Carol O’Connell - Crime School

Riker rolled the heavy weight off her body and met with some resistance, for Mallory’s hands were pressed to the dead man’s face – still trying to make human contact.

Civilian conversations blended with the static of radio calls from police units, and yellow tape cordoned off the sidewalk in front of the apartment building. An ambulance and a meat wagon were parked at the curb, side by side, doors hanging open, awaiting the living and the dead. The man from the medical examiner’s office zipped up the body bag on his gurney. A cigarette dangled from his mouth as he accepted a light from the homicide detective. ‘Dr Slope’s standing by to crack the old man open. So what’s the story on the other corpse?’

‘There’s only one dead body,’ Riker corrected him. ‘This one.’ He looked down at the remains of George Neederland, the missing department-store watchman.

The ME’s man looked up to the sky and a departing police helicopter. ‘Your guys just took another body off the roof. What’s the – ’

‘Repeat after me, pal. There’s only one dead body at this crime scene.’ Riker turned to see another reporter approaching the police barricade. Nearby, a news van was unloading pole lights and camera equipment. He turned back to face down the meat-wagon man. ‘One body. If the press hears a different story, Dr Slope’s gonna fire your ass. I’ll make sure he does.’

In a less threatening mode, Riker turned to thank Alice White for the wet washcloth she pressed into his hand. He grabbed Mallory by the arm and forced her to stand still while he cleaned the red smears from her face. Then he stepped back to appraise the rest of her stains. ‘Damn, you look worse than Deluthe. You’re sure none of that blood belongs to you?’

Mallory turned away from him and walked toward a crime-scene technician, calling out, ‘You! Stop!’

Riker strolled back to the ambulance crew. ‘You’re right, guys. No wounds on Mallory.’ He turned to watch his partner issuing orders and signing the evidence bags for her crime scene, unaware that her bloody clothes and hair were making the civilian onlookers sick.

A paramedic hovering over Deluthe said, ‘He’s coming around again.’

There was no need to shield the youngster from the reporters and their cameras. His own mother would not recognize that swollen bandaged face. More bandages covered his scalp. He was being stabilized with injections and portable machines to keep him out of the danger zone of deep shock.

Riker waited until Deluthe’s eyes flickered open, then continued the lecture where he had left off ten minutes ago. ‘When you found Natalie’s address in the watchman’s file, you should’ve come to me. Never go after a perp without back-up. And that door. That was a major screwup, kid. When you saw the open door, you should’ve known the scarecrow was still in the building.’

The young cop was coughing. It was a fight to get the words out. ‘Is this your way of telling me I’m fired?’ The lame smile made his lip bleed again.

‘Naw,’ said Riker. ‘I wouldn’t waste time teaching you how to stay alive – not if you were on the way out.’

The medic unhooked the monitor. ‘Okay, he’s stable.’

‘Give us a minute,’ said Riker. When the two paramedics had walked around to the other side of the ambulance, he said, ‘One more thing, kid. We’re promoting you to a stone killer – just for a little while.’ He pointed at the uniformed officers seated inside the ambulance, both men he trusted. ‘Waller’s got your ID and your badge. He’ll field all the questions at the hospital. Just keep your mouth shut.’ He turned around to look at his partner in her bloodstains. ‘Oh, and Mallory’s taking the credit for beating the crap out of you. But we’ll clear that up tomorrow, okay?’

Before the ambulance doors had closed on the baffled Deluthe, Charles Butler joined Riker on the sidewalk. ‘Shouldn’t Mallory see a doctor?’

‘Right,’ said the detective. ‘You talk to her.’

‘There’s something – not quite right with her.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ Riker turned to watch her moving about the scene like an automaton. ‘How can you tell?’

Charles certainly caught the sarcasm, but he was selectively deaf to detrimental remarks about Mallory. ‘Under normal circumstances, she’s compulsively neat. She’d never tolerate a smudge on one of her running shoes. Look at her now. She doesn’t even see the blood on her clothes and her – ’

‘Yeah, she’s not quite the little fanatic today.’ Riker smiled. ‘But that’s a good thing, isn’t it? Progress?’

Charles sighed. He pointed to the rectangular bulge in Riker’s pocket. ‘Are you ever going to give her that book?’

‘I will – when the time is right.’

Mallory was walking toward them. Charles made himself scarce before she could order him behind the crime-scene tape again.

Riker grinned, so happy to see her alive and walking around in any condition. ‘You missed your chance to tell Deluthe how bad he screwed up today. I filled in for you.’

‘Did you tell him he killed an unarmed man – the only witness to Natalie Homer’s murder?’

‘No, kid, I saved that part for you. Wait’ll he gets out of the hospital. He won’t be expecting an ambush.’ This was a joke, but she seemed to be considering it. ‘So, Mallory, I hear you reamed out Geldorf.’

‘He had it coming,’ she said.

‘Sure. That’s why you told him the scarecrow was a cop. You’d need a pretty good reason to give up a detail like that. You figured the old man was on the perp’s kill list, right? So you warned him. That was your twisted good deed for the day.’

He could see that she was not about to admit any such human frailty. Maybe it was all wishful thinking on his part, a fantasy of what he wanted her to be. He looked up at the clouds that threatened rain. ‘Not very satisfying this time, is it, Mallory?’

No, he guessed not.

She raised her face to his, and he saw his Kathy, only ten, all played out at the end of a bad day, and he wanted to kill somebody to make her world right again. His hate was growing, going out to the man who murdered Natalie Homer. That worthless bastard had done so much damage. Twenty years later, the dead could not be officially tallied until Sparrow was taken off life support. And then there was Mallory, altered in ways that worried him.

Riker reached into his pocket and pulled out a brown paper bag containing a book. ‘Here, a consolation prize.’ He handed her the final installment in the saga of Sheriff Peety and the Wichita Kid. ‘You might like the inscription.’

He had marked the page with a matchbook so she would find the brief message from her biggest fan, a love letter written before Louis Markowitz and Kathy had been properly introduced.

Riker walked away as she opened her present. He was heading for Mallory’s car, planning to sabotage it so she could not drive home by herself. Also, she would not forgive him if he saw her cry, and he did not want that additional burden. He was still paying for all his old crimes against the child she used to be. ‘Riker!’ she called after him. ‘We’re not done yet!’ So much for his grand idea that she could be moved to tears. Perhaps his fantasy life was getting out of hand.

The decor of the Manhattan condo was expensive and spartan, though the living room had the smell of Brooklyn ghosts, Louis and Helen Markowitz. Their old house had reeked of the same canned-pine-tree air freshener. Riker supposed this was Mallory’s idea of memento, for the room was bereft of family photographs or keepsakes. She must believe there was nothing here to give away any clue to her personality. Untrue. The white carpet had a low tolerance for dirt; chrome and glass gleamed from the toil of a cleaning fanatic; the dark leather chairs and the couch had severe right angles and hard straight lines. It was all black and white – no compromises – all Mallory.