The Anniversary Man (33 page)

′It′s okay,′ she said, and there was an element of empathy in her voice. ′I understand. Now hang up and I′ll call him.′

′Thank you, Karen.′

The line went dead.

I
rving went early to the Deli, took a table in back away from the Sunday lunch traffic.

Karen Langley had come back to him within minutes. Costello would speak with Irving, but he wanted Langley there, and not at his own apartment.

′Somewhere public he said,′ Langley told Irving.

′Jesus, Karen—′

′Ray?′

Irving fell silent.

′Don′t question it, okay? He says he′ll talk to you. Take what you′re given and be grateful.′

They arranged to meet at one. Irving made an effort to dress appropriately. A pair of black pants, still in the cleaner′s bag from months before, and a dark blue sport jacket. He ironed a white shirt, decided to forego a tie, and cleaned his dress-uniform shoes. He needed a haircut. He needed another suit. He needed a lot of things.

When he stood in front of the mirror in the hallway - the mirror Deborah insisted he put there so she could give herself a final once-over as she left the apartment - he wondered if he was making the effort in order to look like the professional he was supposed to be, or if he was doing it for Karen Langley. It was something of both, he decided. This case, perhaps more than any of his career, was demanding of his most accurate attention. It was Sunday, a little past noon, and already he′d made calls for the Laura Cassidy autopsy report. This thing wasn′t going anywhere without him. It was never going to quietly disappear or evaporate. He would not be reassigned to something of greater priority. Until it was over. Well, until it was over, it was his life.

Irving had arrived at Carnegie′s with thirty-five minutes to spare. He ordered coffee, said it would be a little while before he was joined by two guests. He told the waitress that the discussion was of a somewhat confidential nature, and once they had ordered food - if they ordered food - then it would be better if they were left alone.

′You know me, sweetheart,′ she said. ′Never one to interfere where I′m not needed.′

Irving put a folded ten-dollar bill in her hand, thanked her, took his seat.

Irving could have been wrong, but he believed that Karen Langley had made an effort too. She had on a pants-suit, a cream-colored blouse with a scarf tied loosely at the neck. She looked relaxed but effortlessly classy. She seemed to possess numerous facets, and Irving had yet to find one that he did not like.

John Costello, however, looked as inconspicuous and low-key as ever. Perhaps he chose to be singularly unremarkable. Perhaps it was his mission in life never to be noticed again - not by a serial killer, not by anyone.

′Karen. John.′ Irving rose from the table and extended his hand to each of them.

Karen smiled. ′So formal,′ she said. ′Sit down, for God′s sake.′

Irving did as he was told.

Costello smiled at Karen Langley. He was the interested spectator, an observer in this small moment of theater.

′Thank you for coming, John,′ Irving said. ′First things first - are we going to eat?′

′Sure we are,′ Costello said. ′Sunday is an open day. How′s the food here?′

′It′s good. Great actually. I really like it.′

′What do they have?′

Irving shook his head. ′God, I don′t know, everything. Lots of kosher, of course. I′ll get us a menu—′

′You suggest,′ Costello said. ′Okay with you, Karen?′

′Sure, of course. But no chicken liver. I don′t like chicken liver.′

Irving caught the waitress′s eye and waved her over. ′Can we have the pastrami, open-face on knish three times?′ He looked at Costello, at Karen. ′You guys eat cheese, right?′

Costello nodded. ′Cheese is good.′

′Cheese on all three,′ he said, ′and a Central Park salad to share.′

′Coffee?′ the waitress asked.

′You have tea?′ Costello asked.

′Sure we have tea. What kind of tea would you like? We got Darjeeling, English breakfast, Earl Grey—′

′English breakfast.′

′Coffee for me,′ Karen said.

The waitress disappeared, returned moments later with their drinks, and refilled Irving′s cup. ′Ten, fifteen minutes for your lunch, okay?′

Irving thanked her.

′I understand you found another one,′ Costello said before Irving had a chance to speak.

′He did the Zodiac,′ Irving replied.

′Which one?′

′Girl called Alexandra Clery . . . the one you mentioned before.′

′So you found her when?′

′Last night.′

′And she′d been dead since September fourth?′

Irving′s eyes widened. ′You remember the date? You gotta tell me how the hell you do that.′

Costello shook his head. ′I read things. They stay with me. Not everything, of course, just things that seem to have some relevance or importance, I suppose. Don′t ask me why or how. It just is.′

Irving believed that perhaps he didn′t want to know.

′So?′ Costello prompted. ′My question?′

′Dead since the fourth? Yes, more than likely. I don′t have the autopsy report yet.′

′And she was beaten to death and left naked like the Oakland girl from ′72?′

′Appears that way,′ Irving said, and then held himself in check. ′Hang fire here,′ he said. ′We′re ahead of ourselves already.′

′Ahead of ourselves? What d′you mean?′

′This thing . . . here . . . what we′re talking about. I haven′t even told you what I wanted to discuss with you.′

′I know what you want to discuss with me, Detective Irving.′

Irving opened his mouth to speak.

′Karen told me. You want me to be an independent and external . . .′ Costello paused, shook his head. ′An independent and external what?′

′Consultant?′ Irving ventured.

′Sure, that′ll do. A consultant.′

No-one spoke for a handful of seconds.

′Right,′ Costello said. ′That′s what you want?′

′Yes. Whatever you want to call it. Ordinarily I′d deal with criminal profiling, get the FBI involved, but there′s no actual evidence of kidnapping and—′

′And they have a spectacularly narrow view of such things.′

′Who the hell knows?′ Irving said. ′I have very little dealings with them.′

′Believe me,′ Costello said. ′They have their routines and regulations. They want to be so orderly and organized, and to a large extent I′m sure they succeed. But when it comes to thinking like a serial killer . . .′ He shook his head. ′There are no rules and regulations to what these people do aside from the rules and regulations they themselves create.′

′So this is something you are willing to consider?′ Irving asked.

′Consider? Of course, Detective. I′ve already decided to help you.′

Irving tried to look neither surprised nor pleased. ′It will be official, of course. You will be formally employed by the NYPD as an external consultant, a researcher for want of a better word. You′ll get paid an agreed rate—′

′Details are unimportant,′ Costello said, interrupting quietly. ′I′m interested, that′s all. This has interested me greatly from day one, and to have access to all the crime scene information—′

′Within certain parameters,′ Irving interjected.

Costello sat back in his chair and put his teacup down. ′There cannot be any parameters,′ he said. ′Not on information directly relating to the cases themselves. How the hell do you expect me to find your thread if I can′t see everything?′

′We′ll handle it,′ Irving said. ′You have to understand that this has come about because of me. This is not something that has been requested from above. My captain took some convincing, and God knows what the Chief of Police would have to say if he knew what was going on. Fact of the matter is that this is very unorthodox. A private citizen with no formal qualifications in criminal profiling, no real familiarity with police work—′

′But twenty years′ experience as a crime researcher,′ Karen said.

′Sure, of course, yes,′ Irving replied.

′And,′ Costello added, ′the very best qualification of all, don′t forget - something that no-one in the police department or the FBI can claim to have.′

Irving looked at him.

Costello smiled. ′I′ve been there, Detective Irving. I know what it′s like to see someone like this up close and personal.′

T
hey ate without further mention of the anniversary killings. Karen Langley had concluded their discussion neatly. She would speak with the paper′s assistant editor-in-chief, Leland Winter, with Bryan Benedict if necessary, and she would help secure some sort of agreement for John Costello to consult for the PD without completely abdicating his responsibilities to the City Herald.

′John is my right hand,′ she said.

Costello ignored her compliment. He ate intently, a man with a purpose, and seemed oblivious to the details they discussed.

At quarter of two he got up from his chair, folded his napkin neatly and placed it beside his plate. He thanked Irving for lunch, bade farewell to Karen Langley and then, without another word, he turned from the table and left the restaurant.

For a few moments Irving was speechless.

Karen had watched Costello go, and when she turned back to Irving she laughed at the expression on his face.

′You look like someone smacked you,′ she said. ′That′s John. Pay no mind to it. You′ll get used to his quirks.′

′Will I?′ Irving asked, more a question of himself.

′Sure you will,′ she said. ′You don′t have a choice do you?′

 

They stayed for another hour.

′This has now become our unofficial second date,′ she said.

′Not the kind of thing I had in mind,′ Irving replied.

Karen leaned back and looked at him quizzically. ′Were you always this serious?′

′You don′t think I should be serious about this?′

′There′s a difference between being serious and being serious about something. Sure, this is serious. This is a homicide investigation. That′s something to be serious about. I′m not speaking specifically, I′m speaking generally.′

′You think I′m too serious?′

′I think everyone′s too serious, Ray. I think how seriously people take themselves is the cause of half their problems.′

′So what d′you want me to do? What d′you want from me?′

′What do I want? I don′t want anything,′ she replied. ′I think maybe you′re the one who wants something . . . something a little more than just a homicide investigation—′

′I′m finding it pretty difficult to think about anything else at the moment.′

′Evidently.′

Irving tilted his head to one side and looked at her suspiciously. ′Meaning?′

′Meaning nothing more than you′re taking what I′m saying too literally. I′m not going to tell you to lighten up because it wouldn′t do any good, but I think you should—′

′Lighten up?′

′Hell, try it, Ray, you might like it.′

′I will,′ he said resignedly. He knew what she meant. He believed that she didn′t need to tell him, but being told was precisely what he did need. Why was there always an edge to what should have been the simplest thing of all? Talking to someone. Finding out about someone. Spending time with someone. There always had to be something else going on to confuse the issue.

′I have to ask you something,′ Irving said.

′Shoot.′

′It′s about confidentiality . . . about the fact that I have to maintain the integrity of this investigation now that—′

′Now that John will be involved?′ Karen shook her head. ′You think I have conflicting interests here, don′t you?′

′It would be hard for you not to,′ Irving replied. ′You have a headline-worthy case, a researcher who is going to be directly involved, access to information that no other newspaper could ever hope to get, and you′re going to get the usual internal demands from editors and assistant editors to deliver the goods.′

′If you think that, then you don′t know John, and you certainly don′t know me,′ Karen replied. ′If John says he won′t talk about something, then he won′t talk about it. If he signs a confidentiality agreement then he′ll stick to it.′

′I find it hard to understand how you can say that about him. That sort of thing implies a significant degree of certainty about someone′s character—′

′When I don′t even know where he lives?′

Irving smiled. ′Well, come on, Karen, it seems a little unusual.′

′I don′t know how to tell you any better than I already have. John is the way he is . . . maybe he was always that way, maybe he became that way as a result of what happened to him. All I know is that he′s invaluable to me. In this business I couldn′t hope for anyone better but, like anyone, he has things you have to deal with in order to get along with him. Perhaps with him they′re a little more obvious, a little more pronounced, but he′s harmless—′

′You′re sure about that?′

Karen looked surprised, a sudden change of expression. ′You still have some doubt about him?′

′I′ve only just met the guy, Karen. I don′t know a goddamned thing about him.′

′Hell of a way to choose the help then, don′t you think?′

′So tell me what else you can,′ Irving said.

She smiled and shook her head. ′You′re gonna have to find out for yourself, Ray. You got yourself into this, you′re gonna have to get yourself out.′

′Oh come on, that′s not fair—′

Karen slid sideways and gathered up her jacket. ′I′m going now,′ she said.

′What?′ Irving asked, surprise evident in his tone.

Karen Langley raised her hand and silenced him before he had a chance to speak further. ′I′m going,′ she repeated. ′I′ll speak to Leland, whoever else. I′ll sort out this thing with John.′ She rose to her feet. Irving started to get up too.