Creepers Page 5

  But not to Frank Corelli.

  It had happened again! He cupped his hand thoughtfully over his mouth, exhaled through the fingers while studying Lisa Hill’s picture. The only difference between this and the Penny Comstock disappearance was that with Comstock there was no witness. Lisa Hill had been with her mother. Even if the mother didn’t see anything, she was still at the scene of the crime. And that was a good beginning. But where to go from here?

  Corelli downed the coffee in one gulp, grabbed a cigarette, and pulled the phone book from the top of the refrigerator. Goddammit! The TA was a public-service organization. It was supposed to provide transportation and safety. But New Yorkers were beginning to pay extravagantly for the questionable privilege of exposing themselves to the danger and filth of the subway. Somebody was screwing up. Maybe it was Dolchik. Or maybe it went higher-to the TA executive offices on Madison Avenue. But whoever was at fault was callously overlooking the fact that the friends of Penny Comstock-and the parents of Lisa Hill-just might be wondering where the hell they were!

  The phone book listed one L. Hill on West Seventy-ninth Street. L for Louise, Corelli thought as he dialed. Maybe a widow. Probably divorced. The Upper West Side was full of divorced women with children, women using only a first initial, hoping to keep their sex and their vulnerability from the cranks and the perverts. After five rings the phone was answered.

  “Yes?” The woman’s voice was lifeless.

  “Mrs. Hill?”

  “What do you want?” A touch of anger lifted her voice momentarily.

  “This is Detective Corelli of the New York Transit Police.”

  “I’ve answered all your questions.” The life drooped out of it again.

  “And I’m sure you’ve been very cooperative, but I’m with the TA-the people who brought you the subway?”

  “Thanks a lot,” she replied, not missing the irony in Corelli’s voice. “So what can I do for you?”

  “I’d like to talk to you about Lisa.”

  Although Louise was beginning to get used to hearing her daughter’s name on the lips of strangers, it was still painful. “I’m not sure I have anything more to say.”

  “I could come over now, if it’s convenient,” Corelli cajoled. He’d be late for work, but Quinn would cover for him.

  “Does it have to be now? I’m-”

  “I’m afraid it does,” Corelli said officially. The case was actually being handled by the city police and as such was out of his jurisdiction. But there was no need to let Mrs. Hill know that there was no love lost between the TA and the NYPD and that he was actually trespassing.

  “You have the address, I presume; everybody seems to,” she said listlessly. “It’s apartment 4-F.”

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  Corelli brushed his teeth, packed Dolchik’s reports into his briefcase, called Quinn and had him cover, then headed toward the subway entrance on West Twelfth Street.

  With any luck, talking to Louise Hill would be a beginning. Exactly what kind, Corelli wasn’t sure, but a beginning nevertheless.

  The apartment house on West Seventy-ninth Street was a large, nondescript gray building whose unimaginative architecture typified the block. Squatting back from the sidewalk, it presented a cheerless facade of dirty stone and smudged windows to the street. Corelli wandered into the sterile and uninviting lobby thinking the co-op more suited for business than for raising a family. The doorman interrupted an animated conversation with an overfed chihuahua to ask Corelli’s business. Seemingly satisfied with the answer, he escorted him into the elevator, punched the button for Mrs. Hill’s floor, then settled back onto a tall wooden stool and yawned with barely exaggerated ennui.

  Corelli hadn’t given Louise Hill much thought since talking to her. He expected she’d be emotionally overwrought, and his keen understanding of human nature had prepared him for almost any reception. She’d sounded withdrawn and uncooperative on the phone, but he knew from working in the subway that people under extreme pressure react in myriad ways. What one moment was a respectable, calm specimen of good citizenry turned, the next, into a howling aggressor. However Mrs. Hill had been affected by her situation, Corelli was ready for anything.

  He was ready for anything-except what he found when Louise Hill opened the door. When she smiled and said his name, he unconsciously straightened up and ran his hand quickly through his hair. Mrs. Hill was beautiful. Not pretty, not good-looking, but beautiful. She was tall, but comfortably shorter than Corelli, slender but firmly built, as if she were athletic-she probably played tennis. Her face was angular, with high cheekbones, full lips, and eyes the color of burnt sugar. Her nose was small and slightly turned up and her glossy black hair was nearly shoulder-length.

  “I hope this won’t be too much trouble, Mrs. Hill,” Frank said as he was shown into a large, sunny living room. It was a long time since any woman had made him wonder how presentable he looked; Louise Hill made him want to go out and start all over again-this time in a new suit, fresh haircut and manicure.

  “Trouble? Until you get Lisa back, that’s all I’ve got.” She sucked in a deep breath that lifted her breasts upward, then exhaled with a sigh. “I guess you’re used to this.”

  “As a matter of fact, no.” Corelli caught himself looking at her breasts, and, confused by his own crassness, turned and surveyed the living room. He may have been right about the building’s impersonality, but he was wrong in thinking it couldn’t be made homey. The living room reflected care, taste, and that most ineffable quality in decorating-love. “Nice place,” he said, barely aware he’d begun to prolong the interview for a reason that was definitely not business.

  “What can I do for you?” Louise fielded the compliment. “I thought I’d answered all the police’s questions.”

  “I’m not with the New York Police Department,” he quickly corrected her. “I’m with the Metropolitan Transit Authority-the MTA, usually known simply as the TA.” He shrugged now, almost apologetically. “I work in the subway.”

  “I didn’t know there were two different police forces.” For the first time since Corelli had walked in, the veil of Louise’s own preoccupation lifted and she studied him openly. Satisfied that he was what he said, she indicated a couch by the window. “I’m sorry, Sergeant Corelli. Won’t you sit down.” She sat on the edge of the chair opposite him. “I’ve had so many people here, so many strangers asking questions, that I’ve begun to think everyone knows his way around here… including you.”

  “I can imagine it’s been a difficult time for you, Mrs. Hill.”

  She stared at him for a moment, then stared down at her feet. “I thought I’d been through tough times before. I was divorced last year and I wondered how I got through it all. That was nothing compared to this.” She remembered the old complaint that talking to an American for five minutes elicited everything there was to be known about him. But, hell, Corelli was in her home. And she’d damn well tell him what she wanted. Besides, he looked kind, like the type of man who just might understand and sympathize. “I’ve been in New York for eight years and I’ve always known as well as anyone what might happen to anyone in this city if they were unlucky. I just never thought it would happen to me.”

  Corelli studied her as she spoke. She had a way of speaking off into the distance, as if she were alone, or reciting lines. But when she finished and lifted her eyes to his, Corelli felt more the center of her attention than if she had spoken to nun directly. Louise Hill was talking from her heart, not through the layers of defense erected to protect New Yorkers from the very dangers that had so suddenly broken through to her. The defenses hadn’t worked. She was totally exposed, and Corelli’s heart went out to her.

  “Now, Sergeant,” she pushed on, “what exactly would you like to know?”

  “Just tell me what happened-exactly.”

  Louise took in a deep breath and, as best she could, recounted the fragmented details of Lisa’s disappearance. She had
already recited the narrative so many times since yesterday that as the words spilled out by rote, her mind drifted slightly. She now remembered how angry she’d been with Lisa for disobeying her, for walking down the platform alone. And she remembered her promise to herself that if anything happened to the child, that would be just fine; she deserved to be taught a lesson. God, why had it taken this horrible tragedy to make her realize that her world began and ended with Lisa? Teach her a lesson? The lesson was Louise’s, and she was beginning to crumble from its severity.

  “When you reached the upper level of the Seventy-second Street platform, did you see anything unusual?” Corelli interrupted her thoughts.

  “There were a few people waiting for the uptown train; nothing else.”

  “Then it didn’t appear they’d just witnessed something out of the ordinary?” The question, while avoiding the word “kidnapping,” was academic-if Lisa Hill had been abducted against her will and forced out of the station, she would have put up one hell of a fight. And that would have attracted attention.

  “The only thing out of the ordinary they saw was me,” Louise said ironically. “They looked at me like I was crazy. I guess I really can’t blame them; I was screaming or something. The police have statements: they all said that until I came, upstairs they saw no one, nothing strange.”

  “Is that why you went back downstairs instead of running out into the street? Because they were so calm?” That wasn’t the real reason, though even Mrs. Hill probably didn’t know it. Corelli guessed that subconsciously she knew Lisa was still underground.

  “I guess that’s why I went back down.” She’d been asked and had answered that question a hundred times. That was the reason, unless…

  “Mrs. Hill?” Corelli asked, sensing she might be remembering something.

  “I had this feeling… No, it’s insane.” She shook her head.

  Corelli leaned forward. Not only was Louise Hill beautiful, she was sensitive, too, a cut above the usual witness to a crime; that could be useful. “Mrs. Hill, think. What kind of feeling did you have?”

  “That Lisa was still down in the subway, that she was close, but I just couldn’t see her.”

  Bingo! But now was not the time to tip his hand. Corelli remained straight-faced. “You said the platform was empty, that you looked and she wasn’t on the tracks.”

  “No, she wasn’t. Still…” The memory filled her mind, and the terror suddenly began again. Louise clenched her hands and tried to forget, but Corelli pushed on mercilessly.

  “Are you sure the downtown platform was empty?”

  “Of course I’m sure. What do you take me for? A moron?” Her voice was suddenly sharp and defensive. She was beginning to lose control.

  “Mrs. Hill, it’s been my experience that people tend to see more than they remember at first. Sometimes, after the initial shock lessens, their memory improves.” Corelli felt bad about forcing the issue, but he had to. Unlike the NYPD, he had a good idea that whatever had happened to Penny Comstock and all the others had also happened to Lisa Hill. And he was determined to find out exactly what that was. “Please, try to remember any other details,” he coaxed.

  “There was no one else on the platform,” she repeated through clenched teeth. “I looked first onto the platform, then into the stairwell, then onto the tracks, and finally down the tunnel…” She paused, stared at Corelli, then turned away and shook her head.

  “What was that? Why did you shake your head?” He fought to keep the excitement from his voice. “You remembered something, didn’t you?”

  “I just remembered…No, it’s nothing.”

  “Let me be the judge of that.” He stood up and went to the window to let her collect her thoughts without being under his scrutiny. “You looked down the tunnel and…?”

  “I thought I saw the flicker of something in the dark, something gray, fluttery… like newspapers that had been caught in a breeze. You know, blowing along the tunnel wall about this high.” When Corelli turned around she had raised her hand about four feet from the floor.

  “Newspapers? Are you sure?” In the darkness of the tunnel, someone running low to the ground could be mistaken for almost anything-particularly by a witness in Louise Hill’s state of mind.

  Louise dropped her hands into her lap. Her shoulders sagged and she sighed again, wearily, hopelessly. “Sergeant Corelli, I’m not sure of my own name anymore. My daughter’s gone. I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours and I’m terribly afraid… and lonely. I’m sorry if I can’t answer your questions the way you’d like.”

  Their eyes met for a moment; then Corelli looked away. He wanted to-had to-maintain the optimum of professionalism for his own sake. But Louise Hill was getting to him. Goddammit, he wanted to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be okay. It wasn’t only her beauty that got him. It was her unashamed vulnerability. Jesus! Here he was in the home of a woman who was going through living hell, and he was getting turned on.

  But Louise Hill saw none of this as she rose from the couch. “I’m going to make a cup of coffee for myself. May I get you one, Sergeant?”

  “That’s ‘Detective,’ Mrs. Hill,” he replied softly. “And the answer is yes.”

  Five minutes later the sound of shattering glass and a cry from the direction of the kitchen had Corelli running, his right hand automatically poised to reach for his gun. He didn’t know what to expect, but as he reached the kitchen door he was aware that his heart was pounding in his chest and that his mouth had gone dry.

  Louise stood silently in the center of the large kitchen. Her head was bowed and her arms dangled lifelessly in front of her. At her feet were a tray and the shattered remains of a coffeepot, mugs, and a plate of homemade cookies. She looked up uncomprehendingly at Corelli as her eyes filled with tears. “Looks like I can’t do anything right anymore,” she managed to say before a wave of tears washed the words away.

  Corelli took a step toward her, feeling like a damned fool. Since yesterday, Louise Hill had obviously been under a great strain, and his incessant questioning had pushed her over the emotional edge. If it hadn’t been for her revelation about the “something gray” in the tunnel, Frank would have felt worse than he did about upsetting her. As it was, he felt like shit. But Louise’s answers might have just given him the start needed to link Dolchik’s file with this disappearance… and then link them all to the same somebody-or somebodies-who preyed on people in the subway.

  “Hey, are you going to be okay?” he asked cautiously.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized while frantically trying to erase the stream of tears. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

  “It’s called delayed reaction. There’s nothing to worry about.” Corelli intended to take her by the hand and lead her back into the living room. Instead, he put his arms around her and pressed her head to his shoulder. Louise tensed momentarily, and when the awkwardness of the moment passed, she relaxed.

  “How about giving me a second chance with that coffee?” she finally asked as she extricated herself from his arms.

  “Leave that to me. You go sit down.” Louise began to protest. “And I won’t take no for an answer.”

  She smiled, pushed aside an errant lock of hair, then left without further protest.

  “So, if the NYPD is handling the case, why are you here, Frank?” Louise asked twenty minutes later. Corelli made good coffee, and it revived her almost as much as his earlier kindness had.

  “Let’s just say I’m moonlighting. The boys in blue know this town from the surface; I know it from the underground.”

  “Some job.” She abruptly changed the subject. “Do you believe that whoever took Lisa is still down there?”

  Corelli shrugged in answer, but the question unsettled him. He was beginning to get a feeling about this whole mess-a feeling that told him he wasn’t just dealing with some creep who snatched kids off platforms and dragged them into tunnels.

  “Frank, be honest with
me. You owe me that much. They took my baby,” she said sorrowfully, “and I cried in front of you. I don’t cry in front of every man I meet-cop or no cop.”

  “I really don’t have any theories about what actually happened. It has occurred to me that someone who knew the subway system inside-out might have taken Lisa into the tunnel. The logical thing is to think she was taken upstairs; I’m not so sure.”

  “Oh, God,” Louise gasped. “My poor baby.”

  “There are two sets of tracks on that particular line-local and express. A knowledgeable man could jump from one set of tracks to the other to avoid oncoming trains; there are also other alternatives. Anyway, once down the line at another station where no one was looking for him, he might easily come up on the platform, then leave.” And as Corelli said it, he knew it was bullshit. Alive or dead, Lisa Hill was still in the subway.

  “What are the chances that that happened, Frank?”

  “I wish I could tell you, but I can’t.” Jesus, life was so unfair. Why the hell did he have to meet Louise Hill now? Why not later, when this was done with. Or better still, months before, when they could have started a relationship like two ordinary human beings.

  He looked at his watch: he was already an hour late for work. “I’ve got to go.”

  Louise saw him to the door, where they hovered a moment or two longer than necessary. “I wish this hadn’t happened, Frank. Not just for Lisa’s sake, but for mine. People shouldn’t have to meet like this,” she admitted softly, echoing Corelli’s thoughts.

  “You and me both,” he agreed. “But it’s happened, and I’m going to do my damnedest to work it out. If I need any more help…”

  “Call me,” she said without hesitation. “And thanks for being so nice earlier.”

  Corelli left with a smile on his face, but back on the street he forced himself to forget Louise Hill and to concentrate on the figure she’d seen in the subway. That was no pile of newspapers blowing along the tracks. It was someone walking, creeping along to avoid detection. He was sure of it. Now all he had to do was prove it.