“Once again, you have something to tell us, Mr. Hewlitt?”
Hewlitt rolled his shoulders. He cleared his throat, all drama. “Like I said, I’m not the bad guy.”
“Right,” DeLuca said. They could hear tires crunching the gravel up the alley, a siren blurping. “So you keep telling us.”
The siren came closer. Hewlitt pointed a scuffed cordovan toe at the figure on the concrete. Now clearly breathing, looking like he might come to at any second.
“He’s the bad guy.” Hewlitt raised his voice over the siren’s wail. “I saw him stab the man in the park. Then I saw him run.”
8
“You can’t find Gracie?” Jane closed her eyes briefly, trying to blank out the crowd and the whirling red lights of the ambulance and the muttering undercurrent as gawking onlookers dissected the scene before them, voices dimmed in respect or horror. Melissa had finally gotten to the point, but that didn’t mean Jane understood it.
“What do you mean, ‘can’t find’ Gracie?”
“What part of ‘can’t find’ do you not understand, Jane?” Melissa’s voice, taut and demanding, grated through Jane’s cell. Melissa was relentless when things didn’t work her perfect way.
Jane poked an available finger into her nonphone ear, trying to block out the wail of an approaching siren. Failed. She looked up, frowning, scoping out the situation. The EMTs still knelt by the victim. Why did they need another ambulance? She couldn’t shoot any video while she was talking on the phone. She turned her back on the whole thing. She’d give Melissa thirty seconds. Thirty charitable seconds.
“I understand ‘can’t find,’ Melissa.” Jane kept her voice careful, no need to add to her sister’s distress. “You mean Gracie’s late coming home for lunch or something? She’s not where she’s supposed to be?”
“Her mother-have you met her? Robyn with a y? Is going nuts,” Melissa said. “She’s the neediest person imaginable. But anyway, Gracie. She comes home from school for lunch. Thanks to Daniel’s incredibly generous child support, they send her to Brookline Charter, close to their-well, anyway.” Melissa was interrupting herself now, no need for Jane to try.
Jane kept her eyes closed and head down, the only way she could focus and not be distracted by little things like, say, her job and a murder. Both of which she was now, to her certain detriment, ignoring.
“… but they haven’t come home,” Melissa was saying. “Robyn called the school, but she says they said Gracie left with her stepdad as usual, and that was that. We’ve called him, but he’s not answering his cell.”
Jane’s call-waiting beeped in, an insistent little chirp that demanded her attention. Channel 2. No doubt wanting to know what she’d discovered. “I’m on the phone with my sister” was not a good answer.
“Hang on,” Jane said.
“Ja-!”
Jane winced, frustrated with this whole juggling thing. If Gracie was really gone, truly gone, whatever “gone” meant, naturally that trumped anything. But Gracie was with her stepfather, right? And Melissa always overreacted.
“This is Jane,” she said.
“Jane? You there? What’s the scoop? Is there a suspect? Can you confirm a murder? This is Derek at the assignment desk, BTW. It’s been more than fifteen mins since we got you past the rookie cop-you need any more help?”
“I, um-” He was kidding, right? Jane didn’t need any help.
“You got video?” Derek kept talking. “Interviews?”
“Definitely,” she said. She looked up, squinting. Noontime shadows made dark puddles at each onlooker’s feet. Two of the EMTs were standing now, the other pointing the medical examiner to the man sprawled on the brick walkway. They clicked open the legs of a collapsible metal gurney. The crowd stepped back, as one, as if the medics needed additional room for this delicate procedure.
“Listen, Derek, no cops are talking yet. The ME is here. They’re moving the victim now. Gotta get a shot of this, gotta go, I’ll call you back.” She hung up before the editor could give her more instructions. Or more criticism. Jane had this, no problem, she simply needed to do it her way. Back to Melissa.
“Lissa, it’s me, I’m sorry, I had to-”
“She’s fine.” No more stress in Melissa’s voice?
“What?” Jane tried to process what her sister said. “She’s what?”
“Fine. She just called, she’s fine. She’s with her stepfather. Robyn’s husband, Lewis. Evidently the left hand didn’t know-anyway, I’ll keep you posted on the drill for the rest of the day soon as I can.”
“Great,” Jane said, happy Melissa was not there in person to witness the massive eye roll. But Jane had been the good sister, on the outside, at least. Now she could go back to her real life without a guilty conscience. “Glad it all worked out, Liss.”
“So we’ll see you tonight, then? And finally get to meet your Jack?”
“Jake,” Jane said. Counting to ten, backward, got to nine. “Jake Brogan.”
“Jo-king,” Melissa singsonged. “TTYL.” And hung up.
The woman was a partner-track lawyer, for God’s sake. Who would say TTYL out loud? But at least Gracie was fine. Another personal life disaster successfully solved.
Now to get her professional life back. She picked up the video camera and headed for the action. The ambulance doors were still open. She hadn’t missed a thing.
Score one for Jane.
Finally, Jane was off the phone. Bobby Land sucked the inside of his cheek as he silently rehearsed his line. “Hey, Jane Ryland? I’m…” But she wouldn’t care who he was. How about “Jane Ryland? I’ve been a big fan of yours since-” Well, since what? Since you were fired? That’d never fly.
Now she was getting away.
He watched her head toward the crime scene tape, saw the curve of her black suit jacket, her shoulder bag banging against her back, the way she ran over the cobblestones in those high heels. How did women do that?
He snapped off some photos of her. Stalling.
Come on, Bobby.
It was now or never, and he didn’t have time for never. This was his career, his life, his one chance to grab the big time. The brass ring, his father used to say, whatever that meant.
Do it.
“Jane Ryland?” he called out, not too loud, just enough to get her attention.
She stopped, turned to him. Some of her hair had come out of her ponytail, and her black bag slid from her shoulder. She hoisted it back up.
“Yes?”
She looked like she was trying to be polite, he didn’t blame her, some strange kid comes up to her, what’s she supposed to think? He’d better get to the point.
“I’m, uh, Bobby Land? I’m, like, a photographer?” He paused, better make this sound as cool as possible. He handed her a card with his phone number. Smart that he’d just put “Photos by Bobby. Freelance photographer.”
Jane narrowed her eyes at him, taking the card, then reached into an outside pocket of her tote bag. Awesome, she had the Quik-Shot, so she was up for getting video. But she wasn’t here when the guy got stabbed. She might have locators, background stuff, aftermath, but she couldn’t have the real thing.
She fiddled with her camera, flapped open the viewfinder, didn’t point it at him.
“Were you here when it happened, Mr.-”
“Land,” he said.
“Land. A photographer, huh?” She smiled at him for the first time. Suddenly she was all friendly. “When did you arrive? Did you get any pictures of what happened?”