by Adam Mitzner
Not a minute after she arrived, Haley saw Reid enter James’s office building. A few minutes after that, the skinny, short-haired woman from the other night went in.
Haley was trying to make her drink last when she saw Reid exit the building. She caught only a glimpse, but he looked angry. About a half hour after that, the woman left. In sharp contrast to Reid, she had a self-satisfied smile on her face.
“Another round, miss?” the bartender asked.
“Yes, please.” She smiled at him. “It looks like I’m gonna be here awhile.”
Wayne was uneasy. He tried to calm himself, but he knew that was a losing proposition. Even a couple of beers had done nothing to ease his nerves.
Owen arrived exactly when the pizza did. At dinner, he barely said a word, no matter how Wayne tried to engage him. Wayne knew it was because of what awaited his son tomorrow at Sloan Kettering, a final determination as to whether he’d be admitted into the protocol. Other kids his son’s age were worried about their college acceptances, whereas Owen was waiting to hear whether he would live or die.
“Can you text me as soon as you hear?” Wayne asked. “I wanted to be there tomorrow, but we have this mandatory faculty thing. I tried to get out of it, but—”
“It’s fine. Yeah, I’ll text you as soon as I know.”
“And not like you texted me as soon as you got on the subway tonight, right?”
Owen offered a sheepish smile. “No. I’ll actually do it tomorrow. I promise.”
Wayne began clearing the table, but when he reached Owen’s seat, rather than grab his son’s plate, he placed his hand on Owen’s shoulder.
“I love you, Owen. I’m so proud that you’re my son.”
Wayne had said such things countless times to Owen in the past. He assumed that such expressions of affection were like white noise to a teenager. Owen certainly never reciprocated the sentiment, but Wayne didn’t care about that. He wanted his son to know that he was loved and valued, something Archibald Fiske had never thought important to convey to Wayne.
Owen averted his eyes, his usual reaction to any effort at intimacy. He looked, if anything, embarrassed rather than loved. Still, Wayne was glad to have said it. He wanted his son to know that he would do anything for him.
PART THREE
10
Haley awoke momentarily confused. It was still dark outside, and even though she could not see a foot in front of her, she knew she was in a foreign place. Then she saw Malik’s chiseled bicep above the blanket, and it all came rushing back.
Little more than twelve hours earlier, she had been at Sant Ambroeus, sitting at the bar. She got there at four, and although she hadn’t checked the time, she assumed it was hardly past five when she went inside James’s office. She’d fled like a bat out of hell no more than five minutes later.
Her plan thereafter had been simple: go to Malik’s apartment, immediately get him into bed, and when they were done, try to confuse him about what time she had arrived. Her hope was that after enough carnal activity, he would believe she’d shown up an hour earlier than she actually had, and therefore would later tell the police that she’d been with him from five o’clock until morning.
Malik worked what he called “freelance.” She thought that was a euphemism for not too often. He did something computer-related but was never too descriptive about how he spent his days, and she’d never had any reason to care. She did have a reason last evening, of course. If he hadn’t been home or was on his way to work, her entire plan would’ve been shot to hell.
She’d assumed Malik’s walk-up building north of the Grand Concourse in the Bronx had limited security, but she didn’t take any chances. She’d pulled her hood over her head and kept her face down. Then she’d pressed the buzzer and uttered a silent prayer that he answered.
It took longer than she imagined it should for Malik to cross what she knew to be a small apartment. But she eventually heard his voice coming through the intercom.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Haley. Can I come up?”
“What you doing here, girl?”
“Wouldn’t you rather me show you than tell you?”
As she had expected, getting Malik to drop what he was doing to have sex with her had not been difficult. After, he’d fallen right to sleep. When he awoke an hour later and asked what time it was, Haley answered quickly: “Time to go again.”
That ended the conversation for the next hour. Malik’s slumber the second time was marked by the deep guttural sound of his snoring, which signaled that he was down for the count.
Sleep was to be only intermittent for Haley, however. Every time she shut her eyes in hopes that darkness would erase her thoughts, she was brought back to the images she feared she’d never shake.
In an hour, it would be sunrise. Haley wouldn’t be able to continue to hide in Malik’s apartment. The new day required that she go on with her life, as if she had no knowledge of what had transpired in James’s office last night.
Owen had an 8:30 a.m. appointment at Memorial Sloan Kettering.
He got there before eight and took a seat in the hospital waiting room, which was officially designated as the Clinical Cancer Trial Family and Friends Area. His mother arrived less than five minutes later.
“Looks like we’re both early worms,” she said.
“Birds,” he said.
“What?”
“Early birds. They’re the ones who catch the worms. Worms are always there, I think.”
She laughed. “Before caffeine, my brain doesn’t work.”
The space must have been recently remodeled. It looked more like a hotel lobby than a hospital waiting room. The furniture had virtually no signs of wear. Two imposing Keurig machines filled the room with the aroma of coffee.
His mother was in the process of making herself a cup when the receptionist called Owen’s name.
“Good luck.” His mom looked as if she wanted to hug him, but he moved quickly to avoid any physical contact. “I’ll be here when you’re done,” she called after him instead.
A nurse met him on the other side of the door. She was older, with a cheerful smile that Owen assumed was standard issue for people who chose a career with cancer patients.
She led Owen to an exam room. After opening the door, she said, “The doctor will be in with you shortly.”
Alone in the exam room, Owen couldn’t deny that he was nervous. It seemed a somewhat odd emotion for him to experience in the moment. He often was anxious before he played in front of an audience, but nerves made sense in that situation because he was about to do something at which he could succeed or fail. But in this instance, everything was already set. All that awaited was discovery. There was no reason for him to be nervous, because the die had already been cast.
Easier said than done, he thought. What was discovered in the next few hours would determine whether he had a future.
Jessica sat in the waiting area, trying to keep her emotions in check. The doctors had previously told her that today’s appointment would not take more than a few minutes. They only needed to confirm a few things, and then they’d be able to determine whether he was a viable transplant candidate.
After thirty minutes of waiting, Jessica told herself that she wouldn’t be one of those moms—demanding answers from an intake nurse who didn’t have any to give. Instead, she’d quietly bide her time. Maybe at the one-hour mark she’d make an inquiry, as politely as possible, of course.
While she was mentally composing her request, she felt her phone vibrate. The room had at least four signs that said ABSOLUTELY NO CELL PHONE USAGE. That couldn’t apply to checking your phone, she reasoned.
The caller ID said Reid Warwick.
Sorry, everyone. Gotta answer it.
“Hello?” she whispered.
“Have you spoken to James today?”
She remembered her husband saying that Reid would kill him if he wasn’t back in New York first thing this morning. S
till, it was barely nine. Even if James had taken an early Acela, he wouldn’t be back in Manhattan for another hour, at least, so it seemed early for Reid to get antsy about not getting his money.
“Um, no. Not since yesterday.”
“What time yesterday?”
The nurse said, “Ma’am, you can’t talk on the phone in here. Please go outside.”
“I’m sure he’s on his way,” she said, still whispering.
Reid didn’t reply. At least not at first. Then he said, “I’m at James’s office. There are police everywhere. James wasn’t answering my calls, so I decided to see if he was back already. But when I told the cops that I was going to apartment 7E, they said that they couldn’t let me up because it’s a crime scene.”
Wayne knew Owen’s appointment was at 8:30 a.m. He had hoped to receive a text from Jessica during his second-period class. But it passed without word from either of them. He was well aware that bad news did not take longer to disseminate than the good kind. He assuaged himself with the thought that there must be some delay at the hospital and that Jessica would call or text as soon as she had any news.
By the time his third period began, Wayne could no longer help himself. He had fifty minutes without students, a break he wouldn’t get again until lunchtime.
He left the school building, and almost the moment he stepped outside, the snow began to come down in earnest. As soon as he positioned himself under some scaffolding across the street, he called Jessica. It rang twice, then went to her voice mail.
He assumed that had happened because she’d declined the call, but he wasn’t the most tech-savvy person, so he wasn’t entirely sure. He tried again. This time it went directly to voice mail. That confirmed his initial suspicion that Jessica had turned off her phone after screening him the first time. Again, though, he couldn’t be sure.
After the beep, he said, “Hi, Jessica. It’s Wayne.” He hated identifying himself when he called, but for some reason he felt that was now required, as if their divorce decree also erased Jessica’s ability to recognize the sound of his voice. “I’m just calling to find out how Owen’s appointment went. I figured that you’d call if there was any news, so that means that the doctor doesn’t know anything yet, but if you could call me as soon as you’re done, or even if you’re not done, and just tell me whatever he said, even if he didn’t say anything, I would really appreciate it.”
It was a stupid message. He should have sent a text. At least then he could have reviewed it. Ironically, he took some solace in the fact that he was near certain that Jessica never listened to his voice mails. She likely would see that he’d called and either call him back or not, but he couldn’t imagine she’d spend time listening to the message he’d left. After all, she knew why he was calling.
Trying to reach Owen directly would be a fool’s errand. He was probably still in with the doctor. Still . . .
Sure enough, his call to Owen followed the same pattern: rang twice, then went to voice mail. His second try ended the same way.
He sent Owen a text instead:
Can’t reach ur mom. If ur out of dr, please call asap.
It was Gabriel’s job to get up with their newborn daughter. Ella handled Annie’s 3:00 a.m. feedings solo, but after that, she was off the clock until he left for work.
Gabriel Velasquez enjoyed these predawn hours as much as he could recall enjoying anything in his life. Time spent on his knees beside Annie, making funny, soothing noises and waiting until she rewarded his efforts with a smile, even though he knew her reaction resulted from gas rather than amusement.
He often wondered what the other cops would think if they saw him in these moments. They’d give him shit for it—that he knew. Gabriel had spent years cultivating something of a tough-guy, no-nonsense reputation among his fellow officers. At the same time, he assumed that everyone made animal noises and rolled on the floor with their newborns. If they didn’t, they definitely should.
His phone rang before seven. He grabbed it quickly so it wouldn’t rouse Ella from the few hours of sleep she enjoyed each day.
Only his captain would be calling at this ungodly hour. And he’d be doing so only if he wanted Gabriel to run point on an important new case.
That was the last thing Gabriel wanted today. Six months ago, he would have crawled through broken glass to be put in charge of a big case. But now, with a new baby and a sleep-deprived wife, he’d gladly let someone else in the unit have the honor.
“Absolutely,” was what he said instead in response to Captain Tomlinson’s request. You did not get promoted by turning down high-profile cases, after all.
Gabriel had made lieutenant five years earlier. All indications were that he was on the fast track to captain and a precinct of his own to run. After that, who knew how high he could climb? The Commissioner Velasquez jokes that had been made since he was a rookie didn’t sound so silly now.
“Excellent,” Tomlinson said. “Asra can back you up. Show her how to run a first-rate investigation. That way, when you’re sitting in my chair and you need to assign someone to get the Chief off your ass, you’ll have someone as good as I do.”
Gabriel smiled at the compliment. “Thanks, skip.”
Tomlinson was a navy man, having served a tour of duty in the first Gulf War. He preferred to be called skip or skipper, even though, as Gabriel understood it, Tomlinson had been only an ensign in his navy days.
“I don’t have to tell you that the press is all over it.”
Tomlinson was right. He didn’t have to tell Gabriel that.
Despite the many crime dramas set in New York, Manhattan had one of the lowest crime rates for a major US city. Barely enough murders to fill a full season on network television. Fewer than thirty murders for all of last year. Those would hardly be compelling viewing, and certainly not whodunits. Ten had been gang-related, and half that many involved a drug deal. The rest were either the result of some other type of criminal activity or domestic violence cases.
All of which meant that Gabriel would likely be arresting a spouse.
Two hours after Captain Tomlinson had given him the assignment, Gabriel was behind the wheel of his NYPD-issued unmarked Ford Fusion with Asra Jamali riding shotgun. The traffic was stop-and-go, partly due to the falling snow but mainly because that’s the way traffic always moved in Midtown Manhattan.
Gabriel knew next to nothing about his new partner other than the fact that she had earned her gold shield about three years ago and was Muslim. Although the ranks of Arab American cops had been growing steadily since 9/11—enough that the department had amended its no-beard policy to allow for religiously observant Muslims to serve—Muslims were still something of an anomaly in the NYPD, and female Muslim officers were rarer still. That Asra had also made rank meant that she was likely in a class by herself.
The other thing he knew about her was that some of the cops referred to her as Jasmine, the name of some Disney princess. They claimed it wasn’t racist because it was a compliment. Gabriel knew better. He’d endured being called Ricky Martin and hearing chants of “Livin’ La Vida Loca” for a good part of his early career.
He suspected that he was as much a mystery to Asra as she was to him. Likely all she knew about him was that he had run the investigation into the murder of Charlotte Broden a few years back, and once it was solved, he’d started dating the victim’s sister. At least the relationship was no longer considered scandalous now that he and Ella were married and had a baby.
They rode up Park Avenue, barely saying anything to each other. At around Grand Central, the silence was broken by the ring of Gabriel’s phone.
“My wife,” he said. “I need to answer. We just had a baby.”
Asra smiled as if to say that he didn’t need to explain.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he said into the phone.
“Annie misses her dada,” Ella said. “I thought I’d put the phone up to her ear so she could hear your voice.”
Gabri
el knew it was Ella who missed him. She’d been half-asleep when he brought Annie into bed and said he had to go to work. He understood how isolating it was for a new mother to be alone with a baby. He sometimes said that he envied all the time Ella spent with Annie, but the truth was that he’d been happy to return to the job, much as he knew that Ella was champing at the bit to return to the DA’s office as soon as her three-month maternity leave ended.
“I’m in the car on my way to a crime scene,” Gabriel said. “But a quick call with Annie would be great.”
He heard Ella’s voice, now sounding far away. “She’s on.”
“Hi, sweetie,” he said, his voice a few octaves higher than usual and feeling self-conscious about being “Dada” inches away from Asra. “Are you and Mommy having fun? Daddy loves you so much.”
He heard nothing from the other end. Then Annie started to cry.
Ella’s voice got louder as she resumed speaking directly into the phone. “She’s been fussy this morning.”
“I’m sorry if I revved her up before leaving.”
“No, I’m sure that’s not it. I think she really likes her daddy time. I know I do.”
“What’s on your agenda today?” he asked.
“I wanted to go to this exhibit at the Met on Roman architecture that closes this week, but it just started snowing.”
“Go, Ella. Annie won’t freeze. Besides, it’s high time that baby got some culture.”
He heard Ella laugh. “Okay. Maybe. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
After the call ended, Gabriel put the phone into the cup holder. He was now close enough to their destination that he was checking which side of Madison Avenue had the even-numbered buildings so he’d know where to park.
“Congratulations on your new baby,” Asra said.
“Thanks.”
“What’s your little girl’s name again?”
