She held out the bloodstone. They each kissed it in turn, raising the hoods briefly, and then lowering them over their faces again. I nudged Henry. I thought the ceremony was over, and I wanted to catch Natalie and Arthur before they ran off on their honeymoon. But they continued to kneel before Susanna, who now spread her arms wide, holding them above her head in an open V. Apparently, there was more business to conduct
The curtains parted again. A tall hooded figure came through them and walked swiftly to where Susanna was standing. In one hand he was carrying something with a black cloth over it. In the other hand he was carrying a carving knife. He knelt before Susanna, waiting.
“We beseech you, ancient serpent,” she said, “to accept this sacrifice of blood as token of this solemn union.” She nodded. The black cloth was pulled away, revealing a cage. Something squealed. A hand darted into the cage, there was another squeal, the knife flashed out, there was silence.
“We beseech you now...” Susanna said.
“We beseech you now ...” the assemblage repeated.
“We beseech you, judge of the living dead, who orders the winds and the sea and the tempests, we beseech you...”
“We beseech you ...”
“Master of the Lower Regions, to leave us now in peace, knowing we are pleased and contented, and to go in quiet, secure in our faith. We beseech you.”
“We beseech you,” they whispered, and the room fell silent again.
Susanna suddenly laughed and clutched Natalie to her in embrace. The ceremony was over and done with, Lucifer had apparently gone back to Hell in peace, secure in the knowledge of their faith, stinking of brimstone, trailing silken garments, and pouring lower-case smoke from bis pointed hairy ears. The assembled worshippers were moving toward where the black candles now sputtered fitfully in the silver candlesticks. There were cries of congratulations, and more embraces.
“Let’s go,” I said to Henry.
We moved swiftly to the archway at the back of the room, and then through it to the thick wooden entrance door. It was still raining outside. We took off the hoods.
“Where’d she park the station wagon?” I asked.
“Up the street,” Henry said. His eyes were wet.
“Are you all right?”
“Weddings make me cry,” he said.
They came out of the church not five minutes later. They had taken off their hoods, and they walked rapidly toward the blue Buick. They were chattering gaily. As Natalie unlocked the car, Arthur said something that made her laugh. Henry and I moved out of the doorway across the street, and ran to the car.
“Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher?” I said.
Natalie turned. She was extraordinarily beautiful, long black hair wet with rain, brown eyes accentuated by black mascara and green shadow, generous mouth tinted blood-red. She must have assumed Henry and I were well-wishers, guests who’d taken off our hoods and followed them outside to offer our congratulations. She was smiling. Her eyes were bright. Her face looked almost radiant. Beside her, Arthur Wylie frowned. He had recognized me at once, from our early-morning meeting the night before, when he’d told me he was Amos Wakefield. He grabbed her arm. He was ready to bolt. And then he saw the gun in my hand.
“I think you’d better come with me,” I said.
We drove to the Twelfth Precinct in Maria’s Pinto, Henry at the wheel, Natalie sitting beside him, Arthur and I on the back seat. I did not holster the gun. When we got uptown, Henry said he preferred waiting outside in the car; police stations made him nervous. The newlyweds walked up the broad flat steps ahead of me. I put the gun away only when we were standing before the muster desk. The sergeant rang the squadroom upstairs, and O’Neil and Horowitz both came down. They were surprised when I told them the baldheaded man standing beside me was Arthur Wylie; the picture they had was of a bushy-headed blond with a walrus mustache. They booked Natalie and Arthur, advised them of their rights, and then called the district attorney’s office. I was not permitted to be present at the
Q: What is your name, please?
A: Arthur Joseph Wylie.
Q: Where do you live?
A: I have no permanent residence in this city. Until tonight, I was living at 420 Oberlin Crescent.
Q: Mr. Wylie, would you please look at these items we took from your wallet? Do you recognize them?
A: Yes.
Q: Would you identify them, please?
A: That’s a driver’s license, and that’s a social security card.
Q: To whom were the license and the social security card issued? Would you please read the name on them?
A: They were issued to Harry Fletcher.
Q: Can you tell us who Harry Fletcher is or was?