I put everything back the way it was, not concerned about disturbing prints. Anybody clever enough to come in with picklocks would have been enough of a pro to wear plastic gloves.
I had to make five calls before I located Petey Benson in the Olde English Tavern on Third Avenue. Ever since he had been on a special assignment covering a serial killer case in London he had shepherd's pie on Sunday. He was alone, the remains of his dinner pushed aside, and he was finishing the paper with a stein of beer in his hand.
"Now you show up," he said. "Read the paper yet?"
"Uh-huh."
"Who's sitting on the story? All we got were official handouts."
"There's a loco loose, Petey. They're playing this one cool."
"Bullshit. What's the story? They said Velda was sapped and there was a killing in your office."
"That's the story. Hell, I came in after it was all over."
"Come on, don't hand me that baloney. A crackpot killing doesn't mean much, but doing it in your office does."
"All I can figure is, some gonzo came in out of the rain with a big mad on at something he thought I did and went after a guy who happened to be in my office at the wrong time. He made a messy job of it and got out without being seen."
"That sounds like a crock."
"It is, but it's the only crock I got."
He gave me a crooked grin and folded his papers up. "So what do you want with me?"
"What's the scoop on Candace Amory?"
"Ah, you have many faces, old boy." He picked up his stein and swirled the beer around. "You want one of these?" Before I could answer he waved to the waiter and motioned for two more steins. "Do you want a personal or a professional opinion?"
"Start with a pro rundown."
"Well educated, intelligent, brainy, intellectual, or is that being redundant?"
"The point's clear."
"She's sharp, mean as a snake, and when it comes to winning doesn't have any conscience at all. She takes every advantage she can of being a woman and doesn't seem to have chinks in her armor at all. She has powerful friends because she's so damn good at what she does and any political enemies who tried to lean on her didn't know what hit them."
"Great," I said sourly.
"She's got a nice ass, hasn't she?"
"I only saw her from the front."
"That's pretty good too." Petey chuckled. "Why the inquiry?"
"She's coming out in the open," I said. The waiter put the steins down with the handles facing in the wrong direction. I spun the mug around and slopped some of the beer on my sleeve.
Petey took a pull of his beer and wiped the foam from his lip. "Not to be unexpected. That lady has been waiting her chance. I take it she's into this thing with you?"
"She's asking questions."
He took another pull at his drink. "A wonderment," he said. He looked at me across the table, his eyes probing. "We have something big here, I imagine."
"Where did she come from, Petey?"
"Well, nobody does any great research on political appointments of that nature. The DA's office runs a lot of lawyers, plenty of lady lawyers too. But this one was a little special. After she got out of school she spent a year in the FBI, did private legal work in Washington, D.C., then came back to New York. It's easy to see why the DA's office picked up on her."
"She well liked?"
"Beats me, Mike. She probably is, but I don't know how. A lot of the hotshots date her, but she doesn't keep them around very long. She's still not married. Got a nice pad up near the UN." He hoisted the stein and drank the rest of the beer down without a stop. He belched, then said, "You got plans for the lady?"
I did the same thing with my stein but I didn't belch. "Nope," I told him. "It's just better to know what to expect."
That wise old face of his had a knowing expression and he leaned forward and laid his chin in his hands. "Something going down?"
"Something smells funny."
"Like the old days?"
I nodded and my eyes tightened up. "I don't like it, friend. I thought those old days were gone for good."
"Do I get the story?"
"Why not?" I said.
"You watch out for the lovely lady DA. Though I sure would like to see you two tangle, a real kiss 'n' kill situation."
"Thanks a bunch."
"No trouble." I picked up his check when I left. "You can leave the tip," I told him.
3
Burke had wanted Velda to stay quiet as long as possible, so I didn't get to the hospital until eight. We had coffee in the lounge and I asked him how she was progressing.
"She was lucky. You can't imagine how lucky. She was probably on the phone and tossed her hair all to one side while she was talking-"
"A habit she has," I interrupted.
"Anyway, she's awake and sedated."
"Did she say anything to you?"
He popped five spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee and stirred it around. "Sweet tooth," he explained. "No, she said nothing except hello and the usual 'Where am I?' but she's pretty aware of what's going on."
"Can I talk to her?"
"Gently, Mike, gently, and not for long. Nothing exciting."
"How long will she be here?"
"At least two more days. If that was just a simple knockout-type blow she would be home by now, but somebody tried to kill her."
I told him thanks and didn't bother to finish the coffee. I could see why Burke used all that sugar.
Pat had called ahead, and the cop at the door looked at my ID and let me in. The room was in deep gloom, only a small night-light on the wall making it possible to see the outlines of the bed and equipment. When the door snicked shut I picked up the straightbacked chair by the sink, went to the bed and sat down beside her.
Little by little I started to bunch up again, my hands squeezing the rails of the bed. My lips were stretched across my mouth and I wanted to hurt something or tear somebody apart. He should have told me. He never should have let me come in cold and see her like this.
Velda. Beautiful, gorgeous Velda. Those deep brown eyes and that full, full mouth. Shimmering auburn hair that fell in a page-boy around her shoulders.
Now her face was a bloated black-and-blue mask on one side, one eye totally closed under the bulbous swelling, the other a flat slit. Her hair was gone around the bandaged area and her upper lip was twice normal size.
I put my hand over hers and whispered, "Damn it, kitten . . ."
Then her wrist moved and her fingers squeezed mine gently. "Are you . . . all right?" she asked me softly.
"I'm fine, honey, I'm okay. Now don't talk. Just take it easy. All I want is to be here with you. That's enough."
So I just sat there and in a minute she said, "I can . . . listen, Mike. Please tell me . . . what happened."
I played it back to her without building it up at all. I didn't tell her the details of the kill and hinted that it was strictly the work of a nut, but she knew better.
Under my fingers I could feel her pulse. It was steady. Her hand squeezed mine again. "He came in . . . very fast. He had one hand over his face . . . and he was . . . swinging at me . . . with the other. I . . . never saw his face at all." Remembering it hadn't excited her. The pulse rate hadn't changed.
I said, "Okay, honey, that's enough. You're supposed to take it real easy a while."
But she insisted. "Mike . . ."
"What, kitten?"
"If the police . . . ask questions . . ."
I knew what she was thinking. In her mind she had already put it on a case basis and filed it for immediate activity. There was no way she could be foxed into believing the story of a psycho on the loose. We had been too close too long and now she was reading my mind. She wanted me to have more space to work in, even if she had to be a target herself.