Night Secrets (35 page)

“You mean, by way of referral?”

Frank shrugged. “Well, there are lots of doctors in the city, I just wondered how she happened to come to you.”

“I have no idea, Mr. Clemons.”

“You never saw her before?” Frank asked. “Or had any friends in common, anything like that?”

“No,” Powers said flatly. He looked at Frank curiously. “Why are you asking such questions?”

“It's what I get paid for,” Frank replied.

“By the hour, I assume?”

“More or less.”

“So, I suppose you like to stretch it a bit?”

Frank didn't answer.

Powers chuckled lightly. “Oh, come now, Mr. Clemons, we all swim in the same water.”

Frank tried to appear somewhat sheepish, like a little boy who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Ah, you see,” Powers said cheerfully, “I've found you out.” He laughed again. “But, you don't have to worry, Mr. Clemons, as you have no doubt learned this evening, I take confidences quite seriously.”

Frank nodded. “I'll put mat in my report,” he said.

Powers smiled graciously. “I'm glad to hear it,” he said sweetly. Then he hoisted his glass. “Well, as we say in the hallowed halls of medicine, here's to the healing profession.”

T
he Puri Dai was on Frank's mind again when Farouk came through the door later that evening, but he quickly shook her from his attention and returned again to the day case. “Kevin Powers is full of shit,” he said.

Farouk lumbered over to the chair in front of the desk and lowered himself slowly into it. “To stand on the feet too long,” he said, “this is a curse for one of my enormity.”

“Did you manage to keep track of her?” Frank asked immediately.

Farouk nodded. “Without doubt.”

“Where'd she go?”

“In the morning, she pursued her charitable enterprises,” Farouk said. “She attended a meeting of the New York Preservation Society until 10:33
A.M.
Then she took a cab to the Museum of Modern Art and spoke briefly on the problems of the rain forest.” He looked at Frank quizzically. “This appears to be one of her most sincere commitments, yes?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Frank said. “Where'd she go after that?” he asked, a bit impatiently.

“To the Hospital for Spinal Injuries,” Farouk said. “And after that, she had tea at the Plaza with a group who are interested in preserving something or other.”

Frank nodded. “Then what?”

“By then it was 2:07 in the afternoon,” Farouk said, “and she returned home.”

“And that's it?” Frank asked disappointedly.

Farouk smiled quietly. “No, my friend.”

“She left again?”

“At 2:17.”

“To Madison Avenue? Another limousine?”

Farouk shook his head. “To Central Park. The place that is called Strawberry Fields.”

“Alone?”

“Alone for a time, but not forever.”

“She met someone?”

“A man,” Farouk told him. “But only for a moment.”

“What happened?”

“There is a place, a circular area. A star-burst mosaic, where it is written …”

“Imagine,” Frank said.

“Yes.”

“Near the Dakota, where Devine lives.”

Farouk nodded.

“Was it Devine?”

Farouk shook his head. “No, it was not.” His eyes drifted down toward Frank's desk.

Frank knew the signal well. “You want a drink?” he asked.

“That would be good, yes,” Farouk told him.

Frank brought out the bottle and poured each of them a round.

Farouk lifted his glass. “To the order of things,” he said with a wry smile. He took a long drink, then placed the cup on his thigh. “To walk around at such a speed,” he said wearily, “this is not made for one who works mostly with his fingers.” He took a second sip from the cup. “To the man,” he said when he'd finished. “I do not know him. But this much is true, he was not Devine, nor was he the other, he who, as you say, is full of shit, Powers.”

“How long were they together?”

“They did not look together at all,” Farouk said. “But I recalled the other incident.”

“The drop.”

“The drop, yes,” Farouk said. “And I watched closely to see if such an action might be repeated.”

Frank leaned forward slightly. “Was it?”

“Yes,” Farouk said.

“A little black bag?”

Farouk shook his head. “I would describe it as a pouch.”

“Pouch, bag, whatever,” Frank said restlessly. “What did she do, leave it in the bushes or something?”

“As she did before,” Farouk told him. “On a bench crowded with other things.”

“Where was the man?”

“A small distance away,” Farouk said. “He knew his business well, this man. He did not betray himself, and had I not known of the other incident, I too would have followed Mrs. Phillips. But instead, I remained behind to observe the black pouch.”

“So the man picked it up,” Frank said.

“He did, yes,” Farouk said.

Frank took out his notebook. “Can you describe him?”

“Yes,” Farouk said. “But there is no need.” He drew a small camera from his pocket. “I have captured his likeness,” he said with obvious delight. “And in a moment, you shall have it too.” He stood up.

Frank looked at him, puzzled. “Where are you going?”

Farouk stared at him quietly, as if coming to some final conclusion about his character. “Come with me,” he said finally. “We have much to discover.”

Frank stood up. “Where are we going?”

“To the place where I do my work.”

“Toby's?”

Farouk laughed and shook his head. “No. I only talk and think in that place.” He looked at Frank closely. “I have another place, my true home. Only after much trial do I allow another to enter it.”

“I've always wondered where you really went to ground,” Frank said. “But where is …”

Farouk answered his unspoken question. “It is nearby,” he said. “Only a short walk. We will develop the pictures, and then go on to our discoveries.” He smiled. “Come now, we have only a little time.”

They walked out of the office, turned left and moved slowly westward toward Tenth Avenue. At the corner of the avenue, Frank glanced to the left. In the distance, he could see the dark storefront of the Puri Dai.

“I saw her today,” he said, almost to himself.

Farouk looked at him, confused. “But I thought you did not wish to go near Mrs. Phillips again.”

“Not Mrs. Phillips,” Frank explained. “The Puri Dai.”

Farouk looked at him, surprised. “You found her?”

Frank pointed upward, toward the short brick tenement on the eastern side of the avenue. “There,” he said. “She was standing on the roof.”

Farouk nodded. “Her place of observation,” he said.

“Yeah,” Frank said. “I ran up to the roof to try to find her, but she got to me first.”

“Got to you?”

Frank shrugged. “I ended up on the ground, and she was on me with some kind of knife, I guess. Anyway, she grabbed my pistol and knocked me out with it.”

“And took your gun, yes?” Farouk asked, as if he already knew the answer.

Frank nodded.

“Now she is ready,” Farouk said.

Frank looked at him intently. “What's she going to do, Farouk?”

“She is going to get her daughter from those who have taken her,” Farouk answered with certainty. “And this is as it should be, do you not think?”

“Yes.”

Farouk smiled. “Good,” he said. “I am happy that you have not lost the truth of things.”

“The problem is the other people,” Frank said. “They were packing up before I saw her. And by the time I came to, the whole place was deserted. They were gone.”

“They?”

“I saw a man there. He was telling the old woman what to do.”

“Of course.”

“Do you know who he is?”

“He is the Gypsy Father,” Farouk said, “the keeper of the faith, one who insures that it will go on this way forever.”

“What way?”

“That the female child will pass on the holy blood.”

“The daughter, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Not the Puri Dai?”

Farouk shook his head. “No more, the Puri Dai. She has broken with the
errate
, and if she does as her soul demands, there will be no more women such as she.”

Frank saw her again in his mind, standing tall on the rooftop, her skin almost golden in the setting sun that faced her. He had no doubt whatsoever that Farouk was right.

At the corner of Twelfth Avenue, they turned right and walked between the river and the long line of brick buildings which faced it, mostly old warehouses, crumbling with age and long misuse.

“You have an office down here?” Frank asked unbelievingly.

“It is where I make my life,” Farouk answered. He smiled quietly as he continued walking, moving slowly until he swung to the right and went through a small red door.

Frank followed along behind, passing through a narrow corridor, which opened onto a littered courtyard. The courtyard was surrounded on all sides by square brick buildings. It was wild and untended, filled with the accumulated residue of its long neglect. A large ship's anchor leaned against one of the far walls, and along the ground, there were bits of metal, an ancient rust-encrusted sextant, torn sheets of rigging, coils of thick gray rope and, in a single remote corner, a wheelchair turned upside down, its rubberless wheels gray and motionless in the shadowy light.

“It was once a sailor's hospital,” Farouk explained as he led Frank across the courtyard. “Sometimes, I would come here, in its last days, and speak with the old ones from the sea. I was young then, a stranger to many things, and here there was much for such a one to learn.”

They reached a second door at the other end of the courtyard. It was made of metal and held shut by an enormous chain and lock. Farouk took out a key, unlocked the lock, then pulled the chain through the thick steel loop which held it, and swung open the door.

Inside it was entirely dark until Farouk switched on a light. The ground floor was dusty, and the faintly sweet smell of rotting wood hung heavily in the air.

“Over here,” Farouk said. He pointed to a metal staircase to his right and then led Frank up the stairs to the second floor of the building. There was another metal door at the top of the stairs, complete with chain and lock. Farouk repeated his movement from down below, men pushed the door open. “Here is the place,” he said as he escorted Frank inside.

The air was very dark inside the room, and it turned even darker when Farouk closed the door behind him. Frank turned slowly and saw what looked at first glance like a wall of small lights, some blinking rhythmically, some shining steadily out of the darkness like scores of tiny, motionless eyes.

“This is my workplace,” Farouk said. Then he walked to one of the large windows which faced the courtyard and drew open its enormous shade. The dark air brightened instantly, and Frank could see a bank of computers, printers and other indecipherably complex equipment arranged on a large table which stretched almost from one side of the building to the other. Small motors purred softly in the dry, dead air, and to the right, there were long corridors of high metal shelves which reached nearly to the ceiling. They were crammed with hundreds of books and magazines and papers. At the far corner of the room, so far from the window that it remained in deep shadow, Frank could make out a small metal bed which had been neatly made up, a large armchair with a footstool in front of it and, beside the chair, the curved neck of a reading lamp.

“It is all that I require,” Farouk said, as if in explanation. He paused a moment, then drew Frank to the right and over to a small room which had been built in one corner of the building. “I will only be a moment,” he said as he stepped inside. “You may be here as you are in your own place,” he added as he closed the door.