Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 100, Nos. 4 & 5. Whole Nos. 603 & 604, October 1992

“Is it some sort of cult? A bizarre religion, or even a sexual thing?”

“I don’t know. Jarie went there often. He spoke of the cellars, and the heroin-snorting, and the iron angel. My husband was intrigued, but I don’t know if he’d ever been himself.”

“There was a number on a piece of paper in Jarie’s pocket — 470. Mean anything to you?”

“No. An address, perhaps, but I don’t know where.”

“How did you happen to find me here?”

She hesitated only an instant. “I was shopping on this street and saw you returning to your car.”

Michael nodded. “You’d better go now. I have to see Captain Segar.”

She smiled slightly and slipped out of the car. He watched her walking back along Furtuna Street and wondered if she might have been there spying on her husband. Or on Jennifer Beatty.

Back in Segar’s office, Michael was openly discouraged. “I’m no detective. I’ve gone about as far as I can, but I’ve learned nothing about this so-called iron angel except that a great many people seem to know about it.”

“If a great many people know about it, but not the police, that implies something beyond the law.”

“Perhaps, but in which direction? Maybe drugs are involved, maybe it’s merely a heroin-induced fantasy. Then again, it could be a sort of religious cult. Jarie Miawa might have been stabbed to death as some sort of sacrifice.”

Segar snorted at that. “What sort of angel would demand a blood sacrifice?”

“The Angel of Death.”

“Michael, you are seeing darkness where there is only human fallibility. I am convinced that drugs are the key to this.”

He told Segar about his meeting with Conrad Rynox. “I hate to see Jennifer back there with him.”

“Do you think they might be still using that cellar for their activities?”

“I doubt it, so soon after Jarie Miawa’s murder.” But Michael wondered about it. “I suppose I should look at the place where his body was found.”

“Go there tonight,” Segar said. “I can equip you with a body microphone and I’ll be waiting outside with some men. This is the number where we found the body — 117 Furtuna.”

“I know. It’s right across the street from the apartment Jennifer shares with Conrad.”

“You’ll do it?”

“All right.”

They waited until darkness descended on the city, soon after dinnertime, and Segar carefully taped a microphone and small transmitting unit to Michael’s chest. “With that Gypsy tunic you wear, no one will notice it,” he assured him.

“I hope I’m doing the right thing,” Michael said, aware that Jennifer might be back in that cellar, if anyone was.

Segar had two men with him, and they dropped Michael at the corner of Grivitei and Furtuna. “We’ll be listening,” he promised.

Michael saw that old Kurzbic’s shop was dark, and he pictured Sigmund back in the caravan with his wife and child. He walked around the corner, seeing only a few pedestrians hurrying home, and made his way to the building numbered 117. The sign outside identified several offices located there, but once past the front door he made his way back to the cellar stairs. The door was unlocked and no sound reached him from the darkness below. He turned on the light and started down.

The basement area was empty except for a few upended crates which could have served as seats for the heroin sniffers. He moved around it, wondering if he should report in to Segar. There was a door, perhaps leading to one of the adjoining cellars. It was unlocked and he swung it open.

Almost at once he saw the figure, about ten feet in, lit only by the faint glow from his side of the basement. It wasn’t an iron angel, or an angel of any sort.

It was Conrad Rynox and he was dead.

Back at headquarters, Segar slumped in his chair, staring at Michael Vlado. “You found me another body when I wanted you to find a murderer.”

“I found what was there.”

“He was stabbed just like Miawa, though this time the wound was right to the heart. He didn’t live long enough to run away.”

“The killer is getting better with practice,” Michael observed. “When I touched him the body was cold. Any idea how long he’d been dead?”

“Several hours. They’ll do an autopsy right away.”

“What about Jennifer?”

“I’m sorry, Michael. I’m having her picked up for questioning.”

“Tell your men to search the rest of those basements.”

“I’m having that done too.”

Michael was waiting when Jennifer Beatty arrived. “He’s dead, isn’t he? They told me he’d been stabbed and I know he’s dead!”

“I’m sorry, Jennifer. He was never any good for you.”

She flared into anger at his words. “How would you know?”

“He gave you heroin—”

“He gave me lots more besides that! Where is he? I want to see him.”

“Perhaps later,” Segar murmured. “First I must ask you some questions. If you do not wish Michael to stay—”

“He can stay.”

“Would you like a lawyer?”

“I have no money for one. My God, do you think I killed the only man I ever really loved?” Her eyes flooded with tears.

Segar sighed, perhaps realizing that communication would be difficult in her present condition. Still, he pressed on. “When was the last time you saw Conrad Rynox?”