Point for point, it was a perfect match.
It was Curtis, returned to the scene of the crime.
Sully’s ears buzzed with adrenaline as his hand went to his belt for his piece. The gun was out of its holster and pointed in a second, but he couldn’t shoot—too many innocent bystanders. The plate glass alone could take out the people sitting by the window, not to mention stray bullets flying out to Union Street.
Some woman in the coffee shop screamed, but Sully didn’t have time to calm nerves.
Curtis had jerked back from the window, obviously seeing the gun.
Sully gauged the distance around the kidney-shaped counter. Too far. Ignoring his bad back, he sucked in his abs and vaulted over the counter. By the time he was out the door, Curtis was scurrying away, scuttling down the sidewalk like a wounded rat.
The bastard! He’d had the balls to return to the scene ... back for more? Well, this time, Sully was here to give him a taste of his own medicine. Take him down, once and for all.
Down the street Sully barreled, giving chase. For a man with a limp Curtis could move quickly, though he still had an odd gait.
He’s running faster because of the goddamned therapy he got in prison, Sully thought as his heart thundered in his chest. Yeah, he’d read all about the special treatment that lawyer had gotten Curtis in prison. Everything but a fucking manicure.
Curtis ran down Union and turned right on Roosevelt, heading into the center of the congestion.
Their progress was hindered by people on the sidewalk, vendors with hand trucks, women pushing strollers, but Sully had the advantage. Once people spotted the gun in his hand, they got out of the way.
Sully was almost on him when Curtis knocked over a woman with a kid and disappeared down the subway stairs. Bastard. Sully leaped around the fallen boy, who seemed upset but okay, and dropped onto the staircase.
The sudden shadows were blinding, but Sully’s legs hammered on the steps, relentless.
He wasn’t letting this fish get away.
“Police!” Sully shouted to the transit worker in the booth as he jumped the turnstile. “NYPD! Call for backup!”
By the time Sully barreled down the last short flight, Curtis was a good twenty yards ahead of him, tearing off toward the end of the platform.
The fifty-yard dash. His lungs burning, Sully launched himself after the younger man. Adrenaline tingled through his blood, keeping his legs pumping, his mouth dry.
Ahead of him, Curtis was approaching the tiled wall at the end of the platform, a dead end, but he wasn’t slowing. What the hell?
As Sully closed in on him, he realized Curtis’s plan. He was reaching around the wall there, feeling for the ladder to bring him down onto the tracks.
A suicide mission.
“Stop! Police!” Sully raised his gun, his feet pounding to a halt. “Hold it there or I’ll shoot!”
The man turned back from the wall and stared, like a deer caught in the headlights. His hood had fallen away, and Curtis’s features were unmistakable now.
This was the guy.
Panting, Sully took aim and fired.
The gun’s report echoed through the underground passage as Curtis went down ... down onto the tracks.
Sully raced ahead, but before he got close he saw Curtis up and running along the tracks toward the tunnel.
Damn! He’d missed.
But Curtis was flirting with disaster, running near the third rail. One misstep and he risked making contact with the high-voltage current, a jolt that would kill him instantly.
Sully lifted his gun to fire again, but the rush of air and the rising sun of light in the tunnel told him a train was coming.
He couldn’t chance shooting into an approaching train. He also couldn’t risk chasing Curtis down the tracks himself. Sully wanted this guy, but he wanted to live, too.
With any luck, the approaching train would crush the monster.
The blast of the train’s horn indicated that the driver had seen something on the tracks.
Sully lowered his gun as light showered the tunnel. Thirty seconds later the train barreled into the station, whistle blowing.
The noise of the rattling subway cars nearly drowned out the warning from the platform.
“Police, don’t move!” the shout came from behind Sully.
He froze, leaving his gun dangling at his side.
“I’m a police officer, retired NYPD,” Sully shouted. “James Sullivan. ID is in my right, rear pocket.”
The uniforms behind him were in charge now. Sully would follow their instructions to the word. They might even call in some backup and search the subway tunnel.
But they wouldn’t find anything.
Damn! You couldn’t step it up, old man? Run a little faster? Use the long legs that the good Lord gave you?
But what was done was done.
Curtis had returned to the scene of the crime, and Sully had let him slip away.
Chapter 56
Maybe I’ll forget about law and order and just paint houses. Bernie found great satisfaction in running a roller over her bedroom wall and leaving a trail of warm Toasted Mocha where once there was only boring white. When she was finished, her bedroom would be a cozy sanctuary.
Yesterday she had covered the bathroom walls with Orange Crush, a bright color that made her want to throw a wild Cinco de Mayo party with fruit floating in a bowl of punch.
It was a beautiful April day, sunshine with just a touch of a spring breeze; perfect weather to throw the windows open and paint. Bernie had just finished using the roller on two walls when the phone rang. The caller ID said Sarah. She dropped the roller in the pan and used her clean hand to pick up her cell phone.
“Sarah, hi. I’m painting my apartment.”
“Oh, Bernie, I’m sorry to bother you but I need your help.”
“Sure. You okay?”
“They say everything’s fine. I’m at the hospital. I had some severe cramping and my OB-GYN thought it was premature contractions.” Sarah’s voice sounded calm, at least. “The doctors say I should be fine, but they want me to rest here for the next few hours. Can you pick up Gracie from school?”
“I’m on it.” Bernie was already tapping the lid on the paint can shut. “What about Maisey? You want me to pick her up, too?”
“Peg already got her. But she can’t leave to get Grace because she’s got Maisey there, and she’s dealing with Sully’s back pain and a houseful of cops.”
“What?” Bernie held the phone to her ear with her shoulder while she rinsed her hands at the sink. “What happened?”
As Bernie hurried through the apartment, grabbing keys and her wallet, Sarah explained that Peyton Curtis had appeared at Sully’s Cup around noon that day. “Thank God, there was no shooting. He didn’t seem to have a gun. Apparently Sully chased him to the subway, but Curtis jumped onto the tracks and got away.”
“Oh, my God! Dad thought Curtis might come back. He was right!” Bernie pulled a denim jacket over her sloppy painting clothes, stepped onto the front porch, and locked the door behind her.
“Fortunately, your father is fine. Just some back fatigue, Peg says.”
“And why are the cops at the house?”
“For moral support, I guess. Everyone loves to hear a good cop story.”
“I know how that goes,” Bernie said as she strode down the street at double-time. “Listen, I’m on my way to the bus stop now. I’ll call you and check in once I’ve got Grace. She’ll probably want to talk to you.”
As soon as Bernie met Grace on the steps of St. Pete’s, the nine-year-old’s face drained of color.
“What’s wrong? Where’s my mom?”
Bernie explained what had happened, but Grace’s concern only amplified.
“She’s in the hospital?” Her face went pink and her eyes filled with tears.
“Oh, honey, she’s fine.” Bernie hugged her niece and guided her to the side of the staircase where pale pink cherry
blossoms lined the skinny branches. “Hold on and I’ll get her on the phone so you can talk to her yourself.”
Gracie’s tears ran freely, sliding down her cheeks and splashing onto her shirt as her mother tried to console her on the phone. A few minutes later, Grace handed Bernie the phone, quivering. “She wants to talk to you.”
“Bernie? I was afraid of this. She’s still traumatized after Brendan, and now the doctors are saying they want to keep me overnight.”
“Why don’t we come visit you there?” Bernie suggested.
Grace nodded eagerly.
“That would be so perfect. But you’ll have to take a bus or cab.”
“The bus is an easy shot,” Bernie said.
“If you can get here, you can take my car home,” Sarah offered.
“Wheels! That definitely makes it worth it. See you soon.” Bernie and Grace spent two hours at the hospital. They went downstairs to get Sarah some fruit, ice cream, and magazines to hold her over for the night. While Grace hung out with her mom, Bernie went down to the courtyard to check in with Peg.
“It’s a bit loud here. We’ve got a houseful of cops,” Peg said. “I got Maisey helping me sprinkle cheese on my lasagna. Good job, lovey. But I think the chicken is ready to come out.”
“But Dad’s okay, right?”
“A little back pain, but nothing that Advil won’t cure. But what a story he has to tell! He really scared that guy away today. I don’t think he’ll ever come back.”
“Let’s hope the police catch him before he gets a chance,” Bernie said. To hear her mother recount the story, you’d think she was talking about a schoolyard bully who got a warning.
She told Peg that Sarah would be hospitalized overnight, and Peg was happy to keep Maisey. “You and Gracie can come, too. We’ve got room,” Peg said.
“Grace and I are going to have a girls’ night at my place. You’ve already got your hands full there.” Besides, Bernie sensed that Grace wouldn’t be so comfortable in a houseful of raucous cops right now.
By the time they found Sarah’s car in the parking lot, Grace had grown comfortable with the situation and was looking forward to a school night spent at Aunt Bernie’s.
“So should we get pizza for dinner, or Chinese food?” Bernie asked as she pulled out of the hospital parking lot. “I’ve got numbers programmed in there for Lucky Chinese and Gino’s Pizza. Do you know how to use the directory?”
“I know how to use it. I wish Mom would let me have my own phone.” Grace was fingering Bernie’s cell phone.
Bernie smiled. The kid was nine. “Maybe next year. So what do you think? Pizza?”
Grace pursed her lips, considering. “How about pasta with capers? And pickles on the side.”
“Mmm. That sounds oddly delicious. Can we put some red sauce on the pasta, too?”
“You can put it on yours.”
“Okay, then. But you’ll have to guide me through this. I am not the cook your mother is.”
“Trust me,” Grace said, nine going on nineteen. “I got it all under control.”
They stopped at the grocery store, then headed back to Bernie’s apartment.
“What do you think of my Orange Crush bathroom?” Bernie asked, showing off her paint job.
Grace folded her arms, looking the walls up and down. “I like it,” she said decisively.
While Grace tended the pasta, Bernie shifted some of the furniture in the bedroom. She moved the ladder to the windows and rehung the shades and sheers on the finished walls. “The paint is dry, but it still smells kind of cheesy in here,” she called to Grace. “Maybe we’ll sleep in the living room tonight.”
“That would be fun,” Grace called back. “I’ll use the sleeping bag.”
Bernie descended the ladder, admiring the rich mocha color. She left the windows open for now, and went in to watch the pasta and caper chef at work.
After dinner Bernie did the dishes while Grace worked on her homework. By eight o’clock, they had changed into pajamas. Grace used one of Bernie’s oversized T-shirts as a nightgown, and she brushed with the pink toothbrush they’d purchased at the grocery store.
Snuggled together on the couch, they watched reruns of Seventh Heaven, one of Grace’s favorite shows. In the episode, Ruthie and her brother Simon were mad at each other, and their dad, the reverend, pointed out that anger made a person weaker.
“I wish my family had seven kids like the Camdens,” Grace said.
“Well, you have another brother or sister on the way.”
“That’s still just three. And I don’t have an older brother like Matt.” Grace yawned. “You have lots of brothers and sisters. You’re lucky.”
“I am.”
“Is Grandpa still mad at you?” Grace asked as she nestled into the pillow.
“He wasn’t really mad. Or maybe he was, in his own way.” Bernie thought of her father at age sixty-nine, running down into the subway, chasing a killer. “My dad is a protector. I guess all dads know they have to protect their kids. When your father was killed, my dad felt like he’d failed him, and that’s got to be a terrible feeling to let your son down in a huge way.”
“How come Grandpa said you weren’t his daughter anymore?”
Bernie sighed. “Your grandpa is trying hard to take care of everyone, but he and I don’t agree on the best way to do that anymore.” She shook her head. “Does that make any sense at all? Because I’m getting confused.”
Grace brushed blond wisps from her eyes, reminding Bernie of herself. “You’re still his daughter. You’re just not the daughter you used to be.”
“That’s it.” Bernie nodded. “Wow, you’re better at this than I am.”
“Because I watch too much TV.”
Bernie laughed. “Have you learned everything you know about human nature from television?” she asked.
When Grace didn’t answer, she looked down and saw that she had fallen asleep, her angel face peeking out from the fleece blanket. She looked so peaceful.
When the doorbell rang a few minutes later, Bernie’s first thought was that she didn’t want to disturb Grace. Her second thought: Who the hell was at her door when it was pushing nine o’clock at night?
Moving gently, she extracted herself from Grace and the blanket and hurried to the door. Through the peephole she saw Tony Marino, tired and small in the yellow light of the porch.
She pulled open the door so that he wouldn’t press the bell again.
Through the glass storm door his eyes were bloodshot, his hair thinner and grayer than she remembered. But then he couldn’t have changed that much in just a week. She unlocked the outer door and opened it a few inches.
“Hey, Bernie. Can I come in?”
Bernie glanced back at the sofa, where Grace was nestled under a blanket. “Gracie is asleep on the couch and I don’t want to disturb her.” Bernie stepped onto the porch, letting the storm door close behind her. “Grace is staying the night while Sarah’s in the hospital.”
“Oh, Jesus. Is she okay?”
“The doctors are keeping her, just to be safe, but the baby seems fine.” She paused. “Wow, did you know that Sarah is pregnant?”
“I think Conner mentioned it.” He scratched his head behind his ear. “Bernie, I need to talk to you about the department charges against me. I’m a wreck. I haven’t been able to sleep a wink since this whole thing broke. If all the allegations against me stick, I could lose my job. You gotta help me here.”
Bernie blinked, not sure why any of this was her problem. “Tony, I’m sorry you’re in a predicament, but really? I’ve got my hands full here, and I don’t know why you think I could help you.”
“You’re the only one who knows both sides, Bernie. You’ve been working with Curtis, and you know me, too. You got to know these charges are trumped-up.”
“I wasn’t there, Tony. I’m not a witness.”
“I got a witness. My partner, Minovich, was there the whole time, but do you think they’re
listening to him? The thing is, you could talk to Saunders and get him to back off. Tell him I didn’t hurt his client, not like they’re saying. You know me better than that; I might kid around, but I would never put my hands on a perp, not like he’s saying.”
Bernie pulled her robe closer around her, wishing Tony hadn’t come here. It was cold out here, and she didn’t have any answers for him. “Look, I can’t talk about this now. Call me tomorrow and ... I can’t promise anything. We’ll talk, okay? You have my cell number?”
He nodded, his chin burrowed into the collar of his jacket. “You gotta help me, Bernie.”
“Tomorrow, okay?” She opened the storm door and stepped inside.
“I’ll call you,” he said. “What time?”
“After nine. Good night, Tony.” She closed the door and locked it, then stood peering through the peephole. As she suspected, he just stood there like a zombie.
Go home, Tony. He was creeping her out.
At last, he shoved his hands into his pockets and turned away. Ooh, annoyance. Bernie didn’t know what she would tell Tony tomorrow, but it was time to call Keesh and wake him up. She grabbed her cell phone and went into the kitchen.
“Hello.” His voice was thick with layers of sleep.
“Hello, you gorgeous hunk of man. This is your evening wake-up call.”
“Mmm. That’s nice. Only it would be better if you were beside me.”
“Do you know who this is?”
“Very funny. Really, why don’t you come over?”
“I’m busy here.” She told him about Sarah’s call to take care of Gracie. “If you want, I’ll meet you for coffee in the morning after I drop her off at school.”
“Yeah, okay. But I still don’t like you being there. Why didn’t you stay at Sarah’s place?”
“Because this is my home. I painted again. Halfway done with the bedroom and it looks great.”
“I just don’t think you’re taking the right precautions.”
“Curtis is not coming here,” she said, dreading the news. “I know you just woke up, but here’s the news update: He made an appearance at Sully’s Cup today. Dad chased him down to the subway, but he got away.”
“Anyone hurt?”
The Daughter She Used To Be Page 30