With tears running down her face, Cassandra turned away.
“Let go of the knife,” Michael said. “It’s over.”
Lieutenant Bernstein came flying around the corner. Sergeant Monticelli followed with his gun drawn. He aimed at Harvey’s head.
But Harvey had already dropped the knife. There was no point in continuing. Killing Sara would no longer benefit AIDS because Michael knew the truth. So did Cassandra and Lieutenant Bernstein and that other police officer. He could not kill them all. He could not hide the truth any longer.
So what should he do now?
His whole body went limp. The officer with the gun tackled him and flipped him roughly onto his stomach. There was no need. Harvey offered no resistance. Through his one good eye, he saw Michael pick up Sara. They embraced for a very long time.
He was cuffed and dragged to his feet. Cassandra still could not face him. A pity. He had really cared for her. He might even have loved her. But how could he make her understand that his happiness was irrelevant? How could he make her understand that he had become merely a shell, a tool, a valuable asset in the war against AIDS? His personal life was immaterial. It was Harvey the doctor and researcher that mattered; Harvey the man had always been superfluous.
His eyes still burned from the acid, but he was not thinking about that anymore. He was mulling over his options. He would get a lawyer, a lawyer who could stall for as long as possible. Just a few months of freedom was all it would take to perfect SR1…
“You have the right to remain silent,” the police officer was saying. “Anything you say…”
… and even if he had to spend time in jail, so what? He might be able to work on the formula in prison and correspond with researchers in the outside world. He had read about a doctor doing that somewhere. He could still make a contribution, still give the world his expertise.
But first, he would call a lawyer. A good, smart lawyer.
Yeah, that was it. That was what he’d do. That was exactly what he would do.
EPILOGUE
Lenny walked into the Eighty-seventh Street Precinct. He strode past the usual ugly glares and catcalls with a smile.
When he arrived at his destination, Lenny said, “Take that pencil out of your mouth.”
Lieutenant Max Bernstein looked up. “Hi, Len.”
“Ready to go visit Sara and Sam?”
“Let me just finish this up.”
“What is it?”
“Paperwork. That’s all I do now.”
“Hang in there,” Lenny said. “Someone has to blaze the trail.”
Max began to fiddle with his new mustache. “I never thought of myself as much of a trailblazer.”
“Sometimes greatness is thrust upon you.”
“No one talks to me anymore,” Max said. “All I get is shit detail.”
“Being a leader is a lonely business.”
“It’s not funny, Len.”
“Do you wish you never said anything?”
Max remembered the news conference seven months ago. Newspaper and television reporters from all over the globe were there to cover the capture of the Gay Slasher and the revelation that SR1 was a hoax. On that day Max had not planned on saying anything except the usual “this was a team effort” bullshit. His mouth, however, had other ideas.
A reporter had asked, “How does it feel to be a hero, Lieutenant?”
“I’m just glad the case is over.”
“Do you realize that you’re an idol? Parents consider you a role model for their children.”
“I doubt that.”
“Don’t be so modest, Lieutenant. Do you think this case is an example of how far the gay community will go to deceive the American public?”
“I don’t understand your question.”
“Do you think this was a plot by a subversive gay group to get more money for AIDS?”
“There is no doubt that Dr. Riker acted on his own,” Max said. And then he added, “Furthermore, since I am your hero of the week, I will tell you that it just so happens that I myself am…”
… and that was when he spilled it.
“Well?” Lenny said. “Are you sorry about coming out of the closet?”
Max shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You’ve done a lot of good.”
“My career is in the toilet.”
Lenny smiled. “You take the good with the bad. Give it time.”
“Have any other comforting cliches?”
“No. Just remember that legally the police department can’t do a damn thing to you.”
“Except assign me shit detail. I should have gotten a shot at that Masquerade Killer, but they put someone else on it. I only get the minor fag cases because, as the captain puts it, that’s my ‘field of expertise.’”
“He’s a homophobic Neanderthal,” Lenny said. “Want to go into his office and make out in front of him?”
Max chuckled. “I think not.”
“Don’t worry. They’ll start accepting you soon. Trust me. Progress comes slowly.”
Max took the pencil out of his mouth. “Doubt it.”
“Hey, Twitch.”
Max spun toward Willie Monticelli. He had not seen the sergeant since the day he had made himself a national gay celebrity seven months ago.
“Hi, Willie. Long time, no see.”
Willie hesitated. “Who’s this? Your boyfriend or something?”
“Lenny, this is Sergeant Willie Monticelli. Willie, this is Lenny Werner.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Sergeant.”
Snickers from nearby cops.
“What sort of things?” Willie asked suspiciously.
“That you are a good cop,” Lenny replied.
Willie shrugged. “I do my job.”
“What can I do for you, Willie?” Max asked.
A voice from the corner: “Careful how you answer that, Willie. Might get more than you bargain for.”
“Shut the hell up, Owens,” Willie shouted back.
Max’s fingers plucked nervously at his shirt. “What’s up?”
“Got me,” Willie replied. “I was assigned to assist you on this Masquerade Killer. Seems the mayor was not happy about the results Owens and his buddies were getting. Wants to offer us a chance at it.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Look, Twitch, let me put it on the line.” Willie hitched up his pants by the belt. “I’m no fag lover, I gotta be honest. But I’ve seen a lot of cops in my day. Some are straight, some like to do it with whores in the basement, and yeah, some are fairies. So you like fondling balls instead of tits — as long as they ain’t mine, I don’t give a shit. I just want to solve the case, ya know?”
Lenny smiled at Max. “You see? Progress already.”
“Mail call.”
