The Alienist Part 6

There was another long pause, during which Kreizler's and Sara's eyes stayed locked. Then Laszlo looked away, becoming his usual frenetic self. "Indeed we are," he said, picking up a bit of caviar and a gla.s.s and handing them to Sara. "And if we don't hurry, we shall miss the 'Questa o quella.' Cyrus, will you see if Stevie has the barouche ready?" At that, Cyrus was up and making for the stairs, but Kreizler caught him. "And, Cyrus-this is Miss Howard."

"Yes, sir, Doctor," Cyrus answered. "We've met."

"Ah," Kreizler said. "Then it will come as no surprise to learn that she will be working with us?"

"No, sir." Cyrus gave Sara a slight bow. "Miss Howard," he said. She nodded and smiled back, and then Cyrus continued his progress to the stairs.

"So Cyrus was involved, as well," Kreizler said, as Sara drank her vodka quickly yet gracefully. "I confess my interest is piqued. On our way uptown you two must tell me all about this mysterious expedition to-where did did you go?" you go?"

"The Santorellis'," I answered, taking a last mouthful of caviar. "And we have come away loaded with useful information."

"The Santo-" Kreizler was genuinely impressed, and suddenly much more serious. "But...where? How? You must tell me everything, everything everything-the keys will be in the details!"

Sara and Laszlo walked in front of me down the staircase, chatting as if this development had been expected all along. I breathed deeply in relief, for I hadn't known how Kreizler would react to Sara's proposal, and then put another cigarette to my mouth. Before I could light it, however, I was momentarily unnerved again, this time by the unexpected sight of Mary Palmer's face, which appeared through a crack in the dining room door as I pa.s.sed. Her wide, pretty eyes were locked on Sara apprehensively, and she seemed to be trembling.

"Things," I whispered to the girl rea.s.suringly, "are likely to be a little unusual around here, Mary. For the foreseeable future." She didn't seem to hear me, but made a small sound and then ran away from the door.

Outside the snow was still falling. The larger of Kreizler's two carriages, a burgundy barouche with black trim, was waiting. Stevie Taggert had hitched up Frederick and another, matching gelding. Sara, pulling the hood of her cowl up, moved through the front yard and accepted Cyrus's help getting into the vehicle. Kreizler held me back at the front door.

"An extraordinary woman, Moore," he whispered matter-of-factly.

I nodded. "Just don't cross her," I murmured back. "Her nerves are strung like piano wire."

"Yes, that's apparent," he said. "The father she speaks of-he's dead."

"Hunting accident. Eight years ago. They were very close-in fact, she spent some time in a sanatorium afterwards." I didn't know whether I should divulge all, but given our situation it seemed advisable. "Some people said it was suicide, but she denies it. Hotly. So that's a subject you might want to stay away from."

Kreizler nodded and pulled on his gloves, watching Sara all the while. "Women of such temperament," he said as we moved to the carriage, "do not seem fated for happiness in our society. But her capabilities are obvious."

We got inside the barouche, and Sara began to eagerly relate the details of our interview with Mrs. Santorelli. As we made our way through the snow-quieted streets south of Gramercy Park toward Broadway, Kreizler listened without comment, his fidgeting hands the only evidence of his excitement; but by the time we reached Herald Square, where the sounds of human bustling became much louder around the elevated train station, he was full of detailed questions that tested our memories to the utmost. Laszlo's curiosity was roused by the strange tale of the two ex-cops and the two priests who had accompanied Roosevelt's detectives, but he had far more interest (as I had suspected he would) in young Giorgio's s.e.xual behavior and in the boy's character more generally. "One of the first ways in which we can know our quarry is to know his victims," Kreizler said, and as we pulled up under the large electric globes that lit the porte-cochere awning of the Metropolitan Opera House he asked Sara and me what sense of the boy we had formed. Each of us needed to think about that one for a bit, and we grew quiet and pensive as Stevie drove off with the barouche and Cyrus accompanied us through the doors of the porte-cochere entrance.

To the old guard of New York society, the Metropolitan Opera was "that yellow brewery uptown." This terse dismissal was prompted, on the most obvious level, by the boxiness of the building's Early Renaissance architecture and the color of the bricks used in its construction; but the att.i.tude behind the comment was sparked by the Metropolitan's upstart history. Occupying the block bounded by Broadway, Seventh Avenue, and Thirty-ninth and Fortieth streets, the Metropolitan, which opened in 1883, had been paid for by seventy-five of New York's most famous (and infamous) nouveaux riches: men with names like Morgan, Gould, Whitney, and Vanderbilt, none of whom were deemed by the old Knickerbocker clans to be socially acceptable enough to warrant selling them boxes at the venerable Academy of Music on Fourteenth Street. In reply to this unstated yet very apparent a.s.sessment of their worth, the founders of the Metropolitan had ordered not one or two tiers of boxes for their new house, but three; and the social wars that were waged in them before, during, and after performances were as vicious as anything that occurred downtown. In spite of all this backbiting, however, the impresarios who managed the Metropolitan, Henry Abbey and Maurice Grau, had brought together some of the best operatic talents in the world; and an evening at the "yellow brewery" was, by 1896, fast becoming a musical experience that no other house or company in the world could surpa.s.s.

As we entered the relatively small main vestibule, which had none of the opulence of its various European counterparts, we got the usual stares from several broad-minded souls who were not happy to see Kreizler accompanied by a black man. Most, however, had seen Cyrus before and endured his presence with weary familiarity. We moved up the tight, angular main staircase at a quick pace, and were among the last people to enter the auditorium. Kreizler's box was on the left-hand side of the second tier of the "Diamond Horseshoe" (as the boxes were known), and we rushed through the red velvet saloon to get to our seats. As we settled in, the houselights began to fade. I pulled out a small set of foldable gla.s.ses, and just had time to check the boxes around and across from us for familiar faces. I got a quick glimpse of Theodore and Mayor Strong having what seemed a very grave conversation in the Roosevelt box, and then I cast my eyes on the dead center of the horseshoe, box 35, where that formidable financial octopus with the malignant nose-J. Pierpont Morgan-sat amid shadows. There were several ladies with him, but before I could ascertain who they were, the house went black.

Victor Maurel, the great Gascon baritone and actor for whom Verdi had written some of his most memorable parts, was in rare form that night, though I fear that we in Kreizler's box-with the possible exception of Cyrus-were too preoccupied with other matters to fully appreciate the performance. During the first intermission our conversation turned quickly from music back to the Santorelli case. Sara wondered at the fact that the beatings Giorgio received from his father actually seemed to increase the boy's desire to pursue his s.e.xual irregularities. Kreizler, too, remarked on this irony, saying that if Santorelli had only been able to talk to his son and explore the roots of his peculiar behavior, he might have been able to change it. But by employing violence he turned the affair into a battle, one in which Giorgio's very psychic survival became a.s.sociated, in the boy's mind, with the actions his father objected to. Sara and I puzzled with that that concept all the way through Act II; but by the second intermission we were beginning to get it, to understand that a boy who made his living allowing himself to be used in the worst possible ways was, in his own view, a.s.serting himself by doing so. concept all the way through Act II; but by the second intermission we were beginning to get it, to understand that a boy who made his living allowing himself to be used in the worst possible ways was, in his own view, a.s.serting himself by doing so.

The same thing could in all probability have been said of the Zweig children, Kreizler remarked, vindicating my a.s.sumption that he would not write off to coincidence the similarity between those two victims and Giorgio Santorelli. Laszlo went on to say that we could not overemphasize the importance of this new information: we now had the beginnings of a pattern, something on which to build a general picture of what qualities inspired violence in our killer. We owed that knowledge to Sara's determination to visit the Santorellis, as well as to her ability to make Mrs. Santorelli trust her. Laszlo expressed his indebtedness somewhat awkwardly, but nonetheless genuinely; and the look of fulfillment on Sara's face was worth all the trials of the day.

Things were fairly chummy, in other words, when Theodore entered our box with Mayor Strong during that same intermission. In an instant the atmosphere in the little enclosure was transformed. For all his use of the rank "colonel" and his reputation as a reformer, William L. Strong was much like any other well-to-do, middle-aged New York businessman-meaning that he had no use for Kreizler. His Honor said nothing in reply to our greetings, just sat in one of the free seats in the box and waited for the lights to go down. It was left to Theodore to awkwardly explain that Strong had something important he wished to say. Talking during a performance at the Metropolitan was not generally considered a barbarity-indeed, some of the city's most noteworthy personal and business affairs were conducted at such times-but neither Kreizler nor I shared this disrespect for the efforts of those onstage. We did not, in other words, provide a friendly audience when Strong began his lecture during the ominous opening of Act III.

"Doctor," the mayor said without looking at him, "Commissioner Roosevelt a.s.sures me that your recent visit to Police Headquarters was entirely social. I trust that is true." Kreizler didn't answer, which irked Strong a bit. "I am surprised, however, to see you attending the opera with an employee of the Police Department." He nodded rather rudely in Sara's direction.

"If you'd like to see my entire entire social calendar, Mayor Strong," Sara said bravely, "I can arrange that." social calendar, Mayor Strong," Sara said bravely, "I can arrange that."

Theodore clutched his forehead quietly but vigorously, and Strong's anger grew, though he did not acknowledge Sara's remark. "Doctor, you are perhaps unaware that we are engaged in a great crusade to root out corruption and degeneracy in our city." Again, Kreizler would not reply, but kept his eyes on Victor Maurel and Frances Saville as they sang together. "In this battle we have many enemies," Strong continued. "If they can find any way to embarra.s.s or discredit us, they will use it. Am I clear, sir?"

"Clear, sir?" Kreizler finally answered, still not looking at Strong. "Certainly you are ill-mannered, but as to clear..." He shrugged.

Strong stood up. "Then let me be plain. If you were to a.s.sociate yourself with the Police Department in any capacity, Doctor, it would const.i.tute just such a way for our enemies to discredit us. Decent people have no use for your work, sir, for your abominable opinions of the American family, or for your obscene probing into the minds of American children. Such matters are the province of parents and their spiritual advisors. If I were you, I should limit my work to the lunatic asylums, where it belongs. At any rate, no one a.s.sociated with this administration has any use for such filth. Kindly remember that." The mayor stood up and made for the exit, pausing to turn briefly on Sara. "And you, young lady, would do well to remember that hiring women to work at headquarters was an experiment experiment-and that experiments often fail!"

With that, Strong disappeared. Theodore lingered behind just long enough to whisper that future public appearances by the three of us might not be wise, and then he took off after the mayor. It was an outrageous but nonetheless typical incident: there were undoubtedly many people in the audience that night who would have said very similar things to Kreizler, given the chance. Laszlo, Cyrus, and I, having heard it all before, didn't take it as hard as Sara, who was a newcomer to this kind of intolerance. For much of the remaining performance, she looked as though she might be preparing to blow Strong's brains out with her derringer; but Maurel and Saville's final duet was so superbly heartrending that even angry Sara put the real world aside. When the lights went up for the last time we all stood and bellowed bravos and bravas, getting a small wave from Maurel in return. As soon as Sara caught a glimpse of Theodore and Strong in their box, however, her indignation was back in force.

"Honestly, Doctor, how can you tolerate it?" she said, as we made our way out. "The man is an idiot!"

"As you will soon discover, Sara," Kreizler said calmly, "one cannot afford to pay the slightest attention to such statements. Although there is one aspect of the mayor's interest in this matter that does concern me."

I didn't even have to think about it-the idea had occurred to me while Strong was talking: "The two priests," I said.

Laszlo nodded to me. "Indeed, Moore. Those two troublesome priests-one wonders who arranged for such 'spiritual advisors' to accompany the detectives today. For the moment, however, that must remain a mystery." He checked his silver watch. "Good. We should arrive exactly on time. I hope our guests will do the same."

"Guests?" Sara said. "But where are we going?"

"To dinner," Kreizler answered simply. "And to what I hope will be a most illuminating conference."

CHAPTER 10.

It is often difficult, I find, for people today to grasp the notion that one family, working through several restaurants, could change the eating habits of an entire country. But such was the achievement of the Delmonicos in the United States of the last century. Before they opened their first small cafe on William Street in 1823, catering to the business and financial communities of Lower Manhattan, American food could generally be described as things boiled or fried whose purpose was to sustain hard work and hold down alcohol-usually bad alcohol. The Delmonicos, though Swiss, had brought the French method to America, and each generation of their family refined and expanded the experience. Their menu, from the first, contained dozens of dishes both delectable and healthy, all offered at what, considering the preparation that went into them, were reasonable prices. Their wine cellar was as expansive and as excellent as any in Paris. So great was their success that within decades they had two downtown restaurants, and one uptown; and by the time of the Civil War, travelers from all over the country who had eaten at Delmonico's and taken news of the experience home with them were demanding that the owners of restaurants everywhere give them not only pleasant surroundings, but food that was nutritious and expertly prepared. The craving for first-rate dining became a kind of national fever in the latter decades of the century-and Delmonico's was responsible.

But fine food and wine were only part of the reason for the Delmonicos' prosperity: the family's professed egalitarianism also drew customers in. On any given night at the uptown restaurant on Twenty-sixth Street and Fifth Avenue, one was just as likely to run into Diamond Jim Brady and Lillian Russell as Mrs. Vanderbilt and the other matrons of New York's high society. Even the likes of Paul Kelly were not turned away. Perhaps more amazing than the fact that anyone could get in was the fact that everyone was forced to wait an equal amount of time for a table-reservations were not taken (save for parties in the private dining rooms), and no favoritism was ever exhibited. The wait was sometimes annoying; but to find yourself on line behind someone like Mrs. Vanderbilt, who would squawk and stamp about "such treatment!" could be very entertaining.

On the particular night of our conference with the Isaacson brothers, Laszlo had taken the precaution of engaging a private room, knowing that our conversation would be deeply upsetting to anyone around us in the main dining room. We approached the block-long restaurant from the Broadway side, where the cafe was located, then turned left at Twenty-sixth Street and pulled up to the main entrance. Cyrus and Stevie were dismissed for the evening, having had a lot of late nights recently. The rest of us would get cabs home after dinner. We stepped up to the door and then inside, and were immediately greeted by young Charlie Delmonico.

The family's older generation had almost completely died off by 1896, and Charlie had given up a career on Wall Street to take over the business. He couldn't have been better suited to the task: suave, dapper, and eternally tactful, he attended to every detail without a look of care ever narrowing his enormous eyes or ruffling a hair of his natty beard.

"Dr. Kreizler," he said as we approached, taking our hands and smiling delicately. "And Mr. Moore. Always a pleasure, gentlemen, especially when you are together. And Miss Howard as well-it's been some time since you've been in. I'm grateful that you are able to return." That was Charlie's way of saying he understood Sara had been through a lot since her father died. "Your other guests, Doctor, have already arrived, and are waiting upstairs." He kept talking as we checked our outer garments. "I remembered you saying that you found neither olive nor crimson conducive to digestion, so I have placed you in the blue room-will that be satisfactory?"

"Considerate, as ever, Charles," Kreizler answered. "Thank you."

"You're welcome to go right up," Charlie said. "Ranhofer is, as always, ready."

"Ah-ha!" I said, at the mention of Delmonico's brilliant chef. "I trust he's girding himself for our stern judgment?"

Charlie smiled again, that same gentle curve of the mouth. "I believe he has something quite remarkable planned. Come, gentlemen."

We followed Charlie through the mirrored walls, mahogany furniture, and frescoed ceiling of the main dining room and then up to the private blue room on the second floor. The Isaacson brothers were already seated at a small but elegant table, looking a bit bewildered. Their confusion mounted when they saw Sara, whom they knew from headquarters; but she very cagily sidestepped their questions, saying that someone had to take notes for Commissioner Roosevelt, who was taking a personal interest in the case.

"He is?" Marcus Isaacson answered, the dark eyes to either side of the p.r.o.nounced nose going wide with apprehension. "This isn't-well, this isn't some sort of test, is it? I know that everyone in the department is up for review, but-well, a case that's three years old, it doesn't really seem fair to judge us..."

"Not that we don't appreciate that the case is still open," Lucius said hurriedly, mopping a few beads of sweat from his brow with a handkerchief as waiters arrived with platters of oysters and gla.s.ses of sherry and bitters.

"Calm yourselves, Detective Sergeants," Kreizler said. "This is no review. You are here precisely because you are known to be una.s.sociated with those elements of the force that have brought on the current controversies." At that, both Isaacsons let out considerable amounts of air and attacked the sherry. "You were not," Kreizler continued, "particular favorites of Inspector Byrnes, I understand?"

The two brothers eyed each other, and Lucius nodded to Marcus, who spoke: "No, sir. Byrnes believed in methods that were-well, outdated, let's say. My brother-that is, Detective Sergeant Isaacson-and I have both studied abroad, which made the inspector extremely suspicious. That, and our-background."

Kreizler nodded; it was no secret how the department's old guard felt about Jews. "Well, then, gentlemen," Laszlo said. "Suppose you tell us what you were able to discover today."

After arguing for a moment about who would report first, the Isaacsons decided it would be Lucius: "As you know, Doctor, there is a limited amount one can tell from bodies that are in such an advanced state of decomposition. Still, I believe we uncovered a few facts that slipped by the coroner and the investigating detectives. To begin with, the cause of death-excuse me, Miss Howard, but aren't you going to take notes?"

She smiled at him. "Mentally. I'll transfer them to paper later."

This answer did nothing for Lucius, who eyed Sara nervously before going on: "Yes, uh-the cause of death." The waiters reappeared to remove our oyster trays and subst.i.tute some green turtle soup au clair. au clair. Lucius wiped his broad brow again and took a taste while the waiters opened a bottle of amontillado. "Mmm-delicious!" he decided, the food easing his mind. "But as I was saying-the police and coroner's reports indicated that death was caused by the throat wounds. Severing of the common carotid arteries, et cetera. It's the obvious interpretation, if you've got a body with a cut throat. But I noticed almost immediately that there was extensive damage to the laryngeal structures, especially the hyoid bone, which in both cases was fractured. That, of course, indicates strangulation." Lucius wiped his broad brow again and took a taste while the waiters opened a bottle of amontillado. "Mmm-delicious!" he decided, the food easing his mind. "But as I was saying-the police and coroner's reports indicated that death was caused by the throat wounds. Severing of the common carotid arteries, et cetera. It's the obvious interpretation, if you've got a body with a cut throat. But I noticed almost immediately that there was extensive damage to the laryngeal structures, especially the hyoid bone, which in both cases was fractured. That, of course, indicates strangulation."

"I don't understand," I said. "Why would the murderer cut their throats if he'd already strangled them?"

"Blood l.u.s.t," Marcus answered, very matter-of-factly, as he ate his soup.

"Yes, blood l.u.s.t," Lucius agreed. "He was probably concerned with keeping his clothes clean, so that he wouldn't attract any attention during his escape. But he needed to see the blood-or maybe smell it. Some murderers have said it's the smell rather than the sight that satisfies them."

Fortunately, I'd already finished my soup, as this last comment didn't do wonders for my stomach. I looked over to Sara, who was absorbing it all with great poise. Kreizler was studying Lucius with immense fascination.

"So," Laszlo said, "you hypothesize strangulation. Excellent. What else?"

"There's the business about the eyes," Lucius answered, leaning back so that his soup bowl could be removed by the waiters. "I had some trouble with the reports on that one." We were now presented with aiguillettes aiguillettes of ba.s.s done in a creamy Mornay sauce-quite tasty. The amontillado was exchanged for Hochheimer. of ba.s.s done in a creamy Mornay sauce-quite tasty. The amontillado was exchanged for Hochheimer.

"Excuse me, Doctor," Marcus said quietly. "But I did want to say-remarkable food. I've never had anything quite like it."

"I'm delighted, Detective Sergeant," Kreizler answered. "There is much more to come. Now, then-as to the eyes?"

"Right," Lucius said. "The police report made some mention of birds or rats having gotten at the eyes. And the coroner was apparently willing to stand by that, which is fairly extraordinary. Even if the bodies had been out in the open rather than in an enclosed water tower, why would scavengers feed only on the eyes? What puzzled me most, though, about such a theory was that the knife marks were quite distinct."

Kreizler, Sara, and I all stopped in mid-chew and looked at each other. "Knife marks?" Kreizler said quietly. "There was no mention of knife marks in any of the reports."

"Yes, I know!" Lucius said jovially. The conversation, though gruesome, seemed to be relaxing him; the wine didn't hurt, either. "It really was strange. But there they were-some very narrow grooves on the malar bone and supraorbital ridge, along with some additional cuts on the sphenoid."

They were virtually the same words Kreizler had used to Theodore and me in describing Giorgio Santorelli's body.

"At first glance," Lucius continued, "one might've been led to believe that the various cuts were unconnected, indications of separate jabs of a blade. But they seemed to me to bear a relation to each other, so I tried an experiment. There's a fairly good cutlery store in the neighborhood of your Inst.i.tute, Doctor, which also sells hunting knives. I went there and bought the kind of blade I thought was probably used, in three different lengths-nine-inch, ten-inch, and eleven." He fumbled in the inside pocket of his jacket. "The largest proved the best fit."

At that he dropped a gleaming knife of what seemed gigantic proportions onto the center of the table. Its handle was made of deer antler, the hilt was bra.s.s, and the steel of the blade was engraved with a picture of a stag in some brush.

"The Arkansas toothpick," Marcus said. "It's unclear whether Jim Bowie or his brother originally designed the thing, back in the early thirties, but we do know that most of them are now manufactured by one of the Sheffield firms, in England, for export to our western states. It can be used for hunting, but it's basically a fighting knife. For hand-to-hand combat."

"Could it be used," I said, again remembering Giorgio Santorelli, "as a-well, as a carving and chopping instrument? I mean, would it be heavy enough, and hold a fine edge?"

"Absolutely," Marcus answered. "The edge depends on the quality of the steel, and in a knife this size, especially if it's manufactured in Sheffield, you tend to get high-quality, hard steel." He caught himself, and looked at me with the same suspicious puzzlement he had shown that afternoon. "Why do you ask?"

"It looks expensive," Sara said, deliberately changing the subject. "Is it?"

"Sure," Marcus said. "Durable, though. One of these would last you years."

Kreizler was staring at the knife: this, his gaze seemed to say, is what he he uses. uses.

"The marks on the sphenoid," Lucius resumed, "were created at the same time that the cutting edge dug into the malar bone and the supraorbital ridge. It's perfectly natural, since he was working in such a small area-the eye socket of a child's skull-with such a large instrument. Still, for all that, it was probably a skillful job. The damage could have been much greater. Now..." He took a large sip of wine. "If you want to know what what he was doing, or he was doing, or why, why, there we can only speculate. Possibly he was selling body parts to anatomists and medical colleges. Although he would probably have taken more than just the eyes, in that case. It's somewhat confusing." there we can only speculate. Possibly he was selling body parts to anatomists and medical colleges. Although he would probably have taken more than just the eyes, in that case. It's somewhat confusing."

None of us could say anything to that. We stared at the knife, myself at least afraid to touch it, as the waiters appeared again with plates of saddle of lamb a la Colbert a la Colbert and bottles of Chateau Lagrange. and bottles of Chateau Lagrange.

"Admirable," Kreizler said. He finally looked up at Lucius, whose fat face was starting to turn red with the wine. "A truly splendid job, Detective Sergeant."

"Oh, that's not all of it," Lucius answered, digging into his lamb.

"Eat slowly," Marcus whispered. "Remember your stomach."

Lucius paid no heed. "That's not all," he repeated. "There were some very interesting fractures of the frontal and parietal bones, at the top of the skull. But I'll let my brother-I'll let Detective Sergeant Isaacson explain those." Lucius looked up at us with a grin. "I'm enjoying my food too much to talk anymore."

Marcus watched him, shaking his head. "You're going to be sick tomorrow," he mumbled. "And you're going to blame me-but I warned you."

"Detective Sergeant?" Kreizler said, leaning back with a gla.s.s of Lagrange. "You will have to possess some remarkable information indeed, if you hope to outdo your-colleague, here." here."

"Well, it is is interesting," Marcus answered, "and it may well tell us something substantive. The fracture lines that my brother found were inflicted from above-from interesting," Marcus answered, "and it may well tell us something substantive. The fracture lines that my brother found were inflicted from above-from directly directly above. Now, in an a.s.sault, which this obviously was, you'd expect angles of attack, either from similarity of height or difficulty of approach due to the struggle. The nature of the wounds indicates, however, that not only did the a.s.sailant have complete physical control over his victims, but he was also tall enough to strike directly downward very forcefully with a blunt instrument of some kind-possibly even his fists, though we doubt that." above. Now, in an a.s.sault, which this obviously was, you'd expect angles of attack, either from similarity of height or difficulty of approach due to the struggle. The nature of the wounds indicates, however, that not only did the a.s.sailant have complete physical control over his victims, but he was also tall enough to strike directly downward very forcefully with a blunt instrument of some kind-possibly even his fists, though we doubt that."

We allowed Marcus a few moments to eat; but when succulent Maryland terrapin arrived to replace the lamb, from which Lucius had to be almost forcefully separated, we urged him to go on: "Let me see. I'll try to make this as accessible as I can-if we take the respective heights of the two children, and then add the aspects of the skull fractures that I've just described to the equation, we can start to speculate about the height of the attacker." He turned to Lucius. "What did we guess, roughly six-foot-two?" Lucius nodded and Marcus continued. "I don't know how much any of you know about anthropometry-the Bertillon system of identification and cla.s.sification-"

"Oh, are you trained in it?" Sara said. "I've been anxious to meet someone who is."

Marcus looked surprised. "You know Bertillon's work, Miss Howard?"

As Sara nodded eagerly, Kreizler cut in: "I must confess ignorance, Detective Sergeant. I've heard the name, but little more."

And so, while disposing of the terrapin we also reviewed the achievements of Alphonse Bertillon, a misanthropic, pedantic Frenchman who had revolutionized the science of criminal identification during the eighties. As a lowly clerk a.s.signed the task of going through the files that the Paris police department kept on known criminals, Bertillon had discovered that if one took fourteen measurements of any human body-not only height, but foot, hand, nose, and ear size, and so on-the odds were over 286 million to one that any two people would share the same results. Despite enormous resistance from his superiors, Bertillon had begun to record the body-part sizes of known criminals and then to categorize his results, training a staff of a.s.sistant measurers and photographers in the process; and when he used the information thus collected to solve several infamous cases that had stumped the Paris detectives, he became an international celebrity.

Bertillon's system had been adopted quickly throughout Europe, later in London, and only recently in New York. Throughout his tenure as head of the Division of Detectives, Thomas Byrnes had rejected anthropometry, with its exact measurements and careful photographs, as too intellectually demanding for most of his men-undoubtedly an accurate a.s.sumption. Then, too, Byrnes had created the Rogues' Gallery, a room full of photographs of most known criminals in the United States: he was jealous of his creation, and considered it sufficient for the purposes of identification. Finally, Byrnes had established his own principles of detection and would not have them overthrown by any Frenchman. But with Byrnes's departure from the force, anthropometry had picked up more advocates, one of whom was evidently sitting at our table that night.

"The main shortcoming of Bertillon's system," Marcus said, "besides the fact that it depends on skilled measurers, is that it can only match a suspected or convicted criminal to his record and aliases." Having eaten a small bowl of sorbet Elsinore, Marcus started to take a cigarette from his pocket, evidently thinking that the meal was over. He was very pleasantly surprised when a plate of canvasback duck, prepared with hominy and a currant gelee, gelee, was placed before him, along with a gla.s.s of splendid Chambertin. was placed before him, along with a gla.s.s of splendid Chambertin.

"Excuse my asking, Doctor," Lucius said in continuing confusion, "but...is there actually a conclusion to this meal, or do we just work our way into breakfast?"

"So long as you are full of useful information, Detective Sergeants, the food will continue coming."

"Well, then..." Marcus took a big bite of duck, closing his eyes in appreciation. "We'd better stay interesting. Now, as I was about to say, the Bertillon system offers no physical evidence of criminal commission. It can't put a man at at the scene of the crime. But it can help us shorten the list of known criminals who may be responsible. We're betting that the man who killed the Zweig children was somewhere in the neighborhood of six-foot-two. That'll produce relatively few candidates, even from the files of the New York police. It's an advantageous starting point. And the better news is that, with so many cities now adopting the system, we can make our check nationwide-even to Europe, if we want to." the scene of the crime. But it can help us shorten the list of known criminals who may be responsible. We're betting that the man who killed the Zweig children was somewhere in the neighborhood of six-foot-two. That'll produce relatively few candidates, even from the files of the New York police. It's an advantageous starting point. And the better news is that, with so many cities now adopting the system, we can make our check nationwide-even to Europe, if we want to."

"And if the man has no prior criminal record?" Kreizler asked.

"Then, as I say," Marcus answered with a shrug, "we're out of luck." Kreizler looked disappointed at this, and Marcus-eyeing, it seemed to me, his plate, and wondering if the food would really stop coming when we reached a dead end-cleared his throat. "That is, Doctor, out of luck so far as official departmental methods go. However, I'm a student of some other techniques that might prove useful in that eventuality."

Lucius looked worried. "Marcus," he mumbled. "I'm still not sure, it's not accepted, yet-"

Marcus answered quietly but quickly: "Not in court. court. But it would still make sense in an investigation. We But it would still make sense in an investigation. We discussed discussed this." this."

"Gentlemen?" Kreizler said. "Will you share your secret?"