The police station was right around the corner from where Jack was parked, although it required him to do a U-turn over a median. Jack looked in his rearview mirror for pursuing squad cars after pulling off the stunt. Jack had learned from sore experience that when you missed your turn while driving in Boston, it was frequently impossible to loop back.
The stop at the police station was accomplished expeditiously. The bag had Liam Flanagan's name on it, and the duty officer was willing to accept it with no comment whatsoever. Glad that chore was out of the way, Jack ran out to the car, which was double-parked with the engine running.
The signage to the airport was superior to the signage in the rest of the city, and Jack soon found himself in a tunnel. Thankfully, the distance from downtown Boston to the airport was short, and Jack got there surprisingly quickly. Following the signs for the rent-a-car company, he drove onto the Hertz lot a few minutes later.
Jack pulled into one of the car-return lanes. There were some instructions of what to do when dropping off a vehicle, but Jack just ignored them as he ignored the agents who were roaming around assisting customers. The last thing Jack wanted to do was get into an extended discussion about the damaged vehicle. He was confident he'd hear from Hertz. He grabbed his carry-on and ran for the bus to the terminal.
When he boarded the bus, he thought it was about to leave, but instead it sat there with its motor idling and no driver. Jack nervously eyed the time. It was a little after eleven. He knew he had to catch the eleven thirty Delta shuttle or all was lost.
Finally, the driver appeared. He cracked a few jokes as he asked which terminals people wanted. Jack was happy to learn that Delta was the first stop.
The next aggravation was getting a ticket. Luckily, the shuttle had its own section. After that came the security line, but even that was not too problematic. It was eleven twenty when Jack shoved his feet back into his shoes and sprinted down the concourse toward the shuttle gate.
Jack was not the last person on board, but it was close. The plane's door was closed behind the individual who'd boarded right after him. Jack took the first seat available to facilitate deplaning in New York. Unfortunately, it was a middle seat between a scruffy student with an iPod so loud Jack could hear every note and a pinstriped businessman with a laptop and a Blackberry. The businessman treated Jack to a disapproving glare when Jack indicated he wanted to occupy the middle seat. It required the businessman to move his carry-on from where he'd stowed it and to pick up his jacket and briefcase, which he'd placed on the seat.
Once seated with his carry-on at his feet, Jack put his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. Despite his bone-weary exhaustion, there was no chance he could fall asleep, and not just because of his neighbor's iPod. He kept replaying the too short and unsatisfactory conversation he'd had with Alexis, and the belated realization that he'd not apologized for being the one who had uncovered Craig's perfidy, not only to the profession but also to his family. Even the rationalization that Alexis and the children might be better off knowing the truth did not make Jack feel any better. The chances of the family hanging together in the face of what was coming were unfortunately slim, and that thought underlined for Jack how deceptive appearances could be. From the outside, the Bowmans seemingly had it alclass="underline" professional parents, beautiful children, and a storybook house. Yet on the inside there was a kind of cancer undermining it all.
"May I have your attention please," a voice cracked over the plane's intercom. "This is the captain speaking. We've just been informed from ground control that we have a gate hold situation. There's a thunderstorm passing through the New York area. We are hoping this will not be long, and we will keep you informed."
"Shit!" Jack exclaimed to himself. He gripped his forehead with his right hand, using the balls of his fingers to massage his temples. The anxiety and lack of sleep were conspiring to give him a headache. As a realist, he began to contemplate what would happen if he did not make the wedding. Laurie had given him more than a hint. She'd said she'd never forgive him, and he believed her. Laurie was frugal with promises, and when she made one, she kept it. Knowing that, again begged the question in Jack's mind whether he'd stayed in Boston as long as he had more from an unconscious wish to avoid getting married than to solve the Patience Stanhope mystery. Jack took a deep breath. He didn't believe that was true, nor did he want it to be true, but he didn't know for sure. What he did know was that he wanted to get to the church on time.
Then, as if in response to his thoughts, the intercom came back to life. "This is the captain again. Ground control has reversed themselves. We are ready to push back. We should have you at the gate in New York on schedule."
The next thing Jack knew was that he was jarred awake by the plane's wheels touching down at LaGuardia Airport. To his utter surprise, he had fallen asleep despite his anxiety, and to his embarrassment, he had drooled a little. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, scraping against the stubble on his chin in the process. With the same hand, he felt the rest of his face. He was in need of a shave and even worse for a shower, but a glance at his watch suggested that neither was possible. It was twenty-five after twelve.
Shaking himself like a dog to get his circulation going, Jack ran his hands through his hair. This activity evoked a questioning expression from the businessman, who was plainly leaning into the aisle away from Jack. Jack wondered if that was ostensibly additional evidence of his need for a shower. Although he'd donned Tyvek protective coveralls, Jack was aware he'd not showered since he'd done an autopsy on an eight-month-old corpse.
Jack suddenly realized that he'd been tapping his foot at a frenzied frequency. Even when he put his hand on his knee, it was hard to keep his leg still. Jack could not remember ever being quite so agitated. What made it difficult was having to sit still. He would have preferred to be out on the tarmac, running alongside the plane.
It seemed to take forever for the plane to taxi to the terminal and then agonizingly slowly ease into the gate. When the chime sounded, Jack was up out of his seat. Pushing past the businessman, who was getting a bag from the overhead bin, garnered Jack yet another disapproving scowl. Jack couldn't have cared less. Excusing himself, he managed to worm up to the front of the plane. When the door finally opened after what seemed like an interminable wait, he was the third one off.
Jack ran up the jetway, pushing past the two people who'd deplaned before him. Once in the terminal, he ran toward baggage claim and out on to the street, which was steaming from a recent downpour. By being the first passenger from the Boston – New York shuttle, he'd hoped the taxi line would be nonexistent. Unfortunately, that was not the case. The Washington, D.C. – New York shuttle had landed ten minutes earlier, and a portion of its passengers were waiting for cabs.
Unabashed at his assertiveness, he cut to the front of the line. "I'm a medical doctor, and I'm in an emergency," Jack called out, rationalizing that both were true, just not related. The people in the line wordlessly regarded him with a touch of irritation, but no one offered any challenge. Jack jumped into the first cab.
The driver was from India or Pakistan, Jack couldn't tell which, and was on his cell phone. Jack barked out his address on 106th Street, and the taxi accelerated away from the curb.
Jack checked his watch. It was now eighteen minutes before one o'clock, meaning he had only forty-eight minutes before he was due at the Riverside Church. He sat back and tried vainly to relax, but it was impossible. To make things worse, they hit every traffic light just getting out of the airport. Jack looked at his watch again. It seemed to him unfair that the second hand was sweeping around the dial more quickly than usual. It was already a quarter before the hour.