't understand what I… That's why I'm taking you there. Maybe you can make sense of it.'

  Craig steered toward the side of the road, parking in a narrow slot. Tess all at once realized that she'd been so engrossed by their conversation that she hadn't noticed they'd turned onto Eighty-Second Street.

  'It's just up the block,' Craig said.

  'You learned all this since yesterday afternoon?'

  'That's why I phoned you early and told you I wouldn't be in the office. I had plenty to do.'

  'But shouldn't Homicide be working on this? Not Missing Persons?'

  Craig shrugged. 'I decided to keep my hand in.'

  'But you must have hundreds of other cases.'

  'Hey, I told you yesterday. I'm doing this for you.' With a cough, Craig stepped from the car.

  Puzzled by Craig's statement -

  – was he saying he'd become attracted to her? -

  – Tess joined him, her confusion immediately changing to apprehension as she walked past garbage cans along the curb, approaching the mystery Craig wanted to show her.

  TWENTY

  The apartment building, one of many narrow structures crammed together along the street, looked different from the soot-grimed others only because its brick exterior was painted a dingy white. At each window, a fire-escape ladder led down from a rusted metal platform.

  Craig opened the outside glass door, escorted Tess through a vestibule Hanked by mailboxes (ROGER COPELAND, 7-C), pulled out a key, and unlocked the inside door.

  The interior smelled of cabbage. They proceeded along a hallway and reached concrete steps on the left that crisscrossed upward. An elevator faced them on the upper landing.

  The architect saved costs,' Craig said. The elevator stops at only every other floor.'

  'Let's walk,' Tess said.

  'You're kidding. To the seventh floor?'

  'I didn't get my run in this morning.'

  'You're telling me you run every morning?' Craig asked.

  'For the past twelve years.'

  'Holy…'

  Tess glanced at Craig's beefy chest. 'A little exercise might strengthen your lungs. Can you manage the effort?'

  'If you can do it, I can.' The lieutenant stifled a cough.

  'Just a guess. Did you ever smoke?'

  'Two packs a day. For more years than you've been running." He coughed again. 'I stopped in January.'

  'Why?'

  'Doctor's orders.'

  'Good doctor.'

  'Well, he's certainly persistent.'

  'That's what I mean. A good doctor,' Tess said. 'As long as you stop lighting up… Well, it'll take a few more months to get the nicotine out of your system, and a few more years to purge your lungs, but you're in the right age group. Late thirties. On balance, you've got a good chance of not getting lung cancer.'

  The lieutenant stared at her. 'Are you always this dismally reassuring?'

  'I guess I hate to see people damage themselves the way they seem determined to damage the planet.'

  'I keep forgetting you're an environmentalist.'

  'An optimist. I'm hoping if I try hard enough, and if others try hard enough, we might actually be able to clean up this mess.'

  'Well.' Craig coughed and gripped the bannister. I'm prepared to do my share. Let's go. Seven floors. No problem. But listen, if I get tired, can I lean on your shoulder?'

  TWENTY-ONE

  Craig was out of breath, his brow beaded with sweat, when they reached the seventh floor. But he hadn't complained, and he hadn't stopped to take a rest. Tess gave him credit for being determined. 'There. That's my exercise for the month,' Craig said. 'Don't break the start of a pattern. Try again tomorrow.' 'Maybe. You never know. I might surprise you.' The lieutenant's mischievous grin made Tess suspect that he was trying to make her feel at ease.

  To the left, they faced 7-C. There wasn't any name in the slot below the apartment's number. A metal sign on the door said ACE ALARM SYSTEM.

  'You'd better put these on,' Craig said. He handed her rubber gloves and coverings for her sneakers. 'Homicide was here this morning. They took photographs and did a preliminary dusting for fingerprints. But they'll be back, and even though I've got permission to show you the apartment, we don't want to disturb it anymore than necessary.'

  Craig had rubber gloves and shoe coverings for himself as well. After knocking and getting no answer, he pulled two keys from his pocket and unlocked two deadbolts. But when he twisted the doorknob, Tess placed a nervous hand on his arm.

  'Is something wrong?' Craig asked.

  'Are you sure there's nothing inside that'll gross me out?'

  'You'll be disturbed. But I guarantee – this won't be like the morgue. Trust me. You don't need to feel afraid.'

  'Okay.' Tess compacted her muscles. 'I'm ready. Let's do it.'

  The lieutenant swung the door inward.

  Tess saw a white corridor. A red light glowed on an alarm box to the right. The alarm was primitive – no number pad, just a switch, presumably because the landlord had economized by installing the least expensive model.

  Craig flicked the switch down. The light went off.

  They entered the corridor. Beyond the alarm box, Tess saw a small bathroom to the right. A sink, a commode, a tub, no shower stall. The tub was old enough that its rim was curved, oval instead of rectangular, metal feet supporting it. But despite its age, and that of the sink and commode, the pitted white surfaces gleamed.

  Tess concentrated so hard that the sound the lieutenant made when he shut the door surprised her, making her flinch.

  'Notice anything?' Craig said behind her.

  Tess studied the neatly folded, clean towel and washcloth on a shiny metal rod next to the sink. On the sink itself, a toothbrush that looked new stood in a sparkling glass. The mirror on the medicine cabinet shone.

  'Joseph was a better housekeeper than I am, that's for sure.'

  'Look closer.' Craig edged past her. Entering the bathroom, he opened the medicine cabinet.

  Tess peered inside. A razor. A package of blades. A tube of Old Spice shaving cream. A tube of Crest toothpaste. The tubes were methodically rolled up from the bottom and set in an ordered row. A bottle of Old Spice aftershave lotion. A bottle of Redken shampoo. A packet of dental floss.

  'So?' Tess asked.

  The basics. Only the basics. In fact, for most people, less than the basics. In all my years of being a detective, of searching the rooms that belong to missing persons, I've never yet seen a medicine cabinet that didn't contain at least one prescription medicine. An antibiotic or an antihistamine, for example.'

  Tess opened her mouth to respond.

&
nbsp; Craig raised his hand to interrupt. 'Okay, from the way you describe him, Joseph was healthy, exercised every day, ate right, took care of himself. But Tess, there isn't even an aspirin bottle, and everybody – I don't care how healthy Joseph was – keeps aspirins. I mean everybody. I checked the rest of the apartment. I found vitamins in the kitchen. But aspirins?' The lieutenant shook his head. The guy was a purist.'

  'What's so strange about that? He didn't like taking chemicals, no matter how benign they are. So what?'

  'I'm not finished yet.' Craig motioned for her to follow.

  They left the bathroom, continued along the hallway, and reached a kitchen on the left.

  There, the stove, refrigerator, and dishwasher were several years old, but like the sink, commode, and tub in the bathroom, they were polished until they gleamed. The worn but bright counter was bare. No toaster. No microwave. No coffee pot.

  Craig opened the cupboards. They were empty, except for a plate, bowl, and cup in one, and a few spotless stainless steel pots and a colander in another.

  Craig opened every drawer. They too were empty, except for a knife, fork, and spoon in one and two larger metal spoons appropriate for stirring food cooked in the stainless steel pots. To put it mildly, Joseph felt compelled to strip things down to the absolute essentials. The vitamins are in the spice rack behind you, by the way. No sage, no oregano. Never mind salt or pepper. Only vitamins. And no alcohol anywhere, not even cooking sherry.'

  'So Joseph didn't like to drink. Big deal,' Tess said. 'I don't drink much either.'

  'Keep an open mind. I'm just getting started.'

  Tess shook her head, bewildered, as Craig pulled open the fridge.

  'Orange juice, skim milk, bottled water, fruit, a shitload of lettuce, tomatoes, peppers, sprouts… Vegetables. No meat. No-'

  'Joseph told me he was a vegetarian.'

  'Don't you think he was taking it to an extreme?'

  'Not necessarily. I'm a vegetarian,' Tess said. 'You ought to see my refrigerator. The only thing different is I sometimes eat fish or chicken but only white meat.'

  Craig gestured impatiently around him. 'No cans of food in the cupboards.'