‘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.’

‘All the people on the Civilian Review Board – ’

‘Yeah, the Review Board, the city’s grand experiment with amateurs. So this week, Mallory’s a hero. But if the perp isn’t happy with the crook of his little finger after the surgery on his gun hand, he’ll sue the city for a million dollars. It happens. Your high-minded civilians will remember they’re also taxpayers. They’ll turn on her. Every one of them will curse her for not killing the perp, because dead men don’t sue. I love this town.’

‘What am I going to do about her? She knows something crucial about Justin, but she won’t talk to me.’

‘Learn to think like Mallory.’

‘How can I? I don’t have an underprivileged childhood to draw on, and I still don’t know much about hers.’

‘Charles, you’re a very smart man. I think that’s why Lou asked you to look after her. Now think. She’s too old to need a nanny, right? The old man figured you were the only one with a prayer of outsmarting her. He left her to you, not one of his old cronies like Doc Slope.’

‘Yes, he would have been my choice. Edward Slope is a very intelligent man.’

‘True. He’s a smart old bastard. So why not him, you wonder. You always hear him bitching about her defects. He can see every scam coming, right?’

‘Right.’

‘In case you hadn’t noticed, she walks all over him. He’d break his Hippocratic oath for Mallory. And the rabbi would take her side against God’s.’

Riker finished his shot and poured another. His red eyes rolled up to Charles with a question which could only be And, what would you do for Mallory?

CHAPTER 6

All women are bitches.

Only death made them beautiful. That stunned look, when they knew death was coming, when they could see it, hear it coming for them. Only then did he respect them for this experience, this knowledge which had eluded him. To be dead, to be nothing, never to be challenged again.

To actually watch life leave the body was his obsession. But this, too, had eluded him. For in death, they might only have been asleep. The women had taken the secret with them. Bitches, unwilling to share. Perhaps one day, one of them would tell him what it was like as it was happening to her. Perhaps the next one.

He plotted against her as he opened his drawer to find his socks, as he pulled on his pants, as he buttoned his shirt. He schemed as he ate his morning meal and it went sour in his stomach. He kicked a small animal and heard his enemy screaming. He looked at sharp knives with longing and stuck one into a piece of fruit… many times. He killed her a hundred times a day, and the animals, the fruit and the insects all suffered for it.

Sandstone carvings graced the elaborate structures extending as curving arms from either side of the wide staircases running down into the plaza. The vast public space was presided over by a bronze angel high atop the Bethesda Fountain. Her wings were unfurled, her robes were rippled, and there was debate as to whether she danced or not.

From the cover of high ground and stonework, Mallory looked down at the man in the plaza. He was the only one walking the paving stones, casting a weak shadow from the morning sun riding low in its winter orbit. He checked his watch and sat down on the edge of the fountain’s wide pool. The Angel of Bethesda loomed behind him, some twenty feet or more above his head. The waters of the ancient biblical Bethesda were said to have healing powers. Mallory figured those waters would be wasted on a sick bastard like Palanski. The things she suspected him of were a crime in every philosophy under heaven.

Mallory lifted the antique opera glasses to her eyes. Bored silly by opera, she had finally found a practical use for this gift from Charles. She cared nothing for the delicate settings of tiny pearls and precious stones; it was the resolution of the lenses she approved of. She could pick out the mole on one side of Palanski’s face. And now she scanned the rest of the plaza. The sky was overcast, blunting the sun and giving its light an eerie quality as it flooded the stone floor. There were only occasional moments when the sun could create a shadow, and then the clouds would thicken and uncreate it.

Now a woman passed near Mallory’s position. Mallory turned to see the back of her walking along the path leading to the wide staircase. The woman’s carrot-red hair was piled on top of her head. She was small, only five foot – if that, and thin. A short, leather hooker skirt rode high above the bare goose-flesh legs. The backs of her knees bore the bruises of the needle, another trademark of a hooker.