Creepers (18 page)

"You're joking, of course," she said hoarsely when he finished. Her throat was suddenly very dry. She had to sip her gin and tonic before going on. "People . . . things...monsters living in the subway?"

Corelli nodded. "Louise, someone believes it...someone who is trying to keep it quiet. And unfortunately, that now means keeping us quiet."

"Us?"

"You showed the cop your ID."

"So now I'm a fugitive from justice?"

Corelli shrugged, relieved that in her confusion Louise hadn't made the connection between the things in the subway and her daughter--at least for now. Sooner or later she'd piece it together and then all hell'd break loose. " 'Fugitive from justice' is putting it a little strongly. Let's just say that until we get this thing straightened out, you'd better stay with me for a while."

"Where?"

"We can't go to my place. I'll fix something up with Quinn, he's a pal of mine."

"Doubtless he's arranged these nights out for others of your lady friends?" she said sardonically.

Corelli smiled, wondering if Louise knew she actually sounded jealous. "Quinn is a regular Irish pimp for me. Why, he's given my libido a helping hand more times than I can--"

"Frank," Louise interrupted, "what are we going to do? I'm scared. Suddenly, I'm scared." Her voice trembled and for a moment she looked just like the photograph of her daughter, Lisa.

"I'd be worried if you weren't scared. But we've still got a jump on them. And that means right now we're ahead of the game."

"So what's our next move?"

"I'm going to call Quinn, then a certain Dr. Geary at New York Mercy. He's got the autopsy reports on Ted Slade."

"You said you already talked to him."

"But he didn't answer the most important question," Corelli said cryptically as he rose from the table and disappeared into the hotel.

He was back in ten minutes looking worried, but less worried than when he'd left. "Quinn has a nephew with an apartment in Greenwich Village. He's away for a week or so and he left the keys with Quinn . . . something about feeding his cat or watering the plants."

"And I take it you offered my domestic services?" Louise was relieved that they weren't going to be spending the night at Corelli's.

"You've got a way with living things, Mrs. Hill...if you don't mind me saying so."

Louise smiled. Right in the middle of a growing nightmare, Frank Corelli made her feel almost human again. It was no mean feat; she appreciated his concern and his attention and she wanted him to know it. "Detective Corelli, I don't think I'd mind much of anything you say." She finished her drink. "So what do we do now?"

"We drop you in the Village."

"Not so fast, buster. What will you do while I twiddle my thumbs?"

"I'll just do a little educated snooping." He signaled the waiter and paid the check.

"I'm coming with you, Frank. All the way." She pushed her chair back.

"No way. Thanks to me, you're in enough trouble. I've got too much to worry about without wondering if you'll be okay."

She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "If you don't let me come with you, I'll go off on my own. Promise." She now folded her arms over her voluptuous breasts. "Now, you wouldn't want that, would you?"

Corelli stared at her breasts a moment, then shook his head for dramatic effect. Louise tagging along could only mean trouble. Whoever was behind the growing list of signs pointing to a major conspiracy to keep news of the "things" in the subway quiet was playing for keeps. They were only one step behind him, waiting for him to make the wrong move or to turn the wrong corner. If--when--that day came, Corelli didn't want Louise by his side."

"Let's talk about what you're going to do when we get to the Village."

"I won't give up, Frank," she promised as he led her to the car. "And what happened to your doctor? Did you get the news you wanted?"

Corelli shook his head. "The switchboard said he was on vacation, wouldn't be back for a month."

Louise shook her head. "Now I won't give up for sure. You're going to need me, Frank."

Ten minutes later they pulled up in front of Louise's apartment house. "I thought we were going downtown," she said suspiciously.

"There's still time for you to get some clothes. I don't know how long you'll be away."

Louise wanted to smile bravely, but she couldn't. It was one thing to sit at the Stanhope sipping a cool drink and talk of "hiding out"; it was another to be running into her apartment to pack a suitcase, wondering if she'd ever get out again. The connection between Lisa's disappearance and being a fugitive was still too nebulous. Nothing Frank had told her made sense. And now she was running. But she didn't know why, or from whom.

"Let's go." Corelli opened the car door. The street was busy as usual; traffic to and from Broadway buzzed by them. Once inside the lobby, Frank hesitated and glanced back to the street, just to be sure. As he did, a black car pulled up opposite where he'd parked. The two men inside the car didn't get out. Corelli squinted his eyes but didn't recognize either man. He did, however, recognize that they were watching Louise's building.

"Something wrong?" Louise's voice jolted him back to reality.

"Just an overactive imagination," he lied, pulling her away from the door. "Come on. I won't feel good until we get you out of here."

While Louise packed a few things and arranged with her answering service to take messages, Frank stationed himself at the front window. The car was still there. One of the men had gotten out and was now assiduously studying the menu in the window of a nearby restaurant. By the time he was beginning to look conspicuous, Louise was back.

"I have to make one phone call--to the police."

"Call from downtown," he countered harshly. "Is there a back way out of here?"

"There's a back staircase that leads down to a service entrance."

"Good. I'm going to leave by the front door. You take your suitcase, walk downstairs, and leave by the service entrance. If you can, don't let anyone see you."

"What is it?" Her voice was full of tinny fear.

"Nothing that we can't take care of."

Corelli rode down in the elevator. The operator was fixated on a small throaty portable radio that shouted at him in Spanish from a wooden stool in the car's corner. On the ground floor, Corelli thanked him and sauntered slowly out of the building onto the street. The car and men were still there. As Corelli appeared on the sidewalk, the man at the restaurant window returned to his companion. They had a brief conversation.

Corelli guessed that Louise's absence surprised them. To them it must have meant not only that Corelli was unaware he'd been tailed but also that Louise Hill was now alone--and vulnerable. He held his breath. Now was the moment of truth: they either followed him or they stayed to snatch Louise--allowing him time to get back to get her.

Baby, if there's any justice left in this world, let them stay put, Frank prayed as he started the car and pulled out into traffic. When he stopped at the corner for a red light, he realized just how tightly he was holding the steering wheel and relaxed his grip. He swallowed hard, and hesitatingly, almost daintily, looked into the rearview mirror-- the black car was still parked on the street. The two men had fallen for the ruse. And the moment he pulled around the corner, both men left the car and ran across the street to Louise's apartment house. In another five minutes they'd discover they'd been had. It would be the longest five minutes of his life.

Corelli sped down Columbus Avenue. He was racing against time, and soon Louise would be a sitting duck at the service entrance--unaware she was in danger. He hadn't told her about the men because she would have panicked, and people do crazy things when they panic--freeze, run the wrong way, get hysterical--things that would endanger her. And in the crunch, if Louise blew it, Corelli would desert her. The idea annoyed him because he genuinely liked Louise, but his affection wasn't so strong that he'd jeopardize his investigation.

He turned into Seventy-eighth Street and almost ran head-on into a car stopped at the light. Jesus, he'd forgotten...it was a west-east street. He'd have to go all the way to Seventy-seventh, then around the block and up Amsterdam before getting back to Louise. He hadn't calculated that delay. Shit! A dull panic began to fill his stomach as he swerved back into traffic and ran a red light onto Seventy-seventh Street. But it was no good, for a garbage truck sat squarely in the middle of the block.

Corelli's hands tightened on the wheel, grinding the hard plastic into the soft pads of his fingers. In his mind he saw Louise with her suitcase waiting for him while four stories above her the two men discovered they'd been had. He imagined her smiling face as she waited for him, staring out into the street as the service door opened behind her and the two men walked quickly, efficiently, silently to her side. She wouldn't know they were there until it was too late.

He leaned on his horn in a vain attempt to get the truck to move. The truck driver peered out at him from the large rearview mirror, shrugged, then looked away. Corelli ground his car into Park, leaped out, and a moment later stood panting on the running board of the truck.

"Look, you sonofabitch, this is police business. Ill give you exactly five seconds to move your ass or 111 have you in for obstructing justice!"

The driver's eyes opened wide with surprise. "Sorry, sir, I--"

"Never mind the excuses, just get going."

By the time Corelli had his car back in gear, the truck had pulled far enough aside to let him pass. He floored the engine and the car squealed by the truck, leaving a thick track of rubber on the pavement. He ran two more red lights and made it back to Seventy-eighth Street behind Louise's building in thirty seconds. She was waiting for him up near the service entrance. Corelli swallowed hard to digest his fear, smiled, and waved to her.

She smiled and waved back at him, then hoisted up her suitcase and began ambling toward him. She hadn't seen his panic. Frank wasn't much for prayer, but for the second time that day he began reciting every verse he'd ever learned as a child. The two men upstairs had had more than their allotted time to discover that Louise was gone--and where she'd gone. If they were smart, they'd already be quizzing the doorman about back exits. It was only seconds to the back entrance, and...

The service door flew open and the two men ran out into the bright sun. They halted, shielded their eyes, and immediately saw Louise heading toward the car. There was nothing Corelli could do to help her. To get out now was to get himself caught, too. To yell was to scare Louise; she'd panic for sure. He only hoped she had enough sense to run like hell once the men made themselves known.

"Hold it a moment, miss," one of the men yelled.

Louise turned, saw the two men, and broke into a run. She was little more than halfway between the car and the building, but she had a hell of a lot at stake. She hauled her suitcase to her chest and broke into a flat-out run that had her by the car in seconds. Corelli threw open the door, grabbed the suitcase, and pulled her in. He floored the car and sped away, just as the taller of the two men reached into his jacket for a gun. The second man stopped him and shook his head.

All the way downtown Corelli kept thinking of the man reaching for the gun. This time he was playing for keeps, and the image of the gun pointed at Louise's back angered him just enough to make him silently vow that he'd win, at all costs.

Chapter 9

Bill Quinn's apartment was in a renovated block of apartments that faced Abingdon Square. As in so many hasty, cheap renovations, the contractors had sacrificed aesthetics for utility and removed all the charming architectural details that once made the building livable. In their place, flat white plaster walls conducted sound from apartment to apartment with a cheerful disregard for privacy. What had once been a three-bedroom apartment of style was now three remodeled one-bedroom apartments as alike as milk containers in a grocery-store cooler. And for the dubious luxury of a wallpapered lobby and non-Hispanic doorman, Bill Quinn paid a staggering monthly rent. Only in New York did one gladly pay exorbitantly for the privilege of being abused and dehumanized.

Louise dropped her suitcase just inside the front door and surveyed her new temporary home. Her artist's eye immediately saw the devastation that had been visited upon the rooms. But right now her distaste for decoration gave way to her need for security. She'd never been physically chased before, and the unpleasant jolt mat had accompanied seeing the two men behind her still shook her. As she sat down on a couch covered with a cheap Indian cotton bedspread, Louise realized that her hands were trembling.

"Three days ago I'd never heard the name Frank Corelli, and now I'm hiding out with him," she said lightly in a vain attempt to relieve the knot of tension in her throat.

"If I'd had any idea this would happen . . ." Frank began. But why bother finishing? He had willingly led Louise into danger. And he would have deserted her if it meant not getting caught himself. Police work was a pragmatic business after all. Betrayal of one kind or another went with the territory. Still, he felt like shit about acting so callously toward someone he was beginning to grow truly fond of.