The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [46]
I pondered the thing. “I never thought—I mean, I figured you’d be thinking of—”
“I know,” the Doctor answered. “It wouldn’t have been like you to think anything else: You haven’t had many years of believing that you’re important, Stevie. But you are. Mary was, too, I don’t have to tell you that. But she’s—gone now.” It was as much as he could bear to say about her, and more than he ever had, to me.
“Still doesn’t seem natural,” I said, letting the words out before I’d had time to think. “Not having her around.”
“No. And it never will.” The Doctor pulled out his watch and began to fiddle with it in a way that was strange for him: like he wasn’t sure just how to say what was on his mind. “I—do not expect to ever have children, Stevie. Of my own, I mean. But if I were to have a son—I could only wish that he would have your courage. In all ways.” He tucked the watch away. “I can’t let my actions put you in danger again.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I get that. But—” Words were becoming a problem for me, too. “But I was in danger my whole life. I mean, before I came to live with you. It ain’t that big of a thing—so long as there’s some kind of sensible reason for it. And this case—well, you seen that picture of the little girl. And it’s pretty obvious what could be hanging on the thing.” I “stamped my foot once, lightly, trying to be clear. “I wouldn’t want to think that I kept you out of it, that’s all. The rest of them, they all know they need you. If I’m in the way, you can—I don’t know, ship me off someplace. But you oughtta help them. Because like Detective Sergeant Lucius said, this thing could get real big and real ugly.”
The Doctor smiled at that and gave me what you might call a scrutinizing look. “And when did he say that?”
I laughed a bit, knocking a fist lightly to my forehead. “Oh. Right. That would’ve been last night, I guess.”
“Ah.”
For what seemed quite a while but couldn’t actually have been-more than a few minutes—not even enough time for Cyrus to finish up in the carriage house—we both just stood there, looking out at Stuyvesant Park. Then the Doctor said:
“The detective sergeants found the weapon this morning—did they tell you?”
I spun toward him in excitement. “No. Mr. Moore said there’d been developments, though. What was it, a piece of pipe?”
“Your old trademark,” the Doctor answered with a nod, pulling out his cigarette case. “It was under one of the benches around the Egyptian obelisk. They dusted for fingerprints and found several. There was also some blood on the thing, though it’s impossible to say who or even what it came from. Much work to be done in that area of forensics, I’m afraid …” He lit his cigarette, then blew smoke out the open window with a troubled but fascinated look on his face. “Who the devil would kidnap the daughter of a high Spanish official and then fail to capitalize on it in some way?”
A smile crept into my face. “Then you are going to help them.”
The Doctor sighed again. “I have a dilemma, it seems. I wouldn’t want you to have to be sent away, Stevie, yet I can’t be the agent of further threats to your safety.” He took another long drag off his cigarette. “Tell me—what would your solution to such a problem be?”
“Mine?”
“Yes. How do you think I should handle it?” I groped for words. “You should—well, you should do what you’ve always done. Just be my friend. Trust that I know how to handle myself. Because I do.” I let out a small grunt of a laugh. “Good as the rest of you, anyway.”
The Doctor smiled, then walked over to tousle my hair lightly. “True enough. And stated with your usual respect for your elders.”
Then we heard the front door open and close, after which Cyrus came loping up the stairs. He paused when he saw me in the parlor, as if he thought that the conversation might be private; but the Doctor called him in.
“You may as well know, too, Cyrus,” he said, putting his cigarette out in an ashtray. “We seem to be reentering the detection business—that