Angel of Mercy

by Andrew Neiderman

  “‘I’m singing my love for you …’”

  She went to the medicine cabinet and located Morris Kaufman’s straight razor. It was something of an antique and had originally belonged to his father. It had a white pearl handle and a blade of the finest tempered steel. It was made when craftsmen took pride in their work, when they made something to last. If Morris had had a son, he would surely have passed it on.

  She opened the blade and brought the razor to the tub. Tillie’s body was limp, the wrinkled skin around her shoulders and breasts slightly crimson from the heat of the water. Susie put the blade into Tillies right hand, taking great pains to keep her fingers over Tillies, and then brought it to Tillie’s left wrist. With the precision of a surgeon, she made a neat, deep incision through the artery. The blood rushed to the opening as if it longed to escape the confines of Tillie’s body. It streamed out and spiraled in the water, creating the prettiest red tint. Susie released the blade from Tillies hand and let it fall to the bathroom floor. Then she dropped Tillies wrist into the water and watched for a moment as the bath began to take on a ruby glaze. She sighed deeply.

  “Together again, forever and ever. Goodbye, Tillie.” She looked up at the ceiling. “You don’t deserve her, Morris, but she misses you terribly.”

  Susie returned to the kitchen, took off her gloves and continued to clean up. Content with how the apartment looked, she returned to the bathroom and felt for a pulse in Tillie’s throat and checked her eyes. She was gone. She and Morris were together again. She and Faye could leave Palm Springs and not feel that they had left some good work undone.

  21

  Frankie pulled into the apartment complex parking lot, found a space and shut off his engine. This was one of those complexes populated by more permanent Palm Springs residents, so there was a lot of activity with people going off to work. He checked the cars under the carport and spotted what he knew to be Faye Sullivan’s automobile. She and her sister hadn’t left town. He suspected that whenever things got too warm for them, they just upped and left. That was why they had moved from one place to another so often during the last few years. They were here; the question was, should he go any further by himself? A week ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated to apprehend two women not considered armed, but that image of Jennie standing in the doorway, the worried wife, lingered, and he had made promises.

  He decided to wait for Rosina and Derek, and he had every intention of doing so; but suddenly he saw the door of the apartment adjacent to the Sullivans’ open and a woman emerge dressed in a maid’s uniform. She paused, looked up at the sky and smiled strangely. It was Faye Sullivan’s twin sister, all right. She looked just like her sister, Faye.

  She didn’t close the door of the apartment. She looked back, and then she limped her way across the patio. But what caught his interest even more was what looked like a bloodstain on the skirt of her otherwise clean white uniform.

  He thought a moment, gazed at his watch, drummed the dashboard impatiently, and then got out of his car. Why did she leave that apartment door open? Why hadn’t anyone come to close it? He approached slowly, looking from the Sullivans’ door to the open apartment door. He stepped up to the patio, quickly reviewing the possibilities.

  Maybe no one was home. He checked the name on the door and read Kaufman. Perhaps Susie Sullivan had been hired to clean their place while they were away, he thought, and he gazed through the doorway into the living room. What struck him were the sheet over the television set and the sheet over the mirror in the entryway. He knew enough about Jewish religion to know this was a house of mourning. Someone had recently died. The new possibilities sent him reeling for a moment. Surely they wouldn’t do anything right next door to their own home, he told himself, but then he thought, it wouldn’t matter to them if they were psychotic.

  “Hello,” he called after poking his head in. “Anyone home?”

  Silence drew him farther into the apartment. It was immaculate, nothing in the kitchen sink or left on the counters. The floors looked vacuumed and scrubbed; everything was in its place. The maid had most certainly been working in here, he thought.

  But if it was a house of mourning, why wasn’t anyone here? Had the individual just died? Was everyone at the funeral? Not this early in the morning, he reasoned. No, he sensed something was wrong. His heart started pounding and he felt his breath grow alarmingly short, as his doctor warned him it might; but nevertheless, he continued into the apartment, gazing into the bedroom, where he saw the bed made. Just like everywhere else in the apartment, everything was neat and organized, perhaps too neat and organized.

  Even so, he was about to retreat when he heard it: the drip, drip, drip of water, encouraging him to go on. He entered the bedroom, listened, and then turned to the bathroom. The door was slightly open, the light on.

  “Mrs. Kaufman? Mr. Kaufman?”

  He waited. Just that drip, drip, drip.

  He went to the bathroom door and gently pushed on it. It swung open and revealed the dead old woman sitting in a pool of her own blood and water, her mouth dropped open, her eyes shut tight. Her skin had taken on the pallor of a corpse. He noted the straight-edged razor on the tile. Another murder made to look like a suicide, he thought.

  Dead people weren’t an unfamiliar sight to Frankie Samuels, but confronting his darkest suspicion was a jolt. He didn’t expect the physical reaction. For a moment, his head spun. He took hold of the door jamb and waited for his equilibrium to return. The raw stench of human death filled Frankie’s nostrils, so he turned away and walked toward the front of the apartment. Then he went to the phone and called the station.

  “Where’s Rosina, Billy?” he asked.

  “She just left, Frankie. Nolan held her up awhile. She said she couldn’t raise you on your car phone, but said if you called, to tell you she’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  He described what he had found and told Billy to patch the information to Rosina.

  “Tell her I’ll be next door,” he said.

  Next door Faye Sullivan had slipped into her skirt and then buttoned her pearl silk blouse. She stepped out of her bedroom and looked toward the open bathroom door. She heard Susie in her bedroom, but she peered into the bathroom first and saw her uniform hanging over the shower rack. On closer inspection, she spotted the bloodstain and Susie’s poor attempt to get it out of the garment. Her eyes widened with realization and she gazed toward the Kaufman apartment.

  “Susie!” she screamed. She pounded the floor as she hurried out of the bathroom to Susie’s bedroom. Susie was standing there in her bra and panties, brushing her hair. She looked like a twelve-year-old girl again, innocent, sweet, and very dependent on Faye.

  “Good morning, Faye. I knew you were tired, so I tried not to wake you. Oh, I didn’t put up the coffee yet.”

  “Where were you? Why is there a bloodstain on your uniform?”

  Susie’s smile faded and she took on the expression of a child who knew she had done something wrong.

  “I’m afraid I was a little careless.”

  “Careless with what?”

  “Tillie,” she said. And then she smiled again. “But it’s all right. She’s gone. By now, she and Morris are together again.”

  “You did something this morning? Already?”

  “I thought I would do it as soon as I could so we wouldn’t have anything holding us back. I know you want to leave as soon as possible.”

  “But I told you … what did you do? Why is there blood on your uniform?”

  “Oh, that was the best idea, Faye,” Susie said with excitement. She put down the hairbrush and turned to explain. “I knew how worried you were about the … MO, so I thought and I thought and I came up with a wonderful alternative—Morris’s razor. Tillie didn’t get a wink of sleep all night. I gave her some tea, and some Dilantin, of course, and then we decided she should take a warm bath and rest for a while. Almost as soon as she went into the bathtub, she fell asleep … because of the Dil
antin … and then, I helped her leave. I didn’t watch what I was doing after I cut her wrist and some blood dripped off the razor, I think. But all the rest of it went into the tub with Tillie. Wasn’t that smart? Using Morris’s razor? It was practically an antique.”

  “No.”

  Susie looked disappointed.

  “Why not? Daddy was thinking of doing that, wasn’t he? One night he had his razor out and on the edge of the tub when he was bathing and you thought that was just what he was going to do. Then he asked you to shave him. You told me that. You did, so don’t deny it.”

  “Daddy didn’t have the courage to look at his own blood,” Faye said.

  “But he was desperate. You said he was desperate, Faye.”

  “He was. Even if he wasn’t, he should have been,” she replied.

  “Why, Faye? Why do you always say things like that? You never heard me say anything like that about Daddy.”

  “He never …”

  “Never what, Faye? What?” Susie demanded firmly, her hands on her hips.

  “Never … put his hands on you,” she said.

  “I don’t understand, Faye. What do you mean, put his hands on you? Hit you? Hit me?”

  “No, no,” she said and pressed her hands to her ears. There was a horrible buzzing in her head, but Susie didn’t seem to notice or care. She stepped toward Faye, pursuing.

  “Where did he put his hands, Faye? Where did Daddy put his hands on you?”

  “Shut up.”

  “You said it. I want to know. Tell me. Show me.”

  “I said shut up. Get dressed. We’re leaving. Right now. Right now, do you hear?”

  Faye turned and went back to her bedroom, where she had one of her suitcases packed and closed. She seized the handle and lifted it quickly, practically lunging at the front door.

  When he heard the front door of the Sullivan apartment open and close, Frankie stepped out quickly and confronted Faye.

  “Where are you going?” he demanded. Her gaze went to the Kaufman’s open doorway and then back to Frankie.

  “Who are you?”

  “What? You know who I am, Miss Sullivan. I’m Detective Samuels,” he said. “I spoke to you only yesterday.”

  Her eyes blinked rapidly. She did look like she had no idea who he was.

  “You don’t remember me?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. I forgot for the moment.”

  “So where are you going?” he asked.

  “I have to make a trip.”

  “Because of the things your sister has done?”

  “My sister?”

  “Next door, for starters,” he said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Didn’t she tell you what she did to Mrs. Kaufman?” Frankie asked. Faye didn’t reply. “Care to see?” he stepped aside and held his hand toward the open door.

  “This is ridiculous,” she said. “My sister told me nothing. I have to go someplace.”

  She started for the stairway. He reached out and hooked her at the elbow.

  “You are not going anywhere, Miss Sullivan. Let’s go talk to your sister.”

  “She’s not here. Let me go,” Faye said, pulling her arm free. She started away. He hurried down the steps after her and seized her arm again, much more firmly this time.

  “Let me go,” she cried. “You have no right …”

  “We can do this hard or do this easy, Miss Sullivan. Now let’s go back to your apartment and talk to your sister.”

  “I told you … she’s not in there.”

  “She’s there. I saw her go into the apartment not ten minutes ago. Now either you open your door or I’ll break it open,” he threatened.

  “What dramatics,” she said, her eyes flaring. “I’m telling you, she’s not in there. You’re going to feel like the fool you are,” she said.

  “Right. I know she’s not in there,” he said dryly. “But open the door.”

  Faye glared at him. Then she walked back reluctantly, but made no effort to open the door. She simply stood sulking. He shrugged and started toward the door, his posture suggesting he would break it down.

  “All right,” she relented. She dug into her purse and came up with the key. He stepped back as she opened the door. “See for yourself if you must. But hurry, I have someplace important to go.

  “You not going anywhere, Miss Sullivan. Not anywhere you want to go, that is. Just relax,” he said.

  He entered slowly. She was right behind him, hovering as he paused in the living room and then at the doorway to the kitchen. When he didn’t find Susie, he went to the first bedroom on the left, Faye’s bedroom, and peered in. There were two other suitcases on the bed, both open, a nurse’s uniform visible.

  “Doing a lot of packing,” he said. “Looks like this isn’t such a short trip, is it?”

  She didn’t reply. He entered the bedroom, checked the bathroom, and then looked in the closet.

  “Really, Officer, do you expect to find my sister hiding in the closet?”

  He came out and paused at the doorway of the second bathroom. Susie’s uniform was still hanging over the shower rack. He looked back at Faye. She had put her suitcase down and was standing with her arms folded under her bosom.

  “That’s your sister’s uniform, isn’t it? I saw her wearing it a short while ago.”

  “It’s her uniform, but it’s not her. I told you she wasn’t here,” Faye said. He looked at the second bedroom. The door was closed. He started toward it.

  “She’s not in there,” Faye assured him. Frankie looked at her and then opened the door on an empty bedroom. “Are you going to check the closets in there, too?” she asked.

  It was her calmness that unnerved him. He thought he would rather be facing a street criminal. At least he would know what to anticipate, but this cool and bizarre woman made him feel anxious and somehow at a disadvantage. It was as if he had stepped into dangers he couldn’t imagine.

  He studied the room for a moment and then went to the closets. They were empty. Naked hangers dangled on the rack. He checked the dresser drawers and found them empty, too.

  “Isn’t this … your sister’s room?” he asked, confused. “Are all her things in that suitcase?” She didn’t reply. He looked around the room and then fixed his gaze on the bed. How childish, he thought. He looked back at Faye and smirked, but she didn’t change expression. “Come out, come out wherever you are,” he sang, and then he started for the bed.

  “What are you doing? Don’t touch that bed. My sister is very particular about other people touching her intimate things. Don’t!” she shouted, but he reached out and pulled back the comforter, exposing the leg brace lying just where it would had it been on the leg of someone in that bed.

  Then his eyes fell on the pillow that had been under the blanket, too. Just a few strands of hair were visible. He lifted the pillow and pinched the wig in his fingers, holding it as if it were something contaminated.

  “What the hell …?” Leg brace, wig … The realization sent a shock through him. The excitement was tantamount to his having run five miles. His heart thumped and his head felt heavy.

  “Stop!” Faye screamed. “Put that down!” She lunged forward. Frankie turned to sidestep but took the brunt of her charge. She struck him in the chest with both closed fists and for a moment, it was as if he had been shot. The surprise, the power of the blow, the excitement, and the beating of his heart collaborated to bring on an attack. He reached out to push her away, but his arms felt like they were made of marshmallow. The room spun, his eyes went back, and his legs folded, dropping his torso with a heavy thud at the feet of Faye Sullivan.

  She stepped back and gazed down at him. His face was as white as mashed potatoes and his lips had begun to take on that familiar blue tint. She heard his gasps and shook her head. Her eyes blinked rapidly as she tried to sort out the confusion. The wig was on the floor, but it looked unfamiliar. Where was she? A gurgle echoed in Frankie’s throat, and she we
nt to her knees beside him.

  Quickly, she turned Frankie on his back and then, placing one of her hands over the other and interlocking the fingers, she pressed down on his chest with the heel of her hands on his breastbone. She leaned forward and began a rhythmic movement, alternating it with mouth-to-mouth respiration.

  “What are you doing?”

  She paused and looked up at Susie.

  “He’s having a heart attack,” she replied.

  “But he’s a policeman. He’s come for me.”

  Faye gazed down at Frankie as if seeing him for the first time.

  “I can’t let him die,” she said, shaking her head.

  “You can’t let him live,” Susie retorted. “Get away from him. Come on. Let’s get everything else in the car and go. Come on, Faye.”

  “He’ll die,” Faye said. She looked at Susie. Her face was twisted in a grimace of fear. Never did her sister look more pathetic.

  “But he knows about us, about me. And now he knows about Tillie. Get up. Quickly. Don’t you know what you’re doing?”

  “Of course I know what I’m doing. I’m a nurse,” Faye said proudly. She turned back to Frankie just as Rosina Flores came rushing into the Sullivan apartment. With her service revolver drawn, she hurried through until she spotted Faye Sullivan on her knees beside Frankie Samuels.

  “What’s going on?” she demanded, her gun pointing at Faye. “Get away from him.”

  “He’s having a heart attack,” Faye said calmly. “I’m giving CPR.” She started again. Rosina stepped closer. “I’m losing him,” Faye said. She got up and started out. Rosina didn’t move. “Get out of my way! Quickly!”

  Rosina stepped aside and Faye ran into her bedroom where she began to rifle through her dresser drawers.

  “There’s a dead old woman in the bathtub next door,” Derek said coming in behind Rosina. “What the hell’s going on?” he asked, seeing Frankie on the floor. Rosina nodded toward Faye, who pulled out hypodermic needles from the drawer and shoved something out of the way to find the medicine she wanted. She ripped off the protective cover of a needle and began to draw the medicine from the bottle.