Riker set down the phone after another minute and motioned Charles over to the desk. He picked up the sheet of paper which Charles recognized as his report, and began to read it aloud.
‘So, your small friend had a little red coat that didn’t quite fit, right? Mismatched shoes and socks, matted brown hair and light colored eyes?’ Riker did a double take on the next line. ‘She was unwashed, malnourished, but excellent motor skills, good reflexes, three feet six inches tall, approximately seven years old, and in a big hurry?’
‘Yes, that’s her.’
‘And she had head lice, Charles. You left that out. I found her. You done good. You scared the little brat right into a shelter for runaways. They know this kid as a regular. She came in with big eyes and gave them this fairy story about being chased by a giant. I guess that was you.’
‘I didn’t mean to frighten her.’
‘Good thing you did. She’ll get a hot meal and a bed.’
‘What else can I do?’
‘Nothing, Charles. You’ll never see that kid again. You’ll never find out what happened to her. I won’t even give you the name of the shelter, because a deal is a deal. Normally, they won’t tell us anything at all. You see, we hold the legal position that the kid belongs to the parent. The shelters sometimes take the view diat the kid will live longer if we butt out. But this supervisor owes me one. So, with the understanding that we never had this conversation, I tell her about my crazy friend who wants to turn NYPD upside down to keep a kid off the street on Christmas morning – and she asks me how tall you are.’
‘I’m a fool.’
‘Don’t ever change.’
‘I’ve ruined your holiday.’
‘My wife left me on Christmas Day. It isn’t much of a holiday for me. Let me buy you a drink.’
‘I insist on paying.’
‘No, my treat. I’m gonna get you the best scotch money can buy. Come with me.’
They passed through the swinging doors that led down the familiar corridor on the way to Special Crimes Section. When Markowitz was alive, Charles had been this way many times – up the narrow staircase and into the cavern of dimmer lights and dead quiet, broken now by the plaintive ringing of a single telephone. Two detectives sat alone in separate pools of light on the other side of the wide room. One lifted his head and waved to Riker.
Riker opened the door to Jack Coffey’s office, which had once been Markowitz’s office. He sat down in the chair behind the desk and seemed at home as he pulled out a wire, jiggled the lock on the bottom drawer of the desk, and extracted a bottle and a half-empty package of plastic cups.
Charles folded his long frame into the opposite chair, smiling and utterly companionable in this small criminal activity. He accepted one of the poured shots and lifted his plastic cup in a toast. ‘Merry Christmas, Riker.’
‘Merry Christmas, Charles.’ Riker downed his shot and smiled. ‘So what’s the problem between you and Mallory? Anything I can help you with?’
‘We had an argument at the wrong time. She’s not speaking to me. Did she tell you about the Riccalo boy?’
‘Flying objects, and no hands in play? Yeah.’
‘There’s something she sees in the boy that I can’t see. Something like a memory, a kinship or a likeness. I need to know what the link is. But she’s not talking to me any more. What should I do? Apologize?’
‘Oh no. Worst possible idea. You don’t ever want to lose face with her. Never show a weakness.’
‘Then what do I do?’
‘What makes you think there’s a tie?’
‘Well, it’s not logical of course, I’ve got nothing to support the idea, but I do believe she sees something of herself in the boy.’
‘You mean the kid’s a monster?’
‘I was thinking along the lines of abuse. Do you know what her past was like before she went to live with Louis? Any clue at all?’
‘Markowitz did wonder about it. He spent a lot of time trying to trace her. Helen was hot to adopt the kid. But Mallory wouldn’t cooperate, not even for Helen. She would have died for Helen, but never told her a thing. After a while, Markowitz and Mallory came to an understanding. It was her history, not his. And he backed off.’
‘Did he ever speculate on it?’
‘He respected the kid. Whatever he figured out, he never let on, never shared.’
‘You think child abuse could’ve been a factor in her early history?’
‘If anyone had tried to abuse her, the bastard could’ve figured on losing an arm… No, Charles. You only think I’m kidding. I watched her grow up.’
‘But surely – ’
‘When Markowitz pulled the kid off the street, he recognized her position on the food chain – she was a baby predator. Mallory may rack up suspensions, but she’ll never lose her job with NYPD. None of us could stand the strain of having her on the other side. All you need is a few simple rules – don’t ever let her down, don’t ever rat her out, and don’t ever trust her.’
Was Riker changing the subject, or was this his imagination?
‘I need her connection to the boy. This is very important.’
Riker pulled out his wallet, which was falling apart at the creases, and slid a photograph out of the cracked plastic holder. ‘Maybe you’ve seen this before. It’s the one Markowitz always carried. That’s what the brat looked like at ten. See anything familiar?’
Charles stared at the photograph. She had been so defiant when she posed for it. Yes, there was an unsettling aspect of the boy in Mallory, that same look of damage.
‘Riker, do you think it’s possible that Mallory witnessed a murder when she was a child?’
Riker spilled a portion of his drink, and it was not from lack of coordination. Wasting liquor was a breach of Riker’s religion.
Curious.
Riker reached down into the drawer and pulled out a brown bag, upending it and spilling a passel of deli napkins on the desk. He kept his eyes down as he mopped the desk with the napkins, buying the time to recompose himself. Now he shrugged as he looked up at Charles. ‘She was out on the street for years. She could’ve seen a murder, I guess. She never said.’
‘Perhaps I should ask Edward Slope. He’s known her as long as you have.’
And now something in Riker’s face said he wished Charles wouldn’t do that.
What might Riker be holding out on him?
Charles looked down at a roll of paper in the path of the spreading puddle. He picked it up. It was a computer printout, and scrolling on forever, the words said: I PROMISE TO SHOOT TO KILL. I PROMISE TO SHOOT TO KILL, line after line. Charles held the roll up to Riker.
‘What lunatic did this?’
‘Mallory,’ said Riker. ‘Turns out the kid has a sense of humor after all. Coffey reamed her out, and she dropped that on his desk the next day.’
‘Why is Coffey angry with her for not killing the mugger? He was holding a gun on an elderly man, and she – ’
‘Coffey figured she was playing with the perp, and she was. I backed her on that one, but Coffey was right. She screwed up. When you draw a gun to shoot an armed perpetrator, you’re trained to shoot for the widest part of the body, the best shot you can place to stop the perp cold.’
‘That sounds pretty brutal.’
‘It is. You may only have that one chance to save your life. And every civilian in the area is in your care when you draw that gun. From the moment she arrived on the scene, that old man, the victim, was in her care. If she’d blown the shot, the old man would’ve taken the bullet after hers.’