Caleb Carr - The Angel Of Darkness

“And that was exactly where and when?” Marcus asked, also studying the wound.

“Thursday evening. We had just left the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I often take Ana-my daughter-I often take her there. She is very fond of the sculpture hall, I don’t know just why. The figures make her so excited, full of smiles and wonder… At any rate, we usually sit afterwards by the Egyptian obelisk outside, and she sleeps. The obelisk, too, has always fascinated her, though in a different way.”

“And you were hit right there-right out in the open?”

“Yes.”

“Yet no one witnessed it?”

“It seems not. It had rained earlier in the day and was threatening to do so again-perhaps people wished to avoid it. Although there were several very kind persons about when I awoke.”

Lucius glanced up at Marcus. “You see the angle? And there’s no laceration.”

“Exactly,” Marcus answered, his tone also businesslike. “Probably no concussion.” Then, to the señora: “Any unusual physical side effects after it happened? A ringing in your ears, perhaps, or bright spots in your vision?”

“No.”

“Dizziness, a feeling of pressure inside your skull?”

“No, I was examined by a doctor,” Señora Linares continued, becoming a little more sure of herself. “He told me-”

“If you don’t mind, señora,” Lucius said, “we’ll try to disregard other reports. We’ve had a lot of experience with New York City doctors-and their opinions-in cases like this.”

The señora grew quiet at that, looking kind of like a little girl who’d spoken out of turn at school.

“No concussion, then,” Marcus mumbled. “Pretty neat job.”

“Perfect angle,” Lucius said. “Somebody good- unless… . señora, you say you never saw the person who struck you?”

“Not at all. I was unconscious immediately, though I don’t think for very long. But by the time I awoke, he had fled. With Ana.”

“You say ‘he,’ ” Marcus remarked. “Any reason?”

The señora looked suddenly confused. “It-I don’t know. It never occurred to me that-”

“That’s all right,” Marcus said. “Just asking.” But then he glanced up and looked at Miss Howard-and from the apprehensive expressions that came into both of their faces, I could tell that there was no way in hell he’d been “just asking.”

Marcus returned to his questioning: “How tall are you?”

“Mmm-a little over five feet and five inches.”

Marcus nodded, murmuring, “Straight blow across. Not a sap.”

“Point of impact’s too distinct, too hard,” Lucius agreed. “Piece of pipe, I’d guess. They’ve started work on the new Fifth Avenue wing of the museum. Plumbing’s going in…”

“ Lot of pipe handy.” Marcus looked my way. “Stevie. Get over here.”

A little surprised, I followed the order and moved between Marcus and Lucius to take a gander at the nasty bump on the back of the señora’s head. “Look familiar?” Marcus asked me with a small smile.

“You been through my file at Mulberry Street?” I asked.

“Just answer the question,” Marcus went on with the same small grin.

I took another look, then nodded. “Yep. Definitely coulda been. Nice little piece of lead pipe.”

“Good,” Marcus said, sending me with a nod back to my windowsill.

(All right, so now the world knows how I got my nickname-and for those who want an even more detailed explanation, don’t worry, that’s part of this story, too.)

The Isaacsons then moved around to the front of the Linares woman’s head, at which she quickly closed her right eye again. Lucius took in the bruises and the broken nose very quickly, nodding all the while. “This’ll be the husband’s work.”

“Very characteristic,” Marcus said. “And completely different from the other.”

“Exactly,” Lucius added. “Which further suggests-”

“Exactly,” Marcus echoed. “You say neither you nor anyone else at the consulate ever received a ransom note, señora?”

“No, never.”

The Isaacsons exchanged somewhat confident looks and nods, through which the barest beginnings of excitement showed clear. “All right,” Marcus went on, crouching down on one knee. The señora started a little as he took her hand: it seemed like he was just trying to reassure her, but then I noticed that one of his fingers went up to the inside of her wrist. “Please keep your eyes closed,” he said, drawing out his pocket watch. “And tell us everything you can remember about the woman you saw with your child on the train.”

Mr. Moore turned to Miss Howard, mumbling something under his breath and looking like his skepticism was returning.

“Try to keep quiet, John,” Lucius called over to him. “We’ll bring you up to speed in a few minutes. But it’s getting very late, and the señora will be missed at home-”

“There is no difficulty about that,” Señora Linares said. “I shall go from here to a good friend who works at the French consulate-the same woman who sent me to see Miss Howard. She has engaged rooms at the Astoria Hotel, and we have told my husband that we are spending the night in the country.”

“The Astoria?” Marcus said with a grin. “Beats any night in the country I ever had.” The señora smiled along with him, at least as much as her battered mouth would allow her to. “Now, then,” Marcus continued. “About the woman…”

At the words Señora Linares’s face filled to brimming with the same dread what had flitted around her all evening, and she couldn’t help but open her good eye. “Never have I been so afraid, señor,” she murmured. “So-struck by evil.” Marcus indicated with his finger that she should shut her eye again, and she followed the instruction, after which he looked at his pocket watch again. “Not at first, though. No, at first she was simply sitting down, holding Ana. She was dressed in the clothing, it seemed to me, of a children’s nurse or a governess. Her face, when she looked at Ana, seemed affectionate enough-even loving, in a way. But when she looked up and out the window”-the señora gripped the arm of the chair hard with the hand that Marcus wasn’t holding-“they were the eyes of an animal. Like a great cat, entrancing, and yet-so… hungry . I thought I had been afraid for my Ana before I saw that face, but it was only then that I knew real fear.”

“Do you remember the color of her clothes?” Lucius asked. It seemed to me that the question involved more than just a minor detail to him. But the señora said that she could not recall the color. “Or if she was wearing a hat?” Again the señora drew a blank.

“I am sorry,” she said. “It was the face-I was so concentrated on the face, I noticed little else.”

Miss Howard was busily transcribing all these statements, and I saw Mr. Moore glance over at her and then roll his eyes a bit, as if he thought all this dramatic detail was just the rantings of a hysterical woman who’d been through what even he’d conceded was a terrible tragedy. But the Isaacsons turned to each other with very different expressions: knowledge, confidence, anticipation, they were all there. And I could see that Mr. Moore was a bit deflated about missing whatever they were getting.

“And you’re certain the woman didn’t see you?” Lucius asked.

“Yes, Detective. I was well under the roof of the platform as I ran alongside the train, and it was already dark. I did scream and leap at the window as it left the station, but it was already moving too fast. She may have seen someone , but she could not have known it was me.”

“Could you estimate the woman’s height and weight?” Lucius asked, returning to look at the wound on the back of the señora’s head once more.