Hide Your Eyes (22 page)
Authors: Alison Gaylin
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #General, #Contemporary, #Sagas
Before I entered Krull’s room, I nodded at the two guards and took a deep, steadying breath. ‘You Sam?’ said the one on the right, a young guy with a black buzz cut and a marine’s body.
‘Uh . . . Yeah.’
‘Want to hear something funny? My name’s Sam too.’
Yep, that was hilarious all right.
‘That’s not the funny part. When Detective Krull regained consciousness, the first thing he said was, “Sam.” The nurse thought he was asking for me. You should’ve seen the look on his face when
I
showed up in his room!’
I
showed up in his room!’
‘He said, “Sam”?’
‘You’d better get in there fast before he decides to go unconscious again.’
I opened the door to find Krull propped up on fluffed pillows, the plastic tube removed from his mouth. Somebody had given him a shave, which made him look younger and a little vulnerable, especially in that thin, pale hospital gown. ‘Sam.’ His voice was croaky from the tube.
There was so much I wanted to say, to do. Run across the room and jump on top of him, for one thing, but I figured that would probably upset the IV. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘I’m so glad you’re okay.’
‘You’re glad
I’m
okay?’
I’m
okay?’
‘The last I saw, you were . . . shooting my gun at that . . . God, you’re beautiful.’
‘That has to be the morphine talking.’“phi yo I moved closer, took his hand in mine. It was warmer now, and so soft. ‘Your pupils are huge.’
‘Thank you.’ He gave me a half smile.
‘I didn’t get him, by the way.’
‘It was a good try—’ He grimaced. ‘Please don’t ever get shot in the neck, because it hurts.’
‘You probably shouldn’t be talking so much.’
‘Do I look that bad?’
‘Pretty crappy.’
‘These drugs . . . My head feels like it’s full of cotton candy.’
I could hear voices outside the room, the handle on the door turning.
Do they want me out of here already?
Do they want me out of here already?
I wished there was something I could say to him, some meaningful words or a piece of good news to cut through the drugs and make him strong again. But there was no time for words, and I didn’t have any good news.
So I kissed him on the mouth. It was like breaking the surface of deep water after a long time under. ‘That was from Amanda Patton,’ I said.
‘Her husband’s going to kill me.’
‘Sorry, honey.’ I looked up and saw the ICU nurse, heavyset and thin lipped, as serious as her voice.
‘That was fast.’
‘I’ll let you back in soon, when he’s a little stronger. In the meantime, you’ve got two visitors in the waiting room.’
It wasn’t until I’d left his room that I began to wonder who those visitors might be.
As I headed toward the waiting room, an image flashed into my mind: Mirror Eyes and his girlfriend, sitting side by side on the waiting room couch, next to the stacked-up blankets and pillows from the previous night, staring at the door.
I almost bypassed the waiting room altogether and headed for the lobby to dial 911. In fact, I would have done it if two cops hadn’t been standing in front of the elevator, if the waiting room door hadn’t swung open, and if Yale hadn’t flown out of it and nearly knocked me over. ‘Fabulous news about Detective Krull. Now get in here immediately.’
He grabbed my arm, pulled me into the room, which was empty save Veronica Bliss, who sat on the couch, looking at me like she expected to get socked in the face.
‘What are you doing here?’ I said.
‘I don’t know. Ask your friend.’
‘Sam, have you ever dated anyone named Intargio?’
‘Intaglio,’ Veronica said. ‘Evan Intaglio.’
‘No.’
‘I didn’t think so,’ said Yale.
I looked at Veronica. Her cheeks burned the same pink as the embroidered strawberries on her navy Shetland sweater. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Who is Evan Intaglio?’ I said.
‘Someone . . . who . . . was looking for you.’
Yale nodded at me and narrowed his eyes and I began to understand. ‘You’ve been talking to—’
‘I thought you knew him. He said he was your ex-boyfriend, and you have so many ex-boyfriends—’
‘How did he—’
‘He called school on Monday and said, “Is Samantha Leiffer there?” I guess he’d called that theater where you work, and they gave him our number.’
‘Probably Hermyn,’ Yale said. ‘She’s not used to talking on the phone.’
‘It was early, and nobody was there but Anthony and me. So I took the call.’
‘Veronica, how could—’
‘Evan said he’d met you in Chicago.’
‘I’ve never been to Chicago!’
‘How am I supposed to know that?’
The hairs pricked up on the back of my neck. I gritted my teeth to stop the sensation.
‘He sounded so . . . sweet . . . And he said he missed you.’
I remembered the way Veronica had looked at me on Monday, with that glint of perplexing envy. How could anybody be jealous of a hangover, I’d thought. But it wasn’t the hangover. It was him. Evan Intaglio. Mirror Eyes. ‘All he wanted was your home phone number.’
‘You gave him my home phone number?’
‘And then we started talking, and we found out we had a lot in common.’
Like what, Veronica? Wanting to see me dead?
‘We talked about God, and doing good works and, frankly, I couldn’t see what he saw in you. You didn’t seem to share any of his interests.’
I stared at her. The fact that she“e f an could still find a way to make snide comments when she’d just admitted to putting a serial killer on my trail was so astronomically bitchy I almost admired her for it.
‘It gets worse,’ Yale said, and my mind went straight to the magazine ad in my desk.
‘Did you let him into the school, Veronica?’ I was trying to stay calm, but my voice cracked, like a teenage boy’s. ‘On . . . Tuesday morning?’
She picked at a cuticle. ‘I didn’t,’ she said. ‘But Anthony may have.’
‘What do you mean, he may have?’
Her voice was barely audible. ‘Evan . . . got in somehow.’
‘Tell her how you know that,’ said Yale, making no effort to stay calm.
‘He . . .’
‘He left a dozen red roses on Veronica’s desk.’
I stared at him, let the scene play through my mind. A man shows up at Sunny Side before school hours, well-dressed, with a dozen roses. He’s wearing sunglasses. Anthony sees him at the gate. A nice-looking guy in sunglasses with roses for Veronica. Poor Veronica, who never gets roses. The man tells him his name. Evan Intaglio. Anthony’s last name is Ciriglio. Intaglio/Ciriglio. They could be cousins . . .
‘I never met him in person,’ said Veronica.
‘No,’ Yale said. ‘But you chatted online with him that night.’
‘Did you give him my e-mail address at the Space?’
‘I think so,’ she said quietly. ‘But he said he wasn’t interested in you anymore. He said he’d seen you at a bar recently, near your apartment, drinking like a fish.’
‘Jesus.’
‘I thought you were just out sick yesterday. I had no idea we were under surveillance. Terry never told me. He never tells me anything. I found out from Yale.’
Veronica took off her glasses. Without them she looked doughy and slightly cross-eyed, like an overgrown baby. ‘Poor Detective Krull.’
Please don’t let her cry. I can’t take her crying right now
. ‘Did . . . Evan . . . happen to say anything about model airplanes?’
. ‘Did . . . Evan . . . happen to say anything about model airplanes?’
‘Um, no . . .’
‘What about acrylic paint?’
‘Paint?’
‘Nothing about any hobbies he might have?’
‘Just charities. Toys for . . . Tots.’ She winced as she said it, as if she were just at this moment figuring it all out. She looked into my eyes, and before I turned away, I saw it there. The awful comprehension. The murdered children.
‘I’ll talk to the police,’ she said. ‘Anyone you want me to talk to, I will.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, but still, I couldn’t make myself look at her face.
After we phoned Art Boyle and told him about Evan Intaglio, Yale and I bypassed the guards, stuffed Veronica into a cab and sent her off to the Sixth Precinct.
It seemed like years since I’d been out of this hospital, and I was surprised at how normal everything looked. The reporters were gone. Krull’s doctor had given a press conference and presumably, they were all back at their newspapers, writing their stories. It was cold, and overcast, and people slammed past us in their thick coats, just like any afternoon on any day in late winter.
For the first time since Friday, I didn’t feel watched, and I wondered if Evan Intaglio had taken off his black scarf and his Magic Mirrors and left the city. If he were smart, he would’ve done that, maybe killed his girlfriend first for good measure.
I wondered how long it would take before her body turned up in a Dumpster or a footlocker or a cooler in the river, with her nails polished purple and paint in her hair.
They make you so pretty for your funeral
.
They make you so pretty for your funeral
.
‘I hate that motherfucker,’ I said to Yale as we walked back toward the building.
‘Try not to be so hard on her. She didn’t know.’
‘Not Veronica,’ I said. ‘Evan Intaglio.’
Yale stopped at the revolving door. ‘What kind of a name is that, anyway? There’s something made-up about it.’
‘Oh really, Yale St. Germaine?’
‘Well,’ he said. ‘It is unusual . . . Hey, I’ve got an idea.’
‘You’re not going to suggest we look him up in the phone book.’
‘No, of course not. But we could call Peter, get him to talk to his contact-lens salesman, and see if an Evan Intaglio ever bought Magic Mirrors from him. He might have a credit card or something, and we could give it to the police.’
I shook my head. ‘Krull said they’ve already collected receipts from every optical store that’s sold Magic Mirrors to anybody in the tristate area. Which is a hell of a lot of people - probably more now that they’ve made Liz Smith’s column.’
I remembered first seeing Miranda with them, on Monday night at the box office. She’d said Magic Mirrors would be ‘totally hot in about a week,’ but it turned out she“ tued ’d been off by a few days.
The makeup artist on Addie? She’s got ’em too, and so does my friend William who works at
Allure.
I even saw this clerk at that toy and hobby store on Twenty-eighth who was wearing them. Scared my poor niece half to death
. . .
The makeup artist on Addie? She’s got ’em too, and so does my friend William who works at
Allure.
I even saw this clerk at that toy and hobby store on Twenty-eighth who was wearing them. Scared my poor niece half to death
. . .
‘Where are you going?’ said Yale, but I didn’t reply, just let him follow me as I rushed back toward the street and hailed a cab. I let him get in beside me as I asked the driver to take me to Twenty-eighth Street.
As the cab lurched along, I took out my cell phone, called the Sixth Precinct and asked for Boyle. When the desk sergeant couldn’t find him, I asked for every detective whose name I knew. Not one was available - not even Pierce - so I told her it was urgent that someone, anyone, meet me at the toy and hobby store on Twenty-eighth.
‘Miss Leiffer, where are you right now?’
‘I’m in a cab.’
‘Headed?’
‘I just told you!’
‘What’s the address of the store?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What’s the name?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. Then the connection failed.
‘Perhaps we should have clarified our plan before leaving,’ Yale said.
‘Screw you.’
‘All right. Never mind. But I’ve got two questions.’
The cab turned east on Twenty-eighth. ‘Slow down please,’ I said to the driver. ‘We’ll know it when we see it.’
‘Question one: What if the club kid Miranda saw working at this nameless toy store is not our Evan Intaglio? Question two: What if he is?’
‘If he is, and the cops still haven’t found us, I’ll call 911. If he isn’t, at least we can feel like we’ve done something.’
‘Sam, you’ve been shot in the back. I’d say you’ve done quite a bit already.’
The driver turned around and stared at me, but I kept my eyes out the window. ‘I just . . .’ I said, ‘hate that he’s put himself in my mind.’
‘Stop.’ At first, I thought Yale was talking to me, but then the driver obeyed. As Yale fished money out of his wallet, I looked out his window, saw a small storefront on a crumbling brownstone with a sign that read, ‘Cinderella’s Toy and Hobby.’ And not a police car in sight.
‘That was her playmate’s name,’ I said.
<
‘Who?’
‘Who?’
‘Sarah Flannigan. Ariel. She had an invisible playmate named Cinderella.’
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