The Diviners (45 page)

“I’m sorry. That’s terrible.” In the afternoon sun, the city shimmered like a mirage. “Sam Lloyd doesn’t sound very Russian, though.”

“Sergei Lubovitch. My father changed our last name to Lloyd when he and my mother came through New York. When I was born, he insisted they name me Sam. As in Uncle.”

“I thought you looked familiar,” Evie teased. “Where’s your father now?”

“Back in Chicago, I suppose.”

“You don’t know?”

“My father and I didn’t get along too well. He likes to say no, and I’m supposed to say yes. He didn’t like it when I could say no myself. And he sure didn’t like it when I said I wanted to find out what really happened to Mama.”

“I thought you said she died.”

“That’s what they told us. Two years ago, I got this.” He pulled the worn postcard of trees and mountains from his pocket. Evie pretended it was the first time she’d seen it.

“Pretty. Where is this?”

“I don’t know. That phrase on the back, there. It’s Russian.”

Evie examined the soft handwriting, obviously feminine.

“It means ‘little fox.’ It was my mother’s nickname for me. She was the only one who ever called me that. That’s when I knew my mother was alive, and I was going to find her. So I took off. I joined up with the navy for a bit—till they found out I was only fifteen. Then I fell in with a circus.”

“You did not!”

“Scout’s honor.”

“You’re no scout,” Evie sniped. They hit a bump and Evie careened into Sam for a second. “Sorry.” She sat back, red-faced.

Sam smiled. “No apology necessary. Gee, I might have to hit another.”

Evie cleared her throat. “The circus?”

“The circus. I trained as an acrobat. Got pretty good on the high wire. Quick feet. I even worked as a barnstormer, doing aerial tricks out on the wings.”

“On a moving aeroplane?”

Sam grinned. “You should try it sometime. Though if you really want to see someone do it up right, you should see Barnstormin’ Belle Butler, the aerialist extraordinaire.”

“Who is
that
, pray tell?”

“An old friend.”

Evie arched an eyebrow. “What sort of friend?”

Sam smiled but didn’t satisfy her curiosity. “The circus brought me to Coney Island. When they headed south to Florida for the winter, I decided to stay here for a while, see if I could make enough money so I could find my mother.”

Evie looked at the postcard again. It was a beautiful picture of blue skies and tall trees, with mountains in the background. She
handed it back to Sam, who secured it inside his jacket pocket once more. “Doesn’t seem like much to go on.”

“I’m going to find her,” Sam said, sounding very determined. “So now you know about me. What about you? How’d you end up with your uncle?”

Should she tell him the truth? Then she might have to admit that she’d tried to read his mother’s postcard and gotten nothing from it. He might be furious. Or he might ask her to try again. And when she couldn’t get a read, he’d think she was a liar.

“I killed a man for insulting my honor,” Evie said blithely.

“Naturally. And?”

“And… I robbed a five-and-dime. I can never have enough paste bracelets.”

“Who can? And?”

“And… I accused the town golden boy of knocking up a chambermaid.”

Sam let out a low whistle. “For fun?”

Evie looked up. The sun seemed close enough to touch, like a shimmering foil prop in a Broadway show. “I was at a party filled with those ‘bright young things’ you love to hate. Yes, I was one of them. It was late and I was drunk and… anyway, it was just some gossip I heard,” she lied. “But it turned out to be true.”

“I don’t understand. If it was true, how come you got sent up the river?”

Evie wished she could tell him the truth, but she’d also promised Will she’d stay mum, and she didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize her stay in New York. “I really did kill a man in Ohio.”

“Hmm. And then these murders started in New York. Coincidence?”

“You’re on to me, Lloyd. I’m afraid I’ll have to kill
you
now. Be
a honey and sit still while I strangle you.” Evie reached playfully for his throat and Sam jerked the wheel, making the car swerve and Evie scream.

“I’ll go quietly, sister,” Sam said, correcting their course. “Just don’t wreck us.”

They parked Will’s old Model T a block away and dodged the trolley rattling up the cobblestones of Centre Street on their way toward the Tombs. The imposing, elliptical jail was anchored by a turret at each end and surrounded by a tall stone wall and an iron railing, which made it seem more like some medieval fortress than a modern New York City building.

“If I give you this signal”—Sam put a finger to the side of his nose—“it means distract the flat foot while I steal what we need. Got it?”

“Got it. But how will we find where they’re holding him?” Evie said in despair. They entered the building to find a bedlam of officers and miscreants. It was like opening night at a Broadway show of criminals.

Sam walked up to the officer at the front desk. “Pardon me. The lady here heard you might be holding her brother, Jacob Call?”

The officer conferred with someone over the telephone and came back shaking his head.

“No visitors.”

“I see. We just want to be sure he’s not being held down below. He had pneumonia just last month, and that swampy air isn’t good for his lungs,” Sam said.

The officer turned to Evie. “He’s in the warden’s office on this floor, so you can rest easy, Miss.”

Evie batted her lashes and tried to look forlorn. “Thank you. You’ve been a real doll, sir.”

Sam put his finger to his nose in the secret signal, at which Evie’s eyes fluttered. She swayed on her feet. “Oh, ohhhh…” She swooned as attractively as she could, and the officer caught her. Through slitted eyes, Evie watched Sam steal his keys.

“Oh, thank you, officer. If I could just sit down somewhere until I feel steadier on my feet?”

The officer led them inside to a waiting bench. Evie winked at Sam and he whispered low in her ear, making her neck tingle. “Sister, together, we could be a hell of a team.”

Up front, a commotion broke out among a group of drunks and the officer abandoned Evie and Sam to help out. Evie grabbed Sam’s hand and pulled him after her, deep into the building.

“For the record, sister, this isn’t my idea of a swell time,” Sam whispered as he and Evie sneaked through the labyrinthine corridors of the city’s notorious jail.

“How are we going to get past the guards?” Evie said. She could see a policeman sitting on a stool behind a desk, filling out paperwork.

“Leave that to me.”

“Sam,” Evie warned as they got close.

The officer looked up, and it seemed to Evie that he looked right at them. She heard Sam muttering something under his breath, prayerlike. He put up a hand as if to shield them, and the officer looked back down at his paperwork, almost as though he hadn’t seen them. It was very strange, and Evie told herself that he hadn’t really seen them after all.

“That was a stroke of luck,” she said, letting out her breath.

“Just keep walking,” Sam instructed.

They found Jacob Call sitting in a dingy room with only two chairs and a table. He wore the same coveralls and black hat as when they’d last met him. The pendant still hung from his neck.
His sleeves were pushed up some, and Evie could see crude tattoos peeking out from beneath the cuffs.

“Hello again,” Evie said. “Do you remember me, Mr. Call?”

Brother Call barely glanced at her. “Yep.”

“I hear you won’t tell the police anything. Why is that?”

“Won’t tell them. Won’t tell you,” he said.

“That’s a shame. I think we’d have just oodles of things to talk about. This, for instance.” Evie placed the Book of the Brethren on the table between them.

Jacob Call’s expression darkened. “Where’d you get that?”

Evie opened the book and turned the pages but didn’t offer him a glimpse. “Fascinating reading. Much better than
Moby-Dick
. Like this passage, for instance.”

She’d opened to the page for the eleventh offering, the Marriage of the Beast and the Woman Clothed in the Sun. She laid the book on the table and watched as Jacob Call looked on in awe.

“The ritual of the offerings. It’s begun, hasn’t it? The rise of the Beast?”

He leaned forward, placing a hand reverently on the page. “Just like the prophet seen,” he said. “When the fire burns in the sky, the chosen one will make the final offering. The Beast will rise in him, and Armageddon will begin.”

Evie’s skin crawled. She fought to keep her composure. “And the Beast comes into this world through the ritual kill—um, the offerings. Is that correct?”

Jacob Call gave a curt nod. “The world has fallen into sin. The Lord will purify it in blood through the chosen one.”

“And you are that chosen one,” Evie tried.

The man’s lip curled in contempt. “Why should I tell you? You ain’t the law or a believer. You’re just a girl.”

“Just like Ruta Badowski was a girl?” Evie snapped. She did
not like Jacob Call one bit. “Tell me, did you really mail her eyes to the police as an offering to the Beast, so that he’d know you’d fulfilled the prophecy?” she bluffed.

“I-I done it. May it please the Lord.”
Jacob Call wouldn’t make a very good poker player
, Evie thought. In that brief, unguarded moment of surprise, he’d shown his hand—he didn’t know she was lying. He didn’t know the details of the murder.

“What about Tommy Duffy’s hands? What did you do with them?” she pressed.

Jacob Call sat stone-faced. “I’ve said all I’m a-goin’ to. I ain’t saying no more.”

“All right, then. I just want to know one more thing. That’s all, and then I’ll leave you alone. Your pendant—what does it mean?”

Jacob Call continued to sit in silence.

“Let’s blouse, Evie,” Sam said. “I hear somebody coming down the hall.”

“It’s just darling!” Evie said, deliberately goading him. “I simply must have one for myself. Where did you get it?”

“The Lord will not be mocked!” Jacob said, glaring.

“Who said anything about mocking the Lord? I just want to know the name of your jeweler. Or perhaps you’d let me buy yours….” Evie reached out a finger as if to touch the pendant, and Jacob Call pounded his fists on the table, making her jump back.

“It’s for me and me alone! And the Lord said, ‘Anoint thy flesh and prepare ye the walls of your houses. Bind your spirit to the Holy Mark and wear it upon your person always and ye shall be protected both in this life and the hereafter. But take care that the Holy Mark be not destroyed. For then shall ye sever the tie to your spirit!’ ”

“I see,” Evie said, trying not to smile. She’d gotten what she
needed, though her heart was racing. “I’ll just try Tiffany’s, then. Thanks all the same.”

“What was that hooey about binding yourself to the Holy Mark?” Sam asked after they’d slipped out of the Tombs and were walking briskly back to the spot where they’d parked Will’s car.

“He seems to believe that you can tie your spirit to that pendant, that it’s some sort of magical object that allows you to live on.”

Sam let out a whistle. He shook his head. “The things people will believe. So, you think he’s our killer?”

Evie shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so. The killer didn’t send Ruta Badowski’s eyes parcel post. I made that up, and he went along with it.”

“Maybe he’s only pretending not to know.”

“Maybe,” Evie concurred, but she wasn’t convinced.

A newsie hawked the late edition on the curb. “Extra! Extra!
Daily News!
Pentacle Killer exclusive! Read all about it!”

Evie tossed the kid some change and gaped at the headline:
COPYCAT KILLER
!
PENTACLE FIEND TAKING GRUESOME PAGE FROM HISTORY?
“That fink!” Evie fumed. “I gave him that tip, and he went and used it to make a name for himself!”

“Never trust the press, doll,” Sam said.