The Chalk Girl

carton down the hallway in Charles Butler’s building. The cardboard box was filled with every winch and drill that would fit the Hunger Artist’s murder kit. ‘Charles is never gonna go along with this.’

‘He’s in Chicago,’ said Mallory. ‘Robin Duffy’s babysitting.’

Well, problem solved. That particular lawyer would let his partner set fire to a busload of orphans just to see her smile.

When the door opened, Mallory suffered through another bear hug of warmth and affection. Fingers to his lips, Duffy whispered, ‘Coco’s taking a nap.’ He ushered them into the kitchen, where documents were laid out on the table. ‘Charles found these wonderful people in Chicago – the Harveys. They were pre-qualified for adoption a year ago, and they’re both teachers in a charter school. This is so great. She’ll have parental supervision all day long. Charles says the best part is that Coco can go to school like every other kid. She can have a normal life.’ He sat down at the table and sifted through the paperwork. ‘Oh, here it is.’ He handed one sheet to Mallory.

Reading over her shoulder, Riker scanned another copy of the release form that would allow their material witness to leave the state of New York.

‘Just sign there, Kathy.’ Duffy pointed to the signature line at the bottom of the page. ‘The Harveys are flying back with Charles today. If everything goes well, they’ll take Coco to Illinois for a probationary period.’

‘No way.’ Mallory folded the form. ‘The kid’s not going anywhere until we wrap this case.’

And when she laid the form down on the table, the old man said, ‘Charles wants you to know that the Harveys have a big backyard full of bugs. He thought that might be meaningful to you.’

‘She stays until—’

‘Fine.’ Duffy put up both hands in surrender. ‘Whenever you’re ready, Kathy. The Harveys will be in town for a while.’

‘You can go now,’ said Mallory. ‘I’ll stay with Coco.’

‘Yeah,’ said Riker. ‘I’ll walk you out.’

Robin Duffy hesitated, stalling, his eyes rising to the clock on the wall. ‘Charles told me to stay – just until Mrs Ortega gets back. She’s out running errands.’ The old man had a worried look about him.

Riker was confused.

Mallory was not. ‘What else did Charles tell you? Did he tell you not to leave me alone with Coco? Did he tell you not to trust me anymore?’

Riker left the apartment with a very contrite Robin Duffy, and though the door was closed gently, the sound woke Coco from her nap. She ran out of the guest room and shot down the hall to wrap her arms around Mallory, so happy was she, her smile so wide. And, yes, she would love to help solve a murder. Great fun.

The detective wheeled the carton into Charles Butler’s kitchen, and the child watched her open it to pull out the first winch. Mallory connected it to an adapter to make it run on household current. ‘Riker says you have a good memory for motors.’

Coco rattled off a catalogue of motor-driven things, old ones and their replacements over the years: her grandmother’s blenders and washing machines, vacuums, electric brooms and carving knives. And then there were the neighbors’ motors, more brand names and models. And all the while, the child watched the detective cover the countertop with elements of a murder kit.

The little girl’s words broke off as her eyes turned toward the kitchen door. ‘Mrs Ortega’s coming. Those are her shoes in the hall. You hear them?’

No, Mallory heard nothing. A moment later came the clicks of a key working the lock to the front door. She left the child in the kitchen and entered the living room to see the cleaning lady flop down in an armchair. Shopping bags lay on the floor at her feet.

‘Hey, Mallory.’ Mrs Ortega bent down to one of her bags. ‘Wait’ll you see what I got for the kid.’ She pulled out a shoebox and opened it to display a small pair of pink sneakers. ‘A going-away present. Real shoelaces instead of that Velcro crap.’

‘But she can’t tie the laces,’ said Mallory.

‘If she can learn buttons, she can learn laces,’ said Mrs Ortega.

‘No more damn Velcro. That’s like buying a wheelchair for a kid who only limps a little. It’ll cripple her.’

‘But she can’t—’

‘She has to!’ Exasperated, the cleaning lady threw up her hands. ‘How’s that kid gonna make it in life if she can’t even tie her shoes?’

Indeed. Mallory, in her feral days, had survived by packing razor blades in the pockets of her child-size jeans; and by stealing only the best running shoes, and running like crazy to escape kiddy rapists; and she had learned to make her bed only places where she was most likely to live through the night. She had stolen wallets and wheedled money from whores and acquired so many other skills that Coco could never learn for lack of guile.

The little girl stood in the doorway, and her face had a worried look. Of course, she had overheard everything, and now her steps were timid as she stole up beside the detective and shyly took her hand. Those blue eyes were full of hope – and thus alien to Mallory, who saw all hope as pointless.

The cleaning lady went downstairs to ready an apartment for Charles Butler’s guests, the Harveys of Illinois. And the detective sat on the floor, teaching Coco to tie shoelaces so that this tiny child could survive in the wide world. Their fingers intertwined for hours as they worked the laces together. The child so loved Mallory that, though she tired, she would not stop until she had done this one thing right. And so the final triumphal knot was a gift that each of them gave to the other.

When Charles Butler entered his apartment, he heard the sound of a motor running, and Coco was yelling, ‘Stop! That’s it!’

He raced to the kitchen, and there he found the child seated at the table, both hands pressed to her ears. Her mouth formed a silent scream – while Mallory powered down a mechanical device. His kitchen counter was lined up with motorized things. This was torture for a child with hyperacuity.

‘Hi.’ Mallory turned to Charles, smiling as if this might be a perfectly normal way to occupy a little girl’s time. ‘Coco identified the motors she heard in the Ramble. I need a letter from you to back up how good she is with sounds.’

Coco was rocking back and forth, hugging herself – calming herself.

Charles’s face was grim. ‘A moment, Mallory? Out in the hall?’ This was not an invitation. He took her by the arm and propelled her from the kitchen, through the apartment and into the outer hallway, shutting doors behind him so the child would not hear him ask the detective, ‘Are you insane? I can’t believe you put her through that. Don’t you ever go near that child again.’

The detective was squaring off, gearing up for a fight. ‘I need—’

‘Who cares? The prospective parents are downstairs right now. Don’t make that little girl choose between you and them. Even you couldn’t be that cruel.’

Did she flinch? She did.

He pressed on. ‘Those two people are all prepared to love that child on sight. You have only the most superficial interest in Coco. Get out, Mallory! Just go!’

Mallory turned away from him, and she was striding toward the elevator when Coco came running out the door, screaming, ‘Wait for me!’ She wriggled free from Charles’s grasp and flung herself down the hall, lurching, crying, ‘Mallory! Mallory!’

The detective never even turned her head to acknowledge the little girl. She only put up the flat of her hand and commanded, ‘Stop.’ Obedient as any dog, the child did stop. ‘Stay,’ said Mallory as she stepped into the elevator and vanished.

‘No! No-o-o!’ Coco ran to the end of the hall and banged the metal doors. She sank to the floor, a puddle of a child. Charles was at her side, reaching down to her. She waved her arms to ward him off, and then her interest wandered to a shoelace that had come undone.

Laces?

Her face was anguished. Lost again, anchorless. Her arms flung wide, small hands curling into fists. This was the breach he had wanted; the precise moment to replace one bond for another was now. He knelt down beside her. ‘There are two very nice people downstairs. They’ve come all the way from Illinois to meet you.’

‘I want Mallory.’