For Love of Audrey Rose (18 page)

Janice accepted another cup of hot coffee, this time able to keep from spilling.

“He’s looking for a girl he believes to be his daughter,” she said.

“What’s he, drunk?” Wilkins shouted. “A psycho?”

“He’s been in a sanitarium. He escaped yesterday.”

The officer leaned forward again, remaining polite.

“What sanitarium is that, ma’am?” he asked.

“The Eilenberg Clinic. In Ossining.”

“And what is the doctor’s name?”

“Dr. Geddes. Ask him to describe me. He’ll know who I am.”

“Check it out, Cooper,” Wilkins ordered.

Snatches of radio broadcast suddenly increased in volume: MOVING TO THE UPPER PLATFORM … GIRL VISIBLE … UP ON THE HIGH ROOF … RIFLES MOVE INTO POSITION …

Wilkins reached into the patrol car and picked up the radio phone.

“Wilkins here,” he said gruffly. “No rifles. Can’t see your ass from your front end up there. Let’s get the kid alive, all right?”

He replaced the radio phone, just as Cooper came back quickly slipping on the ice, then grabbing hold of the patrol car bumper. He nodded to Wilkins. His words came rushing out.

“There
is
a man escaped from the Eilenberg Clinic,” he said. “Name’s Templeton.”

“Dangerous?”

“No record of violence.”

“All right, miss,” Wilkins said to Janice. “You’re on. Think you can talk to this husband of yours?”

“I can try.”

Janice followed Wilkins through the cordon of police. Now she saw, far overhead, weirdly foreshortened by the towering perspective, a man’s form, the white shirt bright against the winter clouds. The face was lost in darkness, but against the chest was a large bundle.

“Bill!” she shouted.

No answer, but the crowd sensed something and grew silent.

Wilkins and Janice went into the main door, now brightly lit with portable lamps and flashlights as well as the main corridor lights. Swinging arcs of the news team followed her, making their shadows leap and swarm. Wilkins angrily slammed the door shut.

“Scavengers,” he hissed.

Wilkins led her up the floors, at each of which was a patrolman, armed with a long rifle. Wilkins knocked at the Hernandez door and then forced it open. Two policemen looked up. Huddled against the corner were Mrs. Hernandez, her sister, and two young men Janice had never seen before.

Mrs. Hernandez turned to Janice, her face swollen and red, the tracks of tears down her cheeks and around to her lower lip, making the once pretty face grotesque.

“Mrs. Templeton?” she whispered, puzzled.

“He’s my husband, Mrs. Hernandez. I’ve come to help. If I can—”

“But why he do this? He say he from Welfare. I open the door. He start talking funny. I try to close the door. And look—my head. He push me down and hurt my head. Then he take my Juanita.”

“He’s not well,” Janice said. “He’s sick, up here, but he won’t hurt Juanita.”

“He’s a dead man if he does,” snarled one of the young men.

“Let’s try the window,” Wilkins said to one of the patrolmen.

The patrolman led the way to the living room, rammed the window open as far as it would go, and stuck his head out. He drew back in.

“It’s a bad angle, sir. Especially since he moved back.”

Wilkins poked his head out and bellowed. “Templeton! Listen to me! That girl is not yours! You bring her back and we’ll get you some proper help! Hear me?”

They listened. There was only the soft sound below of cold men stepping on new-fallen snow; that, and a derisive crowd hooting from far away. Wilkins turned to Janice.

“You try.”

Janice leaned so far out the window that Wilkins braced himself and held on to her.

“Bill!” she yelled. “Listen to me, Bill! The girl’s name is Juanita! She doesn’t belong to us! Bill! Bring her back!”

Wilkins pulled her back in.

“Gorman! There’s a fire escape platform that goes up to the roof. See if you can find a way to get up there.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t go up there. Just let me know what it looks like.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mrs. Hernandez burst into wailing, a keening sound as though already mourning the loss of Juanita.

“Is he—is he gonna jump?” one of the young men asked.

“I don’t know what the hell he’s going to do, kid,” Wilkins said. “Listen, Mrs. Templeton. Is he religious?”

“Not exactly.”

“No priest or anybody he would listen to?”

Janice thought a moment. Wilkins’s face was only inches in front of her, waiting aggressively, staring at her as though he had trouble with his eyes. They were all watching her and they sensed her sudden uneasiness.

“Maybe there is somebody,” she said softly.

“Well, who, God damn it?”

“His name is Sri Parutha. He’s Master of the Hompa Hongwanji Buddhist Temple in Greenwich Village.”

Wilkins raised a gray tuft of an eyebrow.

“I might have known,” he muttered. “You, uh, wouldn’t know the telephone number?”

“Yes. It’s 555-2024.”

“Okay, Cooper. You know how to use the telephone.”

While Cooper ran down to the telephone booth, Wilkins paced around and around. They sensed when Bill was moving by the “ooohs” and “ahhhhs” of the crowd down below. Mrs. Hernandez rocked back and forth, refusing all comfort, as though she herself had passed the brink of death.

Wilkins checked his watch.

“I don’t like this,” he murmured. “That girl’s going to get real sick out in the cold like this.”

Janice touched his sleeve. Surprised, he turned.

“Let me go up to the roof,” she said. “If he saw me, he’d become himself again.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I know it. He’s a good man. He’s just frightened.”

“All right. Let’s take a look at that fire escape.”

As they went outside into the corridor, Borman came up to Wilkins, who snapped:

“What about that fire escape?”

“It’s solid up to the roof. The top step is missing. Pretty bad ice, sir.”

“Can we get Mrs. Templeton on the roof?”

“I’m not sure, sir.”

“I wasn’t really asking, Borman. I want her up there.”

“Yes, sir.”

Borman, Wilkins, and Janice hurriedly walked to the end of the hall. A thin vertical bar gave them purchase, but the ribbed metal stairs were slippery to the touch. Below was the gaping crowd, unaware as yet of what was happening.

“Goddamn fire traps,” Wilkins growled.

Borman swung out into the air, supported by his two arms, his legs then grabbing firmly against the step. Bit by bit, the noise of the crowd solidified and rose, jeering, offering encouragement. Borman extended his hand. Janice grabbed it and swung upward onto the step.

“Keep your head down until you can verify he’s unarmed,” Wilkins ordered.

“Will do, sir.”

Borman, one step ahead of Janice, pulled her, steadied her on the treacherous steps. The frigid wind whipped through her hair. Her hands burned on the cold metal rails. Twice she thought she was falling until Borman tilted her face upward to face the clouds, and not the ground.

“I’m going to stay just below,” he whispered to Janice. “It’s best he not know I’m here.”

“I understand.”

“Say whatever you want. Just bring him down.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

Borman paused. “Because, I have to tell you. I’ve been on a few of these. They’re going to choose between him and the girl, Mrs. Templeton, and it’s not going to be him. It’s too cold for her to be out any longer. Do you know what I’m saying?”

Janice nodded, feeling the bitter wind bite into her cheeks.

“Now you go on over the top. He won’t see you for a few seconds. He’s facing the street below.”

Janice felt a steady pressure at her elbow, then at her hip, then her foot, and she felt the roof slide under her, and the hiss of the crowd and the glare of the arc lamps swinging madly, trying to catch her, until she knelt, then stood cautiously on the hard, icy roof.

Bill turned.

He was twenty yards from her, across the roof, partially obscured by a series of small chimneys, broken bottles, icy cardboard boxes stacked against one another. His face was unnaturally white, his hair wildly disheveled.

In his arms, clutched closely to his chest, in blankets, was Juanita. She must have been tired of crying. She only whimpered. For a hideous second, Janice thought the girl had gone into convulsions, but then she saw that Juanita breathed easily enough. Bill clutched her tighter to his chest and edged away along the guardrails of the roof.

Janice watched him.

“Leave me alone!” he barked.

She stopped. Now he had hidden himself behind the main chimney. Frantically, the searchlights pawed the darkness for him, then settled on the red brick of the chimney.

“Bill. Our child is cold. Bring her inside.”

Bill wrapped Juanita tightly in blankets, even draping his own sweater over her. He was wearing only a sweater. Somehow, he must have lost his coat. He shivered, and his lips looked abnormally dark.

“She’s cold, Bill darling. Let’s go home where it’s warm.”

“Leave me alone!”

“Bill! Look at her! It’s below freezing!”

Bill rocked her gently in his arms, edging ever backward. Suddenly, Janice realized there was no railing behind him. She stopped, petrified.

“Bill, if she gets sick, an untimely death. Remember? Is that what you want?”

“Go away,” he repeated, but weaker.

“When does it all end?” she pleaded. “Can you do to her what Hoover did to Ivy? Let her live, Bill! In peace!”

“She’s mine,” he growled.

“Of course, darling, but—”

“Then go away.”

Frustrated, Janice shivered as the wind picked up again. She heard whispers below, behind her, on the fire escape. She thought she heard Wilkins issuing fresh orders. She stepped forward.

“Bill, there isn’t much time. Bring her inside. I’m begging you.”

Bill retreated, saw the danger at the last moment, slipped, and nearly fell the other way. A bottle soared downward out of sight. Seconds later, they heard it crash. Screams rose from the street crowd.

Bill turned to Janice, a hideous grimace on his face.

“A little more time, just a little more time. That’s what you said. And all the while, you were leading me on. You knew three weeks ago.”

“I did it for you, Bill!”

Bill laughed, tucking the blankets closer around Juanita. He rocked her back and forth, comforting her, while his haggard eyes glared at Janice.

“You’ve done nothing for me!” he snarled. “Not since the day Hoover came into our lives!”

Janice paled. She had never seen him spit such venom at anyone, much less herself. It had all backfired, she knew.

He stood upright, pointed a finger at her, “You
knew
… and you kept it from me!”

“I had to, Bill, for your sake!”

“
Go away!
”

Janice turned. She heard the patrolman hissing to her. She backed closer to the fire escape platform where Borman and Wilkins sat, revolvers drawn.

“Listen, Mrs. Templeton,” Wilkins whispered, “we’ve located this holy man, but in this weather, it’ll be a while before we can get him here. We can’t get nets around the whole building and we think he’s gonna jump. Now, I want you to get his attention. Get him to lower the child.”

“No,” Janice said. “I won’t— You can’t shoot him.”

“Get in position, Borman.”

“No!”

Janice ran halfway across the roof, then saw Bill back away. The gasps rose, from unseen mouths, below. He glared ominously at her.

“Bill,” she pleaded. “There’s a priest coming. The priest of the Temple. You’ll let him talk to you?”

“I got nothing to say to anybody.”

“But he’s a holy man, Bill. He—he’ll know the signs. The real signs. Bill, you could be wrong!”

Bill stared at her, unable to say anything. He clutched Juanita closer.

“Will you let him come?” Janice asked as gently as she could. “Let him make the determination?”

Bill said nothing, yet seemed to acquiesce. He settled himself miserably in the crook formed by the chimney and two guy wires. He turned his back to her, protecting himself as best he could from the wind.

Janice inched back to the fire escape and knelt down. Cooper’s red face jerked, surprised to see her. Below Cooper was Wilkins.

“He’s agreed to see the priest,” she whispered. “That means he’ll listen to reason.”

Cooper and Wilkins looked at each other. Wilkins shrugged.

“Okay. Let’s wait for His Highness,” Wilkins said. “Mrs. Templeton, you better stay up there. Engage his attention, keep talking, keep him calm.”

Janice went back to the corner of the roof. As she circled the guardrails, Bill’s eyes followed her, but not his body, so that he remained hunched under the guy wires. Juanita seemed to sleep peacefully in his arms.

Janice settled to a spot about ten yards in front of him, at a ventilator shaft. There they stared at each other, as though across a no-man’s-land, Bill’s face changing from grief to hostility to guilt, but never saying a word.

He relaxed enough to lower his head, a sign of exhaustion. Then he jerked awake, scrambled to his knees, and stared feverishly into the darkness. He did not seem to know exactly where he was. Snow fell on his hair, stuck to his eyelids. He kissed Juanita’s cheek gently and brushed the snow from her curly hair.

Down below the fire escape, a fresh commotion broke out as Mrs. Hernandez became hysterical with the waiting and had to be restrained.

Suddenly, jeers rose from the crowd. It was like an echo of jackals, reverberating among the alleys and the bricks. The news teams poked one another and shifted their video lenses. Bill pulled himself to his feet, and looked around as the snow began to fall heavily again, obscuring his vision.

“What?” he called. “Who’s there?”

Up onto the roof, wearing black boots under his orange robe, the Master emerged. The wind whipped his robe around in a violent flutter. He blinked nervously, recognized Janice in the forms of snow and shadow among the debris. Then he followed her gaze to where Bill stood, clutching the infant.

The spotlights suddenly crisscrossed over the Master’s body, like an incandescent lamp. He threw himself forward, arms outstretched, his yellow scarf billowing outward in the freezing wind:
“Om ayuse samharakesvare hum phat.”