Tony quietly closed the door behind him. He had not been in the room since the night with Mrs. Rowe. He went straight to his favorite set of place settings. His mother loved chinaware, particularly the delicate floral pattern of Spode. Tony loved china, too. In fact, he had spent several summers in England searching for replacements of the broken or chipped pieces.
Momentarily, a sense of peace settled upon him. Before he killed the boy, he had to choose the right piece. First, he picked up the sugar bowl and turned it to the light. Too precious. Tony caressed a teapot’s rounded side, so cool and smooth to the touch. Donnie had poisoned his aunt with tea. Holding the elegant pot up to the lamp, he grasped the spout firmly. With one quick wrench, he snapped it off. Slowly, he ran his claw finger over the edges. The break was clean and smooth. Carefully, he placed the broken pot and spout on the table and covered them with a snowy white napkin.
As he slipped a razor and a knife in his pocket, he heard the chant from the dark figures. “Kiss…kiss. One last kiss!”
“Good night, Mother,” he said softly. “One day, you will be proud of me. Perhaps I will learn compassion.” He turned out the light, and was gone.
CHAPTER 38
Katharine lay completely still in the narrow hospital bed, as if the slightest movement might destroy any shred of sanity. She tried to comprehend the dawning of her new world after last night. Thoughts like dark shadows hung over her, forcing realization. Her strength was no longer sufficient to protect her. Love and trust had been missing from her life all along. Such an understanding brought her façade crumbling down. She had to begin somewhere.
After leaving Tony, Harry telephoned his office. Surprisingly, Katharine Rowe wanted to see him as soon as possible about Marjorie’s estate.
Startled by the urgency of his own footsteps down the tiled hospital corridor, he felt clamminess creep over him. Impatiently, he edged by a cleaner’s cart blocking his way. Even if her room had been sunny, he would have had trouble recognizing Katharine. For fear of disturbing her lifeless-looking form, he moved silently toward the bed.
She looked even worse than she had in the emergency ward last night. The bruising encircling her neck had deepened to a dark purple, gashed with violent red burn marks. Although most of her cheek was covered in gauze, he could see the petal design etched in flaming red—so like the pattern on McKeown’s agenda. Punctured with a needle, her hand lay on the cover. What an unholy price to pay for her strange passions!
As he set his briefcase down, she turned her head slowly on the pillow. Her swollen eyes flickered open. Recognition was mirrored in her dark, intelligent eyes.
“You’ve come, Mr. Jenkins. Thank you,” she whispered.
He nodded. “What can I do for you, Katharine?”
“About Marjorie’s estate,” she mumbled. Her face, swathed in bandages, was like a death mask. “So hard to concentrate on anything…” Her voice trailed off, as if it pained her to speak.
Harry pulled up a chair and waited. “Do you remember what happened?”
“No.” There was a long pause. “Yes, at least parts of it.”
“Who attacked you, Katharine?”
She turned her head away from him on the pillow. “I don’t remember. It’s like a dream…you only get bits and pieces. “
“Was it Tony McKeown? You were going to see him.”
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “It must have been the Florist.” She began to weep silently.
Harry stood up and looked out the window. Rain spattered down over the parking lot. There was not much to see in the dreary view. Considering the horrific attack, no wonder her memory was poor.
Katharine began, “About the estate: I want out. Suzannah can have the house. I know how Marjorie felt about her daughter.” Her tone was flat, not bitter.
“So you knew.”
“Of course.”
“What about Gerry?”
“Gerry will go along with whatever I say.”
Gerry stood in the door clenching a bouquet of flowers. “What will I go along with, Katie?”
Katharine turned her head at his voice. “Is that you, Gerry?” she asked.
“Yes, it’s me.” Setting the bouquet on the bed, he peered down on her. “Jesus, Katie!” he whispered. “What happened?”
“She was attacked by a man last night,” Harry said.
“Holy shit! The Mad Artist? The Florist?” Gerry’s face flushed. “Who did this to you, Katie?”
“I don’t know. I can’t remember.”
Gerry glanced at Harry. “She has amnesia?”
“So it seems,” answered Harry. “But I suspect her memory is coming back slowly.”
Gerry turned back to Katharine. “What am I to go along with?”
“Nothing, Gerry. You can do what you want.” Katharine closed her eyes. “I’m just tired of fighting about the estate.”
Harry stepped forward. “She wants to withdraw her opposition to the second will.”
Every muscle in Gerry’s face tightened. “So Suzannah will get the house?”
“That’s what she’s told me.”
Gerry threw his coat on the chair. “God damn it! You can’t do that!”
“Do whatever you want, Gerry. I’m not stopping you,” Katharine said weakly.
Gerry leaned over and hissed, “Thanks for your permission. But without you, you know I’m dead.”
“Gerry, you’ll have to fight your own battles.”
“What? You’re dumping me just like that? You know I don’t stand a chance alone.”
“I’m tired, Gerry, of always protecting you. You’re too dependent on me. Look out for yourself, if you need the money that much.”
Pure hatred suffused Gerry’s features. “So you still see me that way? You bitch!” Reflexively, Gerry clenched his fist.
“Gerry, take it easy.” Harry moved toward the bed.
Gerry’s hand fell to his side. “Just like when we were kids. Nothing’s changed, has it?”
Katharine’s eyes hardened. “Gerry, I looked out for you all along. I can’t do it anymore.”
“Listen, this dental clinic’s destroying me. I’ve got a wife who spends like crazy and a son whose psychiatrist bills are sinking me. I have to have that money.”
Katharine seemed to withdraw. Her eyes grew flat and lifeless.
“Answer me! Why are you giving up?” Shaking his head, Gerry backed away. “Just like you, Katie. You won’t say who attacked you.” Gerry started to pace. “You won’t say why you’re giving up on the house. You just collect your dirty little secrets and keep them to use someday.” He stood over her, jabbing his finger. “Just like you’ve always done. No big surprise some guy did this to you.”
Katharine suddenly raised her hand. “Oh my God! I remember. We were in a restaurant.”
“Who was, Katharine?” Harry asked. “You and who else?”
Fright grew in her eyes. “He was asking me about Donnie.”
Gerry swung around. “Donnie? What about him?”
“He wanted to hire him as a summer student,” she moaned.
“God damn it, Katie. Who?”
Harry shook his head at Gerry. “Be quiet. Let it come back to her.” He took her hand. “What restaurant were you in?”
Recollection sparked in her eyes. “The City Bar and Grill, overlooking the City Hall Square.”
“Who were you with?” Gerry demanded.
Turning her head on the pillow, Katharine sighed. “It was McKeown, Tony McKeown. He’s going to hunt down Donnie.” Her eyes were bright. She clutched Harry’s hand. “He’ll kill him!”
“Jesus, Katie. We haven’t seen Donnie since the funeral. Where is this guy?”
Harry reached for the phone and called the police. Minutes later, he was still on hold, waiting for Sergeant Welkom. Slamming down the receiver, he asked, “If Donnie hasn’t come home, where would he go?”
“Marjorie’s. He has a key,” said Gerry.
“We’d
better get there right away.” Harry grabbed his case and with Gerry in tow, headed for his car.
CHAPTER 39
Donnie lay under the eaves in darkness for almost an hour. Wrapped in Gram’s fur, he was comforted by the warm, perfumed aroma. Now he struggled to be free. Through some loose shingles, he peered out onto the lawn and sidewalk. The goons in the Buick with the New York plates were walking up from the church.
Huddled together, the men talked and looked up at the house. Donnie held his breath to hear what they were saying. The fur tickled his nose and almost made him sneeze. The men climbed up the veranda steps, where he couldn’t see them.
“You think he’s still in there?” one of the men asked, twisting the doorknob.
“We saw him come in and he ain’t come out,” the other said flatly. “He’s probably hiding in the basement.” The man lit a cigarette.
“What’s this McKeown guy like, Bill? He’s a lawyer, right?”
Bill nodded. “I’ve done a few jobs for him. A real mean bastard. He wanted a complete report on Sasso’s execution.” After a pause, he concluded disapprovingly, “He’s a real sicko.” Bill tossed his cigarette over the railing and pushed past the bushes to the back of the house.
When the back-door buzzer erupted, panic shot through Donnie. They’d be looking through the kitchen window, ready to smash their way in. Donnie felt for his gun. If he hid behind the trunks, he’d shoot them when they opened the door. But they’d slashed Frank’s throat ear to ear. They could do anything.
Tony sat in his Jaguar in the church parking lot. Caressing the stick shift, he watched the house. In the rear view mirror, he saw the Buick with the New York plates, parked in the vicar’s space behind the church. Moments before, he had seen them struggling through the bushes at the side of the house. Climbing onto the back porch, they knocked a garbage can to the driveway and whispered loudly. Tony was disgusted with their ineptitude. Returning to their car, the two men disappeared out the laneway to the street. His message to call them off had gotten through to Benny. The boy was his.
Donnie dared not move from his cramped spot. Pulling back the shingle, he watched the Buick’s taillights pull out of the laneway. The car passed slowly up the street. When his breathing returned to normal, he shoved the gun into his pocket and headed downstairs.
Getting out of the Jaguar, Tony decided to concentrate on his pleasure. If Donnie were an intelligent boy, it would be amusing to match wits with him. He gazed at the house. There were plenty of windows on the ground floor to look into.
He would give the boy time to relax and breathe his last sigh of relief. On the sidewalk, he loosened his tie and then began circling the block at a leisurely pace. At the corner, he glanced up at the church. The massive oak doors were securely shut, presenting an implacable face to the world. Rather like the archbishop, thought Tony. And the archbishop wondered why church attendance was dropping. A chilly, light wind stirred the trees.
Tony turned up the alleyway toward a side door of the church. The thought of buying a church amused him. With the plans for the development of the shopping mall scuttled, the church had to sell out to him. Soon the whole area would be one prime block of real estate under his control.
A voice boomed out of the darkness. “Stop right there, mister. Where ya think you’re goin’?”
Tony’s eyes darted about, but he saw no one. Swiftly, his hand sought the razor in his pocket. Detecting a false note in the voice, he hesitated.
“This is private church property, mister, so get goin’ or I’ll call the cops on ya.” Still he could see no one.
Tony was expert in ferreting out weakness. Somewhere hidden in the voice he detected a pleading note.
“I said…get the hell out of here, or I’ll…” A massive figure loomed from behind the bin. Spotting a lead pipe in the man’s hand, Tony sprang back.
“Mr. McKeown?”
Shocked at hearing his name, he saw the arm go limp. Relief swept over him as the pipe clattered to the pavement.
“Jeez, Mr. McKeown, what are you doing here?” The huge man lumbered toward Tony and grasped his hand. “I hope ya understand, I was just doing my job. I gotta do my job looking after the church.”
John, the church caretaker, a half-wit, was almost twice his size. As the man wrung his hand, Tony was almost overcome by the smell of alcohol. Dropping the razor into his pocket, he stepped back. He didn’t want to kill him, but the idiot could place him at the scene. Another necessary killing.
McKeown’s voice was sharp. “John! Have you been drinking again tonight?”
“Ah, Mr. McKeown,” he whined. “Please, I was just out back for a minute—I wouldn’t let nothin’ happen.”
Tony fingered the razor in his pocket. “Look, John, you know I work for the archbishop.”
John looked skyward and then fastened his eyes on Tony. “Please, Mr. McKeown, don’t tell nobody,” John implored. “I gotta keep my job!” He almost cried.
“John, you’re a good man.” Tony reached up to pat him on the back. “So I’m going to trust you with a secret.”
John’s moon face bent close to his.
“I’m here on very important business for the archbishop. Can you keep that a secret?”
John nodded vigorously.
“Okay.” Tony tugged at the man’s sleeve. “Now listen carefully,” A sly expression slid over the caretaker’s face. “If you swear to keep it secret that I was here tonight, I won’t tell the archbishop about your drinking.” Tony stepped back to gauge the effect on him.
The simple man’s face broke into smiles. He nodded vigorously. “Sure, Mr. McKeown! As God’s my witness, I won’t tell nobody. But wait right here! I’m coming back!”
John broke from Tony’s grasp and ran to the back door. Tony strode after him into the church. The idiot was nowhere in sight. Rows upon rows of darkened pews confronted him.
“Mr. McKeown? Over here!” Across the church, in the far aisle, sat the caretaker. “I was just gettin’ a Bible, Mr. McKeown.”
“A Bible? Jesus Christ. What for?” McKeown sat in the pew next to him. “Look, John, if you’re playing games with me, I’ll—”
“Games? Why, no, sir, not me.” John’s tone was injured, his face innocent. “I thought you wanted me to swear, Mr. McKeown. I wanna swear I won’t tell nobody you was here, so I gotta have a Bible to swear on, don’t I?”
Tony rested his back on the pew and studied him. The moon broke from behind cloud cover and cast a pale light on John. His broad, round face was utterly guileless. Tony caught his breath. His skin was just like a child’s: smooth, soft, and hairless.
Summoning his best cross-examination manner, he said, “All right, hold the Bible in your right hand.” John grasped the book and faced Tony solemnly.
“Do you swear, John, that you will forever keep the archbishop’s secret that I was here tonight?”
“Sure, Mr. McKeown, I swear I never saw you here tonight.”
“If you tell anyone, you’ll lose your job, and when you die, you will burn in hell.”
A tear trickled down John’s smooth, round face. He clutched the Bible to his chest. “Honest to God, Mr. McKeown, I swear it! I’ll never tell,” he whispered.
Tony gazed at him, then smiled in satisfaction. He patted the caretaker on the shoulder and said, “Except for the drinking, you’re a good man, John.”
After McKeown left, John rocked back and forth in the pew. “Never saw the lawyer. Gotta keep my job,” he muttered.
Tears rolled down his cheeks. Didn’t Ma always say liquor was the devil himself? For sure, he was going to burn in hell. The church was so spooky at night, he wanted to turn the lights on, but the vicar would get mad. John lumbered up the aisle and opened the doorway to the hall.
Tony stood on the step outside and permitted himself one small cigar. Although he had scared John badly, if questioned, he would cry like a baby and tell all. He puffed on his cigar and looked up at the night sky. He could not
forget the caretaker’s soft skin. There was more than reason for taking care of the simple man.
A musician must explore all tonalities; an artist must master a broad palette of color. To become a virtuoso, he had to be fearless. Until now, Tony had only left his mark on women. It was time for a man. But John was huge. Although John’s strength was superior, Tony expected his own speed and intelligence would win out. He saw his knife cutting male flesh. It would not be so different, surely. Heart pounding, he reveled in the intensity of his curiosity and the pleasure of his excitement. If he could set his carving on the caretaker, Donnie would be easy. Tossing his cigar into the alley, he entered the church.
John was almost back to the office when he felt a cool breeze at his ankles. He turned around and peered down the darkened hall.
“Who’s there?” he whispered. “Please, you gotta come out.”
He heard the door closing and a swishing sound far behind him. There were footsteps, too. Wishing he had the lead pipe, he swung around. For moments, the huge, stooping man strained to hear. Soaked in fear, he forced himself to walk to the office down the hallway, dimly lit only by the red EXIT sign.
Once in the office, he felt better. At least there was a good light and a radio. Carefully unwrapping his ham sandwich, he tucked a napkin under his chin. He chewed methodically, stopping every so often to take a swallow of milk. With a trembling hand, he set down the sandwich. He stood up and opened the door wide.
“Who’s out there?” His voice quavered. Again he felt the cool breeze. In panic, he slammed the door on the faint swishing noise coming from the far end of the hallway. He’d check on the scary sounds later. He sat down and switched on the radio. To shut out his fear, John turned his chair back to the door.
Tony peered through the glass in the door. John was alone.
The caretaker was busy with the radio dial and did not hear the door creak open. He did not even see the shadow of McKeown’s tall figure cast on the wall.
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