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Authors: James Patterson, Richard Dilallo
Tags: Mystery-Thriller
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truth. “My son, Willie, is waiting for me. I’ve got to feed him, and I need to spend some time with him … I
want
to spend some time with him.”
“He can join us,” says Rudi.
“No. It’s what Willie and I call
alone time
. He needs it. We both need it.”
When Rudi speaks again, his voice is fast, crisp, and downright unfriendly. “Very well. Whatever you care to do. But I must tell you that I’m quite disappointed.”
For a moment I think he’s putting me on, faking the anger.
“Please get out of the car,” he says.
“Rudi, come on, enough teasing …” I begin.
“Damn it, Lucy. Get out of the car.”
He’s not teasing.
CHAPTER 20
THE NEXT DAY BEGINS like any other. I’m taking the number 3 subway train from Crown Heights into midtown Manhattan, and of course my cell phone is not getting service. Everyone around me on the train is listening to music or playing games, but I’m sitting there reliving my ride home with Dr. Sarkar. The ride, and the oddly unpleasant ending.
As soon as I get aboveground, two blocks from the hospital, I go to my cell and check the hospital page labeled “Daily Staff Locations.” I look first to see what’s up with Troy and Tracy Anne. Troy is “on call, in hospital.” Tracy Anne is “in hospital after 5 p.m.”
Then I click on what I really want to see. Is Rudi Sarkar in today? Here it is: “SARKAR A/D GUH GC.” This means that he’s spending all day (A/D) at the Gramatan University Hospital (GUH) clinic on the Grand Concourse (GC) in the Bronx.
Like most other New York City assholes who use theircell phones while they’re walking on the street, I bump into someone who reminds me that
I
am an asshole.
I make my way through the employees’ entrance security. This time, I don’t get into an argument with anyone.
Then I head straight for Katra’s room. She’s out of recovery and in a maternity patient room adjacent to the midwife area. The first thing I notice is this: a two-officer police team is standing outside Katra’s door. And a plainclothes female detective sits on a folding chair very close to the NYPD officers. The detective seems to know who I am. She says, “Go right in. One of your guys is in there, and the patient’s parents have been here overnight.”
Katra is in bed. Quiet, scared, teary, but not bad, considering she had her body sliced open and stitched back up less than twenty-four hours ago. She’s even had some time and energy to apply a little very pale pink lipstick.
“Katra’s doing good, by my evaluation,” Troy says, “really good, Lucy, but she’s not in the mood for talking.” He positions himself in such a way that I’m the only one who can see his eyes roll and his eyebrows arch up.
I look at Katra and then say to Troy, “I’m not surprised that she’s doing so well. She’s a strong woman.” I say it loud enough so I can clearly be heard by Katra and her parents.
Then more directly to Katra I say, “Everything should be okay, sweetie. Everything. The police are all over it.”
Katra turns away from me. Troy hands her a tissue and a plastic cup filled with ice water.
Then I hear a woman’s voice. It is hesitant, with a foreign accent, “And the baby. What of the baby?”
I look at the slim blond woman, carrying a ripped-off version of a red Hermès Birkin bag. She must be Katra’s mother. It is clear where Katra got her good looks. Theparents really can’t be a helluva lot older than myself. They both wear jeans and have kinda hip haircuts.
Then the man speaks. “My wife ask you about baby. What you will say?”
“I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry. I don’t know.”
“The cops, they tell us nothing. ‘Not their department,’ they tell us,” Mr. Kovac says.
Before I can answer, before I can even give the standard
“Everybody’s concerned and everybody’s working on it,”
a giant scream comes from Katra.
She is facing away from us. She is raised on one elbow. She holds a
want
to spend some time with him.”
“He can join us,” says Rudi.
“No. It’s what Willie and I call
alone time
. He needs it. We both need it.”
When Rudi speaks again, his voice is fast, crisp, and downright unfriendly. “Very well. Whatever you care to do. But I must tell you that I’m quite disappointed.”
For a moment I think he’s putting me on, faking the anger.
“Please get out of the car,” he says.
“Rudi, come on, enough teasing …” I begin.
“Damn it, Lucy. Get out of the car.”
He’s not teasing.
CHAPTER 20
THE NEXT DAY BEGINS like any other. I’m taking the number 3 subway train from Crown Heights into midtown Manhattan, and of course my cell phone is not getting service. Everyone around me on the train is listening to music or playing games, but I’m sitting there reliving my ride home with Dr. Sarkar. The ride, and the oddly unpleasant ending.
As soon as I get aboveground, two blocks from the hospital, I go to my cell and check the hospital page labeled “Daily Staff Locations.” I look first to see what’s up with Troy and Tracy Anne. Troy is “on call, in hospital.” Tracy Anne is “in hospital after 5 p.m.”
Then I click on what I really want to see. Is Rudi Sarkar in today? Here it is: “SARKAR A/D GUH GC.” This means that he’s spending all day (A/D) at the Gramatan University Hospital (GUH) clinic on the Grand Concourse (GC) in the Bronx.
Like most other New York City assholes who use theircell phones while they’re walking on the street, I bump into someone who reminds me that
I
am an asshole.
I make my way through the employees’ entrance security. This time, I don’t get into an argument with anyone.
Then I head straight for Katra’s room. She’s out of recovery and in a maternity patient room adjacent to the midwife area. The first thing I notice is this: a two-officer police team is standing outside Katra’s door. And a plainclothes female detective sits on a folding chair very close to the NYPD officers. The detective seems to know who I am. She says, “Go right in. One of your guys is in there, and the patient’s parents have been here overnight.”
Katra is in bed. Quiet, scared, teary, but not bad, considering she had her body sliced open and stitched back up less than twenty-four hours ago. She’s even had some time and energy to apply a little very pale pink lipstick.
“Katra’s doing good, by my evaluation,” Troy says, “really good, Lucy, but she’s not in the mood for talking.” He positions himself in such a way that I’m the only one who can see his eyes roll and his eyebrows arch up.
I look at Katra and then say to Troy, “I’m not surprised that she’s doing so well. She’s a strong woman.” I say it loud enough so I can clearly be heard by Katra and her parents.
Then more directly to Katra I say, “Everything should be okay, sweetie. Everything. The police are all over it.”
Katra turns away from me. Troy hands her a tissue and a plastic cup filled with ice water.
Then I hear a woman’s voice. It is hesitant, with a foreign accent, “And the baby. What of the baby?”
I look at the slim blond woman, carrying a ripped-off version of a red Hermès Birkin bag. She must be Katra’s mother. It is clear where Katra got her good looks. Theparents really can’t be a helluva lot older than myself. They both wear jeans and have kinda hip haircuts.
Then the man speaks. “My wife ask you about baby. What you will say?”
“I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry. I don’t know.”
“The cops, they tell us nothing. ‘Not their department,’ they tell us,” Mr. Kovac says.
Before I can answer, before I can even give the standard
“Everybody’s concerned and everybody’s working on it,”
a giant scream comes from Katra.
She is facing away from us. She is raised on one elbow. She holds a
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