"Yes, she is, and everything's fine. She worries about you, of course, and keeps talking about coming over to see you. She wants us to take a trip to England, if you're planning on staying in Yorkshire for a while."
"Why don't you come? Is that the reason you're calling, David?"
"No, it isn't. I have some news for you, Mal."
I caught the change in his voice, the tension. My chest tightened. I gripped the receiver harder as I said, "From DeMarco?"
"Yes. There's been a break in the case. He just called me about fifteen minutes ago. Luckily, I wasn't in court today."
"Have they caught the killer? The gunman?" I asked in a tight voice.
"No, but they will, and very soon, Mal. This is what happened. Twenty-four hours ago, Johnson and DeMarco arrested a small-time narcotics dealer who operates in that neighborhood. Those arches under the elevated train tracks are part of his territory. Anyway, he's trying to strike a deal, to plea-bargain. He says he knows who shot Andrew and the children. Four local youths who hang out together, one of whom has talked about it. He's given their names and addresses to DeMarco, and he and Johnson hope to take them into custody today, bring them into the Twenty-fifth Precinct for questioning immediately. DeMarco's got a strong feeling that those unidentified fingerprints found on Andrew's Mercedes will match up with theirs. He's banking on it."
My legs suddenly felt weak, and I sat down heavily on the cut-velvet chair. I could hardly speak, but finally I managed to say, "If the fingerprints do match, what happens then?"
"The perpetrators will be taken down to Central Booking in Police Plaza and booked on charges of murder in the second degree. And all four of them will be booked, Mal, you see-"
"I thought there was only one gunman?" I cut in.
"That's what DeMarco believes, yes. But a person doesn't have to pull the trigger to be booked or found guilty of murder. Just being there, just standing there when the crime is committed, is enough to convict," David explained. "It's called acting in concert. If there's enough evidence, within seventy-two hours they'll go in front of a grand jury in criminal court downtown. And if they're indicted in the grand jury hearing, they'll go on trial."
"When would that be?"
"I'm not sure. It could take several months. Not only to get on the docket, but the assistant district attorney will want to be sure he has every scrap of evidence he can get, that he has a watertight case. DeMarco and Johnson will have to work their butts off on this one, and they will, I've no doubt. The prosecutor wants a guilty verdict, not an acquittal, and so do they."
"And if the youths are found guilty?"
"There's no death penalty in New York Slate, Mal. They'll get twenty-five or thirty years to life. No parole."
"I see. Could they-" I paused, took a deep breath, and asked, "Could they get off?"
"No way. DeMarco and Johnson are convinced they've struck pay dirt with the drug dealer, that they'll turn up all the evidence they need for a conviction."
"I hope so."
"They will. It's a personal crusade with them, especially DeMarco. Also, I know the judicial system inside out, and the judge will go for the maximum, trust me on this. The killers will never see daylight again; they'll never get out."
"Should I call DeMarco, David? What do you think?"
"You don't have to, Mal. He asked me to pass the news on to you. Anyway, I doubt that you'd get him right now. He's on the investigation full blast. Now that he's got this lead, he wants results fast. He wants to put these… animals away. He wants them under lock and key. Today."
"I understand. And thank you, David, for everything."
"I'm always here for you, Mal. Give Diana my best."
"I will. Oh, does Morn know about the break in the case?"
"Yes. I told her before I called you. She sends her love."
"Give her mine."
"I'll be in touch as soon as I have more information from DeMarco."
"When you speak to him, thank him for me."
"I will, honey. Bye."
"Bye, David."
After we hung up I sat with my hand resting on the phone, pondering everything David had told me. I felt nothing, only emptiness inside. Knowing the killers of my family were about to be arrested did not relieve my pain and grief. And it would not bring them back.
Gazing out of the mullioned window, I drifted with my thoughts for a while. But at one moment the sky darkened, and I lifted my eyes. The garden was still filled with sunlight, but on the moors the blue sky had turned, was curdled and gray. Ominous dark clouds were blowing in, and up there it had started to rain, just as old Wilf had predicted. Shivering involuntarily, feeling suddenly cold, I walked over to the fire and sat down on the sofa to get warm. And to wait for Diana.
I must have fallen asleep, for I woke up with a start when I heard her voice. She was coming into the library with Hilary in her wake carrying the tea tray.
"Hello, darling," Diana said, hurrying forward. "Are you feeling a bit better today?"
I would never feel better. But I nodded; it was the easiest thing to do.
She bent over me, kissed me on my cheek, and then went and stood with her back to the fire, as she often did, just as Andrew had done. Saying nothing, she surveyed me for a few moments. As soon as Hilary had put the tea tray down and departed, she said, "What is it, Mal? You look as if you have something to tell me."
"I do," I replied. "David called me a short while ago. There's been a break in the case at last."
"Tell me all about it!" she exclaimed. She came and sat down next to me on the sofa.
Her eyes did not leave my face as I recounted my entire conversation with David.
When I finished, her reaction was the same as mine had been. "Thank God," she said quietly. "But it won't bring my son and my grandchildren back to life…" Her voice wavered slightly, and she took a moment to regain her composure, then she added, "But at least we know that justice will be done, and that those responsible will be punished."
"It's small comfort," I murmured. "But it's better than knowing they are free."
"And that they might kill again," Diana said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
"I have to go to Paris on Wednesday," Diana said. "Why don't you come to London with me tomorrow? And then we'll go to Paris together. I think it would do you good, Mal."
Diana and I were sitting in the library on Sunday morning, reading the newspapers. Or rather, she was reading; I was merely glancing through them.
Looking up, I shook my head. "I don't think so. I'm still feeling a bit debilitated after the flu."
Diana stared at me for the longest moment, and then she said, "Nonsense, Mal, you're much better, and you have been for the last week. Your problem is your mental apathy."
Startled by her brisk, matter-of-fact tone as well as her words, I recoiled slightly, then said, "Maybe you're right."
"I know I am," she replied and put down her newspaper. Leaning forward, focusing every ounce of her attention on me, she continued, "Mal, you can't go on like this."
I returned her steady gaze, but I remained silent.
"What are you going to do? Sit on that sofa in this library for the rest of your life? Is that your plan?"
"I have no plans," I said.
"But you do have a choice. Actually, you have three choices. You can sit around forever, as you're doing now, letting your life drift away from you. You can kill yourself, which I know you've contemplated more than once, from the things you've said to me. Or you can pull yourself together, pick up the pieces and go on from here."
"Go where?" I muttered. "I just don't… don't know… what to do… what to do with myself," I began hesitantly, at a loss in more ways than one.
Diana sat studying me, her eyes full of love, her expression sympathetic, as it always was. Her voice was caring when she murmured softly, "I know only too well what you've lost-those you loved with all your heart, those most precious and dear to you. But as hard as it may seem, you must begin again. That is your only choice, Mal darling. Trust me, it is. God knows, you've nothing to lose, you've already lost it all, but you do have everything to gain."