She paused now and then to admire a few of the art deco pieces scattered about the roof-top facility, and generally disapproved of the clutter of objects on pedestals and sideboards. But every travesty of decorators was forgiven when she lifted her face to the skylight which spanned the whole of the wide room. A waxing moon kept two stars for company. A filmy cloud raced across the glass, gaining on the moon, then killing its light.
‘Death becomes you, my dear,’ said a cultured, dulcet voice.
‘I’ve already heard that one today,’ said Mallory, turning to look down at a woman with black hat and a face that was pushing sixty, not in the wrinkles, but in the pulled-back skin of the too-manyith face-lift. ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me how well preserved I am for a corpse.’
The older woman smiled a thin line of crimson lipstick. ‘You’ve got a smart mouth for a dead cop.’ And now the voice betrayed roots in Hell’s Kitchen when gangsters ruled, and the woman went up one notch in Mallory’s estimation.
‘I’m Betty Hyde.’
‘Mallory.’
‘Kathleen Mallory, isn’t it? Formerly of NYPD, currently of the consulting firm Mallory and Butler, Ltd. You’re staying in the Rosens’ apartment for the next ten days while your own condo is being redecorated. They’re old friends of your family, and you have their proxy to vote on the swimming pool in the basement. I have spies everywhere, my dear.’
But Mallory counted only two spies. The concierge knew she had the Rosens’ proxy, and Arthur the doorman had been fed the rest of the story.
‘And you sell gossip,’ Mallory countered. ‘Your column is syndicated in fifty papers around the country. You have a five-minute spot on Channel Two News. You’ve lived here for the past fifteen years. You have a full-size pool table in your apartment, and you change young men the way I change my blue jeans. You should pay your spies better, Miss Hyde. They have no sense of loyalty.’
The woman widened her smile into a brilliant grin.
‘Call me Betty. Everyone does. I like your style, my dear. May I call you Kathy?’
‘No.’
‘Even better. Well, Miss Mallory – ’
‘Just Mallory. Amanda Bosch gave me your name as a reference.’
She handed the woman a card, and Betty Hyde read the words aloud. ‘Discreet investigations? I love it.’
‘Our clients are government departments and universities, mostly research projects and evaluations. Do you have anything nice to say about Bosch? If we hired her services, she’d be working on sensitive material.’
‘I trust her with high-profile information, but I don’t trust anyone with the really good stuff. I do that research myself.’
‘I had the impression she hung out with you from time to time.’
‘Well, she does, or did, rather. She’s cut back on her activities for the past few months. I used to take her to parties. When I go fishing for young men, I need good bait. She attracts men nearly as well as you do.’
‘And in return, you introduced her to the right people?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are any of the right people here tonight? Anyone else who could vouch for her?’
Betty Hyde’s mouth curled up on one side in the attitude of All right, let’s assume I believe this charade. Mallory took stock of that attitude, and parried with a smile to say, Yeah, let’s just assume that.
‘I took Amanda to several gatherings in this very room. I imagine she’s met quite a few of the tenants. I don’t know which ones might have used her research services. Shall I introduce you around? And perhaps later you might accompany me to another party.’
Mallory was looking over the smaller woman’s head, her eyes fixed on the man standing by the long buffet table.
‘I think I recognize Judge Heart from the Senate hearings.’ Mallory nodded toward a tall man, graying at the temples and wearing a well-tailored black suit. He dwarfed the thin woman who stood next to him. Her gray-blonde hair was pulled back in a severe bun at the nape of her neck.
‘Yes, that’s him. And that’s his wife, Pansy. See the invisible strings? She can never get more than three feet away from him.’
Mallory did have the impression that he worked the woman like a puppet. Every utterance from his mouth called the woman’s face up to his with a smile that was too quick, too wide.
Betty Hyde said in a lower voice, ‘When you get closer, tell me if that isn’t a bruise under her make-up.’
‘You’re kidding. I thought he was – ’
‘- riding into the Supreme Court nomination on his women’s rights position? Yes. Amusing, isn’t it? If I could nail him as a wife beater, I’d do it in a hot flash. If you hear anything, it’s worth gold, my dear Mallory. They live in the apartment above yours. Any screaming, the sounds of a woman’s soft body bouncing off the wall – I’d be interested in anything like that.’
Hyde stared up at the younger woman, and her smile became a tight line as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other in the uncomfortable dance of waiting on Mallory. For a professional gossip, that drawn out silence would be like sunlight to a vampire.
‘I’ve already surmised that your condo isn’t being redecorated,’ said Hyde. ‘And Amanda Bosch is not taking on any new clients. If anything, she’s tapering off. I understand it’s a difficult pregnancy.’
Hyde smiled again.
And smiled.
Mallory, from the school of Never Volunteer Anything, continued to stare down at Hyde. Her face gave away nothing.
Hyde stopped smiling, and each woman squared off against the other, making measurements and mental notes, staking out the air between them with wires of tension. Hyde gave in first.
‘Never mind the research projects. You’re a private detective, right? It’s a logical career move for an ex-cop. Am I right?’
Mallory shrugged, and Hyde showed all of her teeth.
‘Now that you’ve moved into the private sector, let me give you a few helpful hints.’ She entwined her arm in Mallory’s and led her back to a corner of relative seclusion where only potted ferns gathered.
‘Mallory, people in your trade carry professional habits into what should be passing for social life. You don’t ask questions – you interrogate. You sound like a cop. Just smile a lot. These people love to talk about themselves. So, you’re working on a case, we’ve established that much. And we can definitely place it in the money set, can’t we? Did Amanda put you on to something? As if I thought you’d tell me. I also know how to protect sources, if you get my meaning.’
‘I think we can do business, Miss Hyde.’
‘Call me Betty.’
‘Over there, by the elevator – isn’t that Moss White, the talk show host?’
‘Yes, and the tan is real. He just got back from a week on location in California.’
‘What day did he come back?’
‘This morning.’
Scratch that one.
‘Which one is Harry Kipling?’
‘That one,’ said Hyde, indicating a good-looking man, black hair, blue eyes and tall. ‘He’s charming, but aside from his looks, he’s not remarkable. His wife is really miles more interesting. There she is. See that woman over there by the bookcase? Angel Kipling is a crime against Nature. All trolls are supposed to be short. She’s as tall as you are.’
‘You mean that middle-aged woman with the bad hair?’
‘I’ve always liked the phrase “a woman of a certain age”.’
‘The tall man with her – who is he?’
‘The blind man? That’s Eric Franz.’
‘He’s blind?’ Scratch that one, too.
‘Yes. Angel took away his dark glasses and the cane because she thought it might make him fit in better with the normal people. He’s terrified of her, so of course he never puts up any resistance. I think we’re all afraid of Angel. She’s one of those people who learned table manners late in life. She asks rude questions like how old are you, how much money do you make, and are those your own teeth. It’s hard on the nerves. A bit like a farting gorilla ripping through your peace of mind once a week or so. You never do get used to it.’