Frings found a spot in the shade under a maple tree in a leafy residential neighborhood; the kind of place where old women fed squirrels that were half-domesticated. One of these squirrels was perched on a limb several feet above Frings, making a chittering sound while Frings sipped from a paper coffee cup. Two elderly men had put a table on a stoop and were playing chess, while a small group of bright-eyed children played catch and occasionally stopped to look at whatever move had been made.
At five o’clock, the first wave of domestic help left the brownstones for the journey back to their more modest homes. Frings watched them file by. He’d perfected the art of looking as if he belonged wherever he was, even if he was not actually doing anything. Nobody looked at him funny; no one seemed to even notice him.
He half-expected to see Deyna somewhere, shadowing him. But Deyna would be looking for a second source; the source to get his story on the front page. Frings thought about who might be a second source, wondering if he could maybe head Deyna off.
He was nearly done with his coffee when he saw Ellen Aust across the street, walking wearily in her formless maid’s dress. He hadn’t seen her in five years or so, but she was easy to pick out; shoulders forward and chin tucked into her chest as if someone had her by the scruff of the neck. Frings poured the rest of his coffee into the dirt at the foot of the tree, put the crumpled cup into his pocket, and crossed the street to intercept her.
Ellen turned, eyes wild with fear at the sound of her name. It took her a moment to place Frings, her body relaxing, her eyes going dull.
“Mr. … I mean, Frank?” Her face was flattened out, pale, her eyes set a little too far apart.
“Ellen, how are you?”
She paused, wary, knowing that there must be more here than a chance encounter. “I’m doing fine,” she said cautiously. “Why are you here?”
Frings flashed her a smile and let it die. “I was hoping maybe you’d have coffee with me. Or, better yet, dinner.”
Frings could see her exhaustion, something deep and more than just physical. Her eyes were weary. “Coffee would be okay. I have church soon.” “You sure? You don’t want dinner, get something good?”
“Just coffee is fine.”
Frings walked her down to a glass-fronted diner that looked onto a dingy postcard stamp of a park. They sat at a table by the window and the waitress brought two coffees. Frings could taste the cigarette smoke in his.
“You sure you don’t want something to eat?”
She declined again, looking worried. She sat with her back straight, her hands flat on the table before her.
“How have you been?” Frings asked, and realized he had asked the same question minutes before.
“Been fine, I guess. Like I said.” He could tell that she knew this small talk wasn’t the point, that he wouldn’t have been waiting for her so that they could talk about the weather. But Frings made small talk anyway, getting the cadence established, getting her used to talking to him, as she had five years before when Frings was working the Maddox article. But it was hard; harder than he remembered. She responded to his questions with one-or two-word answers, rarely looking him in the eye. She hadn’t exactly been playful five years ago, but the change was stark.
She’d had enough of the back-and-forth by the time she’d finished her coffee. Maybe she’d given him that much time, the empty cup the signal to get to the point.
“What do you want, Frank? I’m tired. I need to be getting home.”
“Okay, I’ll get right to it. Do you know a Mavis Talley or someone named Lenore?”
She frowned, shaking her head. “Can’t say that I do.”
“You’re sure?”
She nodded.
“It was a long shot. Anyway, how’s the church these days?”
She turned suspicious. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. I hear the flock has grown, people joining from the City.”
She nodded again.
“Is that a problem, you know, with the Fort Deposit people, all these new people coming in?”
She shook her head. “Are you trying to sow the seeds of dissension, Frank?”
Frank signaled for a coffee refill. “Ellen, let me be straight with you. Those two women I mentioned? They’re dead. Both of them. And they both had pamphlets from your church, Maddox’s church. Did someone from the church murder them? I don’t know. But for some reason, Dr. Maddox has not been helpful in the investigation, and I’m just trying to get a sense of what’s happening there.”
Ellen nodded, looking small and drawn. “Are you asking me if anything’s changed?”
“Sure, we can do it that way. Has anything?”
She sighed. “Things are harder. Our flock is in a time of tribulation.” It came out sounding like a question.
“Tribulation?”
“The Last Days are advancing upon us.”
He had nothing to say to that.
“History is coming to an end.”
Frings moved his head, trying to catch her eyes. “What do you mean by that?”
Ellen looked confused, her eyes suspicious. Frings backed off, letting her think about it a little.
“Okay, these women, the two that were killed, they were prostitutes. Have you noticed women like that at the church?”
Ellen was spent, absently spinning the coffee cup between her hands, staring at the whorls she made.
He said, “Listen, maybe tomorrow? I’ll take you for coffee again. We can chat some more.”
She looked dubious. “I don’t know what I’m going to be able to tell you, Frank.”
He flashed her the Frings smile. “We’ll figure something out.”