The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [89]
Marcus stepped to the fore. “Good afternoon. Am I right in supposing that you are Mrs. Elspeth Hunter?”
“Yes,” she answered slowly, eyeing Marcus up and down and curling her lips. “You suppose correctly, Mister—”
He held up his badge. “Detective Sergeant Marcus Isaacson. New York Police Department.”
Nurse Hunter took in the badge without a blink; if she was who we were looking for, then she was as cool as any con I’d ever seen during my years in the trade.
“I see,” she answered, never losing the lightly coquettish smile. “And are these your troops, Detective Sergeant?” she asked, turning the smile to Lucius and broadening it.
It was as if she knew that Lucius would start to squirm under the flirtation, as indeed he did. “I’m, uh”—he held up his badge—“I’m Detective Sergeant Lucius Isaacson. Also of the New York Police Department.”
“You’re not brothers?” Nurse Hunter said, the golden eyes dancing from one to the other. “How wonderful—and they let you work together, too! But you’re not at all what I’d expect—I thought that New York policemen were all named Mahoney, and had great handlebar mustaches.” The Isaacsons laughed just a little at that; it was exactly the right kind of joke to get to them with.
Nurse Hunter’s manner became far less playful as she looked beyond the detective sergeants to Mr. Moore and the Doctor. “And these gentlemen?” she said. “They can’t be police.”
“No,” Marcus answered. “They are—assisting us on a case. Mr. John Schuyler Moore and Dr. Laszlo Kreizler.”
Her face straightening with what appeared to be genuine awe and humility, Nurse Hunter directed her sunlit stare into Dr. Kreizler’s black eyes. “I—don’t know what to say …” Her words seemed to come with genuine difficulty. “I know of your work, of course, Doctor. I used to be a nurse, you see, at the Lying-in Hospital, just down the street from your—”
“Yes, I know,” the Doctor answered coldly, looking disturbed that the conversation was going on so long.
“I hope you won’t hold that fact against me,” Nurse Hunter continued. “I know that Dr. Markoe thought—well, I read some of your monographs myself, and I thought they were extremely interesting.”
The Doctor only bowed a bit, and that with just his head; but even if it was plain that he knew she was trying to touch something in him, it was also plain that she’d in fact touched it.
As Nurse Hunter turned to Mr. Moore, her face stayed straight for a few seconds; then she displayed another flirtatious look, one that soon grew into positive ogling. “And Mr. Moore …?”
He smiled back at her, then showed his cards like an amateur of the sort what he definitely was not. “New York Times, “he said, extending his hand.
Back inside the calash, Miss Howard let out a hiss of amazement. “I’ll be damned,” she whispered. “Four out of four … she’s sharp, all right.”
“What’s that accent?” I said quietly. “I can’t quite make it—it ain’t New England, but it ain’t local, either.”
“No,” Miss Howard whispered with a smiling shake of her head. “It’s upstate—my part of the country, maybe a little farther north. Yes, I’ve heard that kind of voice before …”
Back on the steps, the Doctor cleared his throat. “I think, Detective Sergeant,” he said, “that we had better get to the business at hand.”
“Oh,” Marcus answered. “Yes. Mrs. Hunter, we have reason to believe—”
“Please,” she said, giving Marcus the particular kind of playful smile that she’d flashed on him before. Then she held a hand out toward the inside of the house. “Whatever it is, I’m sure we’ll be more comfortable discussing it over tea.”
In two mirror movements, the four men on the steps and the three of us in the carriage looked at each other in shock. We’d connived and planned so much at how to get into the place to find out if the Linares baby was there that the flat-out invitation was like a kick to the chest.
“What?” Miss Howard whispered, when she could.
“Tea?” Cyrus added, similarly shocked.
“I hope