A Cast of Killers (21 page)

"We'll pretend this is a Chinese restaurant,"
she said. "And we'll sample each other's entrees."

"Excellent idea," Herbert Wong beamed, but he
was prone to beaming at anything Auntie Lil suggested. They had
become constant companions as both were infused with inexhaustible
energy and insatiable appetites for new adventures and friends.

"Don't forget that we are here to work,"
Auntie Lil reminded them as soon as their appetizers arrived.
(Appetizers always arrived shortly after Auntie Lil did.)

Lilah volunteered to begin with a report on
the medical examiner's findings. It was brief. Emily had indeed
been poisoned. The substance was formally identified as a
nitroprusside, a form of cyanide easily accessible to
photographers, jewelers, metallurgists and goldsmiths, all of whom
relied on it for various chemical synthesis purposes. It could have
been put in her food in either powder or liquid form; there had not
been enough evidence to support a particular finding either way.
Emily had been thin, even considering her age, but not ill
nourished. She had not eaten much that day, which had probably
contributed to an almost instantaneous reaction to the minute
amount of poison that she'd had time to consume before her death.
Her age was estimated at between seventy and eighty-five. It was
the assistant medical examiner's opinion (Lilah did not refer to
him by name, much to T.S.'s satisfaction) that Emily had borne at
least one child in the past and that she had suffered from a slight
bone deformity in one leg, which may have helped explain Adelle's
belief that she had been a poor dancer. Her teeth were in good
shape and indicated regular professional care. She had dyed her
hair with a popular silver coloring agent. Finally, she had no
tattoos, scars or birthmarks that might help distinguish her from a
million other little old ladies. And there was no mention made of
her marvelous cheekbones.

They were silent, contemplating the method of
murder.

"Women are poisoners," Auntie Lil remarked
darkly. "I knew a woman in Montreal once who went through four
husbands before they caught her. She even tried to poison the horse
of the Royal Canadian Mounted Policeman who finally apprehended
her."

"Men poison, too," Herbert politely
disagreed. "At home in Singapore, there was a man whose wives
always mysteriously died once their bloom of youth had withered.
Curiously enough, his mother-in-laws died soon after. We all
suspected, but what could we do? One night he drowned off the coast
and was eaten by sharks."

Well, good God. There was no way T.S. could
top those two when it came to anecdotes about death. He contented
himself with a small critical comment instead. "Whether it was a
man or a woman, it was a good choice of method. It would almost
certainly have gone undetected," he pointed out. "If the coroner
had not been training a new assistant, I doubt the poison would
have been found. Without an identity, there was no family to insist
on an autopsy."

"Indeed," Auntie Lil agreed. "It was
ingenious. Right there in a public place, with witnesses present to
attest to her heart attack. No identity left on the body. But the
killer obviously didn't know that she had friends there who might
have been able to provide her name and address. That was a risk. He
thought she was a loner."

"Which means the killer had not been stalking
her long enough to know that the other actresses were her friends,"
Herbert added.

"That's right. Probably, he'd known her only
in the last few months or so," T.S. decided. "She'd been feuding
with the other actresses for about that long. Before then, I'm sure
she probably sat at the same table with Adelle and the others. So
you're right. He hadn't known her very long."

"He?" Lilah asked and they told her about The
Eagle.

"The Eagle?" Herbert Wong repeated
thoughtfully. "That's interesting. Did he mean an American Indian?"
They stared at him silently and he defended himself. "A wise man
covers all possibilities."

"That's right," Auntie Lil agreed, pushing
her bowl away. She had already finished her soup and couldn't have
done a faster job with a straw. "Which is why we need to cover all
the bases in the weeks ahead."

"You have a plan?" Lilah asked, though the
others knew this was a rhetorical question. Auntie Lil always had a
plan in mind and it usually involved the efforts of others.

"Yes. I've asked Herbert to begin watching
the apartment building where she lived. And I'm going to go to the
police for help." She added this last sentence as if it were a
great sacrifice on her part. "Theodore—did you find out who owned
the building?"

He told them what he had learned and it was
decided that he would try to track down the person or persons
behind the dummy corporation, Worthy Enterprises.

"Excuse me," Herbert Wong then announced
politely. They turned to him and waited. "I am most happy to devote
all waking hours to my appointed task. But there are times when I
must sleep," he admitted reluctantly.

"Of course. You'll have to have help watching
the building." Auntie Lil drummed her fingers impatiently and the
waiter, misinterpreting her movement, brought them another large
basket of bread. She bit absently into a huge breadstick, which
immediately crumbled into a small anthill on a spot of the
tablecloth directly beneath the chin. She brushed the crumbs idly
onto the floor, her brow furrowed in deep thought. "I've got it,"
she finally said, then swallowed. "Adelle and the other old
actresses want to help," she quickly explained. "Herbert, you can
supervise them in shifts. We'll watch that building like a hawk, or
eagle as it were. There are enough of them to follow anyone who
leaves the building. Keep track of their descriptions and the
addresses where they go. It won't be easy, but then we won't be
doing the work, will we? And it could be most informative." She
smiled, extremely pleased at her logic.

That decided, Lilah asked how she might help.
Without missing a beat, Auntie Lil explained how it was important
for her dear Theodore to have someone he could call on night and
day for aid.

Her extreme lack of subtlety went unnoticed
by everyone but T.S., who was acutely embarrassed by the "night"
part. But Lilah was unfazed and happily agreed, pleased to be a
part of their plan.

"I'm going to keep interviewing neighborhood
people," Auntie Lil assured them. "I'll go back to the Delicious
Deli owner first. He mentioned she'd been out quite late at night a
month or so ago. It was a change in her pattern and there must have
been a reason for that change." She rooted around in her pocketbook
while they waited, and finally produced the strip of dime store
photos. "I'm also going to try and find out who these young boys
are and what their connection to Emily might be."

T.S. was silent for a moment, but knew that
he needed to speak up. He did not want to tell them what he'd seen
going on next door to Emily's apartment, but there might be a
connection. If so, Auntie Lil needed to be told. The trick would be
to do so tactfully. T.S. was a big believer in tact.

He cleared his throat but was saved from
immediate action when their entrees arrived. The apportioning,
tasting and exclaiming that followed made it easier for him to
broach the subject.

"Those young boys," he told his aunt as she
shoveled shepherd's pie into her mouth. "I have a feeling about
them," T.S. continued. "I think you'll probably find that they live
on the streets. And earn their living doing… odd jobs and stuff
around the neighborhood."

Auntie Lil looked at T.S. as if he were daft.
"Odd jobs?" she repeated skeptically. "There are no lawns to mow in
Hell's Kitchen."

T.S. sighed. "No. But there are plenty of
disgusting and perverted human beings willing to take advantage of
starving runaways forced to make a dollar any way they can."

Auntie Lil stopped chewing and stared at him.
She swallowed slowly and blinked. "Oh, dear. You don't say."

"I say," T.S. confirmed grimly.

"All right, then. I promise to be careful."
Auntie Lil's shoulders slumped a little as she returned to her meal
and Lilah gazed anxiously at T.S. Herbert patted Auntie Lil's hand
and murmured something soothing. She was not overly fond of
children, but Auntie Lil did delight in innocence.

"Perhaps you should try to speak to someone
who works with runaways in the area," Herbert suggested
diplomatically. "They may know the young boys."

"Brilliant!" Auntie Lil perked back up and
patted his tiny hand fondly. "Herbert, you're a man after my own
heart."

Carried away by her enthusiasm and praise,
Herbert puffed up and made a rash promise. "On my part, I will
search without ceasing for this man you call The Eagle," he
announced. "I, too, believe he must have given Miss Emily that
poison. I will not rest until he has been exposed."

"Then you had better start with trying to
find the old man who saw him sitting next to Emily the day she
died," Lilah said. She smiled at the group. "See? I have a good
idea every now and then, too." Her smile focused on T.S. and he
smiled happily back. Lilah was one big good idea, in his book.

By the end of the evening, they'd carefully
laid out their plans and each of them had assigned tasks to
perform. And although they'd not gotten very far yet, they all felt
better knowing that their words would soon become actions.

The only thing left to decide was who would
pay the check. After a brief tussle with Auntie Lil and Lilah, T.S.
won. Herbert Wong took care of the tip. T.S. was not surprised to
notice that it was as excessive as any Auntie Lil had ever left
behind.

The next morning, T.S. rose early out of long
habit. He drank his coffee while staring out over York Avenue,
trying to decide how he could track down Worthy Enterprises. Then
it came to him in a flash of inspiration, fueled by years as a
successful executive. He would get someone else to do it. Best of
all, he had just the man for the job.

Each night before going to bed, T.S. emptied
his pockets into a silver dish in the top drawer of his dresser. It
was easy to find the card. Gregory Rogers, Dance Master
Extraordinaire, would not be of much help in this task. But Lenny
Melk, Dandruff Master Extraordinaire, just might. He scrutinized
the phone number carefully, suspecting the prefix was a public pay
phone. Really, what was he doing trusting someone he'd only met the
day before? On the other hand, considering the maze of official
departments and filings that awaited him—who cared?

It rang sixteen rings without an answer, but
T.S. was not dissuaded. At this early hour, he had to be home. Sure
enough, Lenny Melk finally answered the phone with a sleepy and
suspicious growl. "I know, I know, Vinny," he said. "It was the
spread that killed me. I'll cover it by the afternoon, I
promise."

"It's not Vinny," T.S. replied crisply. Why
couldn't people wake up ready and raring to function, their dignity
intact? He always did. What the world needed was a little more
self-discipline. "This is T.S. Hubbert," he said.

"I'm not buying anything," Melk immediately
replied. "So don't waste your time."

"No. It's T.S. Hubbert. We met late
yesterday. Around closing time down at 99 Centre. Remember, you
helped me out and almost got me lynched?"

There was a silence while this information
filtered through Lenny Melk's besotted brain cells. "Oh, yeah, the
real persnickety guy in the yellow sweater," he finally said.

"Yes, that's me," T.S. was forced to reply.
He tactfully resisted the impulse to describe Lenny Melk back. "I
need your help again. Tracking down who owns Worthy
Enterprises."

"Oh, yeah? This sounds interesting. It's
gonna cost you. There's a shit storm of corporate filings involved,
understand?"

"Of course. How interesting would you say it
was?"

"At least two hundred dollars. And another
thirty-five in… um, personnel expenses."

"Done. Can you have the information by later
today?"

"Well…" Lenny's voice dropped dubiously. "I
suppose so. Since you're getting to be a regular customer and
all…"

"Fine. Please call me back and leave the
information at this number. I trust you will trust me for the
payment." There was an astonished silence and T.S. took it for
agreement. "I have an answering machine, so leave a message if you
need to. It's urgent." T.S. supplied him with the necessary
information and rang off. He hated it when other people had
answering machines, but he loved his own. Today was not a day to
sit at home, waiting for a phone call back. He was meeting Herbert
Wong at the soup kitchen just after the noon hour to help
coordinate the surveillance of Emily's apartment building. Auntie
Lil had prudently decided that she should lie low for a while, at
least concerning St. Barnabas.

He checked his watch. It was only
eight-thirty and he needed something to do. Now was his chance to
show some initiative, come up with some good ideas of his own, stop
depending on Auntie Lil for instructions. He began by dressing
carefully in a casual yet authoritative sweater-and-flannel-slacks
combination, then added a tie. He carefully smoothed his entire
outfit twice with a sable clothes brush purchased on a visit to
London seven years before. Those British really knew how to take
care of their clothes. Decades of butlerism had refined it into an
art. He keenly admired their precision.

Properly decked out, T.S.
paused in front of the mirror. It was time for action. But no idea
came and, in the end, he simply went downstairs to the corner
newsstand. He purchased a copy of
New York
Newsday
(having read the
Times
hours before) and
settled in at a nearby coffee shop. He alternated between flipping
through page after page of mayhem, horror, poverty and politics and
watching frantic businessmen and grumpy businesswomen rush past the
window, headed for a world he was no longer a part of.