The Chelsea Girl Murders (24 page)

Another, smaller branch from what looked like the same tree came out of the kitchen wall. It was hung with pots and a red mesh bag of onions. In the living area, where we all sat down, another large branch emerged near the top of the wall and snaked against the ceiling.

“I have to finish sewing Lynn's duck outfit for the spring pageant at her preschool. You don't mind if I work while we talk?” he asked.

“Not at all,” I said. “Where are your kids?”

“At preschool,” he said.

He told us Nadia was supposed to help out with the kids while she stayed here—she claimed to love children—for a couple of hours every night during performances.

“But it turns out Nadia does not have a way with children,” he said, pinning a bill to the fuzzy yellow duck suit.

“What happened?”

“We left her with them for two hours last night. When we got back, Nadia was watching some stupid TV show, and the kids had locked themselves in the bedroom and pushed a toy chest up against it to keep her out. They were terrified!”

“Why?” Maggie asked.

“The kids wanted to watch the Rugrats video—they're both preschoolers—and Nadia wanted to watch cable. There was an argument, and Nadia threatened to smother the children with pillows while they were sleeping and throw them down the garbage chute if they didn't behave. Scared the kids so much they went into the bedroom and barricaded the door to keep her out. We asked her to leave immediately, of course.”

“Caroline knows where she went next?”

“Yes, I think so,” he said.

“Did Nadia say anything about her fiancé or the trouble she's been through or … ?”

“No, she barely talked, other than to threaten the lives of our children. She harumphed a lot. She cried a little just after she got here, but she wouldn't say why. We helped another girl and one young couple on Tamayo's railroad and had no problems. They were great kids. But this one …”

“Yeah, I know,” I said. “You should meet her young feller. He's worse. But at this point, we just want to reunite them.”

“I understand,” he said.

The deadbolt on the door clicked, and a tall woman with short-cropped blond hair came in.

“Caroline, Maggie and some friends of Tamayo's are here looking for Nadia,” Arnold said. “You know where she is?”

“Yes. Hi, Maggie,” she said. “Nadia's in Red Hook. I'll give you the address.”

chapter fifteen

Red Hook used to be one of the poorer and rougher New York neighborhoods. Located between the Brooklyn Bridge and the Atlantic Basin, it sits on a knob of land surrounded on three sides by water and known for the sprawling Red Hook housing projects and for its piers at the endpoint of the Brooklyn promenade. It had been revitalized in the last few years by the arrival of artists looking for low rents.

Phil waited downstairs in the car while Maggie and I went in. The building we were going to was downwind from a pier for garbage barges, heaped high with rotting food and diapers, big black trash bags, and scavenging seagulls. The smell was overpowering.

The “safe house” was not a house at all, but the old Brooklyn Secure Shippers, Inc. warehouse, restored by the New York Council for Artists' Housing to studios and apartments for poor artists. The freight elevator we rode up in was bigger than my office at WWN. Kyra, the woman who was now sheltering Nadia, had a huge studio and not much furniture. Amid the fabric pieces, quilts, and tapestries she was working on were about three dozen air fresheners.

“Sorry about the odor,” Kyra said. “It's the garbage barges. They're closing that pier next month. Usually it's not that noticeable.”

She nodded toward a door to her left, and said, “Nadia's in the back room. Is she really leaving now?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Thank God. She's a real pain. If she's not bitching, she's weeping,” she said, going into a kitchen area, leaving Maggie and me to give Nadia the news.

We went in without knocking.

Nadia was now in weeping mode, and looked pretty pathetic sitting in the middle of a pile of tissues, chocolate bars, empty soda cans, air fresheners, and newspapers, on a futon covered with a quilt. A soap opera was on a fuzzy TV with rabbit-ear antennae. I was tempted to ask her if she was crying because of Rocky, because of something on the soap opera, because of the way the wind was blowing from the garbage pier, or because she didn't have cable. But then I remembered my human duty, and gave her the good news.

“Nadia, we've found Rocky. You can get married, if you really, really want to,” I said.

She looked up and said, “Rocky?”

“Yeah. He showed up at the Chelsea and we stashed him somewhere safe. Grab your stuff, we'll take you to him, and you can tell us all about the Baby and Plotzonia.”

“I don't want to go to Rocky,” she said.

“Why not?” Maggie asked.

“Does he know I'm here? Oh my Godt.”

“No, but he knows we were coming to get you,” I said.

“You idiot!” she screamed. “Rocky is the boy I ran away from! He's the one my parents wanted me to marry. He's why I didn't come back to the Chelsea—because I saw one of his henchmen lurking about, and when I called Tamayo's apartment, Rocky answered. I've got to get out of here. Are all Tamayo's friends IDIOTS?”

“Rocky is the boy you ran away from? He's not the guy you came here to marry?” Maggie asked, ignoring Nadia's rude question.

“No!” She got angry, red-faced, spitting angry. “I came here to marry Gerald. That lying bastard!”

“How did you know Gerald?”

“I met him through Tamayo when I was visiting her last year.”

“You didn't know he was living with Grace Rouse?”

“Not until I called her about a safe house, and she mentioned him,” Nadia said.

“Who are the guys with the bad toupees?” I asked. “One of them wasn't the man you were supposed to marry?”

“No, you idiot,” she said. “Those are Rocky's bodyguards.”

“You thought you were going to marry Gerald?” Maggie said.

“He promised to marry me,” she said. “I brought the icon, as I promised, and he was supposed to run off with me after we got the money, to get married.”

“Who killed him?”

“I don't know. My family, Rocky's family, his crazy girlfriend …”

“Or maybe the terrorists of Saint Michael the Martyr?” I asked.

“You know about the Knights of Saint Michael?” she asked.

“Had a run-in with them, me and Maggie, the other night. They were looking for you, for Rocky, and for an icon called the Baby. You've got some explaining to do.…”

“Were you followed?”

“No. Why—”

“Where's Rocky?”

“At a convent with a bunch of nuns,” I said. “Shit. By now he must know that we know that he's not your groom. I'd better call the Mother Superior and let her know there's a problem.”

I turned my cell phone back on and as soon as I did, it tweetered.

It was Rocky, calling me.

“Bring Nadia here. Tell no one. If you do not do as I say, I will start killing nuns. I will kill Mrs. Ramirez first,” he said, and hung up.

After I relayed this to Maggie and Nadia, I said, “I'm calling the cops.”

“If you call the cops, it will make all sorts of trouble for me. It will cause an international incident, and the nuns will die,” Nadia said. “I need to get back to the Chelsea to pick up something from Miriam.”

“The icon you sold to Miriam Grundy?” I asked.

“If you sold the icon to Miriam Grundy, how come you couldn't just take off with the big bag of unmarked bills?” Maggie asked.

“I have no money! Miriam insisted on having the icon appraised before she paid me, and Gerald had said she was trustworthy. I had no choice but to leave it with her and trust her, stay an extra day at the Chelsea. I was to go back the next day with Gerald to pick up the money.”

“Miriam told us she didn't have it,” I said. “Her assistant told me you didn't have anything with you …”

“He didn't see it. I hid it under my sweater when I went in to meet Miriam. It isn't very big, I must go back to the Chelsea Hotel …”

“No, first we have to go free the nuns,” I said. “Jesus, Nadia. You can go back to the Chelsea later.”

“All right,” she snapped. “I can go talk to Rocky. I'll get him to free the nuns.”

“Then we call the cops and turn him in, right?” I said.

“Yes,” she said.

“You're sure you can convince him?”

“Yes. Rocky is mad for me. I'll … What will I do, Maggie?” Nadia asked.

“Yes, what would
Man Trap
advise?” I asked. “I don't think this is covered.”

“It isn't covered, but I expect he's going to want to think that you've seen the error of your ways, and you realize you love him,” Maggie said.

“He's very much in love with you,” I added.

“Vomit,” Nadia said. “How could you believe I'd want to run off with him?”

“He's the boy who showed up before you did the night you arrived,” I said. “He's the one I sent away. He had pictures of you two together. How was I to know? If you'd been more forthcoming with information, maybe I could have called it. But all you were willing to tell me was that you were escaping an arranged wedding and running off with some dreamy guy. Now you're going to have to make things right.”

“I'll play the part. I'll pretend I love him,” she said, flashing what looked like a sincere look of love and contrition. The girl was good.

“Grab your stuff, Nadia, and let's go down to Phil,” I said.

“W
HEN WE GET TO THE CONVENT
, drop me outside the electrified fence,” Phil said, “and drive in without me. I'll break in and—”

“That's awfully risky, Phil,” I said.

“Remember, luv, I helped put in that security system; I know how to disable it, I know the layout of the convent, and I have my gun with me.”

“I have Dulcinia's gun,” I said.

“The lad's outgunned then. We can take him,” he said, pulling away from the curb. “Robin, you spoke to Rocky, so you go in with Nadia, but leave the cell phone with Maggie. Maggie, you'll stand guard outside the main gate.”

He talked for a while about the layout of the convent. After he disabled the security system, he would enter through the back, where a small hill made it easy to climb the wall. Nadia and I were to keep Rocky talking, and loudly, so Phil could follow our voices and find us in the convent complex. He would try to sneak up behind Rocky and disarm him and anyone else with him.

In the backseat, Maggie sat with Nadia, who hugged her suitcase to her chest.

“Start talking, Nadia,” I said. “First, where is Plotzonia? Rocky said it is Chechnya but he probably lied about that too.”

(She said the name of the country, and it wasn't Chechnya—that little pisher Rocky had lied to me—but another smallish republic nearby. To prevent hard feelings, it shall be known by Nadia's nickname, Plotzonia, as I have offended enough people in the world and don't want native Plotzonians and Plotzonian-Americans mad at me for my comments about their country. I'm sure many of them are decent, free-thinking, good-hearted people who are simply powerless in the face of their dictatorial government. Most Americans haven't even heard of the place and couldn't find it on a map, I expect, but some may know it in connection with the Vlada, that terrible little subcompact car that had enjoyed a certain détentish vogue in the United States in the 1980s, until it was discovered that the cars wouldn't run in heavy rain.)

“How do you know Rocky?”

“We've known each other since we were children,” she said.

Though Nadia was not in love with Rocky now, she admitted she had been in love with him. Rocky and Nadia had been childhood sweethearts, when their fathers were both members of the Plotzonia delegation to the United Nations. Plotzonia wasn't really a separate country at the time—it was firmly under the Soviet thumb. The Soviets just called it a sovereign country to give it another vote in the United Nations General Assembly. When the Soviet bloc broke up, Plotzonia declared its true independence and the reigning Communist puppet, Nadia's grandfather, quickly consolidated control through the army and became a “savage capitalist,” though not a democrat. Things were relatively calm for that part of the world, until grandpa died. Nadia's father and Rocky's father both returned to Plotzonia, where a power struggle broke out between Nadia's father, the North Plotzonian clan chief, and the South Plotzonian clan chief.

A year of civil war ensued, putting a crimp in Plotzonia's economy, which is largely based on the vices of others—drugs, guns, other smuggled goods. The civil war drove Nadia and Rocky apart. A third faction, which had split off from the North Plotzonian forces, the Knights of St. Michael the Martyr, went to war with North and South Plotzonia, vowing to return the country to the One True Church. The South Plotzonians—Rocky's clan—were winning the civil war when the Knights came in and mucked things up for both the North and the South.

In order to fight the Knights of St. Michael, the forces of the North and the South decided to make peace. As part of the peace deal, it was agreed that Nadia and Rocky would marry, formally uniting the two clans and the country. Nadia wasn't sure if she still loved Rocky—their year apart had given her time to reconsider—and she knew she hated Plotzonia, but she was resigned to her fate as an overmedicated consort of a dictator-to-be. In exchange for marrying the boy, she demanded a trip to New York to buy her wedding dress and see Tamayo.

“That was about six months ago,” Nadia said.

A chaperone went with her, but Nadia ditched her and went to stay with Tamayo at the Chelsea, and there she met Gerald Woznik and fell under his spell. They talked about art, and Nadia mentioned that her family had quite a lot of art, including a legendary icon believed to have been painted by Andrei Rublev.