Thomas Cook - Sacrificial Ground

Frank took out his notebook. “Mr. Linton said that you met Angelica Devereaux at his house.”

“Yes.”

“And that you said, when you saw her, ‘Oh, it’s you.’”

“Possibly.”

“So you recognized her?”

“Not as Angelica Devereaux,” Miss Castle said, “but only as a young girl I’d seen in various out-of-the-way galleries in the city.”

“Then you didn’t know who she was?”

“No, I only knew that I had seen her before at such places. She was always dressed differently, but when you are that beautiful, dress cannot hide it.”

“You said the galleries were ‘out of the way’?”

“Yes.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that they’re not among those on the Northside, the more prestigious galleries,” Miss Castle said. “They are smaller places, with cheaper rents, that sort of thing.”

“Places like the Knife Point Gallery?” Frank asked.

“Yes, that’s the sort of gallery I mean.”

“And you saw Angelica at places like the Knife Point from time to time?”

“Yes,” Miss Castle said. “I had no idea who she was. And she was always dressed somewhat differently. But she was very beautiful. Quite striking. If you saw her once, you weren’t likely to forget it.”

“Did you see her often?”

“Not often, but on occasion.”

“How many times?”

“I didn’t make a note of it.”

“Give me your best guess, then.”

“Five, maybe six.”

“Over how long a period?”

“I started running into her about four months ago,” Miss Castle said.

“Was she always alone?”

“Yes, and that struck me as very strange. After all, she is, as I’ve said, very beautiful, and that sort of girl is rarely alone. It would have been natural for her to have had some sort of escort.”

“But she never had one?”

“Not as I recall.”

Frank wrote it down. When he looked back up, he saw that Miss Castle had been eyeing him cautiously.

“I have a confession to make, Mr. Clemons,” she said.

“Confession?”

“Yes. I’m afraid that I had an ulterior motive for asking you up here this evening.”

“Which was?”

“To find out about Derek,” Miss Castle said. “Beyond that, I must tell you that I know practically nothing about your young girl. I never spoke to her or had anything at all to do with her.”

“I understand,” Frank said, “but you did at least see her from time to time, and that’s important.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” Frank said. “Now, about these places where you met Angelica, these galleries, where are they?”

“Actually, I never saw her at the Knife Point,” Miss Castle said. “No, she was always somewhere else.” She thought about it for a moment. “Yes, I remember now. She was always at one of those galleries on the Southside. There’s a street of them. Not too far from Grant Park.”

“Grant Park?”

“Yes, there’s a street of them. Three or four in a row. It’s all pretty run-down for the most part, but once in a while I’ve been able to find some interesting work.”

“These galleries,” Frank said. “What are their names?”

Miss Castle ticked them off one by one, as Frank wrote them down in his notebook.

“And you said they’re all on one street?” he asked.

“Yes. Hugo Street,” Miss Castle said.

Frank wrote the street name under the names of the galleries and underlined it.

“This girl,” Miss Castle said after a moment. “Was she in love with Derek?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Where did they meet?”

“The Knife Point,” Frank said, “then she dropped by his house.”

“And that’s all?”

“As far as I know.”

Miss Castle smiled. “Old as I am, still jealous.” She laughed sadly. “And of a woman, of all things.”

Frank walked over to her, and for a moment the two of them watched a small flotilla of ducks as it skirted effortlessly across the placid surface of the lake.

“I still find life quite mysterious, Mr. Clemons,” Miss Castle said at last. She looked at him. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

She smiled, and drew a long thin strand of Spanish moss from one of the limbs that hung low above her. “This particular species always looks dead,” she said. “It’s always gray and dusty.” She laughed faintly. “My father used to take me to the window at night. He’d point to this moss and he’d say, ‘Look, Miriam, there in the moonlight, the ghosts are hanging in the trees tonight.’” She coiled the strand delicately around her finger. “How long does Derek have?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does he look … frail?”

“You haven’t seen him?”

“No, not for a few weeks.”

“But the flowers.”

“He finally gave me a time when I could bring them and he wouldn’t be there,” Miss Castle said. “He doesn’t want me to see him.”

She began to walk slowly along the edge of the lake. “I’ve seen others, of course. They look dead before they die.” She turned abruptly to Frank. “Does he?”

“He looks thin, that’s all,” Frank said. “He doesn’t really look like he’s dying.”

“He had so much energy,” Miss Castle said.

“He still does.”

She looked surprised. “Does he?”

“Yes,” Frank told her.

She shook her head. “Such a stubborn man. I’ve offered him all sorts of help. I’ve done that for forty years. It wouldn’t only have been him. I’m a patron, as they say, of the arts. I buy their works, and sometimes I get them jobs that won’t destroy them. Restorations, touch-ups, museum work, that sort of thing. I could have done that for Derek.” She laughed. “God knows I’ve done it for artists far less gifted than he is.” She shook her head despairingly. “But he would never take anything. He would never even sell me one of his paintings. He would give me one from time to time, but money never passed between us.” She stopped again, her eyes drifting over to the lake. The water was turning red in the twilight. “So, you see, I wouldn’t have found it unusual if that girl had loved Derek.”

“When you saw her in those galleries, did you have an impression at all?” Frank asked.

“Yes, I did.”

“What was it?”

“That she was a seductress,” Miss Castle said. “It was the way she might slink from one room to another, or stand in a corner somewhere, sucking a fingernail.”

“Did you ever see her talk to anyone?”

“No. Never. I saw people approach her from time to time, but she would always turn them away. That’s why I found it so odd that she was at Derek’s house that day.”

“Why odd?”

“Because she was obviously using her beauty as blatantly as she could,” Miss Castle said. “And, as you must have guessed, for Derek, a woman’s beauty remains pretty much a matter of abstraction. I don’t think he’s capable of feeling anything beyond that.”

“Are you saying that Angelica was a tease, Miss Castle?” Frank asked.

“That would be the vulgar term, yes,” she replied. She turned toward him and touched the large, purplish circle beneath his eye. “Does that still hurt?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She drew her hand away. “Beauty is not always a soothing thing, Mr. Clemons.”

“And what about Angelica’s beauty?”

“Not soothing. Not soothing at all. At least, she didn’t seem to use it in that way. Just the opposite, in fact.”

“Which would be?”

“Well, to inflame people, if you’re looking for the most dramatic term.”

“And you think she liked to do that on purpose?”

“Yes,” Miss Castle said firmly. “That was my impression. And the fact that she is dead does not surprise me.” She stared at Frank pointedly. “There’s a danger to inspiring too much flame. You may become engulfed by it.”