Icarus. (35 page)

"I'll send him your regards at dinner tonight."

"I didn't realize you were so involved in his businesses."

"Am I?" she said.

"Apparently. Not in the trucking or cement contracting, at least not that I could find. But you've got a hand in the linen supplies and you seem to run the mortuaries all by yourself. He turned them over to you about five years ago."

"Yes. They're quite profitable." Her lips moved just slightly now. The white of her teeth gleamed against the textured red. "I enjoy business. I'm good at it."

"I'd say very good. You're probably the most powerful woman in the history of organized crime."

"Oh, please," she said, but the protest, even the tone of annoyance, was by rote, there was no conviction behind it. "We're one hundred percent legitimate. I guarantee you my workday is a lot more boring than almost anyone's you know."

"Excuse me, I didn't mean to insult you. Those co-workers of yours I met today, what area are they in? Personnel? PR?"

Her legs moved again under the table. Again, they brushed against his and he had to catch his breath. "That was an aberration and I apologize for it. They tend to be a bit overprotective. But here's what I'll grant you, Jack, since you did get an unfortunate peek behind the scenes: I make a lot of money for my husband, and in areas that were previously overlooked. My business has an extraordinary cash flow, which is important for us. And with that kind of cash, I'm a bit more trustworthy than a lot of people my husband could have hired."

"Congratulations. You're the Martha Stewart of the burial biz."

"I do have to admit, there was also something about that particular business that appealed to me."

"Nice name. Grave Enterprises."

"Thank you. Most of the people in my husband's business don't have much of a sense of humor. I thought it was appropriate for the holding company."

"When Kid talked about you-"

"Kid told me he didn't talk about me."

"Not by name, exactly. He had a kind of code name. He referred to you as the Mortician."

"How charming." No surprise in those eyes. No emotion at all. "Are you here to tell me my own background, Jack, or is there something else?"

"There are a few other things. That I don't think your husband or anyone else would particularly appreciate hearing."

She said nothing, and the waiter returned then, put their food down in front of them. She had the good grace to take a bite and nod her approval before Jack continued.

"I know that you took Kid away on weekends. Palm Beach, Bermuda, a couple of times to St. Bart's. I'll bet if I look a little closer, I'll find out you have houses there. Or you own a hotel."

"We have a house in Palm Beach," she said. "It's hardly a secret. And we own a share of a golf club in Bermuda. Both Joe and I play. Are you a golfer?"

"No," Jack said.

"It's an excellent game. Unlike anything else because to be good you have to remove all tension. You can't allow any outside interference while you're on the course. It's best if you don't even let yourself think. It's wonderful discipline for off the course. Joe says it's very Zen-like. You should try it." She looked down at her plate as if she were going to take another bite, then changed her mind. "St. Bart's was just fun," she said. "A lark. He'd never been there. Joe was away. We went for two days and drank a lot of rum and got away from the miserable cold. I could sunbathe nude because the cottage I rented had a little private beach. You know what I remember most about those two days? The way Kid rubbed suntan lotion over my entire body. He was very gentle and methodical. It was incredibly sensual. What else do you have?"

Jack took a sip of mineral water and cleared his throat. "You bought the apartment on Duane three months ago," he continued, "and you gave it to Kid. Maybe not legally, but you had him move in. I don't know how many nights a week you stayed there; my guess is you mostly used it in the afternoons. I don't know if Joe knows about the apartment, maybe he does, but I'll bet he doesn't know what it was used for. Or at least he didn't until recently."

"Which means what?"

"Did he kill Kid when he found out?"

"That's a question. Are you through telling?"

"No. You moved Kid into the apartment – if I think about it, I'm sure I can even tell you the exact day. Then you started demanding more and more of his time. Why not, you were paying for it. But Kid didn't like it, so he told you he was ending the relationship. He told me he was going to. I think he told you the night he died."

"And then what? I lured him out to the balcony and, with my vanity crushed, I pushed him off?"

"Maybe."

"Which is it, Jack? Did I kill him or did my jealous husband?"

"I don't know. But I think one of you did."

She pulled a cigarette out of her purse, put it between her lips, and leaned over for Jack to light it. He could see her breasts rustle under her dress.

"Sorry," he said. "I used up all my matches."

She shrugged, reached into her purse, pulled out a lighter, and lit it herself. "Kid was my trainer," she said, after a deep inhale. "And in a lot of ways I was his. I know a lot about you. He told me what you did for him when he was younger. Well, I helped him when he was older. I cleaned him up, I dressed him, I showed him which fork to use. He was a very, very beautiful boy with extraordinary potential and he knew that what I could teach him was going to come in very handy. And I knew that what we had couldn't last forever. He was young and" – she made only the briefest hesitation – "I'm not as young."

"That's not quite the way he told the story."

"Men are vain. They always make themselves out to be the hero."

Jack wanted her to talk more now. He tried to remember what else Kid had told him about her. What he could use that might nettle and get under her skin. "I think you wanted to control him," he said. "And he wasn't someone you could control."

"Wasn't he?"

"No."

"There are very few things – or people – I can't control, Jack. It's one of my talents. In addition to being a good businesswoman."

"I saw another one of your talents," Jack said. "One I'm sure the police will be interested in."

"And what was that?"

"You're good with a knife. I saw the proof on Kid's arm."

Her eyes flashed angrily but the expression on her face didn't change. "I suspect you might not be so easy to control," she said.

"I think there are a lot of things you're not going to be able to control so easily now," he told her.

She put her cigarette down on her bread plate. Her lipstick ringed the end of it, soaking into the paper like traces of blood.

"Jack," she said. "I don't know what it is you're doing exactly. And I don't really care. But the police believe that Kid simply fell. Whether he jumped or it was an accident, it's a sad and tragic thing but it's what I believe, too. You'd be very smart to come around to the same belief."

"Or?"

"That wasn't a threat, Jack. Despite what you think you know, I'm not really all that threatening. All I meant was, or you'll be spending a lot of sleepless nights. You'll be trying to find something that has no answer. Don't forget," she said. "I'm in the death-and-dying business. I know a lot about it. I know that there's nothing quite so final or quite so still. And I know that death is a thing completely unto itself. It exists; that's its only importance and its only value. It comes, it comes for everybody, and it's not very concerned with why or how." She raised her hand, the subtlest of gestures, and the waiter scurried over with the check. Jack reached to take it but she waved him off. "On Grave Enterprises," she told him. As they reached the street, she took his hand, shook it, and let her hand linger in his. Again he was both unnerved and aroused by her highly charged touch. "Maybe we can have dinner some night," she said. "And talk about less depressing things."

"I believe Kid was killed," he told her.

"So I understand. But I still don't understand why."

"Because of the plans he was making for his future. Because drugs were found in his system and I don't believe he'd take them willingly. Because I knew him and I know how important life was to him."

"And if you're right? Then what?"

"Then I'm going to find out what happened."

Her hand was still in his. He felt her fingers move against his palm. "Let me steer you away from two very serious mistakes you could make," Eva Migliarini said. "One would be to involve my husband in any of this. That would be a very big mistake. But the other one would be even bigger. That would be if you make me angry." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Her lips lingered just a second longer than necessary. They were warm and they sent a jolt of electricity through his entire body. "That's a threat, Jack."

He watched her step up into her car, saw her leg snake inside and disappear. He watched as the driver pulled away and the car turned at the next corner, moving out of view. He reached up and touched the spot on his cheek where her lips had touched him. He felt as if his skin had been seared. As if he'd been branded.

He rubbed the spot with two fingers of his right hand, then brought his hand down in front of his face. He looked at the small red smudge that had been transferred to his fingertips, and Jack understood that he had taken his first and mystifying step into Kid's unknown world.

What he didn't understand was the way he felt.

It was much the same sensation as during his initial workouts with Kid. It was painful. It was often unbearable.

But he liked it.

This time Sergeant McCoy's reaction to his appearance at the Eighth Precinct was not nearly as neutral as on his first visit. This time she was clearly not a happy camper.

"This is my husband, Mr. Keller. We're on our way out to dinner. He just picked me up so I wouldn't have to ride uptown alone. Wasn't that nice?"

"Very nice."

"Elmore, this is Jack Keller."

"Nice to meet you," Jack said. "Or to see you again. I know we met at the restaurant."

Elmore McCoy looked astonished that Jack remembered but his wife immediately said, "Close your mouth, honey-bunch. I told him we were there when I first met him. He may be good but he's not that good." Elmore McCoy now looked disappointed but the good sergeant didn't seem to pay that much attention. "Would you give us two minutes," she said, "and then I'll be ready to go." Her husband nodded and left them alone by her desk.

"Sergeant-" Jack began but she cut him off immediately.

"I think I'll do the talking now," she announced, "because I meant it when I said I only had two minutes. But this won't take long 'cause I just want to make one thing clear: whatever you're doing, stop."

"How do you know what I've been doing?"

"How do you think? We already got a call from the lovely Mrs. Migliarini saying that you were harassing her. Believe me, Jack – and I'm gonna call you Jack because this is so fucking dumb I can't bring myself to call you Mr. Keller – you do not want to be harassing any member of the Migliarini family. It just is not something you want to do. She talked about pressing charges against you for breaking and entering and, believe me again, that would probably be the nicest thing she could do in this situation."

"Do you know that she owned the apartment that Kid fell from?"

"I'm a police officer, goddamnit, of course I know! What the hell do you think I do with my time? But did you know that she owns two other apartments in that same building? She bought 'em for investments and rents 'em out. It's a business arrangement and they're owned by her company." Her words came out in a rush now, and she seemed to be getting more agitated as she went along. "Now, if you want to go prying, I'll grant you your friend probably was not paying top dollar to live there – I've seen the lady and I know what she's like – but that ain't none of my business. And it ain't none of yours, either. We talked to her about the drugs we found there and we're satisfied she didn't know a goddamn thing about it. That was our business and we took care of it. She may have been even more surprised than you were! So, Jack, here's what I suggest. Stop pestering her and stop pestering me."

"Did you know she stabbed him?"

"No," McCoy said, a little bit of indignation taken away from her. "I didn't know that. When?"

"Four, six weeks ago. She went after him with a knife and slashed his arm."

"Well, it was never reported. And a minor case of domestic violence don't mean jack, Jack."

"One call from a mobster's wife – that's all it takes to stop you from investigating a case?"

"Don't go dissin' me now, when you don't know what you're talking about, 'cause that really pisses me off. There ain't no case, there ain't no damn investigation!" She was yelling now. Another police officer took a step in their direction but she waved him off, letting him know that everything was okay. Turning back to Jack, she said, a little quieter, "If you come here again, you should either be under arrest or make damn sure that somebody tried to kill you. Otherwise, I don't want to see your face! Now that's the end of our little conversation because I'm already late for dinner with my husband and you got me so goddamn mad I broke my New Year's resolution, which was not to swear so fucking much!" Sergeant McCoy took a deep breath. "I told you I did not have a lot of patience."

Jack met her stare and said, "Will you just do one thing? Find out where they both were on the night Kid died, Joe and Eva Migliarini. And two guys who work for her, real thugs, one tall, six-two or -three, with a sickly, pale complexion, one short, five-five, five-six, tan…" He thought for a second. "With a scar on the back of his neck. From a glass cut."

McCoy looked at him incredulously. "No," she said. "I will not. And neither will you. Now do we understand each other?"