The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [26]
Another heavy sigh came from Señora Linares, and then she sat forward, lifted her veil, and removed her hat altogether, saying only, “Very well.”
Marcus immediately fetched a standing electrical desk lamp from nearby, placed its shade above the señora’s head and face, and then spoke softly: “You may want to close your eyes, ma’am.” She complied, shutting the one lid that she could move, and then he switched on the bright light.
Seeing her injuries, Marcus’s face tightened into a wince—and mind you, this was a man who’d just been studying a body that’d been decapitated, dismembered, and sawed in half. The woman really was a wicked mess.
Lucius joined his brother, holding several medical and measuring instruments, some of which he handed to Marcus. Though Cyrus’s attention was riveted on the scene taking place under the little half shell of bright light in the center of the room, he kept on playing, sensing that it was calming Señora Linares. As for me, I jumped back up into my windowsill and lit up a cigarette, not wanting to miss a minute of the proceedings.
“Sara,” Lucius said, as he moved toward the señora’s head with what looked like two steel probes, “I wonder if you wouldn’t mind taking notes?”
“No, no, of course not,” Miss Howard answered, grabbing a pad and pencil.
“All right, then, we’ll begin with the injury to the back of the head. That occurred when you were attacked in the park, señora?”
“Yes,” she answered, a little pain revealing itself in her face. But she didn’t move.
“And that was exactly where and when?” Marcus asked, also studying the wound.
“Thursday evening. We had just left the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I often take Ana—my daughter—I often take her there. She is very fond of the sculpture hall, I don’t know just why. The figures make her so excited, full of smiles and wonder…. At any rate, we usually sit afterwards by the Egyptian obelisk outside, and she sleeps. The obelisk, too, has always fascinated her, though in a different way.”
“And you were hit right there—right out in the open?”
“Yes.”
“Yet no one witnessed it?”
“It seems not. It had rained earlier in the day and was threatening to do so again—perhaps people wished to avoid it. Although there were several very kind persons about when I awoke.”
Lucius glanced up at Marcus. “You see the angle? And there’s no laceration.”
“Exactly,” Marcus answered, his tone also businesslike. “Probably no concussion.” Then, to the señora: “Any unusual physical side effects after it happened? A ringing in your ears, perhaps, or bright spots in your vision?”
“No.”
“Dizziness, a feeling of pressure inside your skull?”
“No. I was examined by a doctor,” Señora Linares continued, becoming a little more sure of herself. “He told me—”
“If you don’t mind, señora,” Lucius said, “we’ll try to disregard other reports. We’ve had a lot of experience with New York City doctors—and their opinions—in cases like this.”
The señora grew quiet at that, looking kind of like a little girl who’d spoken out of turn at school.
“No concussion, then,” Marcus mumbled. “Pretty neat job.”
“Perfect angle,” Lucius said. “Somebody good—unless … señora, you say you never saw the person who struck you?”
“Not at all. I was unconscious immediately, though I don’t think for very long. But by the time I awoke, he had fled. With Ana.”
“You say ‘he,’ “Marcus remarked. “Any reason?”
The señora looked suddenly confused. “It—I don’t know. It never occurred to me that—”
“That’s all right,” Marcus said. “Just asking.” But then he glanced up and looked at Miss Howard—and from the apprehensive expressions that came into both of their faces, I could tell that there was no way in hell he’d been “just asking.”
Marcus returned to his questioning: “How tall are you?”
“Mmm—a little over five feet