Epiphany sat up, wild-eyed, pleading in silent panic for some explanation. "It's the law," I whispered. "I don't know what they want. Probably just talk. You could stay in here."

"Hurry it up, Angel!" Sterne bellowed.

Epiphany shook her head, bounding from the room with long-legged strides. I heard the bathroom door close quietly as I stood and kicked most of her scattered clothing under the bed. The pounding continued without a break. I carried her open suitcase over to the closet and shoved it on the top shelf under my own empty luggage.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," I called, pulling on a wrinkled bathrobe. "You don't have to kick it down."

In the living room, I found one of Epiphany's stockings draped over the back of the couch. I tied it around my waist under the robe and unlocked the front door.

"About time," Sterne snorted, shouldering past. Sergeant Deimos was right behind, wearing a drip-dry olive-green suit and a straw hat with a madras band. Sterne had on the same mohair outfit as before, but without the grey raincoat.

"You boys are the breath of springtime," I said.

"Sleeping late as usual, Angel?" Sterne pushed his sweat-stained hat back on his head and surveyed the disordered room. "Whaddja have, a rumble in here?"

"I ran into an old war buddy, and I guess we tied one on last night."

"A great life, ain't it, Deimos?" Sterne said. "Party all night, drinking at the office, sleep in any time you feel like it. We sure were dumb to join the force. What was the name of this war buddy of yours?"

"Pound," I improvised. "Ezra Pound."

"Ezra? Sounds like a farmer."

"Nope. Runs an auto body shop in Hailey, Idaho. He caught an early morning flight out of Idlewild. Went straight from here to the airport at five A.M."

"Is that a fact?"

"Would I lie to you, Lieutenant? Look, I'm in bad need of coffee. You fellows mind if I put on a pot?"

Sterne sat on the arm of the couch. "Go ahead. We don't like it, we'll dump it in the toilet."

As if on cue, a loud bumping noise came from the bathroom. "Someone in there?" Sergeant Deimos jerked his thumb at the closed door.

The bathroom door opened and Epiphany appeared, carrying the bucket and mop. She was wearing the maid's grey smock, her hair tied up under a bit of dirty rag, and she shuffled into the room, slouching like an ancient crone.

"I'ze all done wid de bat'room for today, Mistuh Angel," she whined, her nasal accent pure Amos and Andy. "I sees you got company, so I be back later to finish up, if dat's okay wid you."

"That'll be fine, Ethel." I swallowed a smile as she shambled past. "I should be going out soon, so just let yourself in when you've a mind."

"Dat I will. Dat I surely will." She smacked her lips as if her dentures were slipping and headed for the door. "Mo'nin', gentermans. Hopes I din' disturb y'all too much."

Sterne stared at her with his mouth open. Deimos just stood there scratching the back of his head. I wondered if they noticed she was barefoot and held my breath until the front door closed.

"Jungle bunnies," Sterne muttered. "They should of never let 'em out of the watermelon patch."

"Oh, Ethel's all right," I said, filling the coffee pot in the kitchenette alcove. "She's a little dimwitted but keeps the place nice and dean."

Sergeant Deimos chuckled. "Yeah, Lootenant, somebody's gotta swab out the john."

Sterne regarded his partner with weary disgust, as if cleaning toilets might be a task for which the sergeant was best qualified. I adjusted the flame on my two-burner stove. "What was it you fellows wanted to see me about?" I dropped a slice of bread into the toaster.

Sterne got up from the couch and walked into the . foyer, leaning against the alcove wall next to the refrigerator. "Does the name Margaret Krusemark mean anything to you?"

"Not a whole lot."

"What do you know about her?"

"Only what I read in the papers."

"Which is?"

"That she was a millionaire's daughter and got herself murdered the other day."

"Anything else?"

I said: "I can't keep up with every murder in town. I've got my own work to look after."

Sterne shifted his weight and looked at a spot on the ceiling above my head. "When do you do that, when you're sober?"

"What's this?" Sergeant Deimos called from the other room. I looked down the hallway at him. He was standing by my open attache case and held up the printed card I found on Margaret Krusemark's desk.

I smiled. "That? My nephew's confirmation announcement."

Deimos looked at the card. "Why is it in a foreign language?"

"It's Latin," I said.

"With him everything is Latin," Sterne said, tight-lipped.

"What's this gizmo mean up at the top?" Deimos pointed to the inverted pentagram.

"I can tell you guys aren't Catholic," I said. "That's the emblem of the Order of Saint Anthony. My nephew's an altar boy."

"Looks like the same gizmo the Krusemark dame was wearing."

My toast popped up, and I plastered it with butter. "Maybe she was Catholic, too."

"She was no Cat'lic," Sterne said. "Heathen is more like it."

I munched my toast. "What's all this got to do with the price of salami? I thought you were investigating the death of Toots Sweet?"

Sterne's dead eyes met my gaze. "That's right, Angel. It just so happens the M.O. in both killings is very similar."

"You think they're connected?"

"Maybe I should ask you that."

The coffee started perking, and I lowered the flame. "What good would that do? You might as well ask the guy at the desk downstairs."

"Don't get smart, Angel. The nigger piano player was mixed up in voodoo. This Krusemark broad was a star-gazer, and from the looks of things dabbled in a little black magic on the side. They both get bumped off the same week, one day apart, under extremely similar circumstances, by a person or persons unknown."

"In what way were the circumstances similar?"

"That comes under the heading of police business."

"So how can I help if I don't know what you want?" I got three mugs out of the cupboard and lined them on the counter.

"You're holding out on us, Angel?"

"Why shouldn't I hold out on you?" I turned off the flame and poured the coffee. "I don't work for the city."

"Lissen, wise ass: I called your fancy mouthpiece downtown. It looks like you've got us over a barrel. You can clam up, and we gotta keep hands off. But if I find out you've broken so much as a parking regulation, I'm gonna come down on you like a piledriver. You won't be able to get a license to sell peanuts in this town."

I sipped my coffee, breathing the fragrant steam. "I always obey the law, Lieutenant," I said.

"Bullshit! Guys like you play jumprope with the law. Someday real soon you're gonna slip, and I'll be there waiting with open arms."

"Your coffee's getting cold."

"Fuck the coffee!" Sterne snarled. His lip curled over his crooked, yellow teeth, and he backhanded the mugs off the counter. They crashed against the opposite wall and bounced along the floor. Sterne regarded the splattered brown stain thoughtfully, like a 57th Street gallery-goer studying an action painting. "Looks like I made a mess," he said. "No problem. The nigger can mop up when I'm gone."

"And when might that be?" I asked.

"When I damn well please."

"Suits me." I carried my cup back into the living room and sat on the couch. Sterne stared at me as if I was something unpleasant he'd just stepped in. Deimos looked at the ceiling.

I held the cup in both hands and ignored them. Deimos started to whistle but quit after four tuneless notes. I always keep a couple pet cops around the place was what I'd say when friends came over. They're better company than parakeets and no trouble if housebroken.

"Awright. Let's breeze," Sterne barked. Deimos sauntered past as if it was his idea.

"Hurry back," I said.

Sterne pulled his hat brim down. "I'll be waiting for you to step outta line, ass-wipe." He slammed the door hard enough to dislodge a Currier & Ives lithograph from the foyer wall.

THIRTY-FIVE.

The glass was cracked in the frame, a frozen lightning bolt zigzagging between the bare-knuckled fists of the Great John L. and Jake Kilrain. I hung it back on the wall and heard a soft tapping at the front door. "Come on in, Ethel. It's open."

Epiphany peered inside, still wearing her rag bandanna. "Are they gone for good?"

"Probably not. But they won't bother us any more today."

She carried the bucket and mop into the foyer and closed the door. Leaning back, she started to giggle. There was an edge of hysteria in her laughter, and when I took her in my arms, I felt her body tremble under the thin cotton smock. "You were terrific," I told her.

"Wait'll you see how clean I got the toilet."

"Where'd you go?"

"I hid on the fire stairs until I heard them leave."

"Hungry? There's a pot of coffee made and eggs in the fridge."

We fixed breakfast, a meal I usually skip, and carried our plates into the living room. Epiphany dipped her toast in egg yolk. "Did they find anything of mine?"

"They weren't looking, really. One of them poked around my attache case. He found something I took from the Krusemark apartment but didn't know what it was. Hell, I don't even know what it is."

"Can I see?"

"Why not?" I got up and showed her the card.

"MISSA NIGER," she read. "Invito te venire ad dandestinum ritum ..."

She held the card like it was the ace of spades. "This is an announcement of a Black Mass."

"A what?"

"Black Mass. It's some kind of magical ceremony, devil worship. I don't know too much about it."

"How do you know for sure, then?"

"Because that's what it says. Missa niger is the Latin for black mass."

"You read Latin?"

Epiphany grinned with pleasure. "What else do you learn after ten years in parochial school."

"Parochial school?"

"Sure. I went to Sacred Heart. My mama didn't think much of the public school system. She believed in discipline. 'Those nuns sure will whip some sense in your thick head,' she used to say."

I laughed. "The voodoo princess at Sacred Heart. I'd love to see your yearbook pictures."

"I'll show you sometime. I was class president."

"I'll bet you were. Can you translate the whole thing?"

"Easy," Epiphany smiled. "It says: 'You are invited to attend a secret ceremony to the glory of Lord Satan and his power.' That's all. Then there's the date, March 22nd, and the time, 9:00 P.M. And down here it says, 'Eastside Interborough Rapid Transit, 18th Street Station.' "

"What about the letterhead? That upside-down star with the goat head? Have any idea what it means?"

"Stars are an important symbol in every religion I know anything about, the Islamic star, the star of Bethlehem, star of David. The talisman of Agove Royo has stars in it."