Show of Evil

her key in her purse and then got out, leaning into the backseat and gathering her up in his arms.

'Need some help?' the cabbie asked.

'Nah, she doesn't weigh more'n a nickel,' Flaherty said, and carried her into the apartment building. He found her apartment without incident and, bracing one knee against the wall, balanced her against it while he opened the door, then carried her in and kicked it shut.

It was a bright, cheery one-bedroom, furnished with expensive and flawless taste and bright colours. Waterford and Wedgwood abounded and the furniture was warm and inviting. The kitchen, which was small but efficient, was separated from the main room by a small breakfast counter. The walls were covered with numbered prints by Miro, Matisse, and Degas. A single lamp glowed near the window. He carried her to the bedroom and flicked on the light switch with his elbow. It was a mess, the bed unmade, a dirty dish with the remains of a pizza on the night-table, books piled high haphazardly in the corner. He laid her on the bed and she stirred and gazed up sleepily.

'M'home?' she asked.

'Yep.'

'You carried me up all those stairs?'

'Uh-huh.'

'Sir Gagalad… oh, what'shisname. Tha's you. Glorious knight.' She tried to sit up but flopped back on the feather mattress with her arms stretched out and sighed.

'Mouth's full a feathers,' she said, and giggled softly.

'I'll get you some water.'

'I'll try't'get undress'd while you're gone.'

He went into the kitchen, found a pebbled glass in the cabinet, and drew ice cubes out of the icemaker in the refrigerator door. He poured cold water over them and swished the glass around a few times.

'How're you doing?' he called to her.

'Better'n 'spected.'

'Let me know when you're in bed.'

'Just any ol' time,' she answered.

When he returned to the room, she was lying half under the covers, her clothes strewn on the floor. One leg was draped over the side of the bed. Her pantyhose hung forlornly from the leg.

'Almos' made it,' she said. 'That left leg was a real bitch.' She wiggled the leg and laughed weakly. 'Wow,' she said. 'You're right 'about martoonies.'

He put the glass of water on the night-table beside the bed and went to the window to close the blinds and suddenly a chill rippled across the back of his neck. He spread the blinds with his hands and scanned the street below.

Empty except for a single car parked across the street. It was also empty.

Paranoia, he thought. If the copycat killer was loose in Chicago, Shana Parver was certainly far down on his list. He closed the blinds.

'Flay?'

'Yeah.' He looked at her and she turned her head towards him and peered through one half-open eye.

'Don' leave me, please. Don' wanna wake up lonesome in't'morning. 'Kay?'

'Okay.'

'Wadda guy.'

He walked over to the bed and helped her sit up and take a sip of water.

'Mmmm,' she said, and fell back on the mattress. 'Not gonna leave me?'

'No, I'm not going to leave you.'

She smiled and immediately fell asleep again. Flaherty sat down on the bed and very carefully rolled the remaining leg of her pantyhose over her ankle and slipped it off her foot. He took her toes in his fingers and stroked them very gently.

God, he thought, even her toes are gorgeous.

In the backseat of the company limo, Jane Venable was already missing Martin. She had had a business meeting with her Japanese