orange would taste good. There's a nice cold orange in the fridge. I'll get it and peel it for you.'
She returned to the kitchen again, and, after searching a few moments, found where Turner had hidden the knives: on the top shelf of the cupboard over the range. Helene selected the long, pointed carving knife, the one Felicia had used to slash the furniture. She brought the knife and orange back to the bedroom.
She sat calmly, slowly slicing rind from the orange with the sharp blade, letting the peelings drop to the floor. She was aware that Felicia was watching her every move.
'There we are!' Helene said brightly, holding up the naked orange. 'Doesn't that look nice? Would you like a piece right now?'
'Where's Turner?' Felicia repeated.
'He had to go out for a little while,' Helene said again, 'but he'll be back soon. You love Turner, don't you, darling.'
Felicia blinked her eyes, tried to moisten her cracked lips. She attempted to speak, once, twice, and finally croaked, 'We're going to get married.' 'That's what I wanted to talk to you about,' Helene said, hunching closer. 'Now listen to me, dear, and try to understand what I'm saying.'
She spoke slowly, distinctly, for almost ten minutes, repeating everything until she was satisfied the other woman had heard and comprehended, even dimly. There was no reaction, no objection. But Felicia's mouth sagged open again, eyelids shut as suddenly as they had opened.
'I'm going now, dear,' Helene said. 'Turner will be back soon. But let me untie you first.'
Rather than attempt to loosen the tight knots, Helene used the carving knife to slice them through. Felicia lay motionless. Helene left the peeled orange and knife on the sheet alongside that flaccid body in its mummy posture.
'I hope you're feeling better real soon, darling,' she said lightly. 'Do take care of yourself.'
Then she went swiftly into the living room, grabbed up hat, coat, purse, and left the apartment. Outside, she bent forward against the wind, the gusts of stinging hail, and walked westward as rapidly as she could.
He had unbelted his trench coat to get at his keys.
When he entered the apartment, it was almost completely dark.
The only illumination was a weak light coming from the bedroom.
He turned to flip on the wall switch.
His coat swung open.
'Helene!' he called. 'I'm home!'
The knife went in just below his sternum.
The force of the blow slammed him back against the closed door.
The blade was withdrawn and shoved in again.
Again. Again.
In shock, body burning, he looked down at the blood blooming from his wounds.
He looked at the naked wraith crouched in front of him. Dimly he saw her lips drawn tight in a tortured grin. He glimpsed a matchstick arm working like a piston. He felt the blade penetrate. Scorching.
He tried to reach out to stop that fire, but his knees buckled.
He slid slowly downward until he was sitting, legs thrust out, hands clamped across his belly, trying to dam the flood.
She would not stop, but bent over him, stabbing, stabbing.
Even after he was dead, she continued to poke with the knife, in all parts of his body, until she was certain he had ceased to exist.
Chapter 42
'It's perfect weather!' enthused Detective Ortiz. 'All the precinct cops will be in the coop, and all the bums will be in cardboard cartons under a bridge somewhere.'
'What's the setup, Terry?' Wenden asked.
'There is no setup. No security guards and no alarms that I could spot. The place is Swiss cheese. We go in through the front door. I could pick that lock with a hairpin. Then we're in the office. A back door leads to the warehouse. I got a quick look at that, and there's nothing but a push-bolt as far as I could see. Listen, we'll be in and out of that joint before you can finish whistling 'Dixie.'' 'You got it all straight, Red?' Wenden said. 'You drop us at Tenth Avenue and Fifty-fifth. Then drive around the block. Park as close to Stuttgart as you can get. If you have to double-park, that's okay, too. Give us two blasts of your horn if you see something that could be a problem. Okay?'
'A piece of cake,' Dora said.
She was driving the Ford Escort. The two detectives, dressed in black, sat in the back. The windshield wipers were straining, and Dora leaned forward to peer through slanting rain, fierce flurries of sleet.
'If you guys are going to be so quick,' she said, 'maybe I better keep the motor running. I wouldn't care to stall out and have to call the Triple-A.'
'Good idea,' Terrible Terry said. 'You got a full tank?'
'Of course,' Dora said, offended. 'This isn't my first criminal enterprise, you know.'
'Love this woman,' Ortiz said, 'Love her!'
Traffic was practically nil. No buses. A few cabs. A civilian car now and then. They saw a snowplow heading up Eighth Avenue and a sander moving down Ninth. Dora pulled across Tenth Avenue on 55th Street and stopped.
'Have a good time,' she said.
The two cops climbed out of the car.
'Twenty minutes,' Ortiz said. 'But if we're late, don't panic.'
'I never panic,' Dora said. 'I'll be waiting for you.'
She drove slowly around the block, being careful to stop for red lights. She found a parking space almost directly across the street from Stuttgart Precious Metals. She turned to watch the two men come plodding down 54th, bending against the wind but taking a good look around. Dora thought they must be freezing in their leather jackets. They were the only pedestrians, and no vehicles were moving.
She saw them pause, glance about casually, then saunter up to Stuttgart's front door. Both bent over the lock. Ortiz was true to his word; they were inside within a minute. The door closed behind them. Dora turned on the radio. She caught a weather forecast. It didn't sound good: rain and sleet turning to snow. Accumulations of up to two inches expected in the city, four inches in the suburbs. She lighted a cigarette and waited.
Nothing occurred and she was disappointed; a little high drama wouldn't have been amiss. Less than twenty minutes later, the two men came cautiously out of Stuttgart's front door. They paused a moment while Ortiz fiddled with the lock. Dora turned on her lights, and the cops came trotting across the street and climbed into the back of the Escort.
']ee-sus!' Ortiz said. 'It was cold in that dump.'
Dora opened the glove compartment, took out a brown paper bag, handed it back to them. It contained a pint of California brandy.
'Something to chase the chill,' she said.
'Did I tell you I love this woman?' Terrible Terry said to Wenden. 'Love her!'
They opened the bottle and handed it back and forth as Dora pulled out and started back to the Bedlington.
'Not too fast, not too slow,' Wenden warned.
'I know the drill,' Dora said crossly. 'How did you guys make out?'
'Drive now, talk later,' he said.
She didn't offer another word on the trip back to the hotel. The two detectives conversed in low voices in the back, but she paid no attention. She was almost certain she knew what they had found at Stuttgart.
The cops had flashed their potsies and left John's heap in the No Parking zone in front of the hotel. Dora double-parked, cut the engine, lights, and windshield wipers. The snow was beginning, but it was a fat, lazy fall;
