THE TOMBS

Detective Malloy swept into the museum, pushing gruffly past the curiosity seekers, silencing anyone who tried to ask him about the Pentacle Killer with a terrifying scowl. “Miss O’Neill,” he said with a tip of his hat.

“Unc isn’t here just now, Detective. Do you have something new?”

He nodded toward the library. Evie had Sam take over and led Detective Malloy to the library, closing the doors behind them. Malloy dropped his hat on the brass statue of an eagle.

“Followed up on that tip your uncle gave us about the Brethren. Turns out there’s been a resurgence of that religious cult the past few years. The townspeople’ve been complaining about ’em. And guess who’s the leader?”

“I’m guessing it’s not Will Rogers.”

“Brother Jacob Call,” Malloy said.

Malloy took a handful of nuts from the crystal bowl on Will’s desk. “They say he’s been preaching about Solomon’s Comet coming through, and the Beast coming with it.” He let this settle. “Turns out, he raises livestock and comes down to the city every few weeks to sell to the butchers.”

“He’s a butcher!”

“Yep. And he was here for every one of the murders. I had the boys pick him up and bring him in. But so far, he’s refusing to talk to us. Thought I’d have your uncle take a crack at him.”

Evie bit her lip. “Detective, could I have a go-ski?”

Malloy’s eyebrows went up. “At questioning a possible killer? I’m afraid not.”

“He might open up to a girl. After all, I’m not a threat like the police.”

“I admire your spunk, Miss O’Neill, but this is not your job.” He tipped his hat and wished her a good day.

Evie raced out into the hall as soon as he left. The museum was packed with people, and for once, she wished it weren’t. She hopped up and down, trying to be seen over the heads of the paying customers. “Sam!” she called. “Sam Lloyd! I need you!”

Sam came to her side, grinning. “I knew you’d come around.”

Evie rolled her eyes. “Take a shower, pal. I need you to help me get into the Tombs.”

“Haven’t you already learned your lesson?”

“Oh, Jericho!” Evie called. “Could you take over? I need Sam for a mission of utmost importance.”

“I could help you with that,” Jericho said.

“You already are!” Evie trilled. She linked her arm through Sam’s, dragging him toward the door. “I’ll fill you in on the way.”

Sam and Evie borrowed Will’s old car for the ride from the Upper West Side down to the city’s notorious jail. It was a long drive, and Sam was in a chatty mood. “Your friend Mabel still goofy for the giant?”

“Jericho? Mm-hmm,” Evie said, nearly flinching at the words your friend Mabel.

“What is it about that guy?”

“You just don’t like him because he hates you.”

“That isn’t the only reason,” Sam said.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. I suppose you like the giant, too.”

“Jericho? Oh, he’s nice enough, I suppose.”

“So you don’t like him,” Sam said, smiling.

“I didn’t say that.”

They had passed the many music publishing houses of Tin Pan Alley in the West Twenties and were close to the fashionable town houses of Gramercy.

“You have a steady fella?” Sam asked after a bit.

“No fella can hold me for long.”

Sam gave her a sideways glance. “That a challenge?”

“No. A statement of fact.”

“We’ll see.”

“You still owe me twenty bucks,” Evie said.

“You’re a lot more like me than you think, Evie O’Neill.”

“Ha!”

“What I meant to say is, you like me a lot more than you think.”

“Keep driving, Lloyd.”

The car jostled along, past a flock of dark-suited businessmen holding fast to their bowler hats in the stiff wind whipping off the East River and barreling down the canyonlike streets.

“Got a little something for ya,” Sam said. His smile was cryptic.

Evie raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? What’s that? I already told you the bank’s closed.”

“Some neck lightning.” He pulled a necklace from his pocket and offered it to her.

Evie gasped. “Holy smokes! That looks like a real diamond on there! Where’d you get this?”

“Would you believe a generous aunt?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so. Where I got it, they won’t miss it. They got plenty.”

Evie sighed. “Sam…”

“I know their type. They don’t care what happens to anyone but themselves. They buy everything the magazines and billboards tell them to and forget about it when something new comes along.”

“And Uncle Will thinks I’m cynical!” Evie shoved the necklace back into Sam’s jacket pocket. “You can’t just go around taking things that don’t belong to you, Sam.”

“Why not? If captains of industry do it, they’re heroes. If little people like me do it, we’re criminals.”

“Now you sound like a Bolshevik. Say, you’re not one of those anarchists, are you?”

“Bombs and revolution? Not my style. I’ve got my own mission,” Sam said, the last part coming out a bit hard.

“What mission is that? Leading girls astray with stolen gems?”

Sam gave her a sideways glance. “You ever hear of something called Project Buffalo?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Well, if you look for any information on it, you won’t find it. It was a secret government operation during the war.”

“Then how do you know about it?”

“My mother went to work on it. She took some kind of test—”

“A test? What…?”

“Don’t know. Whatever it was, she scored pretty high. She and my father had a big fight about it. I heard ’em in the other room. She said she felt she had to go. ‘What can we do?’ she said. My father said no. My father loves the word no.” Sam’s face clouded. “Anyway, maybe a month later, these fellas from the government showed up. They had my dad’s papers. Told him they could send him back to Russia if he didn’t cooperate. My dad wasn’t going back to Russia to starve or be killed. He had a nice house and a fur business. So that night, my mother packed her things and left. She sent us only one letter. Most of it had been blacked over. But she said they were doing good work, important work for the country. She said it would change mankind. And then we never heard from her again. When my father wrote to them, they said she’d died from influenza. I was eight.”

“I’m sorry. That’s terrible.” In the afternoon sun, the city shimmered like a mirage. “Sam Lloyd doesn’t sound very Russian, though.”

“Sergei Lubovitch. My father changed our last name to Lloyd when he and my mother came through New York. When I was born, he insisted they name me Sam. As in Uncle.”

“I thought you looked familiar,” Evie teased. “Where’s your father now?”

“Back in Chicago, I suppose.”

“You don’t know?”

“My father and I didn’t get along too well. He likes to say no, and I’m supposed to say yes. He didn’t like it when I could say no myself. And he sure didn’t like it when I said I wanted to find out what really happened to Mama.”

“I thought you said she died.”

“That’s what they told us. Two years ago, I got this.” He pulled the worn postcard of trees and mountains from his pocket. Evie pretended it was the first time she’d seen it.

“Pretty. Where is this?”

“I don’t know. That phrase on the back, there. It’s Russian.”

Evie examined the soft handwriting, obviously feminine.

“It means ‘little fox.’ It was my mother’s nickname for me. She was the only one who ever called me that. That’s when I knew my mother was alive, and I was going to find her. So I took off. I joined up with the navy for a bit—till they found out I was only fifteen. Then I fell in with a circus.”

“You did not!”

“Scout’s honor.”

“You’re no scout,” Evie sniped. They hit a bump and Evie careened into Sam for a second. “Sorry.” She sat back, red-faced.

Sam smiled. “No apology necessary. Gee, I might have to hit another.”

Evie cleared her throat. “The circus?”

“The circus. I trained as an acrobat. Got pretty good on the high wire. Quick feet. I even worked as a barnstormer, doing aerial tricks out on the wings.”

“On a moving aeroplane?”

Sam grinned. “You should try it sometime. Though if you really want to see someone do it up right, you should see Barnstormin’ Belle Butler, the aerialist extraordinaire.”

“Who is that, pray tell?”

“An old friend.”

Evie arched an eyebrow. “What sort of friend?”

Sam smiled but didn’t satisfy her curiosity. “The circus brought me to Coney Island. When they headed south to Florida for the winter, I decided to stay here for a while, see if I could make enough money so I could find my mother.”

Evie looked at the postcard again. It was a beautiful picture of blue skies and tall trees, with mountains in the background. She handed it back to Sam, who secured it inside his jacket pocket once more. “Doesn’t seem like much to go on.”

“I’m going to find her,” Sam said, sounding very determined. “So now you know about me. What about you? How’d you end up with your uncle?”

Should she tell him the truth? Then she might have to admit that she’d tried to read his mother’s postcard and gotten nothing from it. He might be furious. Or he might ask her to try again. And when she couldn’t get a read, he’d think she was a liar.

“I killed a man for insulting my honor,” Evie said blithely.

“Naturally. And?”

“And… I robbed a five-and-dime. I can never have enough paste bracelets.”

“Who can? And?”

“And… I accused the town golden boy of knocking up a chambermaid.”

Sam let out a low whistle. “For fun?”

Evie looked up. The sun seemed close enough to touch, like a shimmering foil prop in a Broadway show. “I was at a party filled with those ‘bright young things’ you love to hate. Yes, I was one of them. It was late and I was drunk and… anyway, it was just some gossip I heard,” she lied. “But it turned out to be true.”

“I don’t understand. If it was true, how come you got sent up the river?”

Evie wished she could tell him the truth, but she’d also promised Will she’d stay mum, and she didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize her stay in New York. “I really did kill a man in Ohio.”

“Hmm. And then these murders started in New York. Coincidence?”

“You’re on to me, Lloyd. I’m afraid I’ll have to kill you now. Be a honey and sit still while I strangle you.” Evie reached playfully for his throat and Sam jerked the wheel, making the car swerve and Evie scream.

“I’ll go quietly, sister,” Sam said, correcting their course. “Just don’t wreck us.”

They parked Will’s old Model T a block away and dodged the trolley rattling up the cobblestones of Centre Street on their way toward the Tombs. The imposing, elliptical jail was anchored by a turret at each end and surrounded by a tall stone wall and an iron railing, which made it seem more like some medieval fortress than a modern New York City building.

“If I give you this signal”—Sam put a finger to the side of his nose—“it means distract the flat foot while I steal what we need. Got it?”

“Got it. But how will we find where they’re holding him?” Evie said in despair. They entered the building to find a bedlam of officers and miscreants. It was like opening night at a Broadway show of criminals.

Sam walked up to the officer at the front desk. “Pardon me. The lady here heard you might be holding her brother, Jacob Call?”

The officer conferred with someone over the telephone and came back shaking his head.

“No visitors.”

“I see. We just want to be sure he’s not being held down below. He had pneumonia just last month, and that swampy air isn’t good for his lungs,” Sam said.

The officer turned to Evie. “He’s in the warden’s office on this floor, so you can rest easy, Miss.”

Evie batted her lashes and tried to look forlorn. “Thank you. You’ve been a real doll, sir.”

Sam put his finger to his nose in the secret signal, at which Evie’s eyes fluttered. She swayed on her feet. “Oh, ohhhh…” She swooned as attractively as she could, and the officer caught her. Through slitted eyes, Evie watched Sam steal his keys.

“Oh, thank you, officer. If I could just sit down somewhere until I feel steadier on my feet?”

The officer led them inside to a waiting bench. Evie winked at Sam and he whispered low in her ear, making her neck tingle. “Sister, together, we could be a hell of a team.”

Up front, a commotion broke out among a group of drunks and the officer abandoned Evie and Sam to help out. Evie grabbed Sam’s hand and pulled him after her, deep into the building.

“For the record, sister, this isn’t my idea of a swell time,” Sam whispered as he and Evie sneaked through the labyrinthine corridors of the city’s notorious jail.

“How are we going to get past the guards?” Evie said. She could see a policeman sitting on a stool behind a desk, filling out paperwork.

“Leave that to me.”

“Sam,” Evie warned as they got close.

The officer looked up, and it seemed to Evie that he looked right at them. She heard Sam muttering something under his breath, prayerlike. He put up a hand as if to shield them, and the officer looked back down at his paperwork, almost as though he hadn’t seen them. It was very strange, and Evie told herself that he hadn’t really seen them after all.

“That was a stroke of luck,” she said, letting out her breath.

“Just keep walking,” Sam instructed.

They found Jacob Call sitting in a dingy room with only two chairs and a table. He wore the same coveralls and black hat as when they’d last met him. The pendant still hung from his neck. His sleeves were pushed up some, and Evie could see crude tattoos peeking out from beneath the cuffs.

“Hello again,” Evie said. “Do you remember me, Mr. Call?”

Brother Call barely glanced at her. “Yep.”

“I hear you won’t tell the police anything. Why is that?”

“Won’t tell them. Won’t tell you,” he said.

“That’s a shame. I think we’d have just oodles of things to talk about. This, for instance.” Evie placed the Book of the Brethren on the table between them.

Jacob Call’s expression darkened. “Where’d you get that?”

Evie opened the book and turned the pages but didn’t offer him a glimpse. “Fascinating reading. Much better than Moby-Dick. Like this passage, for instance.”

She’d opened to the page for the eleventh offering, the Marriage of the Beast and the Woman Clothed in the Sun. She laid the book on the table and watched as Jacob Call looked on in awe.

“The ritual of the offerings. It’s begun, hasn’t it? The rise of the Beast?”

He leaned forward, placing a hand reverently on the page. “Just like the prophet seen,” he said. “When the fire burns in the sky, the chosen one will make the final offering. The Beast will rise in him, and Armageddon will begin.”

Evie’s skin crawled. She fought to keep her composure. “And the Beast comes into this world through the ritual kill—um, the offerings. Is that correct?”

Jacob Call gave a curt nod. “The world has fallen into sin. The Lord will purify it in blood through the chosen one.”

“And you are that chosen one,” Evie tried.

The man’s lip curled in contempt. “Why should I tell you? You ain’t the law or a believer. You’re just a girl.”

“Just like Ruta Badowski was a girl?” Evie snapped. She did not like Jacob Call one bit. “Tell me, did you really mail her eyes to the police as an offering to the Beast, so that he’d know you’d fulfilled the prophecy?” she bluffed.

“I-I done it. May it please the Lord.” Jacob Call wouldn’t make a very good poker player, Evie thought. In that brief, unguarded moment of surprise, he’d shown his hand—he didn’t know she was lying. He didn’t know the details of the murder.

“What about Tommy Duffy’s hands? What did you do with them?” she pressed.

Jacob Call sat stone-faced. “I’ve said all I’m a-goin’ to. I ain’t saying no more.”

“All right, then. I just want to know one more thing. That’s all, and then I’ll leave you alone. Your pendant—what does it mean?”

Jacob Call continued to sit in silence.

“Let’s blouse, Evie,” Sam said. “I hear somebody coming down the hall.”

“It’s just darling!” Evie said, deliberately goading him. “I simply must have one for myself. Where did you get it?”

“The Lord will not be mocked!” Jacob said, glaring.

“Who said anything about mocking the Lord? I just want to know the name of your jeweler. Or perhaps you’d let me buy yours….” Evie reached out a finger as if to touch the pendant, and Jacob Call pounded his fists on the table, making her jump back.

“It’s for me and me alone! And the Lord said, ‘Anoint thy flesh and prepare ye the walls of your houses. Bind your spirit to the Holy Mark and wear it upon your person always and ye shall be protected both in this life and the hereafter. But take care that the Holy Mark be not destroyed. For then shall ye sever the tie to your spirit!’ ”

“I see,” Evie said, trying not to smile. She’d gotten what she needed, though her heart was racing. “I’ll just try Tiffany’s, then. Thanks all the same.”

“What was that hooey about binding yourself to the Holy Mark?” Sam asked after they’d slipped out of the Tombs and were walking briskly back to the spot where they’d parked Will’s car.

“He seems to believe that you can tie your spirit to that pendant, that it’s some sort of magical object that allows you to live on.”

Sam let out a whistle. He shook his head. “The things people will believe. So, you think he’s our killer?”

Evie shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so. The killer didn’t send Ruta Badowski’s eyes parcel post. I made that up, and he went along with it.”

“Maybe he’s only pretending not to know.”

“Maybe,” Evie concurred, but she wasn’t convinced.

A newsie hawked the late edition on the curb. “Extra! Extra! Daily News! Pentacle Killer exclusive! Read all about it!”

Evie tossed the kid some change and gaped at the headline: COPYCAT KILLER! PENTACLE FIEND TAKING GRUESOME PAGE FROM HISTORY? “That fink!” Evie fumed. “I gave him that tip, and he went and used it to make a name for himself!”

“Never trust the press, doll,” Sam said.

Evie flipped to the story and they read it together on the street amid the swirl of pedestrians.

“ ‘In the summer of 1875, the partially decomposed body of an unidentified man was found at the Belmont racetrack. The body bore traces of strange tattoos, including a five-pointed star, and a note was found pinned to his shirt. Most of the ink had been washed away by the elements, but two words were legible: horseman and stars.’ ” Evie gasped. “The Pale Horseman Riding Death Before the Stars. The third offering. He is taking a page from history.”

They hopped into Will’s car and drove quickly back uptown, and while Sam parked, Evie burst into the museum, interrupting Will’s class.

She held up the newspaper. “I found the third offering!” and ran out, leaving Will and his students at a loss.

Will barreled into the library a moment later. “Evie, what the devil do you mean by interrupting my class?”

“Unc, listen to this!” She read to him from T. S. Woodhouse’s article. “Fifty years ago! The third offering happened fifty years ago….”

“Evie,” Will said.

“That’s why the killer started with the fifth offering—because the other four have already taken place, and he’s just finishing up the job!”

“Evie, Evie!” Will interrupted. “Jacob Call confessed.”

“He… what?”

“Just a half hour ago. Terrence phoned me. He confessed to all of it. Said he’s the chosen one, meant to bring about the end.”

“But he’s not the killer. He can’t be.”

“He is, Evie. The police in New Brethren confirmed that he’s been preaching about the coming of the Beast and the arrival of Solomon’s Comet for the past six months. He’s admitted his crime. It’s over,” Will said with finality. “Why don’t you give yourself a night off to go out dancing with your friends? You’ve earned it. Now, I must return to my class.”

Evie sat on the wide staircase and listened to Will’s voice floating out from the classroom as he talked about the nature of evil.

Jericho came to sit beside her. “Murnau’s Faust is playing at the Palace.”

“Swell,” Evie said, still turning things over in her mind.

“I was just wondering if you might—”

There was a knock at the door.

“I’ll go,” Evie said, sighing. “Probably another reporter.”

“Want to go with me,” Jericho finished as he watched Evie walk away.

The Negro woman standing on the steps of the museum was tall and broad-shouldered and smartly attired in a brown plaid suit and a beige hat with a red band. She didn’t seem like a reporter; in fact, she carried herself more like a queen.

“May I help you?” Evie asked.

The woman’s smile was polite but formal. “I am looking for Dr. William Fitzgerald.”

“I’m afraid he’s teaching just now.”

“I see.” The woman nodded, thinking something over. “May I leave my card?”

“Of course.”

From her pocketbook, the woman retrieved a simple cream calling card. Evie rubbed a finger over the lettering. Miss Margaret Walker, with an address uptown. “Do you work for Mr. Fitzgerald?” the woman asked. There was something strange in the way she said “work,” with an air of suspicion that left Evie feeling guarded.

“I’m his niece, Evie O’Neill.”

“His niece,” Miss Walker said in wonder. “Well. Isn’t that something?”

Evie didn’t quite know what to make of Miss Margaret Walker. It wasn’t often that someone left her feeling so undone. “And do you work with my uncle, Miss Walker?”

Miss Walker’s mouth twitched, flirting with a semblance of smile before settling into something far harder. “No.” The woman started down the steps, then turned back. “Miss O’Neill, if you don’t mind my asking, how old are you?”

“I’m seventeen.”

“Seventeen.” The woman seemed to consider this. “Have a pleasant day, Miss O’Neill.”

Evie turned the card over and was surprised to see that Margaret Walker had left a note in script that was as precise and clipped as she appeared to be.

It’s coming back.

What was coming back? Who was Margaret Walker? And who was she to Will?

Upon returning to the library, Evie was surprised to find Will there. “Oh, you’ve finished already. Someone was just calling for you. A woman. She left her card.”

Will stared at the name on the card. He turned it over and read the other side.

“Who is she, Unc?”

“No one I know,” Will answered and tossed Margaret Walker’s card in the wastebasket.

Date: 2015-02-03; view: 453