City of the Dead

»24«

“If you’ve got the whole New York City Police Department looking for your daughter and they can’t find her, what do you expect me to do?”

“Find her.” Konig slams a fist down on the desk.

“And you say the FBI is apprised?”

“I told you.” Konig wipes a badly crumpled handkerchief across his brow. “Right after they hung up, I called a friend of mine with the Bureau here in New York. Told me they’d known all about it for several months now. Learned about it through a friend of mine. A Lieutenant of Detectives who’s been working on the case for almost six months now. They’ve been following it, they say.”

“Well, that’s very good. If you’ve got the police and the Bureau—”

“Not good enough.” Konig’s fist comes down again. “I want you to find her. Find her. I’ll pay. I’ll pay you anything.”

Mr. Cory is a small, impeccable man with ruddy features and a waxed mustache. The sort of man whose toilet and wardrobe, you gather, are all rather carefully calculated. The disheveled specter seated opposite him, unshaved, in sour, rumpled clothing, a slightly crazed look in his eyes, makes a striking contrast. As Konig’s voice grows louder, more demanding, as his fist flails the air more violently, Mr. Cory grows cooler.

“It’s not a question of money, Dr. Konig. If it were merely a question of money—”

“Then what is it a question of?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” Cory goes on soothingly, a more placatory approach. “Your daughter is not a missing person. If she were, I might be able to do something. From what you’ve told me, she’s right here, somewhere in this city. A captive of some person or persons. That’s not a missing person. That’s kidnap. Forced confinement. If I’d heard a daughter of mine scream like that—Well, this is simply not a matter for an agency like this. It’s a police matter. A Federal matter—”

“The police have done nothing. The Feds are fools.”

“That’s a strange thing for a man in your position to say.”

“Forget about my position, goddamnit.” Konig’s fist explodes once more on the desk, causing Mr. Cory to recoil and gaze uneasily at the outer door, as if he deplored such a breach of decorum.

“But your position is unique, Dr. Konig. If you weren’t the Chief Medical Examiner, if you weren’t such an influential man, with such a vast reputation, I’d be more inclined to take you on. But because you are who you are, I’m sure the efforts made by the police and the Bureau to locate your daughter have gone far beyond their normal range of operation. If I were to set out now to find your daughter, I’d only be duplicating what I know they’ve already done. I don’t want to take your money for that kind of duplication, or raise your hopes unjustifiably.”

“The police—” Konig blurts out but Mr. Cory cuts him short.

“No, please let me finish, Doctor. The police are really very good at this sort of thing. I repeat, your situation is unique, your daughter does not fall into any of the usual categories. Number one, she’s no longer a minor. Number two, she’s being forcibly detained somewhere. She’s a kidnap victim. Kidnap is not our sphere of operation. That, as I say, is a police matter, or a Federal matter.”

Konig slouches wearily in his chair, all the fire suddenly gone from him.

“You’ve already got the police and the Bureau involved,” Mr. Cory goes on. “That’s very good. That’s a one-two punch.”

A look of scorn creeps into Konig’s eyes. “One-two punch, ay?”

Mr. Cory is momentarily flustered. “By all means. If the police and the Bureau are coordinating—”

“Coordinating?” Konig’s eyes glint more spitefully than ever. “Oh, yes. They’re coordinating. And knowing what I do about the reliability of both organizations, I’m reasonably certain that with all their coordination in due time they’ll eventually locate my daughter’s corpse. Meanwhile, these crazy bastards have my kid. They’re hurting her, and no one—nobody—seems able or willing to do a goddamned thing about it.”