The Killing Man

'Yes. After the amnesty I get it. I am legal now. I am going to be a US citizen.'

'He couldn't take it. He was just trying to shake something out of you, understand?' After a moment she frowned, then bobbed her head. 'Where were you yesterday?' I asked.

'From the bottom to floor number . . . five. I did the ashtrays. I ran the sweeper.'

'Many people?'

'Some. Mostly it was a day off.'

'You know them?'

She nodded again. 'They come in, they leave, nobody stay after noontime. Maybe four people.'

'Think about ten o'clock. You see anybody then?'

'Who you want me to see?'

I let go her hand. 'Beats me. I wish I could answer that.'

'One walker is all.'

'What's a walker?'

'He comes up the stairs. He walks. The elevator is downstairs a long time, but he walks. He come to floor five and he keeps walking up.'

'What time?'

'Just before my break. I go for coffee at ten.'

I motioned with my hands, trying to draw some information out of her. 'What was he like?'

All I got was a noncommittal shrug.

'Think.'

She looked up at the ceiling a few seconds. 'He was a big man. He wore a hat.' I waited. She shook her head. There was nothing more to add.

'He see you?'

'I did not see his face so he did not see my face,' she stated flatly.

'Very big?' I asked her. 'Middle-size big?'

She shrugged again. 'He wore a coat. Like for the rain.'

Like he could put on after a kill to cover up any bloodstains.

'He carry anything?'

Another shrug.

'Did you mention any of this to the other policemen?'

A flash of fear touched her eyes again. 'I . . . they made me afraid and I could not think to tell them. Do you think they will . . .'

'Forget it, Maria. You have nothing to worry about at all. Just be a good US citizen, okay?'

I got a little smile then. 'Si, si, very okay,' she said.

And now I had a walker. He was big. He wore a raincoat and a hat. There would be a thousand other guys just a few blocks away who could answer that description, but at least it was a start.

There was more that went with the description. He carried some kind of a billy club, but most likely a straight professional blackjack. He had a knife that was honed razor-sharp. It would have to be functional, small enough to carry discreetly, big enough to work efficiently. It could be single- or multi-bladed. I elected for a standard brand- name pocketknife with a four-inch main blade with a possible smaller one opposing. He could have a gun, but guys who prefer steel don't seem to use guns.

That took care of the weaponry.

His personal profile was pretty damn shaggy. He had no compunction about taking out a woman. He felt no revulsion about torturing a victim. He could kill with absolute ease and apparently took a great deal of satisfaction from a grotesque act of murder. He was a deliberate killer and seemed to be acting as an avenger of sorts.

Fear wasn't in his makeup either. He came at me knowing I could put a gun in my hand pretty quickly and would have used it just as fast, but it was his expertise against mine and he was counting on his own.

But he was a dumb son of a bitch because he killed the wrong guy. And if he wasn't so dumb he'd know that and come back to have another try at me. And this time I'd have a little avenging going for me too.

Somebody who was very good had gotten into my office. A pick had been used on the lock and the place had been thoroughly searched. The desk drawers had been pulled open, and only shut to get at the ones beneath. Both closet doors swung wide and the filing cabinets had the drawers completely removed and set on the floor. There was no ransacking, simply a fast search job for something big enough to be seen easily.

I put everything back the way it was, not concerned about disturbing prints. Anybody clever enough to come in with picklocks would have been enough of a pro to wear plastic gloves.

I had to make five calls before I located Petey Benson in the Olde English Tavern on Third Avenue. Ever since he had been on a special assignment covering a serial killer case in London he had shepherd's pie on Sunday. He was alone, the remains of his dinner pushed aside, and he was finishing the paper with a stein of beer in his hand.

'Now you show up,' he said. 'Read the paper yet?'

'Uh-huh.'

'Who's sitting on the story? All we got were official handouts.'

'There's a loco loose, Petey. They're playing this one cool.'

'Bullshit. What's the story? They said Velda was sapped and there was a killing in your office.'

'That's the story. Hell, I came in after it was all over.'

'Come on, don't hand me that baloney. A crackpot killing doesn't mean much, but doing it in your office does.'

'All I can figure is, some gonzo came in out of the rain with a big mad on at something he thought I did and went after a guy who happened to be in my office at the wrong time. He made a messy job of it and got out without being seen.'

'That sounds like a crock.'

'It is, but it's the only crock I got.'

He gave me a crooked grin and folded his papers up. 'So what do you want with me?'

'What's the scoop on Candace Amory?'

'Ah, you have many faces, old boy.' He picked up his stein and swirled the beer around. 'You want one of these?' Before I could answer he waved to the waiter and motioned for two more steins. 'Do you want a personal or a professional opinion?'

'Start with a pro rundown.'

'Well educated, intelligent, brainy, intellectual, or is that being redundant?'

'The point's clear.'

'She's sharp, mean as a snake, and when it comes to winning doesn't have any conscience at all. She takes every advantage she can of being a woman and doesn't seem to have chinks in her armor at all. She has powerful friends because she's so damn good at what she does and any political enemies who tried to lean on her didn't know what hit them.'

'Great,' I said sourly.

'She's got a nice ass, hasn't she?'

'I only saw her from the front.'

'That's pretty good too.' Petey chuckled. 'Why the inquiry?'

'She's coming out in the open,' I said. The waiter put the steins down with the handles facing in the wrong direction. I spun the mug around and slopped some of the beer on my sleeve.

Petey took a pull of his beer and wiped the foam from his lip. 'Not to be unexpected. That lady has been waiting her chance. I take it she's into this thing with you?'

'She's asking questions.'

He took another pull at his drink. 'A wonderment,' he said. He looked at me across the table, his eyes probing. 'We have something big here, I imagine.'

'Where did she come from, Petey?'

'Well, nobody does any great research on political appointments of that nature. The DA's office runs a lot of lawyers, plenty of lady lawyers too. But this one was a little special. After she got out of school she spent a year in