John Connolly - The Lovers

“Go back and look at the files on the Pearl River killings,” I said. “The boy who died had a mark on his forearm. It looked like it had been burned into the skin. That mark is the same one that was found on the wall at Hobart Street, drawn in Wallace’s blood. My guess is that, somewhere in Jimmy’s house, you’ll find a similar mark.”

Travis and Santos exchanged a look.

“Where was it?” I said.

“On his chest,” said Santos. “Written in blood. We’ve been warned to keep quiet about it. I guess I’m telling you because…” He thought about it. “Well, I don’t know why I’m telling you.”

“So what was all that about in there? You don’t believe this was a hate crime. You know this is connected to Wallace’s death.”

“We just wanted to hear your side of the story first,” said Travis. “It’s called ‘detecting.’ We ask you questions, you don’t answer them, we get frustrated. I hear it’s an established pattern with you.”

“We know what the symbol means,” said Santos, ignoring Travis. “We found a guy at the Institute of Advanced Theology who explained it for us.”

“It’s the Enochian ‘A,’” I said.

“How long have you known?”

“Not long. I didn’t know when you showed it to me.”

“What are we looking at?” asked Travis, calming down some now that he realized that neither Santos nor I was going to be drawn by his baiting. “A cult? Ritual killings?”

“And what’s the connection to you, beyond the fact that you knew both of the victims?” asked Santos.

“I don’t know,” I said. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

“Why not just torture you?” said Travis. “I mean, I could understand the impulse.”

I ignored him.

“There’s a man named Asa Durand. He lives out in Pearl Riv Zou diver.” I gave them the address. “He says a guy was casing his property a while back, and asking about what happened there. Asa Durand lives in the house where I lived before my father killed himself. Might be worth sending out a sketch artist to test Durand’s memory.”

Santos took a long drag on his cigarette, and expelled some of the smoke in my direction.

“Those things will kill you,” I said.

“I was you, I’d worry about my own mortality,” said Santos. “I assume that you’re lying low, but turn your damn cell phone back on. Don’t make us haul you in and lock you up for your own protection.”

“We’re letting him walk?” asked Travis incredulously.

“I think he’s told us all that he’s going to for now,” said Santos. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Parker? And it’s more than we could get from our own people.”

“Unit Five,” I said.

Santos looked surprised. “You know what it is?”

“Do you?”

“Some kind of security clearance that a regular wage earner like me doesn’t have, I guess.”

“That’s about the size of it. I don’t know much more about it than you do.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe that’s true, but I suppose that all we can do now is wait, because my guess is that your name is on the same list that Jimmy Gallagher and Mickey Wallace were on. When whoever killed them gets around to you, either someone will be tagging your toe, or theirs. Come on, we’ll give you a ride to the subway. The sooner you’re out of Brooklyn, the happier I’ll be.”

They dropped me at the subway station.

“Be seeing you,” said Santos.

“Dead or alive,” said Travis.

I watched them drive away. They hadn’t spoken to me in the car, and I hadn’t cared. I was too busy thinking about the word that had been carved into Jimmy Gallagher’s back. How had his killer come to the conclusion that Jimmy was gay? He had kept his secrets close all his life; his own, and those of others. I only became aware of his sexuality from things my mother said after my father’s death, when I was a little older and a little more mature, and she had assured me that few of Jimmy’s colleagues had known about it. In fact, she said, only two people knew for certain that Jimmy was gay.

One of them was my father.

The other was Eddie Grace.

A MANDA G RACE ANSWERED THEdoor. Her hair was tied loosely with a red band, and her face bore no trace of cosmetics. She was wearing a pair of sweatpants and an old shirt, and she was bathed in perspiration [n p”[1]‡. In her right hand, she held a kitchen plunger.

“Great,” she said when she saw me. “Just great.”

“I take it this isn’t a good time.”

“You could have called ahead first. I might even have had time to put the plunger away.”

“I’d like to talk to your father again.”

She stepped back, inviting me inside.

“He was real tired after your last visit,” she said. “Is it important?”

“I think it is.”

“It’s about Jimmy Gallagher, isn’t it?”

“In a way.”

I followed her into the kitchen. There was a pungent smell coming from the sink, and I could see dirty water that wasn’t draining.

“Something’s backed up down there,” she said. She handed over the plunger. I slipped off my jacket and went to work on the sink, while she rested a hip against the sideboard and watched.

“What’s going on, Charlie?”

“What do you mean?”

“We watch the news. We saw what happened at your old home, and we heard about Jimmy. They’re connected, aren’t they?”

I could feel the water starting to move. I stepped back and watched it disappear down the sink.

“Did your father have anything to say about it?”

“He seemed sad about Jimmy. They used to be friends.”

“Any idea why they fell out?”

She looked away. “I don’t think my father liked the way Jimmy lived his life.”

“Is that what he told you?”

“No, I guessed it for myself. You still haven’t answered my question. What’s going on?”

I turned to her, and held her gaze until she looked away.

“Damn you,” she said.

“Like I told you, I’d appreciate a few minutes with Eddie.”

She wiped a hand across her brow, her frustration palpable. “He’s awake, but he’s still in bed. It’ll take him a while to get dressed.”

“There’s no need to go to that trouble. I can talk to him in his room. It won’t take long.”

She still seemed to be debating the wisdom of allowing me to see him. I could sense her unease.

“You’re different today,” she said.

“From?”

“From the last time you were here. I don’t think I like it.”

“I need to talk to him, Amanda. Then I’ll be gone, and it won’t matter Z> &l heif you ever liked me.”

She nodded. “Upstairs. Second door on the right. Knock before you go in.”

My tapping on Eddie Grace’s door was answered by a hoarse croak. The drapes were closed in the room, and it stank of illness and decay. Eddie Grace’s head was supported by a pair of large white pillows. He wore blue-striped pajamas, and the dim light somehow accentuated the pallor of his skin, so that he seemed almost to glow where he lay. I closed the door behind me and looked down on him.

“You came back,” he said. There was a hint of what might have been a smile on his face, but there was no joy to it. Instead, it was a knowing, unpleasant thing, an expression of malevolence. “I figured you would.”

“Why?”

He didn’t even try to lie.

“Because they’re coming for you, and you’re scared.”

“Do you know what was done to Jimmy?”

“I can guess.”

“He was carved up. He was tortured and then killed, all because he kept his secrets, all because he was a friend to my father and to me.”