THREE
SOMETHING FAR MORE SINISTER
On Tuesday Donovan returned to work at Polaris. Polaris was on the east side of midtown Manhattan, an upper-end restaurant with a clientele of cougars and people used to getting what they wanted. He liked tending bar there, but over the next few days he found himself distracted from mixing North Star cocktails and cosmos by thoughts of his future.
A ring, a site, a way to propose…
He took care of the first concern with a visit to Lars, a jeweler friend of Father Carroll’s who also read runestones. They designed a ring that Lars promised to get to work on right away. As for a site, he figured he and Joann would pick one together. One thing he did know was who he’d ask to officiate the ceremony. On his next afternoon off, Donovan rode the Vulcan to East 4th Street, off Avenue C., to ask him.
***
Cinnamon-scented steam wafted from the imported coffee shop next to the building. Donovan pressed the door buzzer for Father Carroll’s apartment. The answer came after several moments.
“Yes?”
“Welcome back, Father. Have you got a minute?”
“Donovan? Of course, come up.”
Donovan took the stairs two at a time and found the priest waiting for him on the third floor. He offered a hearty handshake and a clap on the shoulder. “Dia duit!”
“‘Djiah gwich’?”
“‘Good day.’ I picked up a bit of Gaelic while I was visiting Father Driscoll.”
“Really?” Donovan followed him inside. “What should I say in response?”
“‘Dia is Muire duit.’”
“‘Dijahs murrah gwich.’ How was England? How does Stonehenge look?”
“It’s interesting, what’s visible to the public, anyway.” Father Carroll led him to his study. Although his apartment had high ceilings, he had to duck through the doorways. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Soda or water is fine, thanks.”
He motioned Donovan to another room. “I’ll be right in.”
Father Carroll’s study was similar to his office, but with relics and books that were much more significant. On one wall he’d mounted his Crest of Thagaste, denoting his status as one of a dozen clergymen in Christianity holding an Augustine Dictate. The Augustine Dictate authorized him to investigate the paranormal in ways not normally condoned by church bodies. Around the study, Donovan noted books open as they had been at the office. This time, however, the priest wasn’t researching scorpions.
“Apparently,” Father Carroll entered carrying two bottles of water, “the English Heritage group wasted a lot of time trying to ‘naturalize’ Salisbury Plain, making Stonehenge look as it did thousands of years ago. It was dying a slow bureaucratic death until this man, Lord Teesdale, took it over. Whatever his plans are, the only thing anyone knows is what they see, which is the entire plain draped in gray material. The site looks like something by Christo.” He sat behind the desk, and Donovan took the opposite armchair. “But I’m told you had an interesting holiday as well. Francis called me.” He offered Donovan one bottle and opened the other. “How are you?”
“I’m fine. A little bruised is all.” He waved off the concern. “We can talk about that in a minute, if you want, but that’s not why I’m here. I wanted to tell you—well, I’m going to ask Joann to marry me.”
“You are?” A broad smile split the priest’s gray beard. “Donovan, that’s wonderful. Congratulations. She’s a lovely young woman.”
“Thanks. If—when—she accepts, I was hoping you’d officiate at the ceremony?”
Father Carroll’s eyes crinkled behind his glasses. “I would be honored, sir.”
“Thank you.” Donovan smiled, relieved to check off another item on the list. “I haven’t figured out how to ask yet, but I’ll keep you updated.”
“What do your parents think? Have you told them?”
“No, I figured Joann and I could take the trip down to D.C. and tell them together. I thought about asking Conrad for her hand, but I have a pretty good idea what his answer would be.” Donovan paused. “Actually, you’re the first person I’ve told.”
“Well.” Now the priest beamed. “I will certainly do my best to make the most of this happy event. Cheers and blessings.” He raised his bottle, and they drank a toast.
“Lars is making the ring even as we speak. I can’t wait to see the look on her face.”
“I’m sure it will sparkle like the stars.”
Having shared his news, Donovan felt an idiot grin rise on his face. He looked at the books around them. Images of constellations and zodiac symbols faced up from most pages. “I guess I hit on something with the ‘zodiac murders’ thing. Did Sergeant Fullam ask for more help?”
“He did.”
“You’ve helped him out before.” Donovan raised his eyebrows. “That’s kind of interesting.”
“He told me you uncovered this astrological connection between the two bodies at the morgue.” The priest sipped his water. “My best pupil.”
“I made it when I thought about scorpions and arrows. The missing organs clinched it.” Donovan gestured at the books. “Have you been building on my guess?”
“For the moment, I’m at a loss. Astrological rituals are primarily concerned with fortunetelling. Some make reference to animal sacrifice, but human mutilation? Particular to zodiac signs? I have no idea.”
“Joann and I are having dinner tonight, but I can give you a hand for a bit.” Donovan surveyed the room. “Where should I start?”
“You had success the way you handled researching scorpions. Perhaps we ought follow that blueprint.”
Donovan chuckled. “Blueprint? Not exactly. I studied stuff for hours before I got the bright idea to check out the body.”
“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” the priest said. “Your consciousness had to become preoccupied for your subconscious to be inspired.”
“So…God wants us to study fine print until our eyes cross before He’ll help?”
“The time you feel was wasted enabled the Universe to unfold as it did, allowing you not only to save a man’s life, but to gain valuable information for our cause.”
“I was lucky. I know how to throw a punch. Nothing supernatural about that.”
“Perhaps.” Father Carroll sounded amused. “But you were faced with choices and you made the ones that produced those results. Either your instincts—free will—are the best I’ve ever seen, or there was a guiding hand behind your actions.”
“Predestination.”
“I believe it was a combination of the two. Free will allows us to make those choices, and if we choose as you did, we allow God to shape the world through our actions.”
“And if we don’t?”
“Then the world, as the unfortunate Mister Denschler and others discovered,” the priest gestured at the books, “can be shaped by something far more sinister.”
***
The bar on Pearl Street was crowded with brokers and traders who hadn’t yet gone to catch their trains. Cornelius Valdes looked up from the vodka he’d been nursing and into the mirror behind the multicolored bottles. Joe Lopter was still there, against the wall, glad-handing other well-dressed men as he’d probably been doing for the last fifteen years.
Not that I would know.
Valdes wiped some condensation from his glass, eyes shifting to his own reflection. Dressed in suit and tie, he looked like many of the men in the bar. The double chin and paunch many of them possessed, and he’d been developing before everything had happened, were long gone however, carved away by a fifteen-year diet of government-dictated subsistence.
At least I still have my hair.
Dark and thick, it had recently begun to show salt in the pepper. Crow’s feet deepened the corners of his eyes. Their presence reminded Valdes of the good humor he’d possessed once, then lost, and now recently rediscovered.
Fifteen years, eight months and four days later. Give or take.
He watched Lopter swill the last of his drink, set the glass down and begin a round of good-bye handshakes. When he walked out the door to Pearl Street, Valdes drifted to the window to watch.
Enjoy your freedom for now, Joe. It’s not your time.
Yet.
***
The following Wednesday evening, Donovan sat on his motorcycle outside of Joann’s building. He’d picked up the ring from Lars that afternoon, and although he didn’t plan to propose yet, he liked the feel of it against his thigh.
Joann came out of the building, changed out of her work suit into jeans and a leather jacket that were more appropriate for motorcycle riding. Her hair was tied loosely up, and she swung her own helmet in one hand. He took a folded piece of cloth from his pocket and proffered it.
“What’s this?” she asked
“A blindfold.”
“Mystery tour?” Her mouth curled in a half-smile filled with curiosity as she accepted it. “Am I dressed for it?”
He kissed her. “You are dressed properly.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and went back for more. He matched her, then pulled back with a grin. “But I’m not telling you where we’re going. That’s why it’s called a ‘mystery tour.’”
***
They rode into Manhattan across the Brooklyn Bridge. The lane was clear ahead of him, Joann held him tightly, and the weather was perfect.
Lucky man.
On Christopher Street he turned the Vulcan off the West Side Highway towards the center of Manhattan. They parked, and he helped her with her helmet.
“Are we almost there?”
“Almost.”
They stepped into a building’s tiny lobby. A group of twentysomethings crowded in behind them. A baby-faced man in business casual business clothing saw the blindfold first. He smiled and whispered to his friends, who all turned to stare. Donovan winked and put his finger to his lips. When the elevator came, they urged him to bring her on alone. The door slid shut on their giggles.
“I choose to believe that we are not being observed at the moment, and that we were not just the subject of scrutiny by person or persons unknown.”
“Because that would be embarrassing.”
“Because that would be embarrassing.” She touched and drew herself to him. “And, if we’re going to play games, I’d prefer to do it without an audience.”
His lips had just touched hers when the elevator groaned to a stop and the doors shuddered open. Immediately she turned her head to the side. “It feels cool.” She sniffed. “It smells like wood, and air conditioning, and…people?”
Donovan undid her blindfold. Joann blinked a few times to adjust her eyes, and when she saw where they were she turned to him with a big smile. “Dance House?”
“Dance House.”
Dance House was a studio that offered dance lessons of all kinds, from Latin to swing to ballroom and hustle. They’d been talking about taking lessons for months, and now she eagerly made her way into the studio’s lobby.
“Since I’ve done some swing already,” he said, “I thought it might be a good idea to start there. If you want, we can do the salsa class afterwards, too.”
She stepped into a studio filled with couples. The air inside was dusty and a little warm with excess body heat. Along a side concrete wall, a boom box was set up on a table. CDs lay scattered around it, in and out of jewel boxes. Mirrors lined the wall perpendicular to the windows. The hardwood floor was dull but still shiny in the corners where feet hadn’t scuffed it learning “one-two-cha-cha-cha.”
She turned to him, gold flecks shining in her eyes.
“Swing, salsa; let’s do it all.”
***
“Excuse me, sir, are you Stuart Brandeis?”
Brandeis paused at the bottom of the steps to his Cobble Hill brownstone. The man asking was well dressed, with a kind smile and a bit of a twinkle in his eye. He clutched a messenger bag to his side as though afraid it might be snatched from him at any moment.
Process server? Brandeis wondered. The Brooklyn court house wasn’t too far from where they stood, and he had been having problems with his ex-wife…
“Did Victoria send you? Is this about an alimony payment?” Brandeis asked, his lip curling into a sneer. “Because I told her I was restructuring my mortgage to give her her pound of flesh.”
“No, no, quite the opposite. I’m a representative for Mrs. Brandeis.” He proffered a business card. “She has asked me to approach you and see if you might be interested in reconciliation.”
Brandeis took it and read:
CORNELIUS VALDES
Attorney
“What do you mean, ‘reconciliation’?”
Valdes heard the shift in his voice, saw the anger in his eyes melt to hope. Perfect. “If you’d like to come with me, we can discuss the terms she has suggested I offer you.” He gestured for the man to precede him up the street.
Brandeis paused. “What is this, some kind of game? She trying to get more money out of me?”
“I assure you, Mister Brandeis,” Valdes smiled, “this is no game.”
***
Joann had to be at work early the next day, so after dance class and dinner in Tribeca they made their way back to Brooklyn on the Vulcan. Instead of going to her loft, though, Donovan parked outside her building and they strolled to the end of Montague Street, to the Brooklyn Promenade. They held hands as they walked. Below them, cars sped by on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. Across the bay, the skyline of lower Manhattan sparkled with a thousand jewels of unextinguished fluorescent tubes, traffic signals and vehicle headlights. Scant clouds allowed most of the city’s ambient light to escape, casting the outlines of the buildings black against a dark, deep purple sky.
“Great night, hunh?” She stopped, leaning back on the iron railing as she turned. “Sorry I have to bring it to an end. Now that we have a partial profile of Charming Man off that camera, I’ve got to interview a lot of the shelter workers again.”
“Somebody has to get the bad guys.” He rested a hand on either side of her. “So Dance House is a date, for at least the next three Wednesdays?”
“At least? At last. It’s about time we’re doing this. But why now?”
“School’s over. Now that I’ve got more free time, I’d like to spend it doing something besides writing papers.”
“You don’t want to pick up more bar shifts, make some more money?”
“I may have to,” he felt the ring’s box in his pocket, “but not yet. Besides, that’s not what I mean by ‘wisely.’”
“I hate that you only make good money when you work at night. I miss you.”
“I wish things were different, but…”
“I know, baby, I know.” She touched his face, letting her hand linger on his cheek. “We’re building something, and it takes time. I get that. Sometimes, though, the lack of together time thing just sucks.”
“A lot,” he agreed.
“Which is why I’m glad we’re doing Dance House.”
“Yep.” He did a standing push-up, slowly drawing himself closer to her. Her breath trickled out like venting steam. His lips touched hers. “Actually, I have a confession to make. As much as I enjoyed tonight, and look forward to the next few weeks, the free time thing isn’t the only reason I wanted to take dance lessons now.”
“Okay.” She kissed him back, softly at first. “Then why else?”
“I want to be able to dance well.” He kissed her harder as he reached into his pocket. “At our wedding.”
Her eyes flew open.
The ring attracted every bit of the Manhattan skyline, intensified it, and released it back to the stars. A round, 1.25 carat diamond sat in a platinum cathedral mount, accented by tiny diamonds. The band, also platinum, was squared at the edges, adorned by intricate, unobtrusive engraving.
“Magical” barely does it justice, he thought.
Nothing had prepared him for the emotions surging through his body. Now that the moment was here, it was different, infinitely different and better than any scenario he had imagined. He caught his breath, and when he spoke he was surprised at how even his voice was. He got down on one knee.
“Joann Clery, will you marry me?”
She blinked in surprise. Heat spread over her skin, flushing it pink. Her eyes became very serious and she examined every inch of his features.
“Oh my God.”
She pulled him to his feet. Her entire body shivered and she leaned into his embrace. He held her, feeling her offer herself to him heart and soul, before finally raising her head to meet his eyes.
“Yes.”
She wiped away tears, smiled and kissed him fiercely.
“Let’s go celebrate,” she purred.
So they did.