The Death Dealer

Joe.



She knew she should have tried to get hold of him, at least to let him know she was on her way here, even to invite him to join them. Then again, he had gone off on a trip she certainly hadn’t been invited to share.



She certainly hadn’t expected to see him here now, though.



He saw them and made his way through the crowd and directly toward their table.



“Hello,” Joe said, as if he were greeting everyone at the table all at once. And he was. But his eyes were on Adam, and he wasn’t pretending he wasn’t surprised to see him.



Adam had risen, his hand out to greet Joe warmly, and apparently Joe wasn’t going to be churlish enough to reject his greeting. They clasped hands, then joined in a quick embrace before drawing back to study each other in the way of two men who hadn’t seen each other in a while.



“You look good, Joe,” Adam said.



“So do you. So what the hell brings you to town?” Joe asked pleasantly, only his eyes betraying his suspicion.



They had an audience, Genevieve knew. And Joe was playing the scene well. But when he looked at her, she stiffened. A shaft of cold air seemed to blast straight at her, his eyes were so cold.



He knew. Somehow he knew that she had called Adam.



“I have some business here in the city,” Adam said. “Naturally I gave Genevieve a call.”



“Naturally,” Joe echoed dryly. “And you just happened to show up here?” he asked Genevieve, his tone still pleasant.



“We were just talking about the way we all gravitate to this place,” Eileen said, giving Joe her most radiant smile.



If Joe admired anyone, Gen thought, it was Eileen. And in fact, his eyes did soften as he turned to her.



“Joe, what’s your take on this murder?” Brook asked.



“I don’t know who killed her, if that’s what you’re asking,” Joe said.



“She disappeared on Sunday,” Barbara said, her gaze focused straight ahead, her eyes unseeing, as the words left her lips. “Mary Rogers. Eighteen forty-one. She left her home on a Sunday. She was found on a Wednesday. In the water. Just the same.”



“He’s getting better,” Don Tracy said darkly.



“Better?” Joe asked.



Don grimaced. “First Thorne, a murder that had similarities to several of Poe’s stories but didn’t really parallel any of them. But this…this was on the money. She was found by the river. Relatively near the spot where Mary Rogers was found. Found in pretty much the same…state of decomposition.”



“But this investigation will be very different,” Eileen said firmly.



“And how is that, Eileen?” Nat asked her.



“Science,” Eileen said. “The police have so much more to work with these days. What is it, Joe? At every crime scene, the killer inadvertently takes something away or leaves something behind. Isn’t that true?”



“Yes,” he said.



“Maybe not a really clever killer,” Barbara said, shuddering and turning to look at Joe with wide, frightened eyes.



“They’ll catch this guy, I’m certain,” Joe said firmly.



Barbara nodded, as if she trusted his words.



“Let’s hope they catch him before—Well, soon,” Lou said.



“She was a slut,” Lila pointed out.



“Oh, Lila!” Nat Halloway protested. “No one deserves to die like that.”



“I didn’t say she deserved to die like that,” Lila said irritably. “It’s just that…we reap what we sow.”



“The killer will be caught,” Joe said again, and his words were followed by an uncomfortable silence around the table.



“Well, I, for one, should be calling it a night,” Larry said. “The presses wait for no man.”



“We should probably all get moving,” Lou suggested. “It was good to see everyone, though.”



Goodbyes were said, and eventually only Eileen, Adam, Joe and Genevieve were left. Eileen slid back into her seat and patted the chair beside her. “Adam, it’s so nice to see you. Have a seat.”



Joe was staring at Genevieve, who sat down across from her mother. She was dying to ask him about the afternoon, but this didn’t feel like the right time.



Without waiting for an invitation, Joe sat down next to her and stared intently across the table at Adam. “So. Which one of them called you?” he asked. “Eileen or Genevieve?”



Lie, Genevieve silently begged Adam.



He didn’t. “Genevieve,” he said evenly.



Joe nodded. “Right. Well, this is a dangerous situation.”



“Maybe I can help,” Adam told him.



“Maybe Genevieve and Eileen should leave town for a while,” Joe said.



“Joe,” Gen began, ready to argue.



But Eileen laid her hand on her daughter’s arm to silence her and looked at Joe. “We could. But, Joe, if someone out there is determined that Genevieve or I should die, that someone will find us wherever we go. I believe it would be best to stay here and get to the bottom of this.”



“What did you discover today?” Adam asked Joe.



“Don was right. The killer did a much better job of imitating Poe this time,” Joe said.



His voice was cold and hard. Gen could only imagine what he had seen today. “You were in New Jersey all this time?” she asked him.



He shook his head. “I’ve been at the hospital. To see Sam,” he said. He looked around the table, meeting their eyes as his gaze went to each of them in turn. “There was another attempt on his life.”



Gen told herself that it was natural for Joe to want some time alone, given everything he’d seen and done that day. But inside, she knew that his decision not to be with her tonight had nothing to do with the day he’d had and everything to do with the fact that she had called Adam—and he was too smart not to suspect why.



The good thing was that at least Joe seemed to trust the older man. Of course. He’d met Adam Harrison through Leslie. And at least Adam didn’t correct Joe’s apparent assumption that the three of them had all come to O’Malley’s together.



And so Joe left alone, after suggesting that Gen stay at her mother’s house that night.



Genevieve would have protested, but Eileen said, “Please, dear. Just tonight.”



So, an hour later, she was in the den, speaking with Adam, who had gone back with the women, ostensibly to make sure they were safe.



“He’s really angry that I called you,” she said.



“He had a bad day.”



“That’s not it,” she said.



“Have you ever been to an autopsy?” he asked her.



“No. But that’s still not it.”



“Genevieve…he just needs time alone.”



“Right. Because he thinks I’ve betrayed him somehow.”



“Give him time. Let’s talk about you.”



“Me? I had a nightmare,” she admitted.



“What was it about?”



She hesitated then, feeling as if someone had taken a cube of ice and run it straight down her spine. “It was about being strangled,” she said. “Oh, God.”



“Oh, God…what?”



“It was as if I…”



“Keep talking, Genevieve.”



“It was as if I were Lori Star. It was Sunday night. The night she disappeared. Oh, God, Adam, I might have been having that nightmare right when…right when she was actually being killed.” She gasped. “I saw her on the news, and that’s what she was saying. That it was like she was the driver of the car on the FDR. She felt anger and…intent. Malice.” She stopped speaking. Her skin was crawling, and she wanted to go back, to pretend that she hadn’t said what she had, that the horror would just go away.



“That’s good,” Adam said gently.



“Good?” she protested, horrified.



He smiled sadly. “You may be able to tap into the victim.”



“Tap into the victim?” she repeated.



He nodded. “Anything else?”



“What the hell else do you want?” she demanded.



“Anything else?” he repeated firmly.



“No.” She realized that she was lying, that she didn’t want to go any further, but she knew she had to. She groaned. “Yes.”



“Talk to me, please,” he said.



She inhaled. “Earlier…when I was leaving tonight, I kept feeling as if there were someone in the garage…someone in the shadows. Or more…as if the shadows themselves were someone. Does that make any sense?” she asked.



“Oddly enough, in a way it does,” he told her, then rose. “Well, I’m going to get some sleep.”



“What?”



“I’m not exactly a spring chicken, you know. I need to get some sleep,” he said. “And your mother has been kind enough to have a room made up for me here.”



“Just like that?” she demanded. “You drop these…bombshells on me, and then you go to sleep?”



“Tomorrow will be a long day.”



“Oh, so you can see that it will be a long day?” She wondered why she sounded so resentful. She was the one who had called him, after all.



She was frightened, that was why.



“Adam…”



“Joe will need help tomorrow,” he said, and left the room.



Admittedly, he was angry.



What the hell had he done to cause Genevieve to call Adam Harrison? About him.



He’d never told a soul about speaking to a dead man on the highway—except for the med tech who had assured him that the man was dead, and he wouldn’t have said a thing then, either, if he’d known. He sure as hell had never told anyone about the corpse on the Gurney at the morgue.



When he left O’Malley’s, he didn’t head for his car. He had too much on his mind to go home right away, so he walked. He loved walking, and New York was the city for it. And as he walked, he tried to be rational.