“I don’t know,” Alex said, heading for the stairs. “Sister Gwen called from the Mission. She said someone’s dead. Maybe more than one, she wasn’t very specific.”
“Call a cab,” Iggy said, ducking back into his room. “I’ll get my bag and join you.”
Alex didn’t want to think, he wanted to run, but Iggy’s words penetrated the fog of his tired mind. He steadied himself, then walked down the stairs to the kitchen where the downstairs phone was mounted to the wall. He picked up the receiver and gave the operator the number of a cab company. A few moments later, he hung up and headed back up to his room to retrieve his kit.
“They said five minutes,” he called as he passed Iggy’s room.
Five minutes later Alex and Iggy stood on the sidewalk outside the brownstone, Alex with his kit and Iggy with his medical bag. Ten minutes after that, the cab pulled up in front of the Brotherhood of Hope Mission. It reminded Alex of the scene outside of Jerry Pemberton’s apartment, but with more squad cars.
Lots more.
“Steady,” Iggy said, putting a restraining hand on Alex’s arm. He paid the cabby and the pair of them got out.
“What are you doing here?” the cop at the door asked. Alex recognized him, the scarface cop from Chester Pemberton’s building, but he didn’t know his name.
“Sister Gwen … I mean Sister Harris called me,” Alex said. “Told me to come right away. She’s expecting me.”
The cop gave Alex and Iggy the once-over, then made up his mind.
“Wait here,” he said. The cop withdrew back to the open doors of the mission and spoke animatedly with someone Alex could not see. After a moment, he waived Alex and Iggy forward.
The foyer of the mission was relatively empty considering the number of patrol cars outside. Black and white tiles covered the floor, giving it the distinct look of a hospital. An oak reception desk, stained black with years of use, stood just inside the door with a long row of pegs for hats and coats on the opposite wall. Next to the pegs were the heavy oak doors that led to the great hall. These were open and a uniformed officer stood by them. The door to the kitchens was just across from the entrance and it stood open as well, but the room beyond looked empty. Lastly, behind the reception desk were the stairs that led up to the dormitories. Two people sat on the stairs — one was a raven-haired policewoman in the blue uniform of an officer, and the other was Sister Gwen.
Alex’s breath caught in his throat when he saw her. She had always been old and frail, for as long as he’d known her, but now she seemed to shrink in on herself as if an enormous weight pressed down upon her.
“Alex!” she cried on catching sight of him. She stood and lurched across the entryway to him, throwing herself into his arms. “Oh, Alex, thank God you’re here! I don’t know what to do.” She squeezed Alex around the middle so tightly he had trouble breathing. “What are we going to do?” she whispered. Alex put his hand on her trembling shoulder.
“Sister Gwen?” he said, but the elderly nun just buried her face in his side.
“She’s in shock,” Iggy said, putting his bag on the reception desk. He pulled a handmade tea packet from a jar in his doctor’s bag. “Where’s the kitchen?” he asked Alex.
Alex nodded at the open door across the hall.
“Take Sister Gwen in the kitchen and have her sit down,” he told the policewoman, handing her the tea packet. “Make her some tea with this and make sure she drinks all of it.”
The policewoman nodded and managed to pull Sister Gwen free of Alex.
“Don’t worry,” Alex told Sister Gwen. “I’ll take care of everything. I promise.”
Iggy put his hand on Alex’s shoulder as the policewoman led Sister Gwen away.
“You want me to have a look first?” he said. Alex shook his head.
“Come on,” he said, picking up his bag from where he’d dropped it when Sister Gwen had hugged him. He took a deep breath, then crossed to the open doors of the Great Hall. Inside, a dozen policemen were taking pictures or moving around the floor with notebooks. Two-dozen bodies lay on the floor; some were sprawled as if they’d fallen down, while others were lying in repose, with their hands folded atop their bodies. Still others were up on the long tables that served as a dining area, covered with blankets. A pair of policemen with bandannas tied over their faces were pulling the sprawled corpses from the floor and moving them to a neat line off to one side.
Alex saw people he recognized among the bodies, the Brothers in their black cassocks and the new nuns. The rest were vagrants, mostly men, but a few women, all dressed in shabby, threadbare clothes. At the end of the neat row the policemen had made, lay Father Harry.
Alex’s breath seemed to freeze in his lungs and his heart beat wildly. The big man lay on his side with his arm outstretched as if he’d simply gotten tired and laid down on the floor to rest. But he was dead. Alex struggled to believe it. He’d spoken to the man, sat at his side less than twelve hours ago. How could he be dead? How could God have allowed such a saintly man to die?
He felt his right hand clench into a fist and his left squeezed the handle of the old doctor’s bag that held his kit. Burning with righteous anger and indignation, Alex started forward into the room.
“That’s far enough,” a uniformed policeman said, holding out his hand to block Alex’s progress.
Alex turned and started to raise his fist, determined to strike the man down for daring to block his path to the Father. Iggy quickly seized Alex’s hand and stepped between them.
“The sister called for you and you talked to her, but this is a police matter,” the cop continued, seemingly oblivious to Alex’s rage. He was short and a little chubby, with plump cheeks and dark eyebrows but his uniform was clean and neatly pressed. This one would be a stickler for the rules.
Alex’s mind went instantly to the half dozen runes he could use to render the officious cop inert, but before he could settle on one, Iggy spoke.
“Where is your coroner, young man?” Iggy asked.
“Not here yet,” the officer said. Iggy handed him his card.
“I’m Doctor Bell. I consult for the coroner’s office. Since he isn’t here, I’m offering my services. Who’s in charge?”
The chubby policeman scrutinized the card, then nodded toward the back where a group of detectives stood.
“They grabbed whoever they could for this one,” he said. “I don’t know the Lieutenant in charge, but he’s back there.”
“Thank you,” Bell said, sweeping past the man. “Come along, Alex.”
Alex followed along, finally managing to control his anger.
“Thanks,” he whispered.
“Think nothing of it,” Iggy said “But get hold of yourself for now. There’ll be time for grief later.”
Alex wasn’t sure he agreed with that, but he knew Iggy was right about one thing, if he let his emotions get the better of him now, the cops would throw him out on his ear. As they crossed the hall, Alex noticed the bodies on the floor. Each was pale, with red lesions on their exposed flesh.
“Should we be wearing our masks?” he whispered to Iggy. The old doctor shook his head.
“Whatever killed these people did it in a matter of a few hours,” he said. “The police have been here long enough that if it were contagious, they’d already be showing signs.”
Alex didn’t think that conclusion was wrong, but it felt like they were betting their lives on it. Still, Iggy was almost never wrong.
Almost.
“Who’s the Lieutenant?” Iggy asked, as they reached the knot of suit-clad detectives.
“Callahan,” Alex said, recognizing the big man. “I thought they’d have you down at the warehouse.”