Katya and the
other servers gave statements to the uniformed policeman then again to the
homicide detectives who showed up a few minutes later. She noticed Thorne took aside the detective
in charge, Lieutenant Drumm. The two men
spoke in whispered tones and shot glances at Katya. The women were then taken to a police station
for further questioning.
It was six in the
morning when Katya left the police station.
She was given warnings to not leave the city and be available for
further questioning. Katya was pretty
sure the police would have arrested her if they had any definite evidence. She hailed a cab and went home.
Katya lived in a
brownstone apartment building in midtown Manhattan. The large two bedroom apartment and midtown
address were more than a young model should have been able to afford. When Katya had moved to the United States,
she had taken her share of the family funds designated when she was born. Seventy-five years of interest had grown the
funds to a sizeable sum of money by 1948.
One of the first things Katya had done after arriving in New York was
establish bank accounts under several names throughout the city. Between the interest on her savings and what
she earned on her own she could live quite comfortably.
She rose from bed
around noon. She had a modeling job at
two and didn’t want to cancel. After a
quick shower she made coffee, put a thick slice of leftover meatloaf on toast,
and sat down to eat and think.
All the servers are suspects but the police
think I’m the prime suspect, she thought.
They’re going to start digging
around my affairs until they find something useful. They’re going to want to know who’s paying
for this place for starters. Maybe it’s
time to move on.
Katya had hoped
to use her Ekaterina Bathory persona for maybe five more years or so before people
started questioning the discrepancy between her appearance and Ekaterina’s age. But with the harsh spotlight of police
scrutiny on her, Katya had to seriously consider the idea of abandoning her
current life. It was certainly what any
other Hidden One would do. Especially
with Hunters involved. Horace Jameson
and Caleb Moore, the other two suspected Hunters at the dinner party, would be
following the investigation and probably wondering if one of her kind was
responsible for Ryan’s death.
But she was hesitant
to run away. First, she really liked her
life as Ekaterina. Second, running would
be seen as a sign of guilt. Katya hadn’t
killed Ryan and the thought of being blamed for his death didn’t sit well with
her.
Well, she thought as she finished the
last of the coffee, if I don’t want to
run away, I’ll have to find the killer myself.
At her model
shoot, Katya casually asked the other models about Mortie Ryan. She had heard rumors before about him and
wanted some corroboration. After the
photo shoot, she took a taxi to an address in the Upper East Side and got out
in front of a gray townhouse.
She walked up the
front steps to the stoop and rang the doorbell.
The door was opened by a stern looking black man in a dark suit.
“Miss Bathory to
see Mister Thorne,” she said. The man
let her into the front hall and disappeared into the house. He returned a moment later and led through
the hallway to a large office. Newton
Thorne was seated at a massive desk writing rapidly.
“Please excuse my rudeness,” he said without
looking up. “I want to finish this
chapter while it’s fresh in my mind.”
The black man
showed her to a red leather chair on front of the desk. She sat down and the man quietly left the
room. Thorne finished writing a moment later,
put the sheet of paper on a stack of paper, and set a paperweight on top.
He turned to her
without rising. “What can I do for you,
Miss Bathory?”
“I need your
help, Mr. Thorne.”
“I’m not sure I
can be of any help to you.”
“I think you can. You’re known as a smart man and you have the
ear of the police. I need both of those
things to clear my name.”
A tight smile
crossed his face as he considered her over steepled hands. “Why should I help you clear your name? For all I know you killed Mr. Ryan.”
Katya met his
eyes with a cool face. “I know you have
no reason to trust me anymore than I have to trust you.”
“Why would you
not trust me?”
“The chef, the
assistant in the kitchen and the one in the dining room all work at a restaurant
you partially own. One or all of them
may be involved in the murder, either on their own or acting under your
instructions. Either way it’s in your
interest to pin the blame on the servers instead of your employees.”
“And what would be their motive, Miss Bathory? None of them knew the man.”
“Neither did I,”
Katya countered. “I knew who he was, of
course. Everyone trying to get on
Broadway has heard of him. But I never
met him before the dinner last night. I
had no reason to kill him.” Aside from the fact that he killed and ate
people like me.
“I only have your
word for that.” Thorne paused. “The motive for Mr. Ryan’s murder has been
bothering me.”
It was Katya’s
turn to smile. “I’m surprised you didn’t
know. Ryan was discreet but you seem
like someone who knows a lot of other people’s secrets.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Mortie Ryan was
very fond of women and used his position to get them. A woman trying to get anywhere on Broadway
has to be sociable. Ryan wanted women to
be sociable to the last stitch, if you get my meaning.”
“I think I get
the picture.”
“Some women were
less willing than others to go that far but from what I hear Ryan got his way
more often than not. If a woman
complained, well, it was her word against his.
Who do you think people would believe?
To be blunt, your friend Mortie Ryan was a rapist.”
“Mr. Ryan was an acquaintance
but not really a friend. We shared a
love of good food and attended some of the same events but we weren’t
particularly close. I didn’t know
anything about his personal life.”
Katya let out a
quiet sigh of relief. If Thorne wasn’t
close to Ryan, it lowered the odds that he was a Hunter. She admitted to herself she was relieved
mainly because she thought Thorne was an attractive man.
“If one of the
servers was one of Ryan’s victims, she would have a powerful reason to kill
him. The agency provided the guest list
in advance so we knew who was attending.
There was plenty of time to prepare.
To her, it would have been justice as much as revenge.”
“That’s an
interesting theory. But I must point out
that your theory could also apply to you, Miss Bathory. Again I only have your word that you never
met Mr. Ryan before. But for the sake of
this conversation let’s say you’re not the killer. How do you think I can help you find the real
killer?”
Katya explained
her idea. Thorne listened without interrupting.
“That’s an outrageous plan,” he said when Katya finished. “I wouldn’t use it in one of my mystery
novels. But it might shake up someone
enough that she’ll make a mistake.”
The next evening
Katya was seated at a table in a small West Village restaurant. She looked at her watch. It was a few minutes past eight o’clock. Looking up, she spotted Peggy Murray entering the restaurant. Peggy wore a large floppy hat that kept her
face in shadow. Katya waved to her. Peggy came to the table and sat.
Katya had called each of the other servers
that afternoon and told them she remembered seeing her take a second
plate. She had not specifically asked
for money but the blackmail implication was clear.
The reactions had been mixed. Some called her a liar and other nastier
names before hanging up. Others had
listened, hung up, and then called the police to report her. That’s where Thorne’s police connections came
in. Lieutenant Drumm had been furious
but agreed to take no action against her.
Only Peggy Murray had agreed to meet Katya, asking where and when.
“I’m glad you agreed to see me,” Katya
said.
“I don’t think I really had a choice,”
Peggy replied.
The waitress came over. “Would you like to order something? Spaghetti alla bolognese is tonight’s
special.”
“I’m not hungry,” Peggy said.
“I’ll have the special, please. And coffee.
Will you at least have coffee, Peggy?”
“Yes.
Coffee, please.”
The waitress left. Katya turned back to Peggy. “Can we discuss this matter like adults?”
“You’re wrong. You didn’t see me take a second plate because
I didn’t. I just don’t know if you’re
lying or you’re mistaken.”
“Oh, I’m not mistaken. I could have said something to the police
earlier but I saw an opportunity.”
“What opportunity?”
“I realized this information might be
worth something to you. Or more
precisely, keeping this information to myself might be worth something to you.”
“I see.”
“You don’t have to give me an answer right
now. Think it over. But don’t take too long. I might decide clearing my name is more
important than the money.”
The waitress returned. She served the spaghetti and coffee then
turned to go. Katya surreptitiously put
out her foot and tripped the waitress, who fell to the floor. She helped the embarrassed waitress up and
retrieved her platter.
Katya returned to her seat and began
eating. She was unsurprised at the
slightly gritty taste of the sauce. “You
must have really hated Ryan to poison him.”
“He ruined my life. I can barely stand being near a man, much
less be touched by one.” Peggy paused
and gave Katya a crooked grin. “It feels
good to tell someone about it.
Especially since I know you won’t tell anyone.”
Thorne rushed out of the kitchen where he
had been listening to the microphone hidden it the table. “Stay right there, Miss Murray. The owner is calling the police as we
speak. We’ve heard enough for them to
charge you with murder.”
Katya grabbed Thorne’s arm. “Check her purse for arsenic. She slipped something into my food. And I think I need to go to the hospital.”
“You were damned lucky you got such a
small dose of poison, Miss Bathory,” Thorne said as he drove her home. After a trip to a hospital they had gone to
the police station to make statements.
Katya suppressed a smile. She had made sure Peggy Murray had an opportunity
to poison her. Of course she hadn’t told
Thorne that part of her plan. The hard part had been to consume enough of the poison to have an effect. Her kind
healed quickly and she knew the poison wouldn’t kill her. She absently rubbed her legs, remembering
when they had been shattered by machinegun fire in Bavaria at the end of the
war.
“I have to admit I was skeptical,” he
continued. “There were about a hundred
things that could have gone wrong. But
between what we recorded at the restaurant and her attempt on your life the
case against her is rock solid. I’m
quite impressed, Miss Bathory.”
“Please, call me Katya.”
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