Two Songs This Archangel Sings

For me, immersing myself in work had meant attacking the riddle posed by the mind of the so-called serial murderer: the rogue individual who roams across the face of the nation killing dozens of faceless strangers-men, women, and children-at random and without warning, with no more motivation than an ephemeral sexual thrill associated with the torture and murder of others. Financed by a number of generous grants awarded to me on the basis of past performance, I'd crisscrossed the country, visiting scenes of violence and then prisons, logging more than a thousand hours of taped conversation with convicted serial murderers who'd agreed to talk with me. What I hoped were a few fresh insights garnered from this research was what I shared with this audience, and they rewarded me at the end with a standing ovation that lasted almost five minutes.

If I was getting a bit gamy, and I was certain I was, no one at the sumptuous buffet and reception following the lecture seemed to notice-or at least they didn't mention it as I stood in a corner of the reception hall shaking hands and chatting with the many people who came up to wish me well, congratulate me, offer their own opinions, or simply ask questions. To my surprise, quite a few people had seen me perform in the circus years before, or they had heard about it, and they wanted to talk about this. Others were curious about my dual career as a private investigator, had read about some of the bizarre cases in which I'd been involved, and wanted to talk about that. I wanted to talk about neither and always steered the conversation quickly back to serial murderers. Since my involvement with the beasts of Valhalla, my past was something I preferred not to discuss.

Not until that moment had I realized this was a trait I shared with Veil Kendry. It occurred to me that he had suffered his own Valhalla Project, and I wondered what it could have been. The answer, I thought, could be in the painting.

After a half hour or so the well-wishers started to drift away toward the food and drinks, leaving me alone for a few moments. Garth emerged from a crowd of cops at the other end of the hall and came over to me.

'Great job, brother,' Garth said as he gripped both my arms. His dark brown eyes glowed with pride. 'God, you're such a ham.'

'Is that a compliment or a complaint?'

'It's an opinion formed from careful, lifelong observation.'

'Thanks. I think.'

Garth pointed down at the painting propped against the gym bag at my feet. 'This is the painting you talked about?' he asked in a low voice.

'Yeah.'

'Then you did take it out of the apartment.' There was a distinct scowl in his voice.

'Obviously.'

'Not a good idea at all, Mongo. What about the money?'

'It's in the gym bag.'

'Even a worse idea.'

'You're probably right.'

'What the hell's the matter with you?'

'I took the painting because I'm convinced Veil left it for me, and because I think it could provide answers to why Veil did what he did, what his problem is, and maybe what he wants me to do for him. I think the cash was meant to be a retainer.'

'Thinking that doesn't make it yours, Mongo.'

'I'm aware of that. I took the money because it's probably safer with me than it was up in the loft. I'm putting it in the bank for him.'

'Damn it, Mongo, this is none of your business. You're leaving yourself open to a lot of grief-legal and otherwise.'

'I don't think I'm needed here anymore,' I said, picking up the painting and gym bag and turning toward the door behind us. 'Let's go someplace where we can talk.'

Garth held the door open for me, then followed me out into the curved corridor that arced around the reception hall. I walked to my left, kept going until we found an empty office.

'There's something else you should know,' I said as we entered the office and Garth closed the door behind us.

'What's that?' Garth asked in a flat voice as I set the painting and gym bag down against the wall.

'Veil's armed. He has nunchaku-'

'Nunchaku are illegal in New York State,' Garth said in the same flat tone.

'Yeah, but he's also got guns. I should have mentioned it when we talked on the phone. I'm sorry.'

Garth sighed heavily, bowed his head slightly, and ran the fingers of his right hand through his thinning, wheat-colored hair. 'You're damn right you should have mentioned it to me before,' he said, anger in his eyes and voice. 'Veil Kendry may be a friend of yours, but armed like that he's breaking the law and poses a threat to the public. You had no right to withhold that information.'

'I know. What can I say? When you're right, you're right. I was concerned that-'

'How many guns?'

'At least two, maybe three.'

'Any idea what kinds of guns we're talking about?'

'At least one handgun, maybe two. I think he's also carrying a semiautomatic rifle or submachine gun with a collapsible stock.'

'How the hell do you know what he's carrying if you didn't see him?'

I told Garth about the empty brackets and gun oil in the hidden compartment. My brother listened in silence, staring at a spot just above my head. When I'd finished, he hunched the broad shoulders on his six-foot-three-inch frame, shoved his hands into his pockets, and proceeded to pace. Finally he came to a stop in front of me again.

'Except for the mountains, that looks like Viet Nam,' he said, nodding toward the painting.

'There aren't mountains in Viet Nam?' I asked. Garth would know; he'd spent time there during the war as an MP stationed in and around Saigon.

'Not like those.'

'Still, he must have been somewhere over there. The soldiers are definitely Asian-Viet Cong and North Vietnamese regulars, I'd say.'

'Veil Kendry as an angel,' Garth said with a sardonic smile. 'Not likely.'

'It means something.'

'And I come back to the same question I asked earlier: If Kendry wanted to tell you something, why not just pick up the phone? Or leave a note?'

'The painting is the answer to that, and I'll let you know when I figure it out. Incidentally, that picture's interesting for other reasons. As far as I know, he's never painted anything else this realistically. Also, I've never seen anything else of his that had people in it.'

Garth's response was an indifferent shrug; his mind seemed to be elsewhere-undoubtedly on the man himself, not his painting.

'What are you going to do now?' I asked.

'Officially or unofficially?'

'Let's hear the official part first.'

'I'm not sure, Mongo. You're the one who opened the can, but I get responsibility for the Goddamn worms. I have no doubt that Kendry's carrying all the stuff you say he is. The problem is that you haven't even seen him, much less witnessed him carrying weapons As far as the law is concerned, Kendry has committed no crime; you have. Still, if I spread the word that Veil Kendry is wandering mound loaded for bear, every cop in the city is going to be looking for him, and those cops are going to have itchy trigger fingers. That could lead to somebody unnecessarily getting hurt. On the other hand, if I don't spread the word, some unsuspecting cop is likely to get blown away.'

'That's not going to happen, Garth.'

'Oh, isn't it? Can you guarantee me that? Can you tell me what's on Veil Kendry's mind?'

'You know I can't.'

'Then don't try to tell me what's not going to happen.'

'I hear what you're saying,' I said quietly, 'and I appreciate the dilemma. It's one reason I didn't mention the