“Oh yes,” he nodded. “Tell me about it. I want to know all about it. Oh yes. Tell me from the beginning. I want to hear all about it.”
Now he had his arm about her shoulders; she was leaning into him. Then an intern and attendant, white-clad, came flinging in, followed by the furious nurse. Delaney, leading the matron slowly toward a couch, waved them away with his free hand. The intern had enough sense to stop in his tracks and halt the others. The old Italian couple, open-mouthed, and the hippie couple watched in silence. The white-haired gentleman slept on.
“They’re killing him!” she screamed once more.
“Oh yes,” he nodded, hugging her closer. “Tell me all about it. I want to know all about it.”
He got her seated on a plastic couch, his arm still about her shoulders. The intern and his aides watched nervously but didn’t approach.
“Tell me,” Delaney soothed. “Tell me everything. Start from the beginning. I want to know.”
“Shit,” the woman said suddenly, and fumbled in her alligator bag for a handkerchief. She blew her nose with a tremendous fluttering blast that startled everyone in the room. “You’re a beautiful man, you know that? You’re not like those other mother-fuckers in this butcher shop.”
“Tell me,” he droned on, “tell me about it.”
“Well,” she said, dabbing at her nose, “it began about six months ago. Irving came home early from the office and complained about-”
Delaney heard a scuffling of feet and looked up. The room seemed filled with police uniforms. Oh God, he thought despairingly, don’t tell me that stupid nurse called the cops because of one poor, sad, frightened, hysterical woman.
But it couldn’t be. There was Captain Richard Boznanski of the 188th Precinct, just north of his. And he recognized a detective lieutenant and a man from the public relations section. A sergeant had his arm around Boznanski’s waist and was half supporting him.
Delaney pulled apart from the matron.
“Don’t go away,” she pleaded. “Please don’t go away.”
“Just for a minute,” he whispered. “I’ll be back. I promise I’ll be back.”
The loudspeaker was shouting: “Dr. Spencer, report to 201, please. Dr. Ingram, report to 201, please. Dr. Gomez, report to 201, please. Drs. Spencer, Ingram and Gomez, report to 201, please.”
Delaney stalked over to Boznanski. He didn’t like the way the man looked. His face was waxy white and covered with a sheen of sweat. His eyes seemed to move uncontrollably, and there was a tremor to his chin: his lips met and drew apart every second.
“Dick,” Delaney urged, “what is it? What is it?”
Boznanski stared at him with dazed eyes. “Edward?” he said. “What are you doing here? Edward? How did you hear so soon?”
Delaney felt a hand on his arm and turned. It was Ivar Thorsen, Deputy Inspector, in charge of personnel in the patrol division. He drew Delaney to one side. He began to speak in a low voice, his light blue eyes never moving from Delaney’s.
“It was an ambush, Edward. A call came in about a prowler. A two-man car checked it out. Jameson was black, Richmond white. It was a false alarm. At a housing project on 110th Street. They were returning to their car. Shotguns from the bushes. Jameson got his head blown off. Richmond took it in the chest and belly.”
“Any chance?” Delaney asked, stone-faced.
“Well…no, I’d guess. I saw him. I’d guess no. But they’re rounding up this team of surgeons to work on him. Listen, Edward, if Richmond dies, it’ll be the fourth man Boznanski’s lost this year. He’s shook.”
“I saw.”
“Will you stay with him? The corridor’s full of reporters, and they’re moving in TV cameras. The Mayor and Commissioner are on their way. I’ve got a lot of crap to do-you know?”
“Yes.”
“Just sit by him-you know.”
“Sure.”
Thorsen looked at him curiously, his ice eyes narrowing. “What are you doing here, Edward?”
“My wife was operated on tonight. For kidney stones. I’m waiting to hear how she made out.”
“Jesus,” Thorsen breathed. “I’m sorry, Edward. I didn’t know. How is she?”
“I’m trying to find out.”
“Forget about Boznanski. The sergeant will stand by.”
“No,” Delaney said. “That’s all right. I’ll be here.”
“They’re killing him!” the matron cried, grabbing his arm. “They told me it was just a simple operation, and now they say there are complications. They’re killing him!”
“Oh yes,” Delaney murmured, leading her back to the couch. “I want to hear. I want to know all about it.”
He lighted a cigarette for her, then started out into the hall. He fumbled in his pocket and found he had only a quarter. He was about to ask someone for change, then realized how stupid that was. He called Dr. Bernardi’s office. He got an answering service. They told him they’d give the doctor his message.
He came back into the waiting room. The shaken nurse was behind her desk. He asked if Dr. Spencer was still in surgery. She said she’d check and also check on his wife in the recovery ward. He thanked her. She thanked him, softened and human.
He went back to Captain Richard Boznanski, seated now, his head thrown back, gasping for breath. He didn’t look good. The sergeant was standing by, worried.
“Captain,” he said, “is there any booze…?”
Delaney looked at the man in the chair. “I’ll try,” he said.
“He came home early from work about six months ago,” the mink-clad matron said at his elbow, “and he complained of this pain in his chest. He’s always been a heavy smoker, and I thought-”
“Oh yes,” Delaney said, holding her by the arm. “And what did they say it was?”
“Well, they weren’t sure, and they wanted to do this exploratory.”
“Oh yes,” Delaney nodded. “Just a minute now, and I’ll be right back.”
He asked the nurse if she had any or could find any whiskey. She explained that regulations prohibited her from giving anything like that to patients or visitors. Delaney nodded and asked if she could find Dr. Bernardi’s home phone number. She said she’d try. He asked if she could change a dollar. She couldn’t, but she gave him what change she had and refused to accept the dollar he offered. He gave her a grateful smile.
He called Ferguson, who wasn’t home. Delaney realized he had awakened the spinster sister. He explained the situation and asked, if Ferguson returned, if he would try to reach Bernardi and find out about Mrs. Delaney’s condition. Then Ferguson could call Delaney in the waiting room.
The Captain stalked to the end of the second floor corridor. The swinging doors to the elevators were guarded by two patrolmen. They drew back to let him through.
The moment he stepped out he was surrounded by reporters, all shouting at once. Delaney held up a hand until the newsmen quieted.
“Any statements will have to come from Deputy Inspector Thorsen or others. Not from me.”
“Is Richmond still alive?”
“As far as I know. A team of surgeons is working. That’s all I know. Now if you’ll…”
He pushed through the crush. They were setting up small TV cameras on tripods near the elevators. Then Delaney saw Thomas Handry leaning against a wall. He was the reporter who had accompanied Delaney on his midnight rounds. He pulled Handry aside. The man’s eyes seemed huge and feverish.
“I told you, I told you,” he said to Delaney.
“Do you have any whiskey?” the Captain asked.
Handry looked at him, bewildered.
“Take off your hat,” Delaney commanded.
Handry snatched his hat away.
“Do you have any whiskey?” Delaney repeated.
“No, I don’t, Captain.”
“All I need is a shot. Ask around, will you? See if any of your boys is carrying a flask. Maybe one of the TV men has a pint. I’ll pay for it.”
“I’ll ask, Captain.”
“Thank you. Tell one of the men on the door to call me. I’ll be in the waiting room.”
“If no one’s got anything, I’ll go out for it.”
“Thank you.”