Tales of the City 03 - Further Tales of the City

found Anna in an alleyway.” This was Mary Ann, trying to move the story along. DeDe’s annoyance with Prue was obviously escalating.
    Prue nodded funereally. “After I saw him drag her off, I sat down in this vacant lot …”
    “What?” thundered DeDe.
    “I was hurt. I ran after him, but I cut my ankle.” She lifted her foot as evidence. “This man came along and started yelling at me, because he thought I was with Lu … Mr. Starr. I told him I …”
    “Wait just a goddamn minute! What did you just say?”
    Prue blinked at her balefully. “Nothing.”
    “Yes you did, goddamnit! You started to call him something else!”
    Mary Ann caught DeDe’s eye and said quietly: “Why don’t we let her finish?”
    Prue took that as her cue to continue. “So he dragged me over to his backyard …”
    “Who?”
    “This man … the one who …”
    “O.K., O.K.”
    “He had these rabbit cages … hutches … and there was blood all over the place … and he made me …” Something seemed to catch in her throat. She pressed her hand against her mouth and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she was almost whimpering. “He made me look at these two little rabbits that had been … skinned.”
    “Jesus,” murmured Mary Ann.
    DeDe remained cool. “Your friend did that?”
    Prue nodded, fighting back the tears. “It’s so awful. I’ve never known anyone who could …”
    “Were the skins still there?” asked DeDe. Mary Ann shuddered. What on earth was she getting at?
    Prue thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. There was so much blood that I …”
    “And you know nothing about this elegant man, as you call him, except that he was an American stockbroker living in London? What was he doing on that cruise, anyway?”
    “I don’t understand,” said Prue.
    “Doesn’t it strike you as just a teensy bit out of his way?”
    The columnist shook her head slowly. “No. I mean … he seemed to have enough money to …”
    “Was he your lover?”
    Prue’s mouth dropped open.
    “Was he?”
    “I don’t see what business that is of …”
    “I have a reason for asking. Did you ever see him with his clothes off?”
    Prue’s indignation was monumental. “Look here, I’m sorry about your children, but you have no right to …”
    “You’ll be even sorrier when we talk to the police. Not to mention the press.”
    Prue began sniffling. “I had no way of knowing he would do a thing like that …”
    “I know.” DeDe’s tone was kinder now. She reached over and took the columnist’s hand. “No one ever does.”
    Prue continued to weep until DeDe’s message sank in. “You know him?” she asked dumbfoundedly.
    “I think so,” said DeDe softly. She turned to Mary Ann. “This is kind of delicate. Would you excuse us for a moment?”
    Mary Ann shot to her feet. “Of course … I … what time shall we …?”
    “I’ll meet you in our room,” said DeDe. “Half-an-hour?”
    “Fine,” said Mary Ann.
It was more like an hour.
    When DeDe appeared, she looked thoroughly exhausted. “Think we could get a drink somewhere?”
    “Sure. Are you O.K.?”
    “Sure.”
    “Could you find out if …”
    “It’s him,” said DeDe.
    “How do you know?”
    DeDe moved to the window and stared out at the blackness. “Does it matter?”
    Mary Ann hesitated. “Sooner or later it will.”
    “Then … could we make it later?”
    An awkward silence followed. Then Mary Ann said: “I’ve been thinking about those rabbits.”
    “Yeah?”
    “That nursery rhyme he used to sing. ‘Bye baby bunting, Daddy’s gone a-hunting …’ ”
    DeDe finished it. “ ‘Gone to get a rabbit skin to wrap the baby bunting in.’ ”
    “You thought of that,” said Mary Ann.
    “Yeah,” DeDe replied listlessly. “I thought of it.”

On the Home Front
    M ARY ANN’S PHONE WAS RINGING OFF THE HOOK.
    Brian stood on the landing outside her doorway and debated his responsibility. She hadn’t asked him to tend to her affairs in her absence. What’s more, she hadn’t even told him where she was going, and he resented that more than he would admit to anyone.
    The caller, however, was persistent.
    So it was curiosity, more than anything, that sent him up the stairs to his tiny studio, where he conducted a frantic search for his keys to Mary Ann’s apartment.
    Finding them, he bounded downstairs again, opened the door and lunged for the wall phone in Mary Ann’s kitchen.
    “Yeah, yeah.”
    “Who is this?”