been her killer.”
Daniel looked taken aback by that idea. “Hardly. That’s not what I thought at all. I mean, the guy was so going on and on about how religious he was, I never figured him to be capable of hurting anyone.”
“Daniel,” I said, “you’ve got to be straight with us. You were in Naomi’s apartment the morning after she was killed, ripping up pieces of paper, tearing pages out of her diary so no one would see them.”
“So what?”
“One of them had the words ‘circus train’ on it. You must have known about Ted. You must have realized that Naomi had made a plan to see him.”
“She didn’t make any plan with him back in December. He was only here for a few days then.”
“Forget it, Coop,” Mike said, his right hand propped against the door and the left one combing through his hair. “He just can’t be honest with us. He’s in this up to his neck.”
“No, I’m not!” Daniel shouted.
“Keep your voice down, kid. Start talking sense. Talk fast.”
“Yeah, I was ripping pages out of her diary. You think I wanted my mother to read about the affair Naomi had with my stepfather in the newspapers? The other notes were about me, not my sister.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I was talking to this guy Ted that night in December, out on the street after the play, he was telling me I was crazy to work at a dump like the playhouse. I already knew that.”
Daniel squirmed in his corner on the bed. “He told me he could get me a better job, without any of the feminist bullshit — sorry, Ms. Cooper — when he came back to town in March. He said he’d call me if I gave him my number. Turned out to be two weeks ago, just like he said.”
“You believed him?” I asked.
“Why wouldn’t I? I wasn’t getting a hell of a lot of job offers where I was. Naomi’s the one who wrote down his name, who wrote down the part about the circus train that night. But she did it for me, only she kept the paper and e-mailed the information to me. It wouldn’t surprise me if she got in touch with him this time around. You never know. She was always trying to make people see things her way.”
“And this train — the circus — Ted told you this is where he worked?”
Daniel Gersh answered me, his voice soft and low. “Yes.”
“He’s a stagehand too?” Mike asked, ready to rip open the door and confront Fontaine Delahawk. “A prop guy? What?”
“No, Detective. Ted’s an aerialist. High-wire stuff. His family’s been in the circus business for generations. They’re trapeze artists too.”
Graceful, fluid, agile — and fiercely strong as well. Our killer was a skilled aerialist — an acrobat used to performing in the air, without a safety net.
“Zukov is the family name,” Daniel Gersh said. “Ted’s one of the Flying Zukovs.”
FORTY-THREE
“IT’S Chapman, Mr. Delahawk. Call off your dogs. We’re coming back to your place,” Mike said, speaking into the mouthpiece of the intercom. “Do me a favor and wait there.”
Mike nudged Daniel Gersh, and the lanky young man, now entirely crestfallen, made his way out of the room between the two of us, with me in the lead.
I could see out the window as we passed the well-lit Amtrak stations that we had breezed through Westchester County and just gone over the line into Connecticut.
The corridors were empty. We passed through the cars with no sign of Nico or Giorgio until we reached Delahawk’s door. He opened it himself and admitted us, clearly seething with anger.
“Come in and sit down,” he said, used to giving directions that were obeyed. “You’re the new boy, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Daniel said.
“Is he the problem?” Delahawk asked, and continued on before either Mike or I could answer. “I’d stop and let you off with him in New Haven, but that would compromise our arrival time in Providence and cost a bloody fortune on top of it to get the emergency parking and unloading fee. Starting up again and all that. Not possible.”
“We’ll take the ride,” Mike said. There were other people on board he wanted to interview.
“What has he done?”
“Nothing wrong,” Mike said. “Daniel’s sister was murdered earlier this week. I’m assuming you follow the news, Mr. Delahawk. The girl who was decapitated. Her body was found in Harlem.”
“Shocking,” he said, lowering himself into a well-worn leather armchair. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in distress, son? I’d have done anything to make you comfortable.”
Daniel Gersh stared out the window.
“Well, we’ll see you all have some dinner and send you on your way,” Delahawk said.
“Now that you know how serious this is, we need a little more of your help.”
“Yes?”
“Tell me about the Zukov family, Mr. Delahawk. Tell me how many of them are in your troupe.”
“What does this have to do with Daniel’s sister, sir? The Zukovs are an international legend. One branch of the family has been with us at Ringling for thirty years. Tony Steele, the American; Terry Cavaretta; and the Zukovs — that’s your circus royalty, Mr. Chapman. You’re not going to make an international incident out of us, are you?”
“Tell me about the Zukovs. I’ve got two hours to listen, with time to meet them before we disembark. I can have the train stopped anywhere along the way because I’ve got Daniel, and every agent from here to Florida will want to press him for details he might remember.”
Delahawk’s head snapped in Daniel’s direction. “What does he know?”
“It’s not like that, Mr. D. I’m asking the questions. How many Zukovs on board this buggy?”
Delahawk cleared his throat. “There are four of the family members in the current act.”
“And they are?…”
“Yuri. He’s about thirty-five years old. His wife works with him too. She’s quite good. And they have a four- year-old who travels on the train, of course. I hope you’ll leave the children alone.”
“What’s their specialty?”
“Trapeze. They’re trapeze artists. The Zukovs are trained to do everything that might be expected of an aerialist.”
“Who else?”
“Yuri’s younger sister, Oksana. She works mainly with her husband. That’s Giorgio, one of the men I sent to search for you two. His family is from Italy, so most of them work in Europe. We’re lucky that Giorgio fell in love and came with Oksana. His people also have a long tradition of circus performance.”
“And their act?”
“Oksana and Giorgio are aerial contortionists, Detective.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s been a long time since you’ve come to the circus.”
“I live it, Mr. Delahawk. Twenty-four-seven,” Mike said. “What’s a contortionist?”
“The Zukovs perform aerial acrobatics while hanging from a special fabric. No safety lines, of course. They can suspend themselves from almost anywhere.”
I thought immediately of the tall gate that separated the steps of Mount Neboh from Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Boulevard, the tree that hung over the cemetery at Old St. Pat’s, and the beams suspended above the silver chalice at the Fordham chapel.
Delahawk went on. “The best aerialists, like the Zukovs, can spiral their bodies into just about any position.
