The whole building shook as the door banged open and slammed against the inner wall.
It was utterly dark inside, and for an instant Frank hesitated to go in. He could feel death like a thick smoke in the air around him, and as he finally stepped into the interior darkness, he felt as if life itself were cracking like dry earth beneath his feet, dissolving into dust.
“Find the light,” Caleb said.
Frank moved quickly to one of the small windows and threw open the shade. A shaft of silver light swept into the room.
Caleb opened a second shade, and the air brightened around them, revealing a neatly ordered artist’s studio. Several large canvases leaned against the far wall. A sculptor’s bench stood in the center of the room, and a plaster model of a naked woman rose from it like a small, half-finished monument. And to the right, blocking one window, but showered with light from another, was an enormous painting. It was of a young woman dressed in a willowy veil. Her sleek white legs were vaguely visible through her clothes, and as Frank’s eyes slowly rose, he could see her pale white thighs, then her small rounded breasts, and up along the tapered neck to a face rendered so beautifully that he suddenly realized that he had never seen its true radiance before.
“Angelica,” he said wonderingly.
Caleb turned toward the painting. His lips parted softly, but he said nothing.
“She was here,” Frank said, almost to himself. “She came here many times.”
“Yes,” Caleb said.
Frank drew his eyes from the painting. There was a tall wooden armoire next to it. He walked to it and pulled open its double doors. It was full of clothes, the frilly lace and soft velvet, the red satin blouse and the black leather skirt. He could smell the fragrance of Angelica’s body on the cloth. It was a soft, subtle musk that struck him as the last sad remnant of her life on earth. He felt his hand reach out to caress the cloth tenderly, then stopped himself and turned to Caleb.
“I’m going to wait for him,” he said. “I don’t care how long it takes.”
“Me, too,” Caleb said. He shrugged. “I ain’t going no place but the grave.”
They walked out of the shed and carefully closed the door behind them. Then they returned to the car and drove it a few yards away, turned around and headed back up the street. There was a narrow alleyway not too far from the house, and they backed just far enough into it so that they could watch the house without being seen.
The bright light of midday slowly turned to gray as the afternoon deepened into night. Far in the distance, they could see a band of storm clouds moving slowly toward the city.
“Going to be another toad-stringer,” Caleb said. He looked at his watch. “Been here five hours.”
“You can go home if you want to,” Frank said.
Caleb shook his head. “Nah, not yet.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “It’s my ass that’s complaining,” he said with a smile, “not my old bulldog heart.”
An hour later the first sounds of thunder rolled over the city. Jagged streaks of lightning blazed out of the darkness, and a few minutes after that, the rain swept down upon them in thick, windblown sheets.
Caleb leaned toward the dashboard and peered toward the house. “Well, we still won’t have no trouble seeing him.”
“No, we won’t.”
Caleb leaned back in his seat, and released a long slow sigh. “Retiring next year, Frank, did you know that?”
“No.”
“Life’s funny. You get too much of one thing, and not enough of something else. Now this stakeout shit, that’s something I’ve had too much of.”
Frank’s eyes drifted over to the house. “I sometimes think of quitting.”
Caleb looked surprised. “You do? How come?”
“Just tired, I guess.”
“Of too much blood?”
Frank shook his head. “No, not that. But just that people should live better than they do, Caleb. “ He looked at his partner. “I don’t know what keeps them from it. I’d like to find that out, sometime. I’d like to really
Suddenly two shafts of yellow light swept down from the small hill at the end of the street. They moved slowly down Mercer, two bars of glowing light that finally came to rest and then flashed off in front of Toffler’s house.
Frank pulled out the photograph Curtis had given him and looked at it. Then he handed it to Caleb. “Check it out again, let’s don’t roust the wrong guy.”
Caleb glanced at the picture then back up toward the car. “Get out of the fucking car,” he whispered.
Frank pressed his eyes near the windshield and stared out toward the house. The car stood motionlessly in front of it. Then the door opened on the driver’s side, and as it did so a flash of bright lightning broke over the street.
“That’s him,” Frank said.
The man was now standing by the car, the door still open. He looked behind him, then toward the dark house.
Caleb squinted hard. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said.
The man quickly strode into the front yard, then veered to the left and headed behind the house. For a moment, he disappeared into the covering darkness. Then a light flashed on in the shed out back.
“Good,” Caleb said. “No place to hide in that little shack.” He picked up the radio. “This is A one zero four. We’re checking out a murder suspect. Extent of danger, unknown. Would appreciate backup at one two one Mercer Place. No siren, please. Just be there if we need you.” He put down the mike, and smiled. “That puts a lid on it, Frank. “ He opened the car door. “Let’s go.”
The door of the shed was wide open, and a wide slant of light swept out of it. From time to time a shadow would flit between the lamp and the sheeting rain, and each time Frank saw it, he felt his breath catch in his throat. As he walked toward the open door, he felt the lightness of his flesh, the weak, uncertain web that held his life. He glanced at Caleb and felt a sudden overwhelming urge to touch his arm and warn him to take care.
Instead, it was Caleb who turned. “Be careful, Frank,” he whispered. Then he smiled and walked on.
They stopped at the edge of light, paused for just an instant, then knocked lightly at the door.
“Who’s there?”
Frank pulled out his badge and went through the door.
“Police,” he said.
The man looked up. He was tall, slender, with blond hair and light blue eyes that gave his face a startling beauty. He was standing by the sculptor’s bench, his thumb poised at the statue’s throat.
“What do you want?” he asked.
Caleb came up beside Frank. “Just a few questions.”
“About what?”
“Are you Vincent Toffler?”
“Yes. Why?”
Frank returned his badge to his coat. “We have a few questions for you.” He took out the picture of Angelica Devereaux and held it up. “Do you know this girl?”
The man nodded. “Yes.”
Frank took a small, cautious step toward him as he pocketed the photograph. “How did you happen to know her?” he asked.
“She was my subject,” the man said matter-of-factly. He pointed to the large painting to his left. “That’s her, as you can see.”
“How well did you know her, Mr. Toffler?” Frank asked, almost amiably.
“She was my subject.”
“You said that.”
“Well, that means that I painted her,” Toffler said. “She was my model. You can’t paint what you don’t know.”
