Ben said nothing to that but pointed to the last card, at the top. “What does this one mean?”
“Le Témoin, the Witness. That’s you, and what happened to you today.”
“I don’t get it.”
The card showed a man in a pigtailed wig and a frock coat stepping back from a picture frame with one hand raised as if he were trying to shield his eyes. But the picture frame, although it was elaborate, with curlicues and bunches of grapes carved around it, was empty.
Sissy picked it up and scrutinized it carefully. “I’m not so sure that I get it, either.”
Molly said, “Let me see,” and Sissy handed it to her.
“It’s a man looking at nothing,” she said, and handed it back.
“Exactly,” Sissy agreed. “But he’s obviously frightened of it, isn’t he — even if it is nothing.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Drawing a Blank
Outside Ben’s room they came across Detective Bellman, talking to a pretty blonde female officer in uniform. Detective Bellman looked very tired. His mussed-up hair was even more chaotic than usual, and his hula-girl necktie was askew.
“Hi, Molly. You got your descriptions?” he asked.
Molly folded back her sketch pad so that he could see the two composites that she had drawn. Detective Bellman flicked from one to the other and said, “Sure looks like we got ourselves two Red Masks, don’t it?”
Sissy said, “You’re absolutely certain that one man wouldn’t have been able to carry out both of these attacks?”
“No way. The stabbings in the Giley Building took place at approximately a quarter after nine. The Four Days assault started at nine eighteen. Even Spider-Man couldn’t have made from the Giley Building to the Four Days Mall as quick as that. It’s way across the other side of Fountain Square.”
“Something’s very strange about this,” said Sissy. “I saw this TV program once about serial killers. Sometimes they have admirers who hero-worship them and commit more murders in the same way, don’t they? Almost like a tribute. But if these two attacks happened at pretty much the same time, that can’t have been a coincidence, can it? If there are two Red Masks, they must have worked this out together.”
“That’s just about the same conclusion that we came to,” said Detective Bellman. “These killings weren’t random. They were planned — premeditated.” He checked his watch. “Listen, we should get these composites back to headquarters so that you can finish them off and we can release them to the press. Do you need a ride?”
An hour later, in the brightly lit art studio on the fourth floor of Cincinnati police headquarters, Sissy stood by the window sipping a cup of weak lime tea, while Molly finished shading and coloring her composites of the two Red Masks.
“Look at this beautiful day,” said Sissy, looking down on Ezzard Charles Drive and the sparkling traffic below her. “You wouldn’t think, would you, that something so horrible had happened? Not today. This is one of the Lord’s good days.”
Molly said, “Bad things always happen on beautiful days. I’ve been to so many funerals, you know, and it’s never been raining, like it does on TV. The sun is always shining and I always look at the casket and think to myself, ‘Excuse me, recently deceased person, why aren’t you here to see this wonderful weather?’ But I think I’d have a hell of a shock if they answered me.”
The door opened and Detective Kunzel came in. He looked even more exhausted than Detective Bellman. One of his shirttails was hanging out and his chin was prickly with white stubble.
“Hey, Molly,” he greeted her. “How’s it going with the composites?”
“Hey, Mike,” said Molly, using her thumb to rub vermilion pastel onto Red Mask’s cheeks. “Can you give me five more minutes? I’d like to put a bit more depth into this.”
“It’s okay, Molly, you got time. The news bulletin isn’t scheduled to go out until quarter after one.”
He collapsed into a chair opposite Sissy and ran his hand over his short-cropped salt-and-pepper scalp. “How about you, Ms. Sawyer? Do you have any ideas? Right now, I could use all the help that I can get.”
“Oh, really? Even if it comes from beyond?”
“I don’t care if it comes from Indianoplace, so long as it gives me a lead.”
“Indianoplace?”
“Indianapolis,” Molly explained. “Where nobody never knows nothing about nothing. According to these know-all Cincy folk, anyhow.”
Detective Kunzel sniffed, and loudly blew his nose on a Kleenex. “Goddamned sinuses,” he complained. Then he said, “You want me to be totally frank with you? I don’t have any idea if we’re dealing with two perpetrators dressed up the same, working some kind of premeditated plan, or identical twins, or a guy who can be in two different places at the same time.”
“I really have no suggestions at all,” said Sissy. “None that make any kind of sense, anyhow.”
“Try me.”
“Well, if you look back into the early days of American spiritualism, in the days of the Pilgrim Fathers, there were several recorded instances of people being seen in different locations at the same time. But they were only visions, you know? They frightened people, for sure, but they didn’t hurt anybody, and they never caused anybody any harm. They would never have stabbed anybody. I didn’t think that spirits were capable if doing that.”
“I was only kidding, Ms. Sawyer. This has to be two different guys, right?”
“I don’t really know. I mean, probably. I mean, yes.”
“So how about motive? Any spiritualistic ideas on that?”
“I think Red Mask might have had a logical motive to begin with, but not any more. It seems to me like he’s taking his revenge on anybody and everybody. He’s angry at them simply because they exist. And he seems to have found an accomplice who feels the same way.”
Detective Kunzel raised his eyebrows. “Do you have any idea why?”
“Not really. Nothing that makes any sense.”
“Your cards aren’t telling you?”
Sissy shook her head. “Usually, the cards are very specific. But not this time — not about Red Mask. I might have to try some other form of divination, like coffee grounds, or fortune sticks.”
“Okay. if there’s anything you need, just let me know.”
He stood up. As he did so, his cell phone played “Hang On Sloopy,” and he rummaged around in his coat pockets until he found it.
“Kunzel,” he said. Then, almost immediately, he covered his cell phone with his hand and said, “It’s Red Mask.”
He switched on the loudspeaker so that Sissy and Molly could hear his conversation, too. It was the same Red Mask — harsh and indistinct, with a noticeable Cincinnati accent. He sounded even more pleased with himself than he had before.
“So, how are you feeling now, Detective? A little anxious, maybe?”
“Anxious? I’m not anxious, you sick bastard. I’m blazing mad. You and your friend, you’re nothing but a pair of sadistic morons. Me and my people, we’re going to hunt you both down, don’t you have any mistake about that, and we’re going to make sure that you get what you deserve. A nice fat bolus of potassium chloride, one for each of you.”
There was a pause. Then, “Friend? What are you talking about, Detective? I don’t have any friends. That’s the story of my life. I lost everything, including myself.”