“Hotel,” he mumbled. “Go to the hotel. The one with a nice warm coffee shop across the street.”
Trueheart shrugged. “It’s nice being out. Being able to see all the decorations. The snow just adds.”
“You kill me, kid. It’s thirty degrees, windy, and this snow is more like sleet. The sidewalks are jammed, and we’re walking the soles of our shoes thin. Shit. Damn it. They’re going for the dogs.”
“And glide-cart coffee.” Now Trueheart shook his head. “They’ll be sorry.”
“And now she’s window-shopping. Typical female. He’s got to haul the bags, buy the dogs, juggle it all so she can sigh over a bunch of sparklers they’ll never be able to afford.”
“If they’re blackmailers they can.”
Baxter gave Trueheart a look of pride and approval. “Now that’s the kind of cynicism I like to hear. Take the point, move on the cart once he’s got his dogs. Order up a couple. It’s crowded. Hard to keep a visual going. I’ll hang back in case she talks him into going in the store.”
Baxter eased right, toward the buildings, and caught a glimpse of Zana looking over her shoulder, smiling as Bobby came over, balancing food and packages.
“I’m sorry, honey!” She laughed, took one of the bags, one of the dogs. “I shouldn’t have left you with all that. I just wanted a peek.”
“You want to go in ?”
She laughed again. “I can hear the pain in your voice. No, I just wanted to look. I wish I’d thought to wear a hat, though. My ears are cold.”
“We can go back, or we can buy a hat.”
She beamed at him. “I’d really like to stay out just a little while more. There’s a place across the street.”
“The one we walked by to get to this side of the street?”
“I know, I know,” she said with a giggle. “But they had hats and scarves. On sale. You could use a hat, too, honey. Maybe a nice warm scarf. And I just can’t face that hotel room again right now, Bobby. I feel like I’ve been let out of prison or something.”
“I know. I guess I feel the same way.” He shifted the bag holding their tree. “We’ll go buy hats. Then we could walk over, watch the skaters, get another look at the big tree.”
“That’d be just perfect. What makes a soy dog taste so good when it’s cooked outside on a cart in New York? I swear you can’t get a real grilled dog anywhere on the planet outside of New York.”
“Pretty damn good,” he agreed around a bite of it. “Especially if you don’t think about what’s in it.”
Her laugh was light and blissfully happy. “Let’s not!”
When they got to the corner, squeezed in by the crowd, he managed another bite. “I didn’t know I was so hungry. Should’ve gotten two.”
They made it to the curb. He started to step out, when Zana gasped. His fingers closed over her arm like a vise.
“I spilled my coffee, that’s all. Damn.”
“You burned?”
“No. No.” She brushed at the stain on her coat with her hand. “Just clumsy. I got bumped a little. Gosh, I hope this doesn’t stain. Oh, now we missed the light, too.”
“There’s no hurry.”
“Tell that to everyone else,” she murmured. “People weren’t pushing so much, I wouldn’t have coffee on my coat.”
“We’ll get something and—”
He pitched forward, straight into the path of an oncoming cab.
The bag he held went flying. The last thing he heard before he hit the pavement was Zana’s screams and the shrill shriek of brakes.
* * *
While Eve waited for the room to be cleared and the sweepers to arrive, she ran a check on Trudy’s debit and credit statements. The charges and withdrawals had just been put through. Spent a few bucks on Friday at the drugstore, she noted. Time stamp confirmed that that came after the socks, after the bank.
Lining up your ducks.
Market, too.
What happened to the bags?
As she was working out a theory, her communicator beeped.
“Dallas.”
“We’ve got a problem.” Baxter’s face held none of its usual sarcasm. “Male subject’s been hit by a cab, corner of Fifth and Forty-second.”
“Well, Jesus Christ. How bad?”
“Don’t know. MTs are on-scene. Wife’s hysterical. They were on the sidewalk, waiting for the light. I had them on audio, Trueheart had a reasonable visual. But the corner was packed. He only got a look at the guy doing a header into the street. He got clipped pretty good, Dallas, I know that. Damn near run over. I got the cabbie here.”
“Have some uniforms take him down to Central until we can get his statement. Stick with the subjects. Where are they taking him?”
“ER at Boyd Health Center. Straight shot down Fifth.”
“I’ll meet you there. One of you go in the ambulance with him. I don’t want either of them out of your sight until I’m there.”
“You got that. Jesus, Dallas. Guy was eating a dog, drinking bad coffee. Then he just flew. MTs are giving the wife something to calm her down.”
“Make sure she’s coherent. Damn it, Baxter, I don’t want her put out.”
“Let me get on that. I’m out.”
She whirled toward the door, pulling it open just as Peabody pushed from the other side. “Sweepers are heading up.”
“We’ll get them started. We’ve got to go. Bobby’s heading to the hospital. Hit by a cab.”
“Hit by—what the hell—”
“Don’t ask, I can’t tell you. Let’s just get this moving, and get there.”
She went in hot, dodging clogged traffic as her sirens blasted. And doing her best to ignore quick, sharp pinches of guilt.
Had she put Bobby in a position to be hurt? Two cops on him, a homer with audio. Still not enough?
“Could just be an accident.” Peabody tried not to whimper as they threaded between a van and a cab with a layer of cheap paint to spare. “People, especially out-of-towners, have road accidents in New York every day. Step out too far, don’t look where they’re going. Gawking at the buildings instead of watching the lights.”
“There’s no point in hurting him. No point.” She rapped her fist on the wheel. “What does it get you? Roarke’s not going to cough up two mil because some guy he doesn’t know is in the path. Why should he? Why would he? It serves no purpose to hurt Bobby.”
“You said Baxter reported he was eating and drinking, at the curb. He gets bumped, or slips. It’s sleeting, things are slippery. Dallas, sometimes things just happen. Sometimes it’s just bad luck.”
“Not this time. No bullshit coincidence.” Her voice was fierce and furious. “We missed it, that’s all. We missed something, someone, and now we’ve got a witness in Emergency.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I made the call, so it’s on me. You make copies of the recording. Get a copy shot down to the lab. I want to be able to hear everything, every voice.”
She pulled up to the emergency entrance. “Park it,” she ordered, jumping out. “I need to get in there.”
She strode to the doors, through.
It was the usual place of pain. Victims waiting to be heard, to be helped. The sick slumped in chairs. The healthy waiting impatiently for whoever they’d come with to be treated, released, admitted.
She spotted Trueheart, somehow younger in a sweatshirt and jeans. He sat close to Zana, holding her hand, murmuring to her as she wept.
“Eve! Eve!” Zana jumped up, threw herself into Eve’s arms. “Bobby. Oh, my God. It’s all my fault. Bobby’s hurt. He’s hurt so bad. I don’t know—”
“Stop.” Eve pulled back, gave Zana one brisk shake. “How bad is he hurt?”
“They didn’t say, they won’t tell me. He was bleeding. His head. His head, and his leg. He was unconscious.” Tears spurted. “I heard them say concussion, and something broken, and maybe—”
“Okay, what happened?”
“I just don’t know.” Now she sank back into the chair. “We were just waiting for the light. We’d gotten some soy dogs and coffee. It was cold, but it felt so good to get out. And I said I wanted to buy a hat, and they were across the street. Then I spilled my coffee, so we missed the light and couldn’t go. We were waiting and he just fell. Or slipped. I just don’t know. I tried to grab his coat. I got my hand on it. I think I did.”