cement step, and as Frank glanced toward the parking area, he realized that Angelica had parked in an almost direct line of vision from the door.
“If one of your artists were working late,” he said to Curtis, “would he use this door to go in and out?”
“Yes,” Curtis said, “the front is locked after five.” He glanced about the park, then up at the high gray wall of the Cyclorama. “This restoration is going to benefit this whole area of the city,” he said.
“It could use it,” Frank said, as he started walking toward his car.
“This neighborhood has quite a history, did you know that?” Curtis asked.
Frank shook his head as he walked on.
“Much of it was a burial ground,” Curtis said. “We learned that during the excavations.”
“What excavations?”
“When the first piping was put in,” Curtis said. “That’s when certain areas were uncovered. Workmen found a great many bones.” He nodded in the general vicinity of Waldo Street. “Especially over there, in the area beyond Boulevard.” Curtis’ eyes darkened. “The workmen reported it to the police. They weren’t archeologists and anthropologists, after all. It was an odd find. So many bones. Human bones. “ His eyes shifted back to Frank. “All female. All from teenage girls.”
Frank began to feel dizzy.
“So rather than an ordinary burial ground,” Curtis went on, “we think it was probably a place of sacrifice. There was no evidence of trauma, no fractured skulls, for example. We think their throats were cut.”
In his mind, Frank could see the young girls as they flailed about on the ground, bleeding slowly to death. He could feel the blade as it sliced through their long brown throats, and the wave of warm blood as it washed down their naked chests. The high wail that came from them seemed to struggle upward into the air around him.
26
Frank dropped the photograph on Caleb’s desk. “His name is Vincent Toffler.”
Caleb glanced at the photograph. “Okay.” He looked up. “Want to tell me the rest?”
“The night Angelica went for that ride with the Doyle kid, she stopped at the Cyclorama. I always thought she was waiting to see somebody, but I was wrong. I think she was waiting to
Caleb tapped the picture with his finger. “By this guy?”
“Yes.”
“Go ahead.”
“After she left the Cyclorama, she headed for this particular street, Mercer Place. She drove up and down it a few times. Again, like she was trying to be seen.”
“And this guy lives on Mercer?” Caleb asked.
“Yes,” Frank said. “He works at the Cyclorama and he lives on Mercer Place. From where Angelica parked, she could see a little door at the back of the building.”
“Slow down, Frank,” Caleb said. “Which building?”
“The Cyclorama,” Frank went on methodically. “This door is the artists’ entrance to the building, the one Toffler would have used either to go in or come out of the building.”
Caleb nodded slowly. “So we’ve got him at Cyclorama and on Mercer Place.” He smiled indulgently. “It’s good, Frank, but it’s circumstantial.”
“And one other thing,” Frank added, “those galleries Angelica went to near Grant Park, there are three of them on the street. She was seen in two of the three. The one she wasn’t seen in has Toffler’s work hanging in it.”
Caleb scratched his cheek thoughtfully. “It’s still circumstantial, but it’s worth checking out. “ He stood up. “It’ll be a treat. I haven’t seen the Cyclorama in years.”
“He’s not there anymore,” Frank said. “He finished his job there a week ago.”
“So it’s Mercer Place then,” Caleb said wearily.
“Yeah.”
Caleb drew in a slow, despairing breath. “Dear God, I hate to go get a guy at home.”
They pulled up to the house on Mercer Place a few minutes later. It was a small, wood frame structure that looked as if it had been fully restored. The white, freshly painted exterior gleamed brightly in the late-morning sun, but the interior was utterly dark, and the adjoining driveway was empty.
“I don’t see any movement in there,” Caleb said as he eyed the front of the house. “Looks like nobody’s home.”
“We don’t have enough for a warrant,” Frank said.
Caleb looked at him. “Can you dig up anything else right quick?”
“No.”
“Just have to wait till he comes home then.”
“We could look around outside,” Frank said.
“Okay,” Caleb said. “But let’s make sure nobody’s there before we go poking around in the yard.”
The new wooden steps did not creak at all as the two of them walked up on the front porch.
“This guy’s really fixed this place up,” Caleb said as he took up his position at the left side of the door. He paused a moment, then knocked.
No answer.
He waited a moment, then knocked again.
No one came to the door, and no sounds came from inside the house.
“I think he’s gone,” Caleb said.
“Yeah.”
They walked down the stairs together, then split up, Frank heading around the left side of the house, Caleb around the right. The foundation was low, and as he moved along the side of the house, Frank could easily look through the windows as he passed. The front room was sparsely furnished, but everything was arranged with an eye to neatness, order, a sense of well-used space. There was a plain blue sofa and matching chair, a knotted rug, and a slender wooden rocking chair. Through the dark air of the interior, Frank could see Caleb’s large face as it stared into the same room from the other side of the house. He smiled quickly, then pointed to the rear, and the two of them made their way toward the back of the house.
The next window was much smaller and the shade was drawn halfway. It was the bathroom, and Frank moved past it quickly and on to the third window. It was a bit higher from the ground, but he had no trouble seeing over the ledge. It was a neatly arranged kitchen, larger than he had expected, with shelves along the front wall, facing a polished white stove and refrigerator. Again, he could see Caleb’s face as it stared at him from the other side of the room. For a moment it seemed to fade slowly, then break apart like a piece of crumbling statuary, and Frank squinted hard to bring it back together.
“Nothing strange around here,” Caleb said, as the two rejoined each other in the back yard.
“No,” Frank said. “Nothing at all.”
“Bedroom’s on the other side of the bathroom,” Caleb added. “Just a bed, all made up, and a closet with the door open.”
“Anything in it?”
“Only what you’d expect. A bunch of clothes.”
“So he probably still lives here,” Frank said.
“Yeah. That’s the one good thing about it.”
Frank glanced around the back yard. There was a small building near the back fence. It looked as if it had once been a garage.
“Let’s check that out,” he said.
It was a small wooden structure and one side had been peeled of its paint, as if someone were stripping it for a new paint job. Shades had been drawn down over the two small windows along either side.
“Shades are open at the house,” Caleb said quietly. “Why not here?”
Frank stepped over to the door. He looked at Caleb. “What do you want to do?”
“Step back, Frank,” Caleb said without hesitation. Then he raised his leg and slammed it against the door.
