Symphony of Blood, A Hank Mondale Supernatural Case (14 page)

“Lieutenant Huxley,” Blake said with a plastic smile. “Nice to see you again.”

Blake and Huxley shook hands. Then Huxley scratched his thick, black mustache. He was a tall man with broad shoulders, looked to be close to fifty but in good shape.

“You remember Detective Adams,” Huxley said to Blake.

“Of course,” Blake said and shook the other cop’s hand. Adams had a short haircut and baby face that made him look fifteen years old, although I suspect he was closer to thirty. Then, Blake turned to
Greenwal
, “You remember my attorney, Mr.
Greenwal
.”

“Of course,” Huxley responded.

I stood there, shifting my weight from foot to foot. Finally, I cleared my throat. It was obvious that Blake didn’t want me there, but he couldn’t let Lieutenant Huxley know.

“This is Hank Mondale. He works for me.” Blake said.

“Oh?” Huxley asked, “Is he an attorney too?”

“No.” Blake offered no further explanation.

Huxley looked at me with obvious curiosity, but he let it go at that. Victor obviously didn’t mention me or my involvement in the case but Huxley may have had some idea who I was anyway.

“This way, gentleman,” Horace said, and led the way to a large living room that was next to the entrance hall.

Detective Adams followed Horace dutifully, trailed closely by
Greenwal
. Blake and Huxley looked at each other, then at me. I took the cue and followed next. The two men walked almost side by side behind me.

“Make yourselves comfortable.” Horace said, showing us to a large, comfy beige couch. “I’ll be right back with some coffee.”

I sunk into the soft couch and said to Blake, “This is much better than that awful bench in the library.”

He grunted but didn’t take his eyes off Huxley. Adams and
Greenwal
sat across from one another. Blake gestured to a brown reading chair for Huxley to sit in.

“That’s quite alright, I prefer to stand.”

“Fine.” Blake sat in the chair himself.

Huxley began scratching his mustache again, pulling two or three hairs at a time. Then he flicked the stray hairs into the air. He took out a notepad and thumbed through it.

Blake got impatient. “Lieutenant, if there’s something you want from me, please get to the point.”

Huxley put his notepad back in his pocket and said, “We’d like to speak with your daughter. We have some questions for her.”

“My daughter is very sick at the moment. That is out of the question.”

“Sick?”

“Yes. Ill. Sick. Feeling horrible. She’s battling a nasty virus. If you must speak with her, once she’s better, we’ll make an appointment to come in to the station.”

“Oh, no, Mr. Blake. That just won’t do. We need to speak with Mackenzie today. It’s very important.”

The clatter of metal rang out, then Horace rolled in a tray with coffee, milk and sugar on it.

“How do you gentlemen like your coffee?” he asked.

“That’s okay. We’ll help ourselves,” Huxley said.

Horace looked at Blake. Blake nodded and said, “It’s okay, Horace. Thank you.”

“Very well.” Horace walked out.

“Help yourselves,” Blake said.

Adams got up and began fixing a cup. Huxley stood in place, then walked to the tray and got himself a cup.

“Just what exactly is this about?” Blake asked. “What is it that you want from Mackenzie?”

Huxley took a sip of the coffee and savored it. “This is really good coffee,” he said, smiling for the first time since he’d entered the house.

“Sure is,” Adams agreed.

The smell was awfully good, so I walked over and got a cup. Blake didn’t look at me, but I could feel him eyeballing me through his peripheral vision.

“Does the name Nicole
Leifson
mean anything to you?” Huxley asked.

“Of course. Nicki is my daughter’s best friend.”

“I see. How about Bobby Marks?”

“Yes. He’s also a friend of Mackenzie’s.”

Huxley nodded and took another sip of coffee while twirling his moustache with his free hand. Then, he said, “When was the last time you saw either of them?”

“It’s been some time. Get to the point. What is it that you want to know?”

“They are both missing. Are you aware of this?”

“Of course I’m aware of this. I told you, Nicki is Mackenzie’s best friend. They spend practically every day together. Of course I know about Nicki’s disappearance. Mackenzie’s been worried sick about her.”

“And what about Bobby Marks?”

“Mackenzie tells me that he’s missing as well.”

“And does that concern Mackenzie?”

“Of course.”

Huxley slugged loudly, then put the coffee cup down on the tray. He paused and the entire room looked at him.

“You see, Mr. Blake, the last time we spoke, we had two missing persons. Your business partner, Bill Palmer and your gardener, Mario
Libardi
. Now we have four. And from what we can gather, they were all last seen either here on your property, or with your daughter.”

“I told you all I know about Bill and Mario.”

“And what about Nicole
Leifson
and Bobby Marks?”

“What about them? Mackenzie thinks they ran off together.”

“Ran off together? The Marks boy has been missing the longest. A bit longer than the girl.”

“I’m not sure about that.”

“Perhaps Mackenzie can clarify it. I really need to speak with her.”

“I told you, that is impossible right now. As soon as she’s better, we’ll answer all your questions.”

Huxley rubbed his thumb and forefinger together so hard it sounded like teeth grinding. He waved to Adams, who finished his coffee and stood up.

“Mr. Blake,” Huxley said, “I have enough probable cause for a search warrant. I will be back.”

“You’re out of line!”
Greenwal
shouted. “Probable cause of what? That’s nonsense. Two kids ran off together and a gardener split on his wife. What’s that got to do with Mr. Blake?”

Huxley shook his head. “I’ve been a cop a long time. Those are some awfully unlikely coincidences you’re trying to sell me.”

“We have nothing more to say to you today.”
Greenwal
said, then called out, “Horace. Please show the officers out!”

Horace entered the room. Huxley turned towards him, then walked out. Adams followed closely behind.

“Have a nice day, officers,” Horace said, then shut the door.

Tension floated through the room like the smoke that drifted upwards from the opulent, ceramic coffee cups—white cups with gold brims.
Greenwal
looked down, silently. Blake looked up, with a pensive yet angry look on his face. I stayed in my seat and sipped what was left of my coffee.

Finally, I spoke up.

“Mr. Blake, I’d like to see Mackenzie.”

He looked at me, breathed heavily, but didn’t say a word.

“Mr. Blake, please. I am here to help.”

“You’re no help. I should never have hired you.”

“Are you firing me?”

He bit his lip and scowled. Then asked, “Why shouldn’t I? Look at the mess you’ve put me in.”

“Mr. Blake, I apologize. It wasn’t my intention, but sooner or later the NYPD and Westchester cops were going to compare notes.”

“Maybe,”
Greenwal
said. “Maybe not.”

Blake waved at
Greenwal
to shut up, and he got the hint.

“Listen to me,” I said to Blake. “I can still help you. I have some idea what’s going on.”

“You do?”

“There have been at least two murders in the city. One in Manhattan and one in the Bronx. We have a suspect. A sketch of a suspect, anyway.”

“So?”

“The suspect is a vagrant. Why don’t I show Mackenzie the sketch. Maybe she’ll recognize the guy.”

Blake didn’t say a word and he didn’t give off any clues as to what he was thinking. But when I looked over at
Greenwal
, I knew I was striking a nerve in these two.

“Do you know who the vagrant is?” I asked. “Does Mackenzie know him?”

Blake stood up. Then he said, “Okay, Mondale. Have another cup of coffee, and I’ll be back.”

I nodded, and fixed myself another cup of coffee.
Greenwal
followed Blake.

The wait went on for a while, and thankfully, Horace popped his head in, then showed me to the men’s room as my bladder was about to burst from all the coffee. As I came out and started walking back towards the living room,
Greenwal
appeared at the top of the staircase.

“Okay, Mr. Mondale. This way.”

I walked up the first flight of steps and met him. Then
Greenwal
started up the second flight. I followed. We walked down the corridor to Mackenzie’s room. Marty and Wes were standing outside. Marty’s head was in a comic book, laughing like a stoned hyena. Wes was reading a newspaper and rocking out to some tunes coming through headphones. Neither so much as looked up as we passed.

Greenwal
opened the door, then said, “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

The smell of stale air and spoiled food wafted about the room. It was dim, and the blinds were drawn. A single lamp on an end table was on. Mackenzie Blake was lying sideways on her bed, sitting atop her comforter. Thomas Blake stood next to her.

Thomas Blake spoke first. “Okay, Mr. Mondale. You wanted to speak with my daughter. So speak.”

I stepped forward, close enough to see her face well for the first time. Her skin was smooth, and her eyes were a devilish shade of hazel. Although her posture still looked scared and tense, there was something in her eyes that scared me: a gleam I hadn’t seen when I’d met her before.

Clearly, the line about her being sick and on medication was bullshit. She looked fine, physically.

“Hello again, Mackenzie.”

“Hi.”

“You can call me Hank. You don’t need to be so formal like your father.”

“Okay, Hank. I’m sorry about the mess. I really need to clean this room.”

“No need to apologize. I like messy rooms.” I stepped forward, and sat down on the foot of her bed. She rolled over and sat up. “Mackenzie, can I ask you a few questions?”

“Sure.”

“Please,” Thomas Blake cut in, “Be gentle. This situation is very traumatic for Mackenzie.”

“Of course,” I said. “Now, Mackenzie. The important thing here to remember is that I’m here to help. I’m not a cop. I’m not here to get you in any trouble. Your dad hired me to help you. I’m on your side. Okay?”

“Okay.” She began to twist a shoulder-length strand of wavy blond hair. She dropped her legs off the bed and dangled them above the floor, looking at me sideways while licking her lips.

“Mackenzie, look at me please.”

She kicked the bed repeatedly with her swaying feet but didn’t turn her head. I wanted her to look at me, but I continued.

“The police were here today. Did your dad tell you that?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know why they were here?”

“Yes.”

“Why, Mackenzie?”

“They were asking about Bobby and Nicki.”

“Right. They want to know what happened to your friends.”

“I know.”

“Do you know what happened to them?”

Mackenzie continued twirling her hair while kicking the bed with each foot, one foot at a time at a steady pace. The pounding was starting to get annoying, and her coy routine frustrating, but I kept my cool, and kept the heat on her.

“Do you know where they are now?”

The kicking continued, the pace quickening slightly and losing its rhythm. But still she didn’t answer me.

“Mackenzie, it’s very important.”

“They’re gone” she said finally.

“Gone?”

“Gone.”

“Do you know where they’ve gone?”

She nodded, and smiled. But the smile wasn’t one of happiness, more a smile of delirium.

“You know where they are, Mackenzie?”

“Yes.”

“Are they okay?”

“No.”

“No? Please tell me more.”

Thomas Blake shuffled, and I could feel him cringing. But surprisingly, he didn’t say a word or move to stop me from pressing her.

“Symphony took care of them.”

“Symphony?”

“It.”

I nodded. Then looked at Blake. He looked at the floor. I turned back to Mackenzie and said, “I think I may know who hurt Bobby and Nicki.”

She stopped kicking, and looked up at me.

“I think a man may have done something very bad to them.”

She giggled. “Not a man.”

“Not a man?”

“Not a man,” she repeated, but this time her voice was an octave higher.