Naked Cruelty

“He went to the cells to see Virgil Simms,” Corey said, desperate to get Carmine off his back. “They’ve been pals since academy days. It’s not surprising that Morty would have gone to cry on Virgil’s shoulder, open his divorce papers there.”

“I see.” Carmine got up, still seething.

“Hey! Cases? And who’s to take Morty’s place?”

“There won’t be a replacement until after the enquiry panel gives its findings, so you and Buzz will just have to jog along a man short until then,” Carmine said over his shoulder. “I want the pair of you back on the Taft High weapons cache. There are rumors that there’s a smoke and mirrors element. Put your hat on properly, Corey, and find out the truth.”

“I think it was only a matter of time,” said Sergeant Virgil Simms. “Morty didn’t have any luck. He was Sad Sack. Whoever he married would have turned out like Ava because Morty wished it on himself. He always had a yen for a tramp, maybe as a reaction against his mom. She’s one of those hard, selfish women who never miss going to church on Sundays.”

“What’s going to happen to the kids?” Carmine asked.

“Ava’s taking them and moving back into the house, but Morty’s mom is complaining to Child Welfare that Ava’s not a fit mother.”

“Does she genuinely want custody?”

“Hell, no! I can’t come to the rescue, Captain-my wife’s not an Ava lover.”

“No wife is. I take it trouble’s brewing?”

“Definitely. Neither mother nor grandmother wants the kids.”

“It’s hard to believe that Kurt von Fahlendorf’s been found,” said Mark Sugarman to Bill Mitski as they prepared to walk.

“Great news,” Bill answered. “Holloman has good cops.”

“Does that mean you think they’ll nail the Dodo?”

“Yeah, it does. The problem all along has been randomness, but the crimes have to be getting less random, if only because there have been more of them to take into consideration.”

“Oh, I hope you’re right!” Mark said with fervor. “Then we could all relax.”

“You wouldn’t give up the walking?” Bill asked, alarmed.

“No, I wouldn’t. It’s too good for the heart and the waist, Bill.” Mark laughed and slapped his belly.

“Who’s that up ahead?” Bill asked suddenly.

Mark’s lip lifted. “The Siamese twins,” he said, groaning.

“You’re right, they should be joined at the hip. They even walk like it. Repulsive!” Bill shuddered.

“Good evening,” Mark said politely, coming abreast of Robbie and Gordie Warburton.

“And the top of the evening to you, sirs,” said Robbie.

The twins stood to be introduced to Bill Mitski.

“Out for a constitutional?” Bill asked, trying to still his crawling flesh.

“Tonight, yes,” said Robbie. “Such soft weather! I love a New England Indian summer, don’t you? Days in the eighties, nights around freezing, this time of night perfect for walking.”

“Do you walk often?” Mark asked. “I’ve not seen you.”

The twins tittered, sounding effeminate.

“Heavens to Betsy, no!” Robbie cried, and moved on, Gordie automatically moving in time with him.

“Toodle-pip!” Robbie called.

Mark and Bill continued to stand for a moment.

“They give me the creeps,” said Mark.

“They give me the shits,” said Bill.

“Toodle-pip! Who does he think he is, Noel Coward?”

The pair resumed their walk.

“You know what I feel like?” Bill asked as they turned on to Cedar for the east-west segment of their route. It was busier here, cars driving up and down, people on the sidewalks.

“No, what?”

“A party. One of your wing-dings, Mark.”

Mark sighed, shook his head. “After Melantha? No, Bill, I don’t think so. Her death would hang over us like a miasma.”

“One sick bastard is all it takes to wreck things! Carew used to be such a great place to live.”

“It will be again, but not until after the Dodo is caught.”

When he had a little time to spare, Didus ineptus liked to review his plans, and the plans for this next woman were looming larger and larger in his mind as the gap between the fingers of time grew ever narrower. Would it be three weeks, or would he go at the end of two weeks? They thought it had significance for him-what idiots they were! When he moved was simple self-preservation, nothing else. The thing is, did he want to share his glory with a pair of buzzards like Hubert Humphrey and the feral Richard Nixon? That was three weeks. He could be ready to go in two weeks, when the stage would belong to him entirely.

She lived on Cedar Street, and that was perilous. But not impossible. He just had to conduct his expedition accurately. The place he wanted was right next door to the Hochners, who lived in a private dwelling, whereas his target was an apartment block of four storeys that held eight tenants. Were the Hochners not next door it would have been an unattainable goal, but the Hochners were the boy who cried wolf; they were forever calling the cops to complain about the neighbors, and the cops had given up coming to investigate. Of course the Hochners complained about that, but even new broom Captain Fernando Vasquez had tumbled to them, and dealt with their whines by writing them flowery letters.

The Dodo’s quarry lived on the first floor and out the back on the Hochner side; her name was Catherine dos Santos, she was a devout Catholic of unimpeachable virtue, a dark and lovely girl with the look of a Raphael madonna.

He had been saving her through nine others. Oh, there were more deposited in his account for future forays, but Catherine was very special. For one thing, though her hair was midnight-black, her eyes were a striking violet- blue, large, round, fringed by lush lashes, owning an expression of perfect tranquility. She had never been in love, she had told him at the party, and was saving herself for her husband.

She had bars on all her windows. Not imitation bars, but authentic jailhouse bars, an inch in diameter and solid iron. They were bolted to the inside of concrete block walls-no way in except to cut them with a torch, and the Hochners would see the first spit of a spark. Her doors were solid core, only two in number. One, a fire escape, was two doors down on the Hochner side of the building, and bolted top and bottom. The entry door was in the middle of the back wall and held three separate locks, all different.

He had the keys. Even virgins have to pee, and she had gone to Mark Sugarman’s guest toilet not precisely drunk, but a little too light-headed to be bothered lugging her big bag. The keys were in it. While Dave Feinman did a wicked impersonation of Senator Strom Thurmond, he had taken wax impressions of all five keys on her ring. In the middle of a night he had tried the five and found the three he needed, labeled them. Except that he had learned they triggered many sets of tumblers per lock, which was why he came back at exactly the time she was due home. He had to see her open the door.

Using the jungle behind which lived the Hochners, he worked his way to the back of the apartment building and sat in the boundary hedge, absolutely concealed, to see Catherine enter.

She came down the side path so physically close to him that he could hear her pantyhose hissing as her thighs brushed against each other: six-thirty on the dot. Top lock first: three turns right, two left. Then the bottom lock: six turns left, no right. Last, the middle lock: four turns left, three right. All of that done, she leaned her left shoulder against the door and gave it a powerful shove. It came open just enough for her to slip inside. Then came the sound of a big steel bolt slamming home at the top of the door and another at the bottom: only after that did she close the three locks. Fort Knox was ready and armed: what a woman!

His window of opportunity was tight. In Catherine’s case he knew he would have to be inside and waiting before she arrived home, but the Hochners had a small deck outside their back door and could be found on it every afternoon drinking iced tea until six-fifteen, when they retired. No doubt they would soon make their al fresco interlude terminate at an earlier time, but he couldn’t risk bringing that into his calculations. Fifteen minutes were all he would have, though he would be there at six just in case.