‘Naw,’ said Riker. ‘I wouldn’t waste time teaching you how to stay alive – not if you were on the way out.’

The medic unhooked the monitor. ‘Okay, he’s stable.’

‘Give us a minute,’ said Riker. When the two paramedics had walked around to the other side of the ambulance, he said, ‘One more thing, kid. We’re promoting you to a stone killer – just for a little while.’ He pointed at the uniformed officers seated inside the ambulance, both men he trusted. ‘Waller’s got your ID and your badge. He’ll field all the questions at the hospital. Just keep your mouth shut.’ He turned around to look at his partner in her bloodstains. ‘Oh, and Mallory’s taking the credit for beating the crap out of you. But we’ll clear that up tomorrow, okay?’

Before the ambulance doors had closed on the baffled Deluthe, Charles Butler joined Riker on the sidewalk. ‘Shouldn’t Mallory see a doctor?’

‘Right,’ said the detective. ‘You talk to her.’

‘There’s something – not quite right with her.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ Riker turned to watch her moving about the scene like an automaton. ‘How can you tell?’

Charles certainly caught the sarcasm, but he was selectively deaf to detrimental remarks about Mallory. ‘Under normal circumstances, she’s compulsively neat. She’d never tolerate a smudge on one of her running shoes. Look at her now. She doesn’t even see the blood on her clothes and her – ’

‘Yeah, she’s not quite the little fanatic today.’ Riker smiled. ‘But that’s a good thing, isn’t it? Progress?’

Charles sighed. He pointed to the rectangular bulge in Riker’s pocket. ‘Are you ever going to give her that book?’

‘I will – when the time is right.’

Mallory was walking toward them. Charles made himself scarce before she could order him behind the crime-scene tape again.

Riker grinned, so happy to see her alive and walking around in any condition. ‘You missed your chance to tell Deluthe how bad he screwed up today. I filled in for you.’

‘Did you tell him he killed an unarmed man – the only witness to Natalie Homer’s murder?’

‘No, kid, I saved that part for you. Wait’ll he gets out of the hospital. He won’t be expecting an ambush.’ This was a joke, but she seemed to be considering it. ‘So, Mallory, I hear you reamed out Geldorf.’

‘He had it coming,’ she said.

‘Sure. That’s why you told him the scarecrow was a cop. You’d need a pretty good reason to give up a detail like that. You figured the old man was on the perp’s kill list, right? So you warned him. That was your twisted good deed for the day.’

He could see that she was not about to admit any such human frailty. Maybe it was all wishful thinking on his part, a fantasy of what he wanted her to be. He looked up at the clouds that threatened rain. ‘Not very satisfying this time, is it, Mallory?’

No, he guessed not.

She raised her face to his, and he saw his Kathy, only ten, all played out at the end of a bad day, and he wanted to kill somebody to make her world right again. His hate was growing, going out to the man who murdered Natalie Homer. That worthless bastard had done so much damage. Twenty years later, the dead could not be officially tallied until Sparrow was taken off life support. And then there was Mallory, altered in ways that worried him.

Riker reached into his pocket and pulled out a brown paper bag containing a book. ‘Here, a consolation prize.’ He handed her the final installment in the saga of Sheriff Peety and the Wichita Kid. ‘You might like the inscription.’

He had marked the page with a matchbook so she would find the brief message from her biggest fan, a love letter written before Louis Markowitz and Kathy had been properly introduced.

Riker walked away as she opened her present. He was heading for Mallory’s car, planning to sabotage it so she could not drive home by herself. Also, she would not forgive him if he saw her cry, and he did not want that additional burden. He was still paying for all his old crimes against the child she used to be. ‘Riker!’ she called after him. ‘We’re not done yet!’ So much for his grand idea that she could be moved to tears. Perhaps his fantasy life was getting out of hand.

The decor of the Manhattan condo was expensive and spartan, though the living room had the smell of Brooklyn ghosts, Louis and Helen Markowitz. Their old house had reeked of the same canned-pine-tree air freshener. Riker supposed this was Mallory’s idea of memento, for the room was bereft of family photographs or keepsakes. She must believe there was nothing here to give away any clue to her personality. Untrue. The white carpet had a low tolerance for dirt; chrome and glass gleamed from the toil of a cleaning fanatic; the dark leather chairs and the couch had severe right angles and hard straight lines. It was all black and white – no compromises – all Mallory.

And so it was easy to spot the small item that did not belong here. Evidently, he had not been the only one to rob a crime scene, and Mallory had been careless with her stolen goods. He knelt down on the rug and reached under the glass cocktail table to retrieve a delicate ivory comb. It was memorable for the elaborate carving and the look of money. Sparrow had worn it in her hair each time they met. And he had always been curious about this precious comb, this favorite possession of a junkie that should have been sold for a drug buy long ago. When Sparrow finally died, would the comb become Mallory’s keepsake or her trophy?

He turned to see his partner enter the room, towel-drying her hair as she walked toward him in a long white robe. Mallory was resilient, and she cleaned up well.

Riker folded a cell phone into his pocket. ‘Dr Slope cracked the nightwatchman’s chest. The old guy’s been dead about two weeks. Natural causes. You figure the scarecrow planned his last murder that far in advance?’

‘No. He made friends with the old man years ago. He wanted to spend time in the building where his mother died. That place was his idea of home.’ She accepted a glass of bourbon and soda from his hand.

Riker had been surprised to find the makings in her kitchen cabinet, and he wondered if she drank alone. Of course she did. She would never drink in public and risk losing control in front of witnesses. ‘So that’s what triggered the hangings? The watchman’s death?’

‘We’ll never know – thanks to Deluthe.’ Mallory stared at the pocket that hid his cell phone. ‘What did you hear from the hospital?’

‘If you mean Deluthe, he’ll live. Just busted up is all.’ Riker watched her finish the medicinal whiskey and soda. ‘He’s got a broken nose, a hairline skull fracture and a dislocated shoulder. Oh, and he’s gonna have a wicked scar on his face, lots of stitches. But the doctor says he doesn’t seem to mind that. In fact, he seems real happy about it.’ He picked up the remote control for the television set. ‘But if you mean Sparrow – the doctor says she’ll be gone before morning.’ He could not tell if this made any impression on Mallory. At least she did not smile.

‘And now for the good news.’ Riker switched on the television and killed the sound of the broadcast, preferring to give his own narrative. ‘We got a very confused press corps with an inaccurate body count. They think the scarecrow’s still alive, but badly wounded.’ He pointed to the image of a teenage witness being attacked by microphones. ‘That’s all the girl could tell them.’

Mallory nodded. ‘She was only on the roof for a few minutes.’

And the young girl was still shaking on camera as Riker leaned closer to the set. ‘Here, watch this – her father’s gonna deck a reporter.’ The punch was thrown. ‘Good job.’ And now the picture changed to three small boys all talking at once. ‘Oh, but these kids – they were great!’

‘They didn’t see anything!’ said Mallory. ‘Their mother took them off the roof before they could – ’