Lawrence Sanders - Tenth Commandment

Stilton stepped forward and threw back the lid of the freezer.

We all craned forward. He was in there, wrapped in what appeared to be drycleaner's bags. I could make out the lettering: THIS BAG IS NOT A TOY.

He had been jammed in, arms folded, knees drawn up.

Plastic had frozen tightly around his head. I could see the face, dim and frosted. A long, sunken face, boned, gaunt, furious.

'Professor Stonehouse, I presume,' Percy Stilton said, tipping his hat.

'Shut the goddamn lid,' Lou said, 'before he thaws.'

I turned away, fighting nausea. Percy was on his walkie-talkie, trying to contact the team on Riverside Drive and the man on the dock. All he got in return was ear-ripping static.

'Shit,' he said.

'I told you,' Lou said. 'They're great until you need them.'

We were standing there discussing who would go to the nearest telephone when we heard the thump of feet on the outside deck and the houseboat rocked gently. Before I knew what was happening, the two detectives were crouched by the galley door, guns drawn.

'Josh,' Stilton hissed, ' drop! '

I went down on all fours, huddled near that dreadful freezer. Percy peered cautiously around the door frame.

He smiled, rose, motioned us up.

'In here,' Stilton shouted to someone outside.

Glynis Stonehouse entered slowly. She was wearing her long fur coat, the hood thrown back to rest on her shoulders. Following her came the Reverend Godfrey Knurr, dressed like a dandy: fitted topcoat, wide-collared shirt with a brocaded cravat tied in a Windsor knot, a black bowler tilted atop his head.

After them came Al Irving, grinning. He was holding his fox terrier on a leash. In his other hand was a snub-nosed revolver. The dog was growling: low, rumbling sounds.

'Look what I got,' Detective Irving said. 'They walked into my arms, pretty as you please. I tried to contact you.

These new radios suck.'

'What is the meaning of this?' Godfrey Knurr thundered.

It was such a banal, melodramatic statement that I was ashamed for him.

Percy Stilton gave him a death's-head grin and took two quick steps to the freezer. He threw back the lid.

'What is the meaning of this? ' he demanded.

Then nobody had anything to say. We were all caught, congealed in a theatrical tableau. Staring at each other.

Only the pallor of her face marked Glynis Stonehouse's agitation. Her hands did not tremble; her glance was steady and cool. Did nothing dent her? She stood erect, aloof and withdrawn. Her father lay there, frozen in plastic, a supermarket package of meat, and she was still complete, looking at all of us with a curious disdain.

Godfrey Knurr was feeling more — or at least displaying more. His eyes flickered about, his mouth worked.

Nervous fingers plucked at the buttons of his coat. His body slumped slightly until he seemed to be standing in a half-crouch, almost simian, taut and quivering.

His stare settled on me. So indignant, so furious. He looked me up and down, disbelieving that such a meek, puny creature could be responsible for his downfall. He made a sound. Like a groan. But not quite a groan. A protest. A sound that said, 'It isn't f a i r. . '

'Listen, Joshua,' he said hoarsely, 'I want you to know something…'

None of us moved, intent on what he was saying, waiting to hear what he wanted me to know.

'I think you — ' he said, then suddenly whirled into action.

He was so fast, so fast!

He pivoted on his left foot, turned, clubbed down with the edge of one hand on Detective Al Irving's gun arm. We all heard the crack of bone. Knurr completed a full turn, a blur, and bulled his way past Glynis and Lou, all shoulders and elbows.

Then he was into the main cabin, running.

Stilton was the first to recover.

'Watch the woman,' he yelled at Lou, and took up the chase. I went rushing along at his heels.

Godfrey Knurr hurtled down the wharf, swerved left on to the pontooned walkway. It tilted and rocked under his pounding feet.

A young couple was approaching, chatting and laughing. He simply ran into them, through them, over them.

They were flung wailing into the fetid water.

Stilton and I charged after him. I didn't know what I was doing, except that I didn't want Percy to be alone.

Knurr smashed through the gate and headed for the south staircase leading up to the rotunda. Stilton had his gun in his hand, but there were people on the promenade, strollers and cyclists. They scattered when they saw us coming, but Percy didn't want to risk a shot.

Godfrey Knurr went leaping up the steps, two at a time.

I remember that his derby flew off and came bouncing 438

down. By then we were straining up the stairs. I thought I was fast, but Percy was stronger, he was closing on Knurr and I was falling behind.

We all, the three of us, went thundering through the arched corridor, a crypt. Two pedestrians, hearing and seeing us coming, flattened themselves in terror against the stained wall.

We came into the rotunda. Knurr circled to his left, running frantically, hoping to gain the exit. His unbuttoned coat flapped out behind him.

Now Percy Stilton had a clear field of fire. He stopped, flexed his knees, grasped his massive revolver with both hands, arms extended, elbows slightly bent.

'Hold it right there!' he yelled.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, Knurr rounded the fountain basin and came racing back towards us. His hair was flying, the bearded face twisted, bright with rage.

'Hah!' he shouted, raising one hand high in a classic karate position, fingers together, the palm edge a cleaver.

'Oh for God's sake!' Percy Stilton said disgustedly, sighted carefully, and shot the Reverend Godfrey Knurr in the right leg. I saw the heavy slug pucker the trouser a few inches above the knee.

The blow spun Knurr around. He pirouetted as gracefully as a ballet dancer. His momentum and the force of the bullet kept him turning. His arms flung wide. A look of astonishment came to his contorted features.

He whirled, tilting, and fell backwards over the rim of the ruined fountain. He went down heavily. I heard the sound of his head smacking cracked cement. His legs and feet remained propped up on the basin rim. His head, shoulders, and torso were flat within.

We walked up to him cautiously, Stilton with his gun extended. Knurr was beginning to bleed, from the wound in his leg and from a head injury. He looked up at us dazedly.

'Idiot!' Stilton screamed at him. 'You fucking idiot!'

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Godfrey Knurr's vision cleared.

He glared at me.

I turned away, walked away, went over to one of the scarred pillars and pressed my forehead against the cold concrete.

After a moment Percy came over to me, put an arm across my shoulders.

'Josh,' he said gently, 'he wasn't a nice man.'

'I know,' I said dully. ' S t i l l. . '

There was a party at the house in Chelsea. The last had been such a success they all wanted another.

It was a marvellous party. All the tenants were there, of course, and a boisterous bunch from the music world, Madame Zora Kadinsky's friends. Captain Bramwell Shank had invited a few cronies from his seafaring days aboard the Staten Island ferry. They were cantankerous old coots who spent most of their time at the two card tables set with food and drink.

The party was well begun, noisy with talk and laughter, when I arrived. At the last minute I had run out and bought a two-pound box of chocolate-covered cherries at the local drugstore. I presented it to Mrs Hufnagel and got a warm kiss on my cheek in return. Madame Kadinsky insisted on introducing me to all her friends. I didn't remember any of their names, which seemed to be composed solely of consonants.

As we moved about the apartment, my eyes were searching for Cleo. After the introductions were finished, I 440