The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [125]
And so we finally had our proof, and along with it an open road to direct action; and, scared as that prospect had made me during recent days, at that particular moment the prospect of putting everything else aside and rolling the dice on the break-in made me feel just fine.
“All we lack now,” the Doctor said, heading over to review the notes on the chalkboard and make a few additions, “is a time when we can be certain the woman will be out of the house.”
“But—we’ve got it.” Barely aware that I’d said the words out loud, I looked around to find everyone staring at me. “Tomorrow night,” I went on. “It’s Goo Goo Knox’s birthday—she’s sure to be at the Dusters’.”
The Doctor gave me what you might call a searching look, then nodded slowly. “Well, then,” he said, “tomorrow night.” He began to toss his piece of chalk up and down lightly. “Tomorrow night she assumes her second personality—and in so doing gives us a chance to peer into her first. The woman of two names, two faces, two lives has—quite unconsciously—set the two halves of herself to work, each against the other. We must pray our job is finished before that conflict comes to an end.” The Doctor fixed his black eyes on the board. “We must interrupt the work of the savior, before the destroyer has her way …”
CHAPTER 23
Twenty-four hours later, all was darkness. I was lying in the bed of the calash, along with Detective Sergeant Marcus and Mike the ferret, who was squirming around in a satchel what I’d slung around my neck and over my shoulder. The three of us were covered by a tarpaulin, which sealed out what little light came through the windows of the stables next door to Number 39 Bethune Street—and sealed the stale July heat in. Detective Sergeant Lucius had driven the rig in about twenty minutes earlier, telling the attendant that he had business in the neighborhood and reckoned to be back sometime before midnight. Then he’d strapped a bag of oats onto Frederick’s snout and departed, while the attendant had gone back to standing on the sidewalk and watching some fireworks that were being set off over the Hudson: the one thing we’d all forgotten, in the midst of our planning, was that the night we’d chosen for the break-in was the eve of July Fourth, and the city was full of drunken revelers setting off firecrackers and generally raising hell. This, we’d decided when we finally remembered it, would only work to our advantage, as the attention of the police and everyone else in town—including the stable attendant—would be directed toward either participating in or controlling the revelry: all in all, a good night to go housebreaking.
The day had been spent in last-minute coaching, of Mike by me and of me by the others. I had no doubts about Mike: he’d reached the point where he had thoroughly connected the idea of getting fed with the smell of Ana Linares’s nightgown. (The fact that I’d disobeyed Hickie’s orders and started feeding the animal prime cuts of meat from the local butcher had notched his already considerable enthusiasm up to positive mania.) As for myself, I was confident about the breaking-and-entering part of the plan; the only thing that worried me was the Doctor’s hope that I’d not only be able to grab the Linares baby but at the same time make careful mental notes of anything I saw that might help him understand Nurse Hunter’s behavior on the deepest level. I understood his desire for such information, and as I say, I was anxious not to disappoint him. But he plain didn’t know—and I didn’t think I could explain to him—what it was like when you stepped across the line and invaded somebody