by James Carol
The kid considered this for all of two seconds. ‘You don’t have to worry, man. I’m not going anywhere.’
Winter stood and pressed the cell phone to the side of his head. He stepped back to let the kid up and watched him skate over to the nearest bench and sit down.
‘Are you still there?’
‘I’m still here.’
Winter heard the smile shining through in her voice. ‘I thought you wanted to meet.’
‘I do, but on my terms not yours. I’m figuring that Central Park is crawling with cops by now. Does that sound about right?’
‘You told me to come alone, and that’s exactly what I’ve done.’
Amelia laughed. ‘I’m sure you’ll understand why I’m not going to take your word for that. The kid on the skates, he’s still with you, yes?’
‘He is.’
‘Put him on.’
Winter walked over to the bench and held out the cell phone. The kid stared at it for a second, then reluctantly reached out. He listened, said a couple of ‘uh-huhs’, then looked up.
‘She says that you need to give me your cell phone. And she says if you don’t hand it over in the next five seconds then she’s going to hang up and disappear. By the way, she’s started counting, and she’s already on four.’
Winter pulled his cell out and tossed it into the kid’s lap.
‘Okay, got it.’ The kid told Amelia. He listened some more, said a couple of ‘Yeahs’, then glanced an apology up at Winter and started dismantling the cell phone. ‘She says you need to give me your lighter.’
Winter took out his Zippo and handed it over. He had a pretty good idea what was coming next. Sure enough, the kid removed the SIM card from the cell and, holding it carefully by one corner, started to burn it, the flame turning green from the melting plastic. Next, he dropped the phone and battery on to the ground and crushed them under his skate.
‘Okay, done it,’ he told Amelia. He listened some more then held the Zippo and cell phone out for Winter to take. ‘She wants to talk to you.’
Winter took the phone and pressed it against his ear. The Zippo went back into the pocket of his sheepskin jacket. ‘So how does this work then?’
‘You’re going to catch a southbound train from the 77th Street station and get off at Grand Central. Call me when you get up to the concourse. If you get there in time I’ll answer. If not, then I’m out of here. It goes without saying that you come alone.’
‘You need to tell me how long I’ve got.’
‘No I don’t. Either you’ll get there in time or you won’t. My advice would be to get moving.’
The line went dead and Winter pushed the cell into his jacket pocket. He pulled out his billfold and stuffed two hundred-dollar bills into the kid’s hand.
‘What did she look like, and where did you meet her?’
‘The south end of the park,’ the kid replied quickly. ‘She had brown shoulder-length hair. Well kind of brown. Maybe it was more blonde. You know a brown-blonde sort of colour. She was wearing thick black spectacles that were on a string like you sometimes see on a teacher or a librarian.’ He nodded to himself. ‘Yeah, that’s what she reminded me of, a librarian.’
‘Thanks.’
The kid started to say something else, but Winter was already jogging down the path that led away from the statue. He upped his pace a little, his lungs complaining. He still couldn’t see any cops. Mendoza had promised she wouldn’t get in his way, but she had her own agenda and one thing he’d learned long ago was that you could never fully trust anyone with an agenda.
By the time he reached the subway station his lungs felt as though they were about to explode, his heart too. He caught his reflection while he was buying a ticket. His face was red and there were beads of sweat on his forehead. The Mozart T-shirt was sticking to his chest.
He made his way down the stairs and reached the southbound platform just as a train was pulling out. He watched the red tail-lights disappear into the tunnel. This was one of the city’s busiest lines. Another train would be along soon enough. The only positive was that the platform was now empty. If Amelia was following him it would make her easier to spot. Since she knew where he was headed, it was unlikely she was, but he wasn’t taking anything for granted. There was no way she was going to get the drop on him again.
He walked to the midpoint of the platform and leant against a pillar. From here he had an unobstructed view of any new arrivals. He checked out every person who appeared, but no one stood out. Was she still dressed like a librarian or had she changed disguise again? He thought she’d probably have switched to a new one by now. That’s what he would have done.
He took a couple of deep breaths and felt his heart begin to settle. No doubt Amelia was hoping he would underestimate how much time he actually had, and that would make him hurry. The quicker he was doing things, the less he was thinking. The less he was thinking, the more chance there was of him doing something dumb. The flaw in her thinking was that she was as anxious to see him as he was to see her, which meant that the threat was almost certainly an empty one. As long as he didn’t waste too much time getting to Grand Central Station then he should be okay.
Winter glanced over at the woman who’d just walked on to the platform, then quickly looked away. Those couple of short seconds were all it took to confirm that this wasn’t Amelia. She was the right height, and the right sort of age, but she was too fat. Bulking yourself up so you appeared bigger was fairly straightforward, but this was too extreme.
The train arrived and he got on. He hovered in the doorway until it pulled away, glancing up and down the platform, watching for anyone attempting to beat the doors. The warning sounded and he took one last look along the platform. No one was trying to squeeze in at the last second. The doors started to close and he stepped back into the subway car.
It was only four stops to Grand Central. Five minutes, ten max. Winter found an empty seat and sat down, then did a quick sweep of the car, checking out the other travellers. Nobody raised any suspicions. There were a couple of dozen people in total. All ages, all races, but definitely no Amelia. He took a moment to straighten his clothes, then rubbed a hand through his hair to tidy it up. When they did eventually meet, he wanted to look as unflustered as possible.
Mendoza would no doubt be wondering where the hell he was, and why he hadn’t called. That was part of the deal. As soon as he’d made contact with Amelia he was supposed to call her. Unfortunately, he couldn’t see a way to do that. His cell had been destroyed, and although he had the one that the skater kid had given him, it didn’t really help. At the moment he was underground and had no signal.
He glanced around the subway car, wondering if he could get one of the other passengers to pass on a message. It was a long shot. Chances were they’d either think he was crazy, or they’d just blank him. He did another quick sweep. The priest at the far end seemed like his best bet. Winter got up and walked over.
‘Excuse me.’
The priest didn’t seem to hear. He was staring out the window, lost in thought. The rattle and whine of the train didn’t help.
Winter tried again. Louder. ‘Excuse me.’
The priest turned to face him. He was the same height as Amelia, and for a split second Winter thought it was her. He shook the thought away. The priest was in his fifties, tidy and serene. There was a small wooden crucifix around his neck and a small multi-coloured cloth bag hanging from his shoulder.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked. His voice was clear, every word enunciated. His accent had been South American once upon a time. Brazilian, maybe.
‘I need you to pass a message on to a colleague, please. She’s a detective with the NYPD. I need you to tell her that I’m okay, and that I’ll contact her as soon as I can.’
The priest frowned, then glanced along the subway car. ‘Is this a joke?’
‘I know how strange this sounds but I promise you this isn’t a joke. If I could do it myself then
I would. The problem is that I’m working undercover. It would be too risky.’ It wasn’t quite the truth, but it was close enough. Winter just didn’t have the time or energy to get into long drawn-out explanations. ‘Please help me out here,’ he added.
The priest took a breath, then nodded. ‘What exactly do you want me to do?’
‘I take it you have a cell phone?’
‘I do.’
‘What about paper and a pen?’
The priest rummaged around in his bag until he found a small notepad and a biro. ‘Here we go.’
Winter dictated his message and watched him write it down. It was short and to the point. He was okay, but the venue for the meet had changed. The message needed to go to Lieutenant Carson Jones at the NYPD’s headquarters. Jones would make sure that it got through to Mendoza. The train pulled into the 51st Street station and the priest stood up to leave.
‘Thank you for doing this,’ Winter told him. ‘I appreciate it.’
The next stop was Grand Central.
56
The doors opened and Winter got out. Two seconds earlier the platform had been empty. Now it was a crush of bodies, everyone anxious to get wherever they were going. He pushed his way through the crowd and pressed himself up against the wall to wait for things to ease off. If he was being pulled along by a sea of bodies it would make it much harder to spot Amelia. The train pulled away from the platform, quickly picking up speed. The last car rattled and sparked into the dark, leaving a large silence in its wake.
Winter gave it another thirty seconds then followed the signs and the crowds to the upper level. There were plenty of people heading the same way, but at least he could move without constantly bumping elbows and arms.
The main concourse reminded him of a cathedral. Solid stone, large windows and a massive vaulted ceiling. He walked slowly into the middle. With every step, he checked faces. Left, right, in front, behind. There were too many to track. Grand Central was one of the world’s largest stations. Tens of millions of passengers used it each year, tens of thousands every day. Winter could feel his senses overloading. There was just too much information to process.
He stopped walking. Straight ahead were the three massive windows that the photographers loved. He turned a slow three hundred and sixty degrees, looking for Amelia, and saw too many possibilities. The brunette in the jeans and leather jacket. The blonde winding through the crowds. A redhead in a business suit. They were all the right height and the right body-shape and the right sort of age, but none of them were Amelia.
He found the cell phone. There was only one number in the call log. He hit the button to connect the call and pressed the phone hard up against his ear, to try to block out as much of the station noise as possible. The call connected and his heart beat a little faster. It rang a second time, a third. By the fifth ring she still hadn’t picked up.
He let it ring out. Just because she said something, it didn’t mean it was true. Like Mendoza kept saying, she was a psychopath and psychopaths were known to lie. It was all about control. By telling him that she might or might not answer his call, she was trying to put him on the back foot. She wanted him doubting himself. She wanted him to keep dialling her number until she deigned to pick up.
Winter pushed the cell phone back into his pocket. If she wanted to play control games, then that was fine with him. To kill time he turned in slow circles, checking out faces. He wouldn’t put it past her to try and sneak up and tap him on the shoulder.
One minute passed, two. No calls, no taps on the shoulder. Five minutes came and went, six. The cell phone started to buzz in his pocket and he pulled it out. He didn’t answer it straightaway. Instead, he turned through another three hundred and sixty degrees, eyes searching the crowds. He saw plenty of people with phones pressed up to ears, plenty of people texting, plenty of people with their eyes fixed to phone screens. No Amelia, though.
He connected the call. ‘I’m here.’
‘I know. And you came alone.’
Which meant that she was here now, watching. Or maybe she’d watched him until she was satisfied he wasn’t being followed then gone to another part of the station to make her call. He pressed the phone harder against the side of his head, listening for anything that might give some idea where she was, but there was just too much ambient noise. He turned through another full circle. No Amelia.
‘You said you wanted to meet here. So where are you?’
‘No, I told you I wanted you to come here. You really need to pay attention to those details.’
Winter sighed into the mouthpiece. ‘Enough with the games, Amelia.’
‘Or what? You’re just going to walk away?’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘I want you to head on over to Brooklyn. Take the 4 train to Fulton Street, then switch to the 2 train and get off at High Street. I’ll text through details of where I want you to go after that. Now, in case you’re tempted to call in backup, I’ve paid someone to follow you.’
‘No you haven’t. It’s one thing to get that kid on skates to deliver a cell phone, it’s something else entirely to get someone to follow me. They’d need to know about surveillance, which they won’t. Not unless they’re ex-cops or PIs, and I can’t see you hiring someone like that. As for someone who wasn’t trained, well I’d spot them in two seconds flat.’
‘You didn’t see me when I followed you to the diner.’
‘I wasn’t looking. Big difference.’
‘See you soon, Jefferson.’
A click and the line went dead.
57
Winter held the cell phone as high as he could and hurried up the subway steps, searching for a signal. An electronic beep sounded halfway up and he checked the screen. Brooklyn bridge park, pier one. Call me when you get there. He broke into a run, taking the remaining steps two at a time. At the top, he stopped and used his phone to get directions. Five minutes later he was jogging towards the park entrance.
Winter took a moment to straighten his clothes and run a hand through his hair. Appearances were important. The last thing he wanted was for Amelia to arrive fresh and breezy, and find him looking as though he’d just run a marathon.
He counted slowly to three, psyching himself up, then walked into the park. Within a couple of strides he was struck by the same sensations he sometimes got when he walked into a murder scene. That familiar tightening in his stomach, the way his heart felt uncomfortably big for his chest. The rational part of his mind knew these were physiological responses to the excess of adrenaline flooding his system, but the irrational part was searching for ghosts.
Winter glanced around quickly, looking for Amelia. There was no sign of her. Up ahead the Manhattan skyline twinkled and glittered in the dark, and off to his right was the bridge. He had the impression that the park hadn’t been here long. The trees dotted around the large grass lawns looked young, as though they still had plenty of growing to do, and there was a sense that this whole stretch of the East River was slowly coming back to life.
He did another scan of the park, more slowly this time. There were a couple of women who were the right sort of height and age, but neither one was Amelia. He took out the cell phone and made the call. It was answered on the third ring.
‘I’m here.’
‘I know. You just strolled right past me.’
Winter fought the urge to glance over his shoulder. ‘No I didn’t.’
‘And you’re sure about that?’
‘If you’d been planning on being here when I arrived, then you wouldn’t have needed me to call.’
‘I’ll meet you down by the waterfront.’ There was a smile in her voice. ‘Five minutes.’
The line went dead and Winter put the cell phone away. He walked down towards the river and found a bench, then sat and looked out over the water and waited. It was closer to six minutes before she finally appeared. Winter recognised her straightaway because she was dressed in the same clothes she’d
worn at the diner two nights ago. She stopped fifty yards away from the bench and had a quick look around. The impression she gave was that she was taking a moment to appreciate the view, but she was actually checking one last time to make sure he’d come alone. Satisfied, she walked over to the bench and smiled down at him.
‘Hi Jefferson, it’s so good to see you again.’
Winter studied her for a moment, his eyes taking in everything. He was wrong. This wasn’t the same outfit she’d worn when they first met. It was close, but there were differences. The wig was the same platinum-blonde colour, a colour that was almost white. Same battered Levis, same scuffed Converse sneakers. The first difference was that she had a laptop bag slung over her shoulder. Secondly, she’d swapped the baggy leather jacket for a suede one that was lined with sheepskin.
‘Hi Amelia. So who are you pretending to be today?’
58
Amelia’s smile widened to show the tips of her teeth. Her fake green eyes met his. ‘Do you like my new jacket? I found it in a thrift store. Then again, I’m guessing that’s where you buy most of your clothes.’
‘You haven’t quite got the hair right. It should be white.’
‘Artistic licence. I didn’t want to stand out too much.’ She fluffed the wig with her hands. ‘This was as close to white as I felt comfortable going. So what do you think? Just like looking in a mirror, right?’
Winter said nothing. He looked at her and wondered what the hell she was up to. Why go to all this trouble?
‘Okay,’ she said eventually, ‘I want you to stand, and I want you to do it slowly. Then we’re going to hug like we’ve really missed each other.’
Winter got up and stepped into Amelia’s open arms. He felt her hands moving efficiently across his body as she patted him down. A couple of people glanced over, but all they saw were two lovers meeting up, or perhaps a couple of close friends, nothing more suspicious than that. Amelia stepped back and held her hand out.
