two sheets of paper, never stopping to grope for a word, then handed the statement to Michael Forte. “Okay?”
But without waiting for any assent from the Mayor, he had already moved to the door, opened it and told the secretary outside to bring in the newspapermen. They came trooping in, five reporters and two photographers, all of them with that mixture of boredom and alertness that Malone had seen on the faces of newspapermen back home who had to cover
the same beat day after day. They seemed to suggest that news was no more than a necessary evil, that they felt the world would be better off if its ignorance was not reduced by anything they might write.
“Gentlemen, I have some bad news - bad, that is, for Inspector Malone and myself- ” Michael Forte introduced Malone, then baldly and without emotion read out the statement.
Shock replaced the boredom on the newspapermen’s faces; but they were all veterans and they soon recovered. Shock was grist to their mill and they reacted as Malone had expected them to. As they moved in on the Mayor, Malone wanted to turn away, get out of this room before his disgust, anger and frustration made him erupt.
“Where’d it happen, Mr Mayor? What time?”
“That ransom, Mr Mayor - how does that tie in with your concept of law and order?”
Michael Forte’s jaw tightened, but all he said was, “No questions. Not at this stage.”
“It’s been a terrible shock to the Mayor,” said Burgmann. “Come on, boys. We’ll fill you in later - “
“How do you feel about the ransom demand, Inspector?” Everyone in the room looked at Malone as one of the reporters put the question. “As a cop, you must be concerned for law and order.”
Malone felt the floor suddenly rumble beneath him. He looked down in puzzlement, then Michael Forte said, “It’s just a subway train, Inspector. City Hall isn’t going to fall down.”
Malone looked up, staring hard at the Mayor. He didn’t know whether any of the newspapermen read the message in the words, but he quite clearly understood what Michael Forte meant. Tell the truth if you like, Malone, we don’t need you. But you sure as hell need us.
“I’m a stranger in this city,” said Malone. “I have to take the advice of Mayor Forte.”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the relief on the faces
of Burgmann and Manny Pearl; but he was still looking at Michael Forte. For a moment the Mayor all at once seemed another man; the dark eyes softened and Malone suddenly realized that Forte was not solely and unalterably a political animal. For the first time the two men looked at each other with the recognition that no one else here could feel the pain and worry that was common to them both.
“Commissioner Hungerford has every available man in the Police Department already at work,” Burgmann was saying to the reporters, “aided, of course, by the FBI - “
But not aided by me, the one law and order officer in this room who has the most to lose. Again the explosive anger brought on by frustration simmered in Malone. He could not be expected to sit on his arse while other cops worked on this -his case. He had to do something to get Lisa back - but what?
“That’s Alexander Hamilton up there,” said Michael Forte, nodding up at the portrait hanging above the mantelpiece. “Have you heard of him?”
“Vaguely.” Malone munched on his roast beef sandwich, looking up without interest at the painting. Hamilton stood with one hand on hip, the other held out in front of him, palm upwards. Was he putting a point or asking for a payoff? But Malone kept his cynicism to himself; his sudden sourness with America wasn’t going to be any help in the situation in which he found himself. “He was something to do with the American Revolution, wasn’t he?”
Forte put down his half-eaten sandwich and pushed it away from him: he had no taste and no hunger, like a man who had gone beyond the recovery point in starvation. His only
But without waiting for any assent from the Mayor, he had already moved to the door, opened it and told the secretary outside to bring in the newspapermen. They came trooping in, five reporters and two photographers, all of them with that mixture of boredom and alertness that Malone had seen on the faces of newspapermen back home who had to cover
the same beat day after day. They seemed to suggest that news was no more than a necessary evil, that they felt the world would be better off if its ignorance was not reduced by anything they might write.
“Gentlemen, I have some bad news - bad, that is, for Inspector Malone and myself- ” Michael Forte introduced Malone, then baldly and without emotion read out the statement.
Shock replaced the boredom on the newspapermen’s faces; but they were all veterans and they soon recovered. Shock was grist to their mill and they reacted as Malone had expected them to. As they moved in on the Mayor, Malone wanted to turn away, get out of this room before his disgust, anger and frustration made him erupt.
“Where’d it happen, Mr Mayor? What time?”
“That ransom, Mr Mayor - how does that tie in with your concept of law and order?”
Michael Forte’s jaw tightened, but all he said was, “No questions. Not at this stage.”
“It’s been a terrible shock to the Mayor,” said Burgmann. “Come on, boys. We’ll fill you in later - “
“How do you feel about the ransom demand, Inspector?” Everyone in the room looked at Malone as one of the reporters put the question. “As a cop, you must be concerned for law and order.”
Malone felt the floor suddenly rumble beneath him. He looked down in puzzlement, then Michael Forte said, “It’s just a subway train, Inspector. City Hall isn’t going to fall down.”
Malone looked up, staring hard at the Mayor. He didn’t know whether any of the newspapermen read the message in the words, but he quite clearly understood what Michael Forte meant. Tell the truth if you like, Malone, we don’t need you. But you sure as hell need us.
“I’m a stranger in this city,” said Malone. “I have to take the advice of Mayor Forte.”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the relief on the faces
of Burgmann and Manny Pearl; but he was still looking at Michael Forte. For a moment the Mayor all at once seemed another man; the dark eyes softened and Malone suddenly realized that Forte was not solely and unalterably a political animal. For the first time the two men looked at each other with the recognition that no one else here could feel the pain and worry that was common to them both.
“Commissioner Hungerford has every available man in the Police Department already at work,” Burgmann was saying to the reporters, “aided, of course, by the FBI - “
But not aided by me, the one law and order officer in this room who has the most to lose. Again the explosive anger brought on by frustration simmered in Malone. He could not be expected to sit on his arse while other cops worked on this -his case. He had to do something to get Lisa back - but what?
“That’s Alexander Hamilton up there,” said Michael Forte, nodding up at the portrait hanging above the mantelpiece. “Have you heard of him?”
“Vaguely.” Malone munched on his roast beef sandwich, looking up without interest at the painting. Hamilton stood with one hand on hip, the other held out in front of him, palm upwards. Was he putting a point or asking for a payoff? But Malone kept his cynicism to himself; his sudden sourness with America wasn’t going to be any help in the situation in which he found himself. “He was something to do with the American Revolution, wasn’t he?”
Forte put down his half-eaten sandwich and pushed it away from him: he had no taste and no hunger, like a man who had gone beyond the recovery point in starvation. His only
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