Canary (18 page)

“I wouldn't be a bit sur—”

Niobe's accusation was cut off.

From the riverbank below came the climax of the “1812,” with multiple explosions of powerful howitzers and the pealing of bells in every church tower in Back Bay and on Beacon Hill. The black sky above was suddenly and brightly illuminated by a brilliant volley of red, white and blue fireworks. Half a million people rose to their feet cheering and screaming.

Niobe and Newt, in their anger with one another, rose and faced off. Newt took a step forward, kicking Rodan's cage, which still lay on the deck between them. In a gesture of protectiveness, Niobe snatched up the cage—but snatched so violently that the brass handle snapped off and the cage flew out of her grasp. It would have struck Newt in the face had he not knocked it aside with a sweep of his hand. Rodan's cage smashed against the brick parapet and broke into pieces.

Rodan, a fat little ball of yellow, staggered on the deck for a moment, then rose up on inexperienced wings. He whirled away, his chirping triumph echoed by cannon and carillon.

T
HURSDAY AFTERNOON WAS
warm, the smooth cerulean sky marred only by a few drifting swatches of cloud. Clarisse left her apartment carrying a brown canvas tote bag with hand straps and walked with quick steps and clear determination to the subway on Arlington Street. Once underground, she boarded a Green Line train destined for Government Center. When she emerged from the station on the edge of City Hall Plaza, her eyes skimmed down the line of businesses across the way and stopped at the large plate-glass facade of the Universal Women's Health Spa. The name was flourished in black script across the glass, and between the words Clarisse could see Newt. He wore a karate robe with a brown belt and was engaged in animated conversation with three seriously overdressed women. Clarisse glanced behind her in the direction of busy Faneuil Hall Marketplace as if trying to decide if that wouldn't be a better destination. She looked back to the health spa and drew a sharp breath as she saw the three women exiting the place with loud farewells to Newt. He held the door for them but was looking directly at Clarisse.

Clarisse made a disconcerted clucking sound at having been caught in her indecisive mode and left the curb. She waited for a break in traffic on Cambridge, but as none came, she dashed across anyway.

Newt was still holding the door to the spa when she came up to him.

“I thought that was you over there. Couldn't make up your mind between visiting a friend and gorging yourself at the market, right?” Newt let go of the door as he stepped back inside behind Clarisse.

The lobby was small, with white walls and moss-green carpeting. Small potted plants stood in the corners, and the walls were hung with lithographs of orchids. Soft rock music played over a speaker system, and distantly, from down the hallway, Clarisse could hear the stern voice of a female aerobics instructor. Behind the reception desk sat a young blonde woman with a peculiar orange/mahogany tan that was obviously the result of a tanning booth rather than the sun. She wore a pale lavender body stocking and iridescent green leg warmers. She was having a fight with a friend on the telephone and doodling in the appointment book.

“Sorry about the display last night,” Newt apologized. “But after you two left, things really got going. Niobe threw three pots of geraniums at me. Then she attacked me with the leftover food. It all went over the side of the building onto the neighbors who were on the fire escape. They got drenched. Six of 'em came charging up to Niobe's apartment, screaming for blood. They left gobs of your lobster salad and baked beans all over the stairs and landing. What a mess.”

“Sounds like Val and I missed the
real
fireworks of the evening.”

“Why are you here?” Newt asked bluntly.

Clarisse reached into the pocket of her blouse and pulled out a newspaper clipping. Before she'd even unfolded it, Newt cried, “Great! You're going to take advantage of our July special.”

“That's six so far,” said the receptionist, pausing only a moment in her telephone conversation.

Newt took a step backward, and looked Clarisse up and down. “Not an ounce of fat on you. You're in great shape, unless you camouflage well, that is. Of course, we can help keep you that way.”

Clarisse smiled at the flattery. “Actually, it's not keeping in shape that I'm so concerned about but—”

“God!” cried the receptionist, banging down the receiver. “Don't ever say that! You say that and the next thing you know you've got hips by Hindenburg. I see it all the time. Keeping in shape should be a total obsession.”

“Millie,” Newt cut in, “don't you have to update the appointment book or something?” He looked up at Clarisse and then began to speak in a quick, rehearsed voice: “I have to tell you that the free introductory visit is designed to give you an overall view of what we do here at the Universal Women's Health Spa. You'll have the opportunity to speak with our in-house diet and nutrition counselor, watch a videotaped lecture on basic human female anatomy, have a session—if you would like—with one of our excellent and expertly qualified physical-encounter instructors about tailoring an exercise program to your body needs and psychological desires, and then we have arranged for you to partake of an actual twenty-five-minute aerobics exercise class, after which you may enjoy the use of either our redwood sauna, steam room, or whirlpool bath. We will even be pleased to provide you proper attire.”

Clarisse held up her tote. “Always prepared,” she said. “But Newt, it's not the exercise program that interests me so much as the course you teach. Street defense? What do you call it exactly?”

“KMT,” interjected Millie.

“What?”

“Kill, maim, and torture,” Millie said with a grin.

Newt shot Millie a sour look and then said to Clarisse, “It's called ‘Urban Street Defense for the Modern Woman.' I have another class in half an hour. We'll be working on basic moves, and you shouldn't have much trouble following if you want to give it a try.”

“Yes, I would,” said Clarisse.

“The muggers been after you?” Millie asked.

“No”—Clarisse shook her head—“I just think I ought to know how to
really
take care of myself.”

“Smart, smart girl,” Newt said as he tightened the belt on his kimono.

Ten minutes later, Clarisse emerged from a dressing room wearing a black body-stocking and gray leg warmers. Her hair was gathered at the nape of her neck with a metal clasp. She walked to the end of the hallway and entered an exercise room. Nine similarly dressed women were already waiting there, and Newt stood at the far end before a metal table where he was placing a cassette tape into a large portable player.

Clarisse looked about. The ceiling was soundproofed, and all four walls were covered floor to ceiling with mirrors. She smiled at the nine other women—most appeared to be about her age or a little older, but they came in a variety of shapes and sizes.

Newt punched a few buttons, and characterless rhythmic music with a strong, slow, steady beat poured out of the speakers.

“Okay,” Newt barked, “line up. Two rows, five in each. Lovelace, get rid of those leg warmers, and you there—in the pink—shed the scarf. We're not here for a fashion show.”

After both women complied with his order, Newt went on: “Okay—warm-ups. Run in place!” He demonstrated and kept up his patter in time to the music: “Well, come on, ladies, let's get those knees in the air. The best defense is not to be there in the first place, but if you're in that dark alley, if you're in that deserted supermarket aisle, if you're on that empty subway platform and you have a chance to run, then do it. Run, run away, run away
fast
—you are running for your life. Run! Run! Run!”

“Run!” shouted the women as they pumped their fists into the air.

After ten minutes of warm-ups, Newt called Clarisse over. “This is my friend Clarisse,” he announced. “She's going to help with today's demonstration.”

“But Newt, I can't. I don't know—”

“Don't worry,” he reassured her quietly. “I'll take you through every step.” Keeping his back to the class, he retrieved something from a black canvas gym bag in the corner. He held the object behind his back as he returned to Clarisse's side.

Newt pulled his arm around and opened his hand dramatically. A brown wool necktie unfurled from his hand. He handed it to Clarisse “Take it,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because I want you to attack me with it, of course.”

“Newt,
really
,” Clarisse said, aghast, “this is a bit much.”

Newt thrust the necktie into her hand.

“With the movements I'm going to show you today,” Newt said to the class, “it would be virtually impossible for a would-be attacker to get the better of you. The main thing is not to panic, and remember what I'm going to show you. Okay, Clarisse, come at me. Try to subdue me. Do your best.” Newt turned his back to Clarisse. The rest of the women in the room watched Clarisse expectantly. She shrugged, made fists, and pulled the long ends of the fabric taut. She advanced swiftly and looped the tie around Newt's neck, crossed the ends, and jerked them hard.

In one lightning gesture Newt threw his head down, shot both elbows straight back, raised one bent leg, and kicked backward, slamming his calf against Clarisse's left leg. Clarisse took the elbows in her stomach as she lost her footing, released the tie, and crashed sideways to the mat. Newt darted cleanly away, the ends of the tie now loosely draped over his shoulders.

“Easy,” he concluded, going back to give Clarisse a hand to get up. “You mustn't be afraid of losing your balance and falling with your attacker. I'll do it once more with Clarisse, only in slow motion, then we'll all try it.”

After a second demonstration, Newt passed out ties. The women divided into pairs, taking turns to practice the maneuver. As Newt observed and gave points, advice, and approval to each pair of women, Clarisse still stared at the brown wool necktie draped loosely about his neck.

E
XHAUSTED AND SWEATING,
Clarisse sat crosslegged on the carpeted floor of the exercise room. The other participants had departed for the locker room, showers or sauna. Newt, arms folded, leaned against a table.

“Are you up for the course?”

With a laugh, Clarisse croaked, “You should call this course ‘Advanced Masochistic Techniques for the Suicidal.' I enjoyed it, and I learned a lot, and now I just have to see if I can work it into my schedule.” Clarisse took a breath and then said, “How long have you been sleeping with B.J.?”

Newt unfolded his arms. “That's why you really came here today, isn't it?”

“Yes,” Clarisse replied bluntly, “I have a curious nature.”

“What difference does it make to you who I do or don't sleep with?”

Clarisse didn't answer that question directly. “The police were at Slate today. They asked Valentine and me a lot of questions about B.J. Your name was mentioned—but not by us.”

Newt looked at Clarisse as if he didn't believe her.

“They asked us if we knew any of the men—other than Ruder and Cruder, of course—whom B.J. had gone to bed with. They reeled off a list of names—God knows where they got them—and asked which ones Valentine knew.”

“Was Daniel familiar with any of them—besides me?”

“Jed Black.”

“I didn't know that.” Then Newt added, apprehensively, “You don't want the police showing up here at work.”

“Where were you and B.J. that night Ruder and Cruder were killed?” Clarisse persisted.

“My apartment,” Newt answered quickly. “We were just—” His eyes shifted suddenly to a point behind Clarisse. In the mirrored wall to her right Clarisse caught a blur of white just outside the door of the room.

Newt stood away from the table and turned his back to Clarisse. He ejected the cassette tape from the player. “Discussion is over,” he said coldly. “If the police want to ask me questions, I'll answer them, but don't think I'll let you dig into my private life so it can get back to Niobe.”

“I wouldn't do that, Newt, and you know it.”

“You honestly want me to believe you're prying just out of idle curiosity?”

“Yes,” said Clarisse firmly. “What time did B.J. leave your apartment?”

“You think B.J. killed Ruder and Cruder?” Newt asked quietly.

“It's an obvious question.”

“I don't know what time B.J. left.”

“Well, was it late? Early? What?”

Newt shrugged. “All I know is I was alone when I woke up.”

“What time did you two go to bed?”

“Clarisse, I don't punch a clock when I'm having sex,” said Newt irritably. “I don't know what time it was, but it was still dark when I went to sleep, and B.J. was still with me then. It was light when I woke up, and B.J. was gone. That's all there is to tell, okay? Why don't you leave now?”