The Midnight Club_ A Novel - James Patterson [14]
A cigarette with a long ash dangled from her hand that morning in mid-June. It had gotten that bad: cigarette again; two pots of coffee before noon every day. Sarah quietly sat down and she stared at the blank sheet rolled into her old Smith-Corona.
On the very top of the bare white page she had written Be there. But today it was more complicated than that.
14
John Stefanovitch; Allure
ALMOST ANY AUTOMATIC car can be fixed to accommodate a handicapped driver. In Stefanovitch’s case, the mechanics were particularly simple, modifications he supervised himself.
A hand-operated throttle system was all that was necessary for him to drive again. The hard part was learning to ignore, then forget completely, the ingrained foot reflexes every time he had to hit the brakes, or accelerate. He was still working on that. The streets of New York were an interesting place to practice. As he turned down West Ninety-ninth Street in the daylight, Stefanovitch noticed that the four-story town house that held Allure was in mint condition. He sat in his car for a few minutes observing the street, but particularly the elegant, early-thirties building that housed Allure. He wanted all the turmoil in his mind to be manageable before he ventured inside again.
So far today he’d had his regular workout at the gym, then several hours of mental agony at Police Plaza, headquarters for the N.Y.P.D. He was baffled by almost everything about the St.-Germain killing.
Around eleven o’clock, he had visited the autopsy room at Police Plaza. He’d wanted to see St.-Germain one more time. He still didn’t understand the motive for the shooting, and without a motive there couldn’t be a solution.
The corpse was laid out among a host of other homicide victims from around New York. The Grave Dancer seemed less than imposing in the midst of rows of stainless steel trolleys, walls of refrigerator compartments, green-robed pathologists with sharpened blades and blasé expressions.
The Pathology chief, Thomas Yamada, had assigned himself to St.-Germain. He was gutting his star cadaver, while a police stenographer dutifully took notes.
“His testes weigh thirty-three and a half grams,” Yamada said to Stefanovitch as he wheeled himself toward the trolley. “Average.” He shrugged and seemed disappointed.
“That all you have for me, Tommy?” Stefanovitch asked. He wasn’t in the mood for Yamada’s dark humor.
“Vital stats have been checked with the Sûreté. I.D. by three ‘business associates.’ I’ll let you know if anything else comes up. Not a neat job. Vengeance style. Somebody didn’t like this buggerer a lot. Somebody besides you, Stef.”
15
WHEN MOST OF THE confusion in his mind had subsided, Stefanovitch reached into his van’s backseat for the Chair. “Onward, Christian Soldiers” ran through his head. Onward, indeed.
Kay Whitley was being held in the same parlor where he had questioned her the night before, or rather, early in the morning. She had apparently “forgotten” to tell him a few details, so they were meeting again.
Kupchek and another Homicide detective, Harold Lee Friedman, were mooning around the parlor when he arrived. They looked like uncomfortable mourners at a wake. Nobody was talking.
Kay Whitley looked even more startling without the exotic makeup she had been wearing with St.-Germain. She had on a blue cardigan sweater, a chic Claude Montana T-shirt, tight faded jeans. She wore scuffed and stained black leather boots that reached up near her thighs. Sunlight from the windows behind wrapped around her nicely.
Stefanovitch wanted to talk to her alone this time. They had to reach some kind of understanding. He asked Bear Kupchek and the other detective to leave the room.
When they were alone, the expensive call girl did something that startled Stefanovitch. Without saying a word, she leaned forward and put her hand lightly over his wrist.
He could feel her softness, her body’s warmth, and he had no idea what she was up to.
“Before we start, Lieutenant, I want to thank you for last night,” she said. “I know you could have been a lot