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sat beside her. The patient's pleasant smile faded when she saw Chester
sitting on the opposite side of the long worktable. She clung to Herron's hand
and wriggled in her seat.
For the better part of the next two hours, we went through the encounter
between Chester and Tina, with Herron clarifying the language whenever Tina's
verbal utterances were incomprehensible. By the end of the cross-examination,
the patient had exhausted herself by the combination of her concentration on
the retelling of the story, and her apprehension about being close to Chester.
When Vexter ruled that there was sufficient evidence to hold the matter for
the action of the grand jury, he released Tina from the room and dealt with
the business of finding an appropriate facility in which to secure the
defendant, away from Coler Hospital.
At four-fifteen, I thanked the doctor and retraced my steps to the lobby of
the building, where Chapman was waiting. "Proud of yourself, blondie? Chester
the Molester moving on to a better place? Can't believe they actually got a
psychobabble disorder named for a bad disposition."
"Yeah. 'Intermittent explosive disorder' temper tantrums that the perp's
unable to control."
"And a medication that works for them?"
I nodded.
"Get a double dose and I'll keep it in my desk drawer, to have on hand for
those days you lose it with me. C'mon, that student who was supposed to meet
you had to leave for the day. One of the guys from the one-fourteen is going
to cruise us around for ten minutes. Will that do?"
We went outside, where the sky was already darkening and the wind had picked
up force. A blue and white RMP radio motor patrol car sat in front of the
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hospital. The two uniformed cops in the front seat looked less than thrilled
to be chauffeuring us around the quiet little island.
They pointed out the landmarks as we wound our way south, past the remains of
the Octagon, the apartment houses, the meditation steps, the observation pier.
Near the southern tip, we came flat up against the heavy metal fencing that
blocked off the ruins of the Smallpox Hospital.
"Can we get in there to see it?"
The driver flashed his annoyance at his partner, who answered more politely.
"Nothing to see, really. You can't go inside the building 'cause it's all
crumbled and full of falling blocks of granite. And broken glass. And then
there's the rats."
I got the point. "Can we just drive up closer so I can take a look?"
With some hesitation, the driver started the car again and drove us to the
locked fence. He got out of the RMP, inserted his card in the automated
locking device, and watched as the gate slid open. He stepped back into the
car and drove slowly through the entrance. In the wintry darkness of the late
afternoon, I could barely make out the shapes of the large boulders on the
darkened landscape. "You won't see much, and I can't let you out to walk
around. Last guy I took in needed a tetanus shot from tripping and cutting
himself open on some old can or bottle."
"What are these huge rocks?"
"The walls of the old City Penitentiary. That's what it all was, once. Came
down in the 1940s. It's just been sitting here ever since. Kids used to really
get hurt on this stuff. That's why they finally fenced it off."
He drove south until he stopped at the abandoned ruin of the Smallpox
Hospital. Chapman and I stepped out of the car and walked to the waist-high
wooden fence that kept trespassers at bay.
"Isn't it glorious?" The facade looked like an old castle, the dark gray stone
porch of the entry now draped in icicles and bare of all the ivy that cascaded
down its sides in summer. Through its paneless window frames, the enormous
bright red neon letters of the bottling factory's Pepsi-Cola sign lighted the
black sky above the river. On the Manhattan side, the glitter of the United
Nations complex sparkled with the outline of its distinctive shape.
"This all that's here?" I could see Mike's breath forming the words in the
chilled air.
The driver of the RMP nodded in response.
"Now you've seen it, kid. Let's hoof it back to the mainland. Must be like a
girl thing. The place doesn't do anything for me. Mercer's gonna meet us at
your place at seven-thirty."
The cops dropped us at the station and we waited with two other passengers
until the cable car landed and disgorged its returning commuters.
Mike and I stood in the front of the tram, hanging on to the overhead straps,
as the red behemoth lurched from its berth and lifted toward the first tower.
For just a few moments we were below the roadway of the Fifty-ninth Street
Bridge, and then we reached the height that put us almost at eye level with
the huge girders that spanned the river. The wind was fiercer now, and I could
feel the play in the tension of the steel wires.
Mike turned to say something to me when a burst of shots resounded on the side
of the moving cab. They pinged and smacked against the steel sidings and the
thick glass of the upper body of the tram. Before the second volley was fired
off, and without a word between us, Mike had tackled me to the ground and
covered my body with his own.
The window had shattered as the hail of gunfire continued, a second round and
then a third. The car swayed and frigid air rushed in to fill the small heated
space of the wounded tram. The remaining two minutes of the crossing seemed
endless, and my mind flashed to those desperate moments almost five months
earlier when Mercer had taken a bullet meant for me.
My face was pressed against the muddy tiled floor of the cab. I could hardly
breathe from the combination of terror and the weight of Mike's body flattened
against my back. I closed my eyes to keep the glass particles from blowing
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into them, and heard the sound of Mike's gun scraping against the floor of the
tram as he positioned it alongside my ear to cover the opening of the door as
we docked.
20
Startled commuters awaiting the short ride home gasped at the spectacle of the
four of us, crawling on the bottom of the cable car, and a gun in the hand of
Mike Chapman, who had been unable to reach into his pocket to display his
badge.
"I'm a cop. It's okay," he said. He stood up and went to check on the older
couple who had been sitting on the bench in the rear of the tram before they
had dropped to the floor. "You two all right? I'm a police officer."
The elderly woman was clutching her chest and began to cry as Mike helped her
to her feet. "He's got a heart condition," she said, pointing at her husband.
"Is he ?"
Mike was assisting her husband onto the bench and restoring the cane to his
hand. "You wanna call for an ambulance?" he shouted to no one in particular,
as the trembling man assured Mike that he was fine.
A bystander said that someone had already called 911 after the first shots
were heard.
"How's your wife?" the old gent asked, pointing to me. I was standing up, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]