A reporter was asking – shouting, „Was it a sudden death?“
„No,“ said the old man. „She was ninety-two years old. It took a long, long time.“
In the background, a garage door flew open to reveal a young amazon in strapping good health. The girl ran into the front yard, armed with a baseball bat. She was heading for the reporters, swinging her weapon in blind fury and screaming, „My grandmother died of pneumonia, you freaking – “ The camera crew dispersed quickly, and now their lenses recorded the jumpy, quirky images of many pairs of feet running across the lawn at top speed.
Riker turned to Mallory and raised his eyebrows to say, I told you so. „Who are you gonna believe? Me or those clowns?“
The large screen behind the news desk went dark as the redhead stood up to greet a slender young man with a concave chest and a failed goatee of straggling hairs. Riker noted elbow patches on the man’s blazer and took this as a sign that the fop did no real work – probably a writer. But now the guest was being introduced as a weapons expert.
Go figure. In Riker’s experience, weapons technicians were all actual men – even the women.
Beside the newswoman’s desk, a large easel displayed the cartoon of a cartoon, a diagram of the Goldy balloon floating above the drawings of tiny spectators.
The weapons expert stood by the easel and pointed to bold blue lines drawn through the big puppy’s body. „This is the trajectory of the bullet. These lines mark the entry of the bullet through the tip of the dog’s tail, nicking the rear paw, passing through the hindquarters, exiting the dog collar and entering the jaw.“ He paused to catch his breath. „Finally exiting the top of the puppy’s left ear.“ His pointing finger moved to a position on the pavement, and the camera lens zoomed in for the close-up of a cartoon blonde with a gun.
Riker glanced at Mallory, relieved to see her absorbed in the newspaper.
„And this line,“ said the expert, „shows the origin of the bullet as being consistent with the position of the policewoman who shot the balloon.“
Mallory looked up as the newscaster turned to her television audience and flashed her glorious overbite. „So there we have it. Damning new evidence against the cop who shot Goldy. Expert testimony from the writer of best-selling technothrillers, Rolf Warner.“
„That hack looks familiar.“ Riker leaned closer to the television. „Hey, isn’t he the same expert they used to explain the war in Bosnia?“
The redhead was saying, „ – to recap for viewers just tuning in. We have the sudden death of a witness to the shooting. And the mysterious disappearance of another witness, Crossbow Man.“ The woman smiled, momentarily dazzling Riker with her large buckteeth. „The police have made no progress in their search. Our sources at Number One Police Plaza tell us this has all the signs of an NYPD cover-up. Crossbow Man is still – “
Mallory grabbed the remote control from his hand and switched off the set. „I’ll find that little bastard myself.“
„No you don’t,“ said Riker. „Coffey’s right on this one. You don’t go near Richard Tree. The lieutenant put two full-time men on the kid. They’ll find him.“
„So we do have an open homicide case.“ Suspicion was back in her voice.
„No, Mallory, we don’t. But somebody leaked the kid’s juvenile record to the press.“
And now she glared at him to say, So you were holding out on me.
Riker knew when to make a timely exit. He grabbed up his hat and walked toward the closet to retrieve his coat. „We’re following a directive from the mayor’s publicist. He wants us to find Crossbow Man and deliver him to the reporters. This has nothing to do with police business.“
He opened the door to the closet and looked down to see a cardboard package large enough to house a Shetland pony. „What’s in the big box?“
„Rabbi Kaplan’s bread board,“ she said.
Riker threw his hands up. „Okay, okay. Forget I asked.“
The young detective had left her gun hanging on the coatrack by the rabbi’s front door, but she still seemed a bit dangerous as she leaned over the kitchen sink with her screwdriver and coaxed sparks from a jumble of wires in the wall.
Rabbi David Kaplan stood near the empty carton and nodded politely, as if he were actually following her plan to extend wireless electricity across the floor to the outlets of the new butcher-block island. But he knew nothing of electrical affairs. Only his wife understood overloaded circuits and knew the secret location of the fuse box. So the rabbi had no idea what Kathy Mallory was talking about.
While she replaced the cover of the wall outlet, he averted his eyes and stared at the grand piece of furniture she had assembled in the center of the room. The cart was well crafted, surfaced with strips of hardwoods in complementing grains.
The rabbi shook his head in silence. Kathy always went too far.
Or perhaps this was an atonement of sorts. But was it for past or future crimes? Should he regret arranging an interview with the old man?
Too late now.
Mr. Halpern was looking forward to seeing the ‘pretty child’ he had met so briefly last night.
What was the worst thing that could come of their meeting again?
Well, Mr. Halpern was very fragile.
She had finished testing the outlets on the cart, and now she was frowning at Rabbi Kaplan, misunderstanding his expression. „You don’t like it?“
„Oh, yes, Kathy. I like it very much. It’s wonderful, but so – “ So extreme? So suspicious? „You broke a five-dollar bread board, not an heirloom.“ She had also broken his heart and shaken his faith. It might be a bad idea to let her get away with that. But he must pick his words carefully; she was not very tolerant of criticism.
„Last night, you said anyone at the table could tell Malakhai how twisted you were. How could you say such a thing in – “
„You didn’t rush in to contradict me, did you, Rabbi?“
Her face was turned away from him as she bent over to tighten a screw, but he had heard the cold accusation in her voice, the opening cut. The game was on.
„Kathy, under the circumstances, how could I contradict you? I would’ve stepped on your best line of the evening.“
Good parry.
The rabbi smiled as he stepped up to the butcher block and pressed his advantage. „But now I want to know if you really believed that, or were you lying to a purpose?“
„You believed it.“
He made note of her game point – a fast shot to a vital organ. His hand rested over his heart as he rallied with, „You think I believe you’re twisted? I never did.“
Was that entirely true? Well, no, but he had not intended to lie – not that time. Some of his counterpoints were pure acts of self-defense, words pulled quickly to fend her off. „I’ve known you since you were ten years old and – “
„Eleven.“
„Ten. You lied a year onto your age. Don’t deny it.“ Here he stopped to compliment himself on this maneuver, insisting upon honesty on the one hand, while the other hand was busy obfuscating the truth. „Helen Markowitz’s judgment carries more weight with me than yours.“
She was somewhat subdued by this. Invoking Helen’s name still had some stopping power, but it would not last long. He needed a hook of words to hold his ground with her. „I remember the night when Louis brought you home to Helen.“ As if he might have forgotten a child felon in manacles, a tiny hellmouth of obscenities. „Do you remember your room, the way it looked that first time Helen put you to bed?“