Eight times, he’d been here. Lassen wanted to shake his hand, wanted to congratulate him for his good works. Mark his efforts with a star on a wall no one could see, where it would shine so brightly, and illuminate nothing.
It had all been so useless.
33
FOR A WHILE after he woke, he lay under the blankets with his eyes closed and listened to the woman’s voice while he tried to place himself. There had been rain pattering on a window, but the window was far from the bed. The mattress was too hard and the blankets too thin. He didn’t know where he was, but it wasn’t his apartment.
He listened to the voice and he drifted with it, hoping to catch hold of something.
“No—I told you already—Yes, because nobody’s switching for anyone else’s shift and we’re still shorthanded—Yes—Yes, he’ll be back on in the next couple of days—I don’t know, maybe because he needs some rest? I mean, what do you think? Maybe I’ll take a day off too—No, forget I said that—Look, just give me Bodecker—Then tell him to call my cell—Yes, goddamnit, Cleve. I’ll be back by then.”
The sheet was tucked under his chin and smelled like it had been washed in pure bleach. It was as crisp as a shirt collar. He heard something go wheeling past his room, and understood then that he was in a hospital. He opened his eyes and saw Lieutenant Hernandez sitting next to his bed.
“They said you’d be waking up soon,” she said. She put her cell phone onto her lap.
“They must’ve been right.”
“I wanted to be here,” Hernandez said. “Wanted to be the first to say thanks.”
“Okay.”
“Do you remember what happened?” she asked.
He had to think about that. She inched the chair a little closer. He hadn’t noticed it was a wheelchair until she used her arms to move it. Then she was so close to the bed that he couldn’t see what was wrong with her legs.
“Most of it,” he said. “Jenner and I went to the pier, after we got the call.”
“You saw me in the lookout?”
He nodded.
“The door at the loading bay was unlocked—it was supposed to be. We went upstairs to the office.”
“You thought you were meeting Patrick.”
“We thought we’d finally get the sit-down we’d been looking for. But we walked in on Johnny Wong and three of his guys.”
“He’d already killed Patrick,” Hernandez said. “His mistress and his neighbor. They’d been dead for weeks.”
“He set us up?” he asked. “That’s what you’re telling me?”
“Those messages with the bartender, that was just to get you to the warehouse. Patrick was out of the picture.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“We found him three days ago.”
“What day is this?”
“The nineteenth.”
That didn’t mean anything to Carver. He wasn’t even sure of the month, but he didn’t want to say it. This was the police department; he was supposed to be tough. He couldn’t let his lieutenant see him rattled by a little smoke. He tried sitting up and found that he could. Hernandez reached behind him and moved the pillows.
After he leaned back on them, he saw her leg for the first time.
She was wearing a navy blue suit and the skirt had climbed above her knee. The bandages looked an inch thick.
“I remember you coming in,” he said. “You must’ve heard the shots.”
“I left the lookout, came running.”
“You got it in the knee.”
“That’s right,” she said. “Do you remember how the fire started?”
“I remember a fire.”
“But that’s all?”
He remembered the smell of the burning bodies, and the flames climbing the warehouse’s clapboard walls. He’d been gasping for air when he crawled to stop Hernandez from choking. Sometime near the end, when Hernandez’s head was resting on his knee, and her blood was all around them, he remembered hearing the first cracks as the roof started to collapse.
What he couldn’t understand was why he was in the hospital if she was out.
“Hernandez —”
He stopped and reached with both hands to feel his face, fingertips carefully probing the skin, afraid for the first time since waking.
“Relax, Carver,” she said. “It was just smoke inhalation. Fumes from all that crap they had in there. You were touch-and-go, a couple days. You smelled like an ashtray. But that’s all. Look, I’ll show you —”
She twisted in her chair and took her purse from one of the push handles. She found a compact mirror, opened it, and handed it to him.
“You see?” she said.
He looked at himself. He remembered the burning in his chest, could see Hernandez writhing next to him. They’d made a tourniquet of something. Her jacket, maybe. But in the mirror she’d handed him, his face was fine. There wasn’t anything wrong with him at all. Someone had even shaved him that morning. He tried to focus, tried to let all the images and memories stick together.
“Jenner?” he asked.
“Back at work—partnered with Bodecker till you get back. He’s already bitching about it.”
He leaned back and closed his eyes. Jenner was all right, and that was the main thing. That was what he’d been worried about the most. He didn’t remember much from when he was out, but he remembered not knowing about Jenner. He wasn’t sure how they’d gotten separated, though that wasn’t something he was going to bring up with Hernandez.
“Who wouldn’t bitch a little?” he asked. “Jesus, Hernandez—this is Bodecker we’re talking about.”
Hernandez turned her chair to face the door.
“I’ve got to go, Ross,” she said. She reached up and caught his hand. “But I needed to thank you. You saved me—you truly did.”
“It’s nothing.”
She let go of his hand and straightened her jacket.
“It’s a lot to me,” she said. “And here—you can read about it. It’s got all the details. Anything you might’ve forgotten, it’s in here.”
She put her copy of the Chronicle on his lap and pushed herself halfway across the room. Then she stopped and looked over her shoulder.
“Take as long as you need,” she said. “When you’re ready to come back, call me.”
“Thanks, Lieutenant.”
She wheeled herself to the door and turned the corner. He heard the chair go down the hall, and after a moment, the elevator’s chime. He looked at the window on the far side of the room. It was impossible to tell if it was morning or evening. The light was gray and sleepy, and the rain washed against the glass every time the wind stirred.
He brought his fists to his forehead and closed his eyes.
They’d followed the leads to the warehouse and Johnny Wong had come out shooting. They’d come away from it with their lives, but Johnny hadn’t, and neither had his men. Carver remembered his last shot, the one that ended it. The fire was already going by then. It had just been an accident, probably. No one in there would have wanted to start it.
He flipped through the paper, but it didn’t matter what it said. After a while he tossed it on the floor, where he couldn’t see it. Nothing in a newspaper was going to fill what was missing in his chest. He looked at the gray light and listened to the rain, and waited for someone to come and tell him he could go home.
When he woke the second time, it was dark outside and even darker in the room. He sat up and swung his feet to the floor. He wasn’t sure what it would be like to stand, but when he tried, it wasn’t a problem. He crossed to the window and leaned against the metal sill. He was looking down at Parnassus Avenue, from about five floors up. The rest of the medical center was across the street. Hard to see it for the rain.
He went to the bathroom and washed his face. The water never got warm and his bare feet were freezing on the tile floor. Then he went back to the bed and found a plastic bin underneath it. Inside it was a clear ba
g. He took it out and held it toward the window to read the printing above the UCSF Medical Center logo. Someone had written his name with a black marker.
He set the bag on the bed and ripped it open. They’d put his keys and badge inside his shoes, had rolled his pants and boxers into a ball. Someone had made a half-decent but pointless attempt to fold his shirt and jacket. All of his clothes smelled strongly of smoke, and when he held the pants up, even in the window’s vague light he could see the dark bloodstains.
At least they hadn’t cut his clothes off. He’d had that happen, and then he’d had to choose between walking down Parnassus in a backless hospital gown or waiting for Jenner to bring him something. He dug into the bag again and found his wallet and cell phone. His gun was missing, but that was probably in ballistics. They’d need to check it against the rounds they dug out of the warehouse walls and Johnny Wong.
He pulled off the hospital gown and dressed in his suit. Then he took the phone and turned it on. There was still one bar left on the battery. There was only one person to dial, and he picked up on the first ring. He always picked up on the first ring.
“You’re calling,” Jenner said. “That’s gotta be a good sign. At least you’re up.”
“That’s about all I can say.”
“Hernandez went to see you. This morning.”
“She told me you’re already back at it.”
“Bodecker,” Jenner said. “Sweet Jesus. Two days of him.”
“I’ve been here that long?”
“Longer,” Jenner said. “They brought us there five days ago. I got out in three. I came and saw you yesterday. You remember?”
“A little, maybe,” Carver said. “Did you read something?”
“You were sleeping,” Jenner said. “I said hello, and that’s about it.”
“I remember someone reading to me. I guess it wasn’t you.”
“They had you drugged to the sky. You sound okay now.”
He felt okay now. Every muscle in his body ached, but that didn’t concern him. He’d been horizontal for too long.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“Bryant,” Jenner said. “Paperwork.”
“Can you meet in half an hour?”
“We could get a bite, if you’re up for it.”
“I’m starving,” Carver said.
He walked to the window and looked down at the street. There was an ambulance parked in the turnabout beneath him. Light from the main entrance spilled out and made the raindrops flash as they streaked toward the black pavement.
“I’ll go down the block, wait at Fifth and Parnassus. I shouldn’t stand out front.”
“You’re not asking if you can go, is what you mean. You’re not waiting to get released.”
“I just want to get the fuck out of here.”
“I hear you,” Jenner said. “But you keep doing this, next time they might put a chip in you. Sound an alarm when you go out the front door.”
A nurse passed him on the way to the elevator, and before she recognized him as a patient, he reached into his jacket and showed her his badge. He put it a foot from her face and then snapped the case closed.
“Carver,” he said. “Homicide. You see which way Dr. Newcomb went?”
“I —”
“Forget it. I’ll find him.”
He stepped past her and pushed the elevator button. He listened to her go down the hall, and when her footsteps stopped, he knew she was at the door to his room. He’d left the hospital gown on the floor, next to the empty plastic bag that had held his things. It took the nurse about a second to put it together.
“Sir?”
He put his phone against his ear and didn’t turn around. The elevator doors opened and he got into the car.
“Sir!”
He punched the button for the lobby, and the doors rattled shut in front of him.
When he saw Jenner’s headlights, he came out of the shadows and stood at the curb, and then got into the passenger seat when the car stopped. Jenner didn’t pull back into the lane right away, but sat with one hand on the wheel and looked him over.
“Shit, Ross.”
“I know.”
His suit smelled like it was still smoking.
“You look like—We’ll find a casual kind of place. What do you think?”
“There’s Mel’s, on Geary.”
“That works,” Jenner said. He checked his mirror and then did a U-turn, taking them down Parnassus toward the ocean. “That Hernandez’s blood all down the side of your leg?”
“I think so.”
“She doesn’t need that chair, I don’t think. She could get by on crutches. It’d be faster, plus she could do stairs.”
“I wouldn’t know. I never got shot in the knee.”
“She says you saved her,” Jenner said. “You remember it?”
“Not really,” he said. “Some flashes.”
“It’s all in the paper, her story.”
“I saw it.”
“What do you think?”
“I haven’t been up very long,” Carver said. “I haven’t thought about much.”
“Are you going to?” Jenner asked. “This time?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ve picked you up like this before,” Jenner said. “It’s a thing we do, once or twice a year. I’m just saying.”
Carver didn’t have a reply to that. He’d just been doing his job, this time and all the others. He sat and watched the streetlights as they came through the Inner Sunset and then crossed Golden Gate Park. Jenner had the heater on, and from the vents, Carver could smell the wet grass and the redwood trees. They weren’t far from the meadow where they’d found Hadley Hardgrave.
“At least we got him,” Jenner said. “There’s that.”
“There’s that,” Carver said. “Do we get to keep Hadley’s file open?”
Jenner shook his head.
“They closed it.”
“Who?”
“Hernandez, the chief. The commissioner,” Jenner said. “Shit—even the mayor dropped by. But he was just looking for a photo.”
“Suddenly they’re all as sure as we were.”
“Guy’s dead,” Jenner said. “It’s a good time to be sure.”
They reached the north end of the park, and Jenner waited at the light for a chance to turn right on Fulton. Down the sidewalk, in the shadow of a cypress tree, there was a bus stop. A woman stood beneath its glass shelter, arms clutched against her chest. He turned as they passed her, something like hope expanding in his chest and pressing hard against his lungs. But when he saw her face, she was no one he knew. He didn’t understand what he’d expected to see.
“Doesn’t this sort of thing worry you, though?” Jenner asked.
Carver turned away from the window.
“What sort of thing?” he asked.
“I don’t know. What we’ve been seeing on the streets, the stuff we’re up against. It’s not like it used to be.”
“People are getting harder,” Carver answered. “That’s all. They wear down the world around them because they’re too rough for it.”
“I’ve heard that one,” Jenner said.
“Heard it where?”
“From you. Every time we do this.”
34
IT WAS PAST midnight when Jenner stopped in front of Carver’s building. A motorcycle went past, shot across Bush, and then disappeared under the Dragon Gate and up the hill into Chinatown. After it was gone, the street was empty except for a flock of sparrows that swirled out of the darkness and settled onto the roof of a parked car.
“If you don’t feel good, call me,” Jenner said. “I know you won’t call the hospital.”
“I’m fine.”
“You coming in tomorrow?”
“I might take a day,” Carver said. “Unless you and Bodecker close everything. Then I’ll take two.”
“There’ll be plenty left.”
“There always i
s.”
They shook hands and Carver stepped out. He watched Jenner drive off, and then he went to the front door and into his apartment’s lobby. Glenn was asleep at the security desk, his head down on the glass-topped monitors. Carver crossed under the chandelier and stood where he could look down at the sleeping guard.
His forehead was on his crossed arms, and the back of his neck was visible. There were three red welts in a tight triangle.
“Glenn.”
He didn’t stir, but his breath was fogging the glass beneath his nose.
He exited the elevator on his floor and was coming down the hall when a man stepped out of the apartment across from his. He came out backwards, pulling a hand truck loaded with cardboard boxes. A Japanese guy, late thirties. He wore slacks and a dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up. When he saw Carver, he glanced back inside the apartment he’d just left, then continued down the hall to the elevator. They passed each other without speaking.
As he unlocked his door, he could hear more people across the hall. A man and a woman, talking quietly as they loaded boxes. His neighbor had only moved in a few months ago, and she’d never had a friend come over that Carver had seen. She’d kept to herself, mostly. He couldn’t remember her face and wasn’t sure if he’d ever known her name. But whatever her story was, it wasn’t odd to move out in the middle of the night. People did that all the time.
He showered and changed into clean clothes. He stuffed his suit into a garbage bag and put that in the trash can under his kitchen sink. His apartment was spotless. There was a service that came by once a week and cleaned everything but his study, which he kept locked. They must have come while he was in the hospital.
Everything was perfect. Dust-free, lemon-scented, and utterly empty. He went to the window and looked through the slat blinds at the Neptune Hotel’s neon sign, blurry in the rain. He walked into the bedroom and looked at his bed, which was made up. The down duvet had been untouched for so many days that it looked six inches thick. But he knew he wouldn’t sleep. He got a jacket from his closet, got his wallet and keys, and went out.
The Night Market Page 30
