The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [25]
Señora Linares watched the Isaacsons enter the office with the same uneasiness she’d displayed on first meeting the rest of us, but Mr. Moore stepped in quickly to put her at her ease.
“Señora, these are the men I was telling you about. The finest pair of detectives in the entire New York City Police Department. Despite their official capacities, however, their discretion may be completely relied on.” He then looked up with a grin to shake hands with Lucius and Marcus. “Hello, boys. Bad doings on the waterfront, I hear.”
“John,” Marcus answered, returning the smile with a nod.
“Just another murder that looks unsolvable to Hogan’s crew,” Lucius added. “Though if you ask me, it’s a simple case of—”
“Yes, but they didn’t ask you, did they?” Marcus said, at which Lucius shot him a final look promising true rage if he went on. Marcus let it go and turned to give Miss Howard a polite but very sincere hug. “Hello, Sara. You look wonderful.”
“You’re an excellent liar, Marcus,” she answered. Then she went over to give Lucius a peck on the cheek, knowing that he’d never dare get physical with her on his own. “Hello, Lucius.”
The peck brought a flush to the younger Isaacson’s whole head, and he quickly pulled out his handkerchief to mop at his brow. “Oh! Why, hello, Sara. It’s—it’s wonderful to see you.”
“I wish the circumstances could be happier,” Miss Howard answered, turning to her guest. “Gentlemen, this is Señora Isabella Linares.”
Both the Isaacsons’ eyebrows went up. “The wife of Consul Baldasano’s private secretary?” Marcus asked quietly.
The señora only nodded slightly; Mr. Moore, for his part, turned away, shook his head and mumbled, “I am a reporter, I really ought to know these things …” Then, aloud to the Isaacsons, he went on, “Listen—why don’t I take you fellows into the back for a cup of coffee. Fill you in.”
The detective sergeants, confused but intrigued, readily agreed and went along. The rest of us were left with a slightly awkward moment, which Miss Howard, ever skillful at such things, stepped in to smooth. “Cyrus? The señora said that she very much admired your playing. Perhaps you know something from her homeland?”
“No,” the señora said, gratefully but with purpose. “No, señor, I am—in no mood for such melodies. And memories … the tune you played, it was of your people?”
“It’s an American folk melody,” Cyrus explained, moving back to the piano and sitting. “Like most of its kind, it doesn’t belong to any one people.”
“It was so moving, truly,” the señora answered. “Might I hear another?”
Cyrus inclined his head, considered the matter for a moment, and then softly began to play the old tune “Lorena.” The Linares woman sat back in her chair and sighed heavily, just listening for a few minutes. Then she put a hand on Miss Howard’s arm. “I pray we are doing the right thing, Miss Howard. And I pray that I am not, in fact, mad.”
“You’re not,” Miss Howard answered firmly. “I’ve had some—experience with lunatics.”
“Your Señor Moore, he seems less certain.”
“It’s his way. He’s a journalist. They come in two varieties, cynics and liars. He’s of the first group.”
Señora Linares managed a small, painful chuckle at that, and then Mr. Moore and the Isaacsons returned to the room. Marcus paused at the drapery-covered pool table and set the instrument satchel down on it. As he then moved further toward us with Mr. Moore, Lucius opened the satchel and began to carefully lay out the gleaming tools that were inside it.
Marcus stood by Miss Howard, while Mr. Moore crouched by the Linares woman. “Señora, in order for us to help you, we must be sure of several