Blood Innocents Part 21

"Exhibitionism."

Reardon nodded.

"Some people are exhibitionists and some people are voyeurs," Cardan said.

"What's the point?" Reardon asked. He could guess that it was going to get pretty squalid now, and he wanted to get through it as quickly as possible. Such testimony always made him feel as if he was leaning over window sills into darkened bedrooms.

"Well," Cardan said, "some people in this city like to enjoy the a well, you might call them a you might call them performances. They enjoy seeing various s.e.xual acts performed in front of them." Cardan smiled what Reardon took to be an ugly, leering smile.

"What does that have to do with murder?" Reardon asked.

"I don't believe it has anything whatsoever to do with murder."

"Did Karen Ortovsky and Lee McDonald give s.e.xual performances?"

"Yes. They were not prost.i.tutes, you must understand. They performed only with each other."

"For money?"

Cardan smiled. "For a great deal of money."

Reardon said nothing, letting his silence draw Cardan on.

"The point is," Cardan continued hesitantly, "I sometimes acted as their agent."

"For whom?"

"For certain people who desired their services."

From the way he talked, Reardon thought, you might have taken Cardan for a jewelry clerk at Tiffany's. "Wealthy people?" Reardon asked.

"Very wealthy people," Cardan replied. "Not the usual p.o.r.no crowd."

Reardon did not understand the distinction. "Go on," he said.

"Simply this," Cardan said. "It will not be hard for the police a.s.signed to the case to a.s.sociate me with Miss Ortovsky and Miss McDonald. I knew them very well. I know a lot of people very well. But I could not have had anything to do with their murder. I was very saddened by it, as a matter of fact. But I was in California when it happened."

"Who did you arrange these performances for?"

"That's confidential."

"This is a murder case," Reardon said. "Nothing is confidential."

"I can a.s.sure you personally that none of my clients could possibly have had anything to do with the murders."

"You arranged for Karen Ortovsky and Lee McDonald to perform s.e.xually for money, is that right?"

"I have already said that," Cardan said.

"You're under arrest."

Cardan was thunderstruck. His eyes widened in frenzied disbelief. "What!"

"You have a right to remain silent," Reardon began.

"You can't do that," Cardan exclaimed, his whole body trembling.

"Who are your clients?"

"No! I can't tell you that!"

"You have a right to an attorney," Reardon began again, his voice growing louder.

Cardan's eyes filled with tears. "That will ruin me," he pleaded. "For G.o.d's sake, I'm an attorney."

"Who are your clients?" Reardon asked again.

"Please! Please!" Cardan sputtered.

Reardon stopped. "Who are your clients?" he asked menacingly.

Breathlessly Cardan replied, "No more than ten or twelve people, that's all."

"I want them all," Reardon said.

Cardan frantically pulled a notebook from his coat pocket and began scribbling down the names. When he had finished he tore out the page and handed it to Reardon. "Here," he said.

Reardon grabbed the paper from his hand and looked at it. "This had better be all of them."

"It is," Cardan a.s.sured him, unnecessarily straightening his tie.

"If I find out that you left anybody off this list, I'll break your a.s.s," Reardon said. "I'll hang you out to dry, do you understand what I'm telling you?"

"No one is left off," Cardan said. "You have my word."

"You may be hearing from me again," Reardon said, "after each of these people has been contacted."

"Wait!" Cardan exclaimed. "You can't contact them!"

Reardon began to walk away.

Cardan grabbed Reardon's arm and forcefully pulled him around. "You have to keep this in confidence. You said this would be in confidence!"

Reardon grabbed Cardan by his collar and pulled his face close to his own. "Sue me!" he said angrily, and threw Cardan backward with such force that the man stumbled to the ground.

As Reardon walked back across the Sheep Meadow he looked at the list Phillip Cardan had given him. One name gaped before him like a b.l.o.o.d.y mouth: Wallace Van Allen.

"Wallace Van Allen? Are you crazy?" Mathesson said in a voice so loud that several people in the precinct house turned toward him.

Reardon waited for the people in the precinct house to return their attention to whatever they had been doing before Mathesson's outburst. Then he handed Mathesson the list Cardan had given him.

Mathesson took the list and stared at it expressionlessly for a moment. He seemed to be studying it. Finally he looked up from the paper and glanced quickly left and right to make sure that he and Reardon could not be overheard.

"So what?" he said. "There are nine or ten other names on this list."

"But it's a connection," Reardon said.

"Bulls.h.i.+t," Mathesson said. "It's just a coincidence. Nothing else. But we've got a solid case against that little Petrakis creep."

"What about the women?"

Mathesson laughed. "So Wallace Van Allen gets his jollies by watching a couple of broads eat each other out. So what? There're so many guys like that, they'd have to hold their convention in Yankee Stadium." He looked at the list in Reardon's hand. "Those f.u.c.king names don't mean a G.o.dd.a.m.n thing."

"Are you telling me you don't believe the women and the deer were killed by the same man?"

Mathesson shrugged. "How the h.e.l.l do I know?"

Reardon could not believe what he was hearing. "What about the blows and the numbers, that roman numeral two and the other one, dos?"

Mathesson dismissed the connection. "Go ask a gypsy fortune teller," he said.

"They were killed by the same man," Reardon said decisively.

"Maybe," Mathesson said.

"How did Petrakis get in the apartment of those two women?" Reardon asked. "What would they have to do with a guy like him?"

"You're wearing me out, John," Mathesson said. "What exactly are you trying to say?"

"Until now there were two connections between the deer killings and the murders," Reardon said. "The number of blows in each case, and the dos and roman numeral two thing. Now there's a third connection, and that's Wallace Van Allen."

"You're going after Van Allen, aren't you?" Mathesson said.

"I'm following leads."

"You're creating leads."

Reardon took the list from Mathesson's hand. Mathesson stared at the list sadly, as if it were a doc.u.ment of sadness, a death certificate for a brilliant career. "It's being noticed by more people than me," he said.

"What is?"

"The way you're going after Van Allen." Mathesson stared bluntly at Reardon as if defying him to deny it.

"What the h.e.l.l are you talking about?"

"What did you say to Van Allen when you talked to him that time in his penthouse?"

"I asked some questions."

"What kind of questions?"

"Just questions," Reardon said. "Mostly he did the talking."

"Well, I don't know what you said but you got him real edgy."

"What do you mean?"

"That's why Piccolini figured he had the authority to knock you off this case without getting reprimanded from downtown. Because Van Allen had already complained about you in a way."

"What way?"

"Well, he asked the people downtown if you were having him followed."

"If I was having him followed?" Reardon asked incredulously.

"That's right. Right after you talked to him. That night after you talked to him."

Reardon thought for a moment. "I talked to him on Tuesday afternoon," he said.

"That's right," Mathesson said, "and he called up on Wednesday morning and asked if you were having him tailed like a common crook. He said he was sure somebody'd been following him on Tuesday night."

Tuesday night, Reardon thought. "Wasn't that the night the women in the Village were murdered?"

"That's right," Mathesson said. "That's a good way to identify it."

So Wallace Van Allen thought he was being followed, Reardon thought. Why?

He decided to question Lee's and Karen's neighbor, Mrs. Malloy, again. He found her at her apartment amid the same tangle of Ziegfeld memorabilia. He suspected she had lived amidst it most of her life, the only legacy of her dead mother.

Her eyes brightened when she saw him at the door. "Detective Reardon," she said. "I didn't expect to see you again. Come in."

She opened the door widely. "Have a seat. Can I offer you a toddy?"

"No, thanks," Reardon said. He removed a pile of old movie magazines and sat down in a chair opposite Mrs. Malloy. "I just have a few questions for you," he said.

"Shoot."

Reardon took his notebook out of his pocket and reviewed it for a moment. "You said that you saw Miss Ortovsky and Miss McDonald about three A.M., is that right?"

"Yes," she said. "Sure you wouldn't like something? Anything? Coffee?"

"No, thank you. I just have a few things to straighten out. Probably doesn't mean anything. Just for my own curiosity, you might say."

"Well, all right," Mrs. Malloy said. "Suit yourself."

"When you saw the three people going up to the women's apartment that night," Reardon said, "did you see anybody following them?"

Mrs. Malloy thought a moment. "Well, I don't think so," she said finally.