Harry had no clear plan other than to showEvie's picture to anyone who would look. If he had no luck, he would go homefor a few hours of sleep, and then begin again first thing in the morning.Speed mattered. Whoever had searched the apartment and Evie's office wasresourceful and desperate enough to commit murder. And to make matters muchworse, Albert Dickinson was out there just waiting for a positive coroner'sreport before pouncing on his only suspect, one H. Corbett.
Thorvald's was a small shop on the firstfloor of a dingy, yellow brick building. There were iron bars in front of thesingle plate glass window, and a small sign announcing that business hours werenine A.M. to seven P.M. Harry peered inside. A single shaded bulb illuminated acollection that seemed largely to have crossed the line separating antiquesfrom junk. Hardly Evie's kind of stuff. There was no chance she would have goneout of her way to visit this particular shop, Harry felt certain of that. Heroffice had to be someplace nearby.
He tried her photo three times oncustomers leaving a nearby convenience store, and then on the clerk. The clerk,Pakistani or Indian, recognized Evie as a frequent customer, but had no ideawhere she lived. He only worked the shift from eleven on. Harry couldn'timagine his wife walking these streets alone at night. At least before today hecouldn't. As he made his way from one block to the next, he sensed the shadowpeople getting a bead on him and moving closer. He was either a John or a mark — possibly both. Before long someone was going to make a move on him. He glancedat his watch. It was stupid to have come down here at such an hour. Now,checking over his shoulder several times each block, he looped back towardThorvald's. Two passersby had never seen Evie, and two more hurried away whenhe approached. He decided to catch a cab and head on home. As he passed theantique store, he looked in again through the bars. A large, bearded man in aloose shirt or caftan was moving about at the rear of the shop.
Harry rapped on the window. The manglanced up, then pointed to his watch and waved him off. Harry knocked again.This time he held up Evie's photo and two twenties. The man hesitated, thenshuffled over. In his ornately embroidered caftan, with a full beard, thickponytail, and single, heavy, gold earring, he looked like a cross between Ericthe Red and Ivan the Terrible. But his face, while it might have frightened ayoung child, was kind and reassuring. He peered through the window at thephoto. Harry could see the recognition in his expression and quickly pointed tohis wedding ring, the photo, himself, and finally to the bills. PaladinThorvald hesitated, then shrugged, deactivated some sort of alarm system, andopened the door.
'You're Desiree's husband?' he asked afterHarry had introduced himself. 'I never had any idea she was married, let aloneto a doctor.'
Harry flashed on the many hours he andEvie had spent choosing her engagement diamond, and then their wedding bands.The news that she was wandering about the Village late at night using the nameDesiree and wearing no ring would recently have surprised him much more than itdid now.
'I assure you, Mr. Thorvald. I
Although Thorvald did step back a fewpaces to allow him in, Harry could tell that the man had misgivings. He decidedthat there was no reason to hold back anything except that Evie's death wasbeing investigated as a possible homicide. He handed over the two twenties.
'Here, keep these no matter what,' hesaid.
Thorvald did not have to hear that offertwice. He shoved the bills into the deep pocket of his caftan and listenedimpassively to Harry's story.
'So, exactly what is it you want to know?'he asked when Harry finished. He still sounded wary.
'If you can tell me where she lived, thatwould be wonderful.'
'Lots of different kinds of people live inthe Village for lots of different reasons. One of 'em's a respect for privacywe have around here that doesn't exist in a lot of places. Live and let live,if you know what I mean. If Desiree was your wife, and if she didn't tell youabout her place here, she must have had her reasons.
Harry did not have to try very hard toproduce the urgency in his voice.
'Mr. Thorvald, please. Evie's dead. Shewas thirty-eight years old and she's dead. We had a home, friends, plans forthe future. I need to know who Desiree was. Regardless of what she calledherself, she was my wife. I'm certain I have the keys to her place. Please.Just point me to the right building and I'm out of here. I won't ask any moreof you. Just that.'
Thorvald stroked his beard and stared downat his sandaled feet.
'Two doors down,' he said finally. 'Newlypainted red enamel door. Second floor, I think she once said. I'm not sure.I've never been in the building myself.'
'Thanks. I know you didn't really want totell me,' Harry said. 'I won't bother you again.'
Paladin Thorvald studied Harry's face.
'I'm sorry your wife's dead,' he said.
Two small panes of glass were set high inthe red enamel door. Harry stood on his tiptoes and peered inside. The frontentryway was deserted. He glanced about to ensure that the shadow people werestill at bay, and then withdrew the rabbit's-foot and keys. Within him thesliver of a notion remained that somehow he had started from a misconceptionand built a secret life for Evie around it. That last bit of hope vanished asthe first of her keys turned in the lock.
He slipped inside and closed the red doorbehind him. The small, poorly lit foyer, while not fetid, would certainly havebenefited from a cleaning. There was a small, scarred table for magazines, tworows of mailboxes servicing about twenty-five units, and two columns ofbuzzers. Harry scanned the names on the boxes, each a first initial/last namedone on a black plastic strip with a labeler. A few names were added withtaped-on pieces of paper. None of the initials were D., and none of the nameswere familiar. But apartment 2F had no name at all. The mailbox key on Evie'sring fit that lock. The box was empty. Suddenly, there was a soft scrapingagainst the outside door behind him. Harry whirled. His pulse, already onalert, was jackhammering. No one was peering through the window, but almostcertainly someone had been.
Harry briefly considered checking thestreet, but thought better of it. Whoever had been outside the door wasprobably no one he wanted to deal with. All that mattered was getting up. toapartment 2F.
The first floor consisted of a dim,stucco-walled corridor lined by several apartment doors. An uncarpetedstaircase was off to one side, narrow enough to make Harry wonder how people onthe floors above could get a couch or refrigerator into their places. Therewas, as far as he could tell, no elevator. Still unnerved by the notion thatsomeone had been watching him, he ascended the staircase quietly andcautiously.
Apartment 2F was at the rear of thebuilding. Harry approached, trying to picture Evie walking down the same hall.Standing by the door, he listened. There was only silence. He knocked softly.Then knocked again. Nothing. Finally, his pulse once more making itself known,Harry inserted the second key into the lock, turned it, and stepped inside theworld of the woman who called herself Desiree.
Chapter13
The apartment was totally dark. Harry usedthe glow from the corridor lights to locate a lamp, turned it on and quicklyclosed the hallway door behind him.
The small, sparsely furnished living roomwas a stark contrast to their immaculate, impeccably decorated coop uptown. Itwas clearly a busy writer's retreat. Cardboard folders and small stacks ofmanuscript pages were set out on the threadbare carpet. Each was labeled, thetitles suggesting to Harry that more than one project was going on. There wasan electric typewriter on a folding table, and next to it a discount-housecomputer desk with a PC and laser printer. Off to one side, on the floor, werea TV, a VCR and seven or eight videos, a half-filled wine rack, a cassetteplayer and two dozen tapes. There was also a telephone. Harry listened to thedial tone for a moment and then set the receiver back down. There was no numberon it. It seemed likely that some people had access to the line. But that groupclearly did not include Evie's best friend, Julia.
Harry checked the front closet, which wasempty, and then the kitchen. There was a supply of diet soda, a Brauncoffee-maker, and a microwave. The cupboards were stocked with snack foods andcanned goods, and the freezer had a supply of frozen dinners and half a dozendifferent flavors of Ben
