Rise of a Phoenix: Rise of a Phoenix (15 page)

She raised a hand to indicate that they should sit down, and as they did so the young sister came in with a silver tray, which held an old crockery tea set. She placed it down and left, promptly closing the door behind her. Tooms noticed a large heavy-looking dark timber desk at the end of the room. Behind it hung a large golden-framed painting of The Last Supper, which almost filled the wall.

“So, detectives, how can I help?” she asked expectantly.

“Did you know a Susan Black?” asked Tooms.

At that, her smile dimmed and her face shone less brightly.

“Yes, poor child.”

“What do you mean, ma’am?” Tooms enquired, his curiosity piqued.

“Well gentlemen, she was brought to us in 1972, I think it was. A sad tale,” she said, getting up and walking towards a group of black-and-white photographs on the left-hand wall. She stopped and took one of them down and stroked it with affection.

“So what happened?” asked Tony, the abruptness of his question making her shudder slightly, as though someone had walked over her grave.

“She was brought in by a sweet young thing, too young to be a mother you see. Anyway she and her boyfriend gave her up for adoption, hoping the child would get a good home and a better start in life than what they could give, you see.”

Tooms and Tony, transfixed by the story, asked her to continue.

“Oh, she was a brilliant, talented young thing, a catch for any parent.”

“So why wasn’t she ever took on?” asked Tony, surprised.

“Because everyone thought that they were sisters and didn’t want to break them apart. She and the other girls were inseparable, you see.”

Tony and Tooms looked at each other with a puzzled expression, and then turned their attention back to the Mother Superior.

“What other girls?” asked Tooms.

The nun passed him the photo and there the two detectives’ jaws dropped as they saw the girls standing side by side. The three children each wore the same long dark-coloured dress and had the same long blonde hair.

“Good as gold they were, always helping out, and the other kids loved them like big sisters, especially one boy, can’t remember his name, though. A real pleasure to have, they were, and then they left for different colleges and universities. But they always sent Christmas cards every year.” Her smile widened. “Yes, the other two were called”

“Marie-Ann and Karen,” the two detectives said in unison, with a shocked look on their faces.

“Yes, that was their names. Oddly enough they were also brought in at roughly the same time and under the same circumstances.”

Then a look of realization dawned on her face. “What has happened to them?” asked the nun, almost collapsing with shock.

The detectives helped her back to the chair next to the table and got some water from the desk for her to drink. She thanked Tony as she took a sip from the glass.

“What has happened to my girls? Please tell me.” She began to cry, and, grabbing a handkerchief from her sleeve she patted her eyes, absorbing the cascade of tears that flowed downs her rose-red cheeks.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but they were murdered.” Tooms spoke gently, compassion evident in his words.

“Did you kill her?” asked the nun.

Her mood had changed. Now they were seeing another side of the old lady, and it was not pleasant.

“No, ma’am.” They both looked shocked at the question.

“Then why are you sorry?” Her eyes seemed to glow red with fury, and the two detectives felt the room close in around them.

“I meant, we are sorry for your loss, ma’am, sorry to bring you the news.” What he really meant was that he was sorry they had come here. She seemed to calm down, but there was still a lingering anger in her eyes.

“Do you have any leads as to who may have done this?” she asked, now back to her calm self. However her smile had not returned, nor was it likely to while they were there, they guessed.

“Not yet, ma’am, but we will keep you informed as and when we get something. Do you mind if we borrow this picture?”She nodded and thanked them. The two detectives, badly shaken by the event, said their goodbyes and headed back to the safety of the station.

TWENTY-EIGHT

It was around nine o’clock in the evening and a light breeze flowed through the maze of tall buildings, the night sky was clear but there was no moon, just the twinkling of millions of stars that sparkled in the heavens. Steel decided to go for a walk just to clear his head, and the streets were not particularly busy, which he found preferable to the daytime waves of pedestrians. As he walked by Grand Central Station he noticed a boy with a shoeshine box. The lad was around twelve years old with black scruffy hair, big blue eyes and an even bigger smile. His face and clothes were dirty, and a pair of grey woollen fingerless gloves covered his hands.

“Want a shine, Mister?” said the lad in a loud positive tone.

As Steel looked at the boy his face reminded him of someone from long ago. A sorrow filled his heart at just the thought of him.

“Hey, Mister, you OK?”

Steel’s thoughts returned to the present, his reverie interrupted by the squeak of the boy’s voice.

“What? I’m sorry,” he said. “Yes of course, why not.”

“You from England, Sir?” The question excited the boy. He had shone plenty of shoes, but he could not remember meeting an English person before.

“Yes, but I haven’t been home for quite a while.” His tone was friendly, and he was smiling at the boy.

“Wow, have you seen London? What it is like? I’ve heard it’s great there. Lots of castles and stuff, must be so cool.” The boy was full of enthusiasm, and his innocent exuberance made him good company for the English detective. They sat and talked for a while about England and the kid spoke of his dreams of going places, travelling and exploring the world. Steel smiled as the boy’s eyes widened as he talked about his hopes and dreams, but at the same time, Steel wondered how the boy could achieve his dreams by doing such a badly paid job.

Steel stood up and looked at his boots: they shone like new. He smiled at the kid.

“What’s your name, kid?” asked Steel.

“Luke, sir, Luke Johnson,” he said proudly.

“Well, Luke Johnson, it’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m John Steel. So what do I owe you, young Sir?” he said, reaching into his pocket.

“That’s two dollars please, sir.” The boy stood up and whipped his buffing rag over his shoulder.

“Well that’s a shame, I only have a fifty. Tell you what, you keep the change, and get yourself some new clothes, OK?”

The boy looked shocked at the offer.

“Sorry, sir I can’t take that, just two dollars.” The smile had gone from his little face and Steel sensed something was amiss.

“OK, tell you what,” John said, putting the money back in his pocket. “Here is your two dollars plus another twenty as a tip.”

The boy looked unsure until he saw the detective’s badge clipped on to his belt. On seeing that, the smile returned.

“Thank you, sir, hope to see you again soon,” said the lad.

Steel ruffled the boy’s hair and walked on, a big smile on his face as his memories returned.

The next morning there was a cold wind, even though the sun was up and the skies were cloudless. Steel walked out into the bustle of the early morning chaos, and, hoping that the crowd would act as a windbreak, he ventured out towards the precinct.

As he reached the corner where the boy had been last night, he saw him again, and noticed something different about him. He was holding his right ribcage as if he was in pain. Steel moved closer and called out to him.

“Morning Luke.” Steel called out. But his face dropped as the boy turned round and Steel saw that his left eye was almost completely closed by an angry looking bruise.

“Morning, Sir.” The boy tried to talk but his words ended as he winced in pain.

Steel bent down and put a gentle hand on his shoulder but the boy winced again. Steel’s blood began to boil.

“What happened?” Steel asked him, his fists clenched ready to take action if only the boy would give him the information he needed.

“Fell down the stairs, Sir, that’s all.”

Steel was angry that he was lying, but he knew in his heart that unless the boy said something nothing would change. Clearly the boy was scared, he could see that, but not of him. No, there was something else he was scared of,
someone
else.

“You need to go to hospital, young man,” said Steel, standing up.

The boy grabbed his trouser leg and gave him a pleading look. “No Sir, please do nothing, everything is fine, really.”

The Englishman knew that the boy was lying but what could he do, call child services? If the boy left, that would not get rid of his problem. There was no alternative, he had to respect the boy’s wishes, no matter what his personal feelings were.

“Here is your usual fee.” Steel gave the boy the same amount as yesterday but the boy gave him back the twenty.

“It’s really too much, Sir.”

Steel could see that the boy had been beaten, probably for having too much money.

“See you tomorrow then, kid.” Steel braved a smile as he stood in front of the suffering boy.

“Sure, see you tomorrow, Sir,” replied the boy, trying to break a smile.

“Steel, call me Steel.”

The boy nodded.

As Steel walked off his guts moved. He had a bad feeling about the boy, and he had to do something fast.

TWENTY-NINE

At the station, Steel left the elevator and headed for McCall’s desk where he found her checking her emails from the previous day.

“Morning,” she greeted him, but her words fell flat when she saw the expression on his face.

“Morning,” he replied, the thought of the bruised boy still uppermost in his thoughts.

“What’s up?” she said, appearing to be actually concerned.

“Yesterday I got my shoes shined by this brilliant young lad—we spoke for ages about this and that. He had so much life, it was refreshing.”

McCall was now waiting for the punch line.

“This morning he looked like he had gone twelve rounds with Tyson.”

“Did he say anything about it?” she asked, now feeling actual concern.

“No, he said he fell down the stairs, but it’s so frustrating when I know he’s covering up for someone.” Steel looked as he could hardly contain his anger.

McCall tried to reason with him: “You know, unless he, or someone else, says something we can’t do anything.”

He knew she was right, but what could he do?

“Look, do you want me to call child services?” she asked, picking up her phone.

He gave her a puppy-dog look and put his hand on top of hers, and she put down the receiver.

“I get the feeling that if we did that, things would get worse.”

She knew he felt the situation was bigger than either of them could know, and she felt he was powerless to stop the inevitable, whatever it was.

“Coffee?” he asked, grabbing her cup.

“Yes, please.” She was surprised at this sudden change in mood.

The English detective walked over to the coffee room to make a couple of cups of the foul-smelling brew. On his return, he placed the cup of steaming coffee down on the desk. She thanked him and smiled. This was a new type of behavior that she had not expected from him, and she had to admit it fitted him admirably.

Steel sipped the coffee, trying not to inhale the fumes that arose from the cup. Taking a sip, his face screwed up as the vile-tasting liquid pierced the back of his throat and the taste of burnt coffee filled his mouth.

“Really, you actually drink this?” he said in incredulity. “Or is this interrogation coffee?”

She smiled and took a big sip of the brew, looking him straight in the eye as if it was some macho test. All the while, she was concealing the need to vomit because of the horrible taste.

A shiver ran down Steel’s spine at the thought of the ghastly flavour.

“What’s wrong, Steel?” she giggled. “Can’t take your coffee?”

The two of them spent the next few hours looking though the diaries and date planners, not coming up with anything of interest. McCall leant back in her chair, her arms stretching wide; this had the effect of her tight-fitting V-neck jumper being pushed close up against her ample breasts. A young male officer who was passing by saw this and, as he stared, he bumped straight into the Captain.

“What are you doing, boy, were you bottle-fed or something?” the senior officer bellowed at the frightened young cop. “Now it was goddamn lucky one of us wasn’t carrying a cup of that puke we call coffee!”

The young cop looked like he didn’t know which way to run. He spotted the opening elevator and made for it, leaving the Captain chuckling to himself.

Then he turned to McCall. “And as for you McCall, watch what you’re doing with those things will you? Someone could get hurt.”

They both laughed.

“Sorry, Captain. What’s more we don’t want Mr Steel here getting a heart attack, do we?”

Steel looked up at the mention of his name. “Those are things that I can handle.” He hurried on, not wanting to encourage any bawdy comments. “The coffee, however, No!”

He stood up and made for the elevator.

“Where the hell are you going?” asked the Captain, still chuckling to himself.

“To get a bit of heaven,” he replied, “To get a bit of heaven.”

THIRTY

Dr Davidson had returned to his room at the precinct and was busy with the new data on the victims. As he sat there at the desk which was now brimming over with paperwork, he made notes from this page and that; “
fascinating
,” he kept saying to himself, going through the transcripts with equal fascination. He was a man possessed by what he had found; this killer was, for him, the ultimate psychopath.

As McCall and Steel entered the room she knocked loudly, but he was busy and didn’t seem to hear. She looked at Steel with a
can you believe him look,
then she tried coughing, but still he didn’t answer.