CHAPTER 34
From the window of the clinic, Vivien had seen the sun come up. For Greta, there wouldn’t be any new day. There wouldn’t be any more dawns or sunsets, until the day came for a resurrection she had always found it difficult to believe in. She put her forehead against the window pane and felt the damp coldness of the surface on her skin. She closed her eyes, and dreamed of waking up in a time and place where none of this had happened and she and her sister were children, happy as only children can be. Earlier, as she had held Greta’s hand and heard the beep-beep-beep of the monitor getting slower and slower until it was just a straight green line that came from nothing and led towards nothing.
In the past she had always supposed this was a privilege reserved for the dying, allowing them to become aware of the duration of their own lives. In this case, it had seemed absurdly short. Maybe because she was the one left behind and everything seemed fragile and vain, with that sense of emptiness that would remain with her for a very long time.
She went back to the bed and placed her lips on Greta’s forehead. The skin was smooth and soft and Vivien’s tears slid down her sister’s temple onto the pillow. She reached out a hand and pressed a button next to the bedhead. She heard a buzzing sound. The door opened and a nurse appeared.
A quick glance at the monitor, and the woman immediately grasped the situation. She took an internal telephone from her pocket and sent a signal. ‘Doctor, can you come to Room 28, please?’
Before long Dr Savine entered the room, preceded by the sound of his rapid footsteps in the corridor. He was a balding man, of medium height and middle age, with a capable air and a patient, professional manner. He approached the bed, pulling his stethoscope from the pocket of his white coat. He moved the sheet down and put the stethoscope to Greta’s frail chest. It took him a moment to register the truth, and another moment to turn to Vivien with an expression that seemed to encompass all the similar situations he had experienced in his medical career.
‘I’m sorry, Miss Light.’
The voice and the words were not merely formal. Vivien knew that the doctors and staff of the Mariposa had taken Greta’s case to heart. And their powerlessness to halt the progress of the disease had been accompanied day after day by a sense of defeat, which they had shared with her. She turned away from the bed, so as not to see the sheet being pulled up to cover Greta’s face.
The grief and fatigue made her feel dizzy. She swayed and put a hand against the wall to stop herself falling. Dr Savine immediately went to her to support her. He led her to a small armchair and helped her to sit down. Vivien felt his expert fingers looking for her pulse.
‘Miss Light, you’re exhausted. Don’t you think you should rest a little?’
‘I’d like to, doctor. But I can’t. Not now.’
‘If I remember correctly, you’re a police officer. Am I right?’
Vivien looked up at the doctor, her face full of effort and urgency. ‘Yes. And I absolutely have to get back to New York. It’s a matter of life and death.’
‘There’s nothing more you can do here. If you believe in prayer, it can reach its destination from wherever you send it. In case you don’t already have one, the clinic can supply you with the names of some undertakers who are very capable and very discreet. They’ll see to everything.’ Savine turned to the nurse. ‘Meg, prepare the papers for the death certificate. I’ll come and sign them.’
As soon as they were alone, Vivian rose from the armchair. Her legs felt stiff and wooden.
‘Doctor, I have a big day ahead of me. And I can’t afford to fall asleep.’ She paused to overcome her embarrassment. ‘It’s a strange thing for a police officer to ask you, but I need something to keep me awake.’
The doctor gave her a strange knowing smile. ‘Is this a trap? Am I going to end up in handcuffs?’
Vivien shook her head. ‘No. But you will be in my prayers.’
Savine thought it over for a moment. ‘Wait here.’
He went out, leaving Vivien alone. Before long, he returned with a white plastic container. He shook it to indicate that there was one pill inside.
‘Here. Take this pill if and when you need it. But make sure you don’t drink alcohol.’
‘There’s no danger of that. Thank you, doctor.’
‘Good luck, Miss Light. And once again, my condolences.’
Again, Vivien was alone. She tried to convince herself that her sister was no longer in that room, that what was lying on the bed under the sheet was only an envelope that for years had contained her beautiful soul, a borrowed envelope that would soon be surrendered to the earth. In spite of this, she couldn’t help giving Greta a final kiss and a final look.
On the night table there was a half-full bottle of water. She opened the container the doctor had just given her and tipped the pill straight out onto her tongue. She swallowed it with a sip of water that, to her, tasted like tears. Then she moved away from the bed, took her jacket from the coat stand, and left the room.
She walked along the corridor, her eyes stinging. She got in the elevator and glided smoothly and noiselessly down to the lobby, where she found a couple of young women in uniforms behind the reception desk. Within a few moments she had made arrangements for Greta’s body with an undertaker whose number had been supplied by one of the two women.
Then she looked around at this place where there was now nothing more for her to do, but above all where there was nothing more she could do. When she had first brought Greta to the Mariposa, she had appreciated its elegance and sobriety. Now it was only a place where people didn’t always get better.
She went outside and walked to the parking lot to get her car. It might be just the placebo effect – surely it was too soon for the pill to take effect – but she felt the tiredness wear off and her body gradually free itself of all the dross it had accumulated.
As she joined the stream of traffic leaving the city headed towards Palisades Parkway, she went over the events that had brought her to this point in the investigation and in her life.
The previous day, when Father McKean had told her his secret, contravening one of the strictest rules of his ministry, she had felt both anxious and excited. On the one hand, there was her responsibility towards all those innocent people who were in imminent danger, the same responsibility that had finally convinced the priest to turn to her. On the other hand there was the desire to spare him the consequences of a decision that must have caused him enormous pain.
Michael McKean’s work was too important. The young people he took care of loved him and they, and all those who might come to Joy in the future, needed to know that he would always be there for them.
It was after lunch with the kids, during which she had laughed and joked with Sundance, who seemed completely new in body and mind, that the call had come from the clinic. Dr Savine had informed her, with all the tact the news demanded, that Greta’s condition was changing rapidly and that they must be prepared for the worst at any moment. She had gone back to the table, trying not to let any of the anguish she felt inside show, but she hadn’t been able to deceive Sundance’s acute and sensitive eye.
‘What’s the matter, Vunny? Is something wrong?’
‘Nothing, darling. A few problems at work. You know what those rascals are like, they just don’t like getting arrested.’
She had deliberately used the word rascals because it was a word that had always made Sundance laugh when she was little. But in spite of Vivien’s attempts to downplay things, her niece hadn’t been completely convinced, and for the rest of lunch she had continued looking at her, aware of her grim expression and watery eyes.
Before leaving, she had taken Father McKean aside and told him that Sundance’s mother was getting worse, and that once she left there she would go up to Cresskill, to the clinic. They agreed that he would put up a notice in church that afternoon, announcing an unscheduled confession for Thursday: he would be in the confessional from early the following
afternoon. If the man did not show up then, they would speak again on the phone on Friday, the day when he usually heard confession at the church of Saint John the Baptist in Manhattan, and work out a new plan of action.
During the journey, Vivien confronted the hardest test. She had to talk to Bellew and get as much as she could from him without giving anything away. She hoped that the esteem her chief had for her was great enough to allow her what she asked.
The captain picked up after the second ring. His voice sounded tired. ‘Bellew.’
‘Hi, Alan, it’s Vivien.’
‘Did you go to Williamsburg?’
Frank and direct as always. Now with an added anxiety that wouldn’t take much to turn to neurosis.
‘Yes. But I didn’t get anything from the apartment. Our fake Wendell Johnson really was like a phantom, even at home.’
The captain didn’t need to curse. His silence was eloquent enough.
‘But I have another lead,’ Vivien went on, ‘and I think this is the big one, if we’re lucky.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I think it’ll get us the man who’s detonating the bombs.’
An incredulous voice in her ear. ‘Do you mean that? How did you find it?’
‘Alan, you have to trust me on this. I can’t tell you anything else.’
The captain changed the subject. Vivian knew him well. She knew it was only to give him time to think.
‘Is Wade still with you?’
If he had expected to hear a greeting from Russell over the speakerphone, Vivien’s reply took him by surprise. ‘No, he decided to give up.’
‘Are you sure he won’t say anything?’
‘Yes.’
I’m not sure of anything, when it comes to that man. More than that, he’s not sure about me any more …
But now wasn’t the time to talk about him, let alone think about him. The captain had taken Russell’s bowing out as a good sign. And his batteries seemed newly recharged at the thought of an impending arrest.
‘So what do I have to do? Above all, what do you want to do?’
‘You have to put the police in the Bronx on alert. They need to be ready on a coded wavelength from two o’clock tomorrow afternoon, waiting for my orders.’
The captain’s reply was blunt. ‘You know a request like that is a one-way ticket, don’t you? The commissioner’s on my back, and I can’t get him off. If we move on this and don’t get a result, I’m going to have a lot of explaining to do. And heads are sure to roll. Our heads.’
‘I’m aware of that. But it’s the only thing we can do. The only chance we have to stop him.’
‘All right. I hope you know what you’re doing.’
‘So do I. Thanks, Alan.’
The captain hung up and she was alone.
And now she was returning to New York with a presence in the car that would gradually fade with time.
She crossed the George Washington Bridge and drove on until she got to Webster Avenue. Here she turned left, heading for Laconia Street, where the 47th Precinct was situated. She parked her car outside the building. All around her uniformed officers sat in their cars, waiting. As soon as she got out of the Volvo, the glass-fronted door of the precinct house opened and the captain came out with a man she didn’t know in plain clothes. She and Bellew had agreed to meet here the previous evening, when she had called him before turning off—
The telephone, dammit.
It hadn’t been on since then. She hadn’t wanted it to ring while she was in the clinic. She knew she wouldn’t get any important calls during the night. If anything happened, it would happen the following day. She had wanted to be alone with her sister, isolated from the rest of the world, for what had in fact turned out to be their last night together. And this morning, overwhelmed by Greta’s death, she had forgotten to turn it on when she left Cresskill. She searched in the pockets of her jacket and took it out. She frantically turned it on, hoping there hadn’t been any calls. Her hope was short lived. A number of messages about missed calls came up.
Russell.
Later, I don’t have time now.
Sundance.
Later, sweetie. I don’t know what to say right now, or how to say it.
Bellew.
Holy Christ, why didn’t I switch on this damned phone?
Father McKean.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
The call from Father McKean had come at noon. Vivien looked at her watch. 2.15. She didn’t know the reason for that call, but there was no way she could call him back: he must be in the confessional by now. If he had a penitent with him and the cellphone rang, it could be quite embarrassing. And if by some twist of fate the man they were chasing was already there, he was bound to get suspicious.
In the meantime Bellew and the other man had joined her in the parking lot. He was a fleshy man, and his physique could hardly be described as athletic, but the way he moved demonstrated that he was strong and agile.
‘Vivien,’ the captain said, ‘where have you been hiding yourself?’ Then he saw the expression on her face and his tone changed abruptly. ‘I’m sorry. How’s your sister?’
Vivien said nothing, hoping Doctor Savine’s pill would help her, not only to stay awake, but also to hold back her tears. Her unsaid words were clearer than any speech.
Bellew put his hand on her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry. I really am.’
Vivien pulled herself together. She noticed the other man’s embarrassment. He had realized that something unpleasant had happened, that much was obvious, but he had no idea how to react to it. Vivien removed the awkwardness by holding out her hand.
‘Detective Vivien Light. Thank you for your help.’
‘Commander William Codner. It’s a pleasure. I hope—’
Vivien would never know what Codner hoped, because at that moment the cellphone she was still clutching in her hand started ringing. The screen lit up, and there was Father McKean’s name on the display. Vivien felt heat rise in a wave from her stomach and spread all over her body. She replied immediately, then covered the microphone of the cellphone with her finger.
She looked up at the two men. ‘We’re on.’
Codner made a gesture with his hand and the cars started heading out. One came towards them and Vivien got in the front seat next to the driver. Bellew and Codner took their places in the back.
‘Boys, the game has started. You have the ball, Vivien.’
‘Just a minute.’
A voice she didn’t know, a calm, deep voice. ‘… and as you see, I kept my promise.’
Then Father McKean’s reply. ‘But at what a price! How many lives did that madness cost?’
Vivien moved the telephone away from her ear slightly. She grabbed the radio and gave instructions to the listening cars.
‘Calling all cars. This is Detective Light. Converge on the Country Club area. Isolate the block between Tremont, Barkley, Logan and Bruckner Boulevard. I want a cordon of cars and officers keeping an eye on anyone leaving the area in a car or on foot.’
‘Madness? Were the Plagues of Egypt madness? Was the Great Flood madness?’
Vivien felt a hand clutch her chest and her heartbeat accelerate. The man was really crazy. She heard the priest’s voice, tinged with compassion, trying to speak sweet reason to someone who couldn’t accept it.
‘But then Jesus came and the world changed. He taught us to forgive.’
‘Jesus failed. You people preached his words but you didn’t listen to him. You killed him …’
The voice had lost its deep tone and become slightly shrill. Vivien tried to imagine the man’s face in the semi-darkness of the confessional.
‘Is that why you decided to wear that green jacket? Is that why you killed so many innocent people? For revenge?’
Vivien realized that Father McKean was giving her a clue, confirming his previous description. And by continuing to answer the man, he was giving her time to get there. She again lifted the radio to
her mouth and spoke to the listening officers.
‘The suspect is a tall, dark-haired male Caucasian wearing a green military-style jacket. He may be armed and dangerous. I repeat: he may be armed and very dangerous.’
The man confirmed the accuracy of that description with his next words, murmured with the bitterness of hate and spelled out like a death sentence. ‘Revenge and justice came together this time. And human lives don’t matter to me, just as they’ve never mattered to you people.’
Michael McKean’s voice again. ‘But don’t you feel the holiness of this place? Can’t you find the peace you seek right here, in this church dedicated to Saint John the Baptist, the man who in his modesty declared himself unworthy to baptise Christ?’
Vivien felt her strength fail her. Saint John the Baptist? That was why Father McKean had called her. He’d wanted to inform her that for some reason he wouldn’t be at Saint Benedict but had brought his weekly visit to Saint John forward by one day.
She screamed her defeat at the roof of the car. ‘He’s not there! Dammit, he’s not there!’
She heard Bellew’s startled voice behind her. ‘What do you mean? What’s happening?’
She silenced him with a gesture.
‘Holiness is in the end. That is why I shall not rest on Sunday. And the next time, the stars will disappear and all who dwell beneath them.’
‘What does that mean? I don’t understand.’
The voice again, self-confident, low, threatening. ‘You don’t have to understand. You just have to wait.’
Another pause. And in that pause Vivien saw more people die, heard their screams in the blast of the explosion, saw them burning in the fire that immediately engulfed them. And felt herself dying with them.
The voice continued to lay out its insane threat. ‘This is my power. This is my duty. This is my will.’
Another pause. Then the true madness.
I Am God Page 35
