Chapter 27
Mitch was at the pool hall, hunched over a beer at one of the tables. I pushed past the crowd of people at the entrance and sat down next to him, lightly touching his hand. He looked up at me with a grimace. “I’m sorry I ran out on you. But I wasn’t joking. Every time he opened his mouth I wanted to kill him, or maybe just smash his perfect face in.”
“You have no need to be jealous of Ron, my love. He means nothing to me.”
“Even though you and he spent nights together?” He emphasized the plural with vehemence.
I opened my mouth but did not know what to say. His name was all I managed to get out. “Mitch.”
“I know,” he said after taking a long drink from his bottle. “You thought I couldn’t hear your discussion. And I wasn’t deliberately listening in, but it’s my training. When people drop their voices to a whisper, I’m naturally curious about what they must be saying. No wonder he was so quick to jump to your defense. You’re a fast worker, Deirdre, only in town a few weeks and you have an instant champion for your cause. I guess I should be happy you have someone to stand up for you, but under the circumstances . . .” He took another swig of his beer and his eyes met mine defiantly. But under his anger I could see a deep sadness.
“Mitch,” I said softly, “do you know that Max once said the same to me about you?”
“Really?” His voice sounded harsh and sarcastic. “And how did you answer him?”
I touched his hand softly. “I told him that I loved you more than I had ever loved anyone before. And it was true, then and now.”
Mitch stared at me as he drained his bottle. “And how will you answer me?”
“Ron means nothing to me, never did and never will.”
“But the same can’t be said of him, I’m afraid. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And I recognize that look.” He signaled the waiter for another beer, then glanced back at me. “Dammit, I should recognize it. I’ve been wearing it around you ever since we met.”
The waiter came over and brought two bottles and one glass. I didn’t use it. When he left, Mitch looked at his watch and held up his beer. “Cheers,” he said with no expression on his face. “Here’s to a little over twenty-four hours of wedded bliss.”
“Please don’t do this, Mitch. I warned you what marriage to me would be like. As I remember, you didn’t care at the time.”
“I lied.” He studied the wet bottle rings, drawing his finger through them, idly tracing designs on the tabletop. “So, when did you and Ron enjoy your little trysts? And when do you plan another?”
“There will be no other,” I said firmly. “One of the nights I saw him, well, that was the first time I visited you at the hospital. You do remember, don’t you?” I rubbed my jaw. “That wonderful welcome-home gift you gave me?”
Mitch looked at me with a trace of a smile. “Oh,” he said hesitantly, then gave me a full grin. “Ouch, I remember. I’m sorry, are you still mad about that?”
I returned his smile. “I was never angry with you, just hurt and discouraged. I believed that was how it was going to be between us, thought that everything was over. What difference did it make whether I went home with Ron or not at that point?” His smile faded, and I joked to bring it back. “A girl’s gotta eat, you know.”
“Yeah, well, I guess I can understand that, but how about the other nights?”
“There was only one other night, after you very succinctly told me that you wished you had never met me. And all we did was talk.”
“Okay, maybe I’ll believe that one too. But I still don’t like it.”
“No one said you had to like it, Mitch. But you may have to get used to it. However much I would like to, I cannot exist on your love alone. But we were not to discuss the grisly details for a few weeks, so let’s drop it.”
“But a few weeks is all we may have. I don’t know about you, but I’m not sure I believe that The Cadre is as humane as they keep trying to convince us they are. I still say we should get out now, before they get their hands on you.”
“Shame on you, Detective. Urging a criminal to jump bail and leave town.” I shook my head at him, and he laughed. Then I picked up my beer and stood. “Now, I know this is not exactly the honeymoon we anticipated, but do you want to play a few games of pool before we go home?”
“No.” Mitch stood up too and threw a couple of bills on the table. “Let’s just go home.”
He put his arm around me and slowly we began to walk back to his apartment.
“So, what did Ron have to say for himself?”
“He’s going to do some research, check the archives, see if he can find any precedents. I doubt that he’ll find anything. The Cadre seems to keep a strong grip on its members.”
“And if he can’t find anything?”
I snuggled against him for comfort. “Well, then it becomes a case of their trusting my story. I doubt that will help much either.” I gave a small, bitter laugh. “If only I could get my wayward ghost to make an appearance. They would probably be more easily convinced if they had a glimpse into his . . . damn!” I stopped dead on the sidewalk.
“What is it?”
“A glimpse into Max’s mind. He left a huge stack of journals behind. It’s possible they may hold some answers.”
“Where are they?”
I grimaced. “At the Ballroom, of course, the last place I ever want to go again. He had them stored in a chest in his secret sleeping place. I found it and them the other night, but Victor came in and interrupted me.” I shivered, remembering what else that room contained, and gave Mitch a dubious look. “I don’t suppose you would like to take me out dancing tonight. I really don’t want to go in there alone.”
He shrugged. “I don’t want you going there at all, even with me, but if the journals can help, we should have them. But let’s take a cab, I’m getting cold. How about you?”
I agreed, not bothering to remind him that I could not get cold. “That would be fine, Mitch.”
Johnny was working as doorman again that evening, slumped against the entrance with the expression that I now recognized as his normal surliness, but he straightened up and smiled as we approached. “Hi, Miss Griffin. How’re you?”
“Fine, thank you, Johnny. Listen, is Victor Lange in tonight?”
He shook his head and grunted no.
“How about Fred, then?”
“Nope, neither one’s here tonight. You want me to call ’em for you?”
“No, actually I don’t.” I looked around; very few people were waiting for admittance. “Has it been busy tonight?”
“Nope, it’s been pretty slow.”
“Thank you, Johnny. Oh”—I indicated Mitch—“by the way, this is Mitchell Greer, my husband.” I smiled to myself at the strangeness of that phrase, and its sweetness. “So if he ever stops by without me, you should let him in.”
Mitch extended his hand and Johnny shook it, smiling. “Congratulations. It’s nice to meet you.” Then he dropped his hand as if he had been bit. “Wait a minute, ain’t you the cop that shot the last doorman? Larry, um, what’s his name?”
“Larry Martin,” I said, my voice tight and nervous.
“Yeah, that’s him.” Johnny cringed against the door, pushing aside with one hand the lanky bit of hair that always seemed to fall into his face, rubbing the side of his neck with the other. “I don’t know, Miss Griffin.” He lowered his voice and glanced at Mitch with a panicked stare. “It don’t seem right to let him in, not tonight.”
“Calm down, Johnny. Mitch is not going to shoot anyone, especially you. I promise you.”
“Well, I guess if you say so, it’s okay.”
“It’s okay, Johnny.” Mitch spoke confidently, calmly. “Larry Martin was shot while he was trying to kill Miss Griffin. I don’t think you’re planning to do that, are you?”
“No way, Mr. Greer.”
“Then you’re perfectly safe.” Mitch took my arm and led me through the door. We crossed the dance floor and entered the hallway that led to my office. “What the hell is his problem?” Mitch asked when he thought he could be heard over the band.
“Who? Oh, Johnny. He’s not very bright, I’m afraid. But he seems to do a good job. On the other hand”—I opened the office door—“being unaware is an asset in this place. He’s much better off not knowing about half the things that go on around here.”
Mitch closed and locked the door. “Do you think he’s one of them?”
I thought about that for a moment. “I doubt it, Mitch.”
He gave me a humorless chuckle. “Yeah, but you couldn’t tell about Victor or Fred or Ron or Jean either.”
“You’re right, of course,” I said with only a trace of sarcasm, “but now that I know about them, I can recognize the signs. There’s something about their mannerisms, their directness, their overbearing arrogance that makes them stand out. Johnny, poor boy, has none of that.”
Reaching into my purse, I found my ring of keys and opened the closet door, then the secret panel. “Here you go,” I said over my shoulder, “just let me light the candles and we’ll go in.”
Victor had apparently put everything away that night we had met there. The candelabrum and the matches were back on the side table where I had initially found them.
“Candles?” Mitch’s voice echoed through the empty room. “What’s wrong with electricity?”
I laughed, my voice shaking a bit. “Max was a traditionalist in more ways than one, it appears.” I held the candelabrum up so that he could see the two coffins on display.
“Damn.” Mitch cautiously approached the stand and bent over to read the engraved plaques. “He slept here?”
“Apparently.”
“But who does the other one belong to?”
My voice was soft in the dusty darkness. “It was for me.”
“Damn.” He walked around and lifted up the lid of the smaller coffin, then let it down gently. “Did you ever . . .”
“No.” The distaste I felt for the idea was apparent in my voice. “I never knew that this was here, how could I? Max never told me anything.”
“I know that, Deirdre. What I meant was, did you ever sleep in one of these?”
“Oh, no.”
“Why not?”
“By the time I had figured out what I had changed into, I had been managing to sleep quite comfortably in bed with the curtains drawn. Why on earth would I want to lock myself up in a coffin day after day?”
“I wonder why Max did?”
I could tell from Mitch’s tone of voice that the question was a hypothetical one, but I knew the answer anyway. “Max was tutored, taught from his first day to choose this as his refuge. The habits of centuries are very hard to break.”
“You sound pretty sure of that. How could you know?”
“I dreamed it. But let’s get what we came for and get out of here. This place unnerves me.” Carrying the candelabrum with me, I walked across the room and opened the chest.
“Dammit.” Slamming the lid of the chest down, I swore again. “Goddamned son of a bitch.”
“Deirdre, what’s wrong?”
“Somebody else has been in here. The journals are gone, every goddamned one of them.”
“Are you sure they were here?” Mitch questioned me patiently, as if I were a child or an idiot.
I gave him an angry glare that he was probably unable to see across the dimness of the room. “Yes, I know they were here. They were real, tangible; they weren’t something I dreamed up. The box was full of them, all nicely dated, all written in Max’s hand. And now they’re gone.”
“That’s strange.”
“It’s more than strange, Mitch, it’s goddamned convenient. My one chance to find a motive for Max’s actions, something that might enable me to prove that my killing him was justified, vanishes practically overnight. How wonderfully convenient for The Cadre and that bastard Victor. All this time spent trying to convince us that they’re playing fair, that they’re not out for my blood, and then they do this.” I brushed my hands on my jeans to remove the coating of dirt that had come off the chest, and made a move to sweep the remaining dust away with my hand.
“Don’t touch it.” Mitch’s voice was stern and commanding; I obediently backed away. “I’ll come back tomorrow during the day and see if I can get fingerprints. At least that way we could tell who else had been in here.”
“Only if our thief was previously printed. What are the odds on that?”
Mitch laughed. “I’ve got your prints on file, remember?”
I nodded; he had taken my prints right after my secretary, Gwen, had been murdered by Larry Martin.
“Well, you can’t tell me that The Cadre as a whole and Victor in particular are so careful that they haven’t had some run-in with the law during their long lifetimes.”
“I don’t know, Mitch. It seems like such a long shot.”
“It can’t hurt, Deirdre. And if I come during the day, none of them can bother me.”
“I’m not sure I like the thought of you being in here alone.”
“Jesus, Deirdre, I’m a grown man. I was able to keep myself safe and alive before we met. I’m not your child or your pet that you need to protect. And I’m going crazy with all this happening to you and not being able to do something. This I can do; it’s what I good at. And you can’t stop me.” He was extremely angry, angrier than I had seen him for a long time. But I was not upset, for, other than our lovemaking, it was the best sign that the man with whom I had fallen in love had returned.
I walked across the room and put my arms around his waist, hugging him tightly to me. Then I smiled up into his face. “I love you, Mitch. And I’m sorry if I was treating you unfairly. You do what you want, but be careful. You carry my life in your hands.”
He seemed surprised but pleased by my reaction, and his mouth came down on mine in a crushing kiss. Then he pulled away from me abruptly. “What did you mean, I carry your life in my hands? You don’t think I would ever do anything to hurt you, or your chances at beating this rap, do you?”
When I had reached the decision to marry Mitch, I had also decided that I would stay with him until he died and then kill myself. But I didn’t want him to know that, and even if I did, this was not the time to discuss it.
“Your life is my life, Mitch,” I said softly, offering no further explanation. “Now, let’s get out of this tomb and go home.”