“That’s right,” said Jimmy. “Now drop the knife.”
“It doesn’t matter what you do to me,” said the woman. “I am beyond your law.”
She dropped the knife, but at the same time, her left hand moved, the sleeve of her coat pulling back to reveal the little pistol concealed by its folds.
It was Jimmy who killed her. He hit her twice before she could get a shot off. She remained standing for a second, then tumbled backward into the cold waters of the Shell Bank Creek.
She was never identified. The receptionist at the hospital confirmed that she was the same woman who had claimed to be Caroline Carr’s sister. A false Virginia driver’s license in the name of Ann Carr was found in her coat pocket, along with a small quantity of cash. Her fingerprints were not on file anywhere, and nobody came forward to identify her even after her picture appeared on news shows and in the papers.
But that came later. For now, there were questions to be asked, and to be answered. More cops came. They flooded the clinic. They sealed off Bartlett. They dealt with reporters, with curious onlookers, with distressed patients and their relatives.
While they did so, a group of people met in a room at the back of the hospital. They included the hospital director; the doctor and midwife who had been monitoring Caroline Carr; the NYPD’s deputy commissioner for legal affairs; and a small, quiet man in his early forties, Rabbi Epstein. Will Parker and Jimmy Gallagher had been instructed to wait outside, and they sat together on hard plastic chairs, not speaking. Only one person, except for Jimmy, had expressed her sorrow to Will at what had occurred. It was the receptionist. She knelt before him while he waited, and took his hand.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “We all are.”
He nodded dumbly.
“I don’t know if-,” she began, then stopped. “No, I know it won’t help, but maybe you might like to see your son?”
She led him to a glass-walled room, and she pointed out the tiny child who lay sleeping between two others.
“That’s him,” she said. “That’s your boy.”
They were called into the meeting room minutes later. Those present were introduced to them, all except for one man in a su R q man in ait who had followed the two cops into the room, and was now watching Will carefully. Epstein leaned toward Will and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Will did not reply.
It was the deputy commissioner, Frank Mancuso, who formally broke the silence.
“They tell me you’re the father,” he said to Will.
“I am.”
“What a mess,” said Mancuso, with feeling. “We need to get the story straight,” said Mancuso. “Are you two listening?”
Will and Jimmy nodded in unison.
“The child died,” said Mancuso.
“What?” said Will.
“The child died. It lived for a couple of hours, but it seems that there was some damage caused by the knife wound to the womb. It died as of”-he checked his watch-“two minutes ago.”
“What are you talking about?” said Will. “I just saw him.”
“And now he’s dead.”
Will tried to leave, but Epstein grabbed his arm.
“Wait, Mr. Parker. Your child is alive and well, but as of now, only the people in this room know it. Already he’s being taken away.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“Why? He’s my son. I want to know where he is.”
“Think, Mr. Parker,” said Epstein. “For a moment, just think.”
Will was silent for a time. When he spoke, he said, “You believe that someone is going to come after the child.”
“We believe that it’s a possibility. They can’t know that he survived.”
“But they’re dead. The man and the woman. I saw them both die.”
Epstein looked away. “There may be others,” he said, and, even amid his grief and confusion, the cop in Will wondered what Epstein was trying to hide.
“What others? Who are these people?”
“We’re trying to find that out,” said Epstein. “It will take time.”
“Right. And in the meantime, what happens to my son?”
“Eventually, he’ll be placed with a family,” said Mancuso. “That’s all you need to know.”
“No,” said Will, “i R qll, &ldqut isn’t. He’s my son.”
Mancuso bared his teeth. “You’re not listening, Officer Parker. You don’t have a son. And if you don’t walk away from this, you won’t have a career either.”
“You have to let him go,” said Epstein gently. “If you love him as a son, then you have to let him go.”
Will looked at the unknown man standing by the wall.
“Who are you?” Will asked. “Where do you fit into all of this?”
The man didn’t answer, and he didn’t flinch under the glare of Will’s anger.
“He’s a friend,” said Epstein. “That’s enough for now.”
Mancuso spoke again. “Are we all singing from the same hymn sheet, Officer? You’d better tell us now. I won’t be so good-natured if this matter raises its head outside these four walls.”
Will swallowed hard.
“Yes,” he said. “I understand.”
“Yes, sir,” said Mancuso.
“Yes, sir,” repeated Will.
“And you?” Mancuso turned his attention to Jimmy Gallagher.