Riker shot a warning glance at the man in uniform. Waller had never served with Zappata, the former loose cannon of the SoHo precinct. A nutcase ex-cop was too dangerous to have for a friend or an enemy.
‘Where’s your damn partner?’ Zappata demanded.
Right about now, Mallory should be walking into Macy’s department store in search of New York’s tallest whore. ‘She’s busy. So am I.’ The detective was more blase about making his own enemies. And now he flirted with the idea of putting this man on the short list for Sparrow’s hanging. Was that ludicrous? Would Zappata have the balls to beat up a Girl Scout in a fair fight? In this idle moment of indecision, Riker put a cigarette in his mouth, then slowly fished through his pockets for matches – just to make the man a little crazier than he already was. ‘You got one minute of my time.’ Did that make the fireman angry? Oh, yes, and so tense his facial muscles were twitching. Some days, Riker really loved the job.
‘Your partner got me suspended from the Fire Department,’ said Zappata. ‘I guess I stepped on her toes last night.’
‘Yeah, I heard about you playing detective on the crime scene.’
‘That bitch is the one – ’
‘Nobody heard it from her. She never rats on anybody.’
‘Then how – ’
‘You figure it out. And now maybe you can explain the damn lightbulb over the front door.’
‘What?’
‘Zappata, I got a witness who says that light was out when the firemen got here. Now, I don’t figure you guys carry spare bulbs on the truck, so I’m guessing some jerk figured the bulb might be loose. So this freaking idiot reached up, twisted it. And sure enough, it wasn’t burnt out -just loose in the fixture.’
Riker knew he was onto something. There was too much white in the fireman’s eyes – fear. ‘But this criminally stupid fireman never thought to mention it to the cops. I guess he figured we wouldn’t care if the perp was some stranger hiding behind the garbage cans, waiting to surprise that poor woman in the dark. Naw, better we should think Sparrow opened the door for somebody she knew. Then we could waste a few days spinning our wheels.’
There was no one Riker hated more than Zappata. If Sparrow had come down from the rope in time, her coma-blind eyes would not roll aimless in their sockets, and she would not drool.
He had one last salvo to take this man down. ‘I’m guessing this moron fireman took his gloves off before he touched the bulb.’ Riker turned to the uniformed police officer. ‘Waller! Get a CSU tech over here.’ He pointed to the light fixture over the door. ‘Have him take that lightbulb and dust it for prints.’
Riker turned his back on the subdued Zappata and walked down the street toward his next appointment, on Avenue A, where he planned to kill off a ten-year-old girl for the second time.
The doors opened and the carnage began. Two inexperienced women were roughly pushed aside, and a man fell down on one knee. Shopping in the city was no game for tourists, otherwise known as the halt and the lame. Behind the display counters, men and women, flushed with adrenaline, waited on the enemy. Onward marched the hordes of customers – and one tall blonde in Armani sunglasses.
Everything Detective Mallory wore flaunted the idea that she was a cop on the take. The silk-blend T-shirt allowed her skin to breathe in style, and the dark linen blazer was tailor made. Even her designer jeans bore the detailed handwork of a custom fitting. And with dark glasses to cover her green eyes, she bore no resemblance to a hungry child who had once robbed this store on a regular basis, ripping off items from the shopping list of a drag-queen hooker.
Tall Sally had always been fanatically devoted to Macy’s and prized their goods above items stolen from any other store. Over time, the sales people had become too familiar with Sal’s apprentice shoplifter, ten-year-old Kathy Mallory. Sometimes the clerks had departed from the armor of New York attitude to lean over their counters and wave. This had confused the little thief, for she had only targeted Macy’s once a week, and she had never been caught in the act of stealing.
How had they recognized her?
As a little girl, she had not seen the obvious answer in her own intense green eyes and a face that was painfully beautiful – unforgettable. The homeless child had passed by a hundred mirrors in this department store, but failed to notice her own reflection in any of them. It had been a shock to discover that sales clerks could see her.
One day, the child had attempted to solve this old puzzle, deciding that unwashed clothing had made her stand out from the crowd. She had taken more care with her wardrobe, donning freshly stolen jeans before setting out for Herald Square. Her dirty hair had been swept up under a baseball cap, the better to blend with cleaner shoppers. And the little girl had added one more touch to her disguise, a pair of wildly expensive designer sunglasses with real gold frames – which no one in that middle-class throng could possibly afford.
And then she had felt truly invisible.
Fifteen years later, Detective Mallory had upgraded to even more expensive sunglasses, and the sales people had also changed.
She scanned the unfamiliar faces as she passed the counters, hunting a clerk who was seven-feet tall with long platinum-blond hair. Apparently, staid old Macy’s had relaxed the hiring policy. Or perhaps Tall Sally had convinced them that a job in their store was the fulfillment of a lifelong dream – and this was true. She found the transvestite working behind a cosmetics counter. Of course. Now Sal could steal all the makeup in the world, and without the assistance of small children. Voice jacked up to a high falsetto, the sales clerk said, ‘May I help you, miss?’
Don’t you know me, Sal?
No, there was no sign of recognition in the heavily painted gray eyes. Mallory held up her gold shield and ID. ‘This is about Sparrow.’
‘Put that away.’ Tall Sally’s voice dropped into a deeper, more masculine register. ‘Why’re you guys hassling me? I see my parole officer every damn week.’
Mallory lowered her badge. ‘Does Macy’s know about your rapsheet?… No?’ What a surprise. Sal had lied on the job application, failing to mention convictions for grand theft and corrupting the morals of minor children. Mallory laid her leather folder on the counter, keeping the badge in plain sight. Sal’s eyes were riveted to the detective’s gold shield, regarding it as a bomb. ‘Sparrow used to work with you. Does that help?’
‘It’s a big store, honey. What department did she work in? Can’t say I recall the name.’
What about me, Sal? Remember running out on me?
Aloud, Mallory said, ‘You and Sparrow were booked for prostitution in the same raids. You both gave the same street corner as your employment address. Don’t even try to jerk me around.’
‘Well, back in those days, I knew a lot of whores. You can’t expect me to remember every – ’
‘Does Macy’s personnel director know that you’re a man?’
‘I’m the real deal, Detective.’ Sal thrust out a chest of formidable breasts. ‘In all my parts, if you know what I mean.’
‘Sex change?’
Tall Sally nodded.
The parole officer had not mentioned this, and Mallory knew the thief had been incarcerated in an all-male facility. The surgery must have been recent. ‘Expensive operation. You didn’t get that kind of money working in a prison laundry. Doing your own stealing these days? Or do you still use little kids?’
‘I had some money saved.’
In other words, Sal had stolen a lot of money. But Mallory had a vivid memory of Sal holding a set of lock picks just beyond the reach of a child and making threats, saying, ‘Kid, if you get caught, forget my name, or I’ll mess you up real bad.’ Ten-year-old Kathy Mallory had snatched Sal’s picks, then walked up to a delivery truck and opened the rear doors in record time. The student had surpassed the master.