“I think he’s said all he needs to say to us,” Sissy put in. “For the time being, anyhow.”
Detective Kunzel said, “You guessed that he was going to call me, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t guess, Mike. I knew. It was forecast by the cards, very specifically.”
“I don’t suppose the cards told you his home address? Hey — sorry. I didn’t mean to be sarcastic.”
“Actually, no, you don’t have to apologize. The cards often give me a strong sense of where people live. Which neighborhood, anyhow — which general locality — even if they don’t actually give me a street number. But for Red Mask they’ve given me nothing. Not even which side of the river he comes from. And they haven’t explained his motive. They’ve told me what he’s going to do, yes. But they haven’t given me even the slightest inkling why.”
Detective Kunzel turned to the officers who were gathered all around him. “Anybody pick up anything from that conversation? Accent? Speech mannerisms? Anything at all?”
“Sounded local to me,” said Detective Bellman. “But he’s kind of sissy for a serial killer, don’t you think? All that stuff about losing his happiness. ‘I lost me.’ Sounded like something out of a woman’s magazine.”
“He’s educated,” said one of the uniformed cops. “He’s trying to talk tough and streetwise, but I’d lay bets that he’s been through college. It’s the words he uses. And he didn’t cuss once.”
“Age?”
“Difficult to say, but I think he’s younger than he’s trying to make out. Mid to late twenties, maybe. He’s straining his voice to make it sound gruff.”
“This I do not like at all,” said Detective Kunzel. “I prefer mad-dog psychos to educated misfits. Remember the Lincoln Penny Killer? Never caught him. Smartest serial murderer we ever had to deal with.”
“Who was he?” asked Sissy.
“Copycat killer. Historical copycat killer. Cut off three women’s heads to imitate the murder of a girl called Pearl Bryan in 1896 — Cincinnati’s most notorious homicide. Pearl Bryan’s head was never found. We never found these women’s heads, neither.
“It’s kind of a tradition when people visit Pearl Bryan’s grave they leave pennies with the Lincoln side up, so that poor Pearl will have a head when it comes to Resurrection day. The Lincoln Penny Killer always left a penny where his victim’s head had been. Kind of an intellectual joke.”
Sissy said, “If only we could find out why Red Mask is feeling so vengeful.”
“Who knows?” asked Detective Kunzel. “Look at Columbine. Look at that shooting at Virginia Tech. There wasn’t any why. The perpetrators had a giant-sized chip on their shoulders, that’s all.”
“I think I need to ask one of his victims,” Sissy told him.
“Please? Apart from that one girl — what’s her name, Jane Becker — all of his victims are dead. And Jane Becker’s told us everything she witnessed, which wasn’t very much.”
“Maybe the other victims saw more.”
Detective Kunzel’s eyes narrowed. “What are we talking about here?”
“A séance, I think you’d call it. I can talk to people who have passed over, Mike, especially if they feel an urgent need to explain what happened to them, which many of them do.”
“I see. Well, I guess you can try. But I can’t officially involve the homicide unit in anything like that.”
Sissy cocked her head to one side. “I wouldn’t expect you to. I’m just pleased that you don’t seem quite so skeptical anymore.”
“Hey — don’t think for one minute that you’ve made me a true believer. I still think that the future doesn’t happen till it happens, and I still think that when you’re dead, you’re dead. But after what you did here today — let’s say that I have more of an open mind. Maybe you can sense things that other people can’t. Maybe you can guess how tomorrow is going to turn out.”
“Who was Red Mask’s first victim?” asked Sissy.
“He was a Realtor called George Woods,” said Molly.
“Do you have an address for him?”
“Sure,” said Detective Kunzel. He took out his notebook, licked his thumb, and leafed through it. “Here you are — 1445 Riddle Road, Avondale. There’s a phone number, too. I mean, his address is no secret, it was in the papers, and the number’s listed in the phone book, but don’t tell Mrs. Woods that I gave them to you, will you?”
“I’ll be very discreet,” Sissy assured him. “She may not agree to my holding a séance, but I doubt it. In all my years I’ve only had a handful of out-and-out refusals. Most people will do anything to hear their loved ones again.”
Detective Kunzel turned to Molly. “Can she really do it? Like, if I wanted to talk to my pops.?”
“You always told me you hated your pops,” said Detective Bellman. “You always said he was a world-class word-I-can’t-use-in-front-of-present-company.”
“I did. I did. But I never got the chance to tell him to his face, before he died, and I would give anything to be able to do that.”
Three men and two women from the coroner’s office were wheeling in gurneys to take away the three victims in the elevator.
Sissy lifted the little silver and pearl cross she wore around her neck and said, “Good-bye, Mary, rest in peace. Please forgive me for letting you die in the dark.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Magic Garden
Sissy and Molly kissed on the steps of the Giley Building. The street outside was crowded with squad cars and ambulances and television vans, as well as scores of rubberneckers. From the hubbub of excitement going through the crowd, anybody would have thought that they were expecting the imminent arrival of a famous movie star.
“Cincinnati sightseers,” said Molly, in disgust. “Look, I’ll see you later, Sissy. Take care of Victoria for me. And Trevor. Well, I know you’ve been taking care of Trevor all of your life.”
Molly climbed into one of the squad cars to be taken over to Cincinnati police headquarters on Ezzard Charles Drive. A big, heavily built officer with curly white hair was waiting to escort Sissy down the steps to another squad car, to drive her back to Blue Ash.
She settled into the backseat. The interior of the squad car smelled strongly of cheeseburger.
“Excuse the fragrance, lady,” the officer apologized. “I haven’t eaten in six hours straight. Not even a candy bar.”
As he pulled away from the curb, he opened up a yellow polystyrene box and lifted out a twelve-ounce cheeseburger and took an enormous bite.
“I’m sorry, you know, but my captain thinks I’m what? The starving millions in Africa? I always say you gotta eat to function. Nobody can function on an empty stomach.”
“Well, you’re right,” said Sissy. She was looking out of the window, but she couldn’t help sensing the officer’s heartbeat.
Bom-pause-badom-pause. Clogged arteries. She could feel them. She could feel a pain clutching at her left arm, too, as if she were just about to have a heart attack.
“Got this at Zip’s,” he said, holding it up. “Best damned burgers in Cincinnati.”
“All the same,” Sissy told him. “You should watch what you eat, and how you eat it.”
“Lady, I wish I had the luxury. If I had the luxury, I wouldn’t be eating no cheeseburger in no squad car. I’d be sitting down proper with my napkin tucked in my collar and I’d be eating T-bone steak and mashed potatoes and plenty of gravy, with a plate of hot corn-bread on the side, and blueberry pie and ice cream for dessert.”