“I meant you don’t waste time.” She thought, but didn’t say, Damn it Zoran, for all your measured movements, you dive straight for the jugular when a decision is vital.
35
“Time to get out, I’m leaving the car here,” Yoko said. She braced herself for Zoran’s reaction. It was totally illegal to abandon a vehicle on any of the roads looping through Central Park and Zoran was a stickler for holding true to the law. Not this time.
“Can you pull the car up over the curb?”
“Watch me,” and Yoko turned the steering wheel hard. The car lurched over the low stone curb and they ended up at a crazy titled angle, but the car was partially off the road. She’d entered the transverse at 79th Street, the closest they’d get by car to the sculpture. They’d have to hoof the few blocks down there.
“Over there,” Zoran said, pointing north.
The stopping place was serendipitous.
Sophia Fellini and Jessica Ware were on a path less than twenty yards away, surrounded by a fast moving stream of walkers and joggers.
“My God, nothing wrong with your far sight,” Yoko said as she focused on the two figures.
“The vision training I had on the Eyeport, the clever invention of your colleague Jacob Liberman, was beneficial.”
How on earth could Zoran make polite conversation right now? Yoko concentrated on the view of the two fugitives, noting how the two women’s body language radiated tension in contrast to the relaxed crowd around them. The white Yankee emblems on the black caps they wore were clear. Perfect for tracking. Neither woman was looking in their direction. Zoran was walking at a fast clip and Yoko lengthened her stride to keep up with him.
“They’re not headed for the sculpture,” Yoko said. “Looks like they’re going to the Reservoir.”
“The Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir,” Zoran corrected her. Yoko ground her teeth. True, that was the official title but everyone called it the Reservoir. Everyone except Zoran. Deep breaths, she reminded herself. You’re tense, so is he.
“Zoran, this is way too dangerous. A lot of people around.”
“I am not known for pulling out a gun at the first hint of trouble,” Zoran said. “Nor, if I am correct, are you.”
“Jumping Judas Priest, will you just call it quits?”
Zoran didn’t slow his pace. “Look,” he said.
Three mounted police had emerged from the trees and were steadily gaining on the stream of pedestrians, their mounts trotting in precise formation. Good, Vinnie had called in the cavalry. Walkers and joggers kept moving in a steady stream but gave way, parting gently to the sides of the path so that the horses had space to ride down the center. Sophia and Jessica, still deep in talk, were walking at one side of the path. Had they even noticed that the horses were ridden by police?
“Quick,” Zoran urged and actually took hold of Yoko’s sleeve and tugged on it. She’d have to remember to tell Dan, if he’d believe her. Zoran voluntarily touching someone’s clothing? Never. Together they hurried towards the horses. Thanks to Zoran’s speed-walking, they’d almost caught up with them.
“You take that side,” Zoran said, releasing his hold on Yoko’s sleeve. He circled to the left, keeping a watchful eye on the horses. The captain on the gray gelding at the end of the line had superb peripheral vision, he acknowledged Zoran’s arrival with a snappy salute all the while watching out for the people walking near the horses. He called out a command and the horses surged forward, flanking Sophia and Jessica, separating them from the other walkers, who scattered off the path, suddenly aware that this was more than New York’s Finest exercising their mounts. The two women were brought to an abrupt stop.
“What the hell?” Sophia blustered. Zoran walked calmly up to her and she glared in fury when she recognized him.
“Sophia Fellini, I am arresting you on suspicion of murder and for felony assault with a deadly weapon,” Zoran said. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used….”
“No,” Sophia Fellini screamed. In one swift move she hooked an arm around Jessica’s neck, dragging the startled woman in front of her as a shield. “I’ve got a gun,” Sophia yelled, stuffing her free hand in her jacket pocket.
Zoran stood perfectly still.
Jessica looked directly at Yoko.
“No gun,” Jessica mouthed.
Before Yoko could react, Sophia pushed Jessica to the ground and ducked under the closest horse, a large chestnut. It reared high, whinnying in surprise, but its rider stayed firm in the saddle.
Sophia barreled through the startled onlookers, roughly pushing them aside and ran for the woods.
“I don’t think so,” Yoko muttered and took off.
She’d had almost caught up with Sophia when hooves thudded behind her. The gray gelding passed Yoko in a full gallop and in a few long strides was level with Sophia. The captain pulled hard on the reins and swung the horse around in front of Sophia.
“Whoa, Gray Boy.” The gray stopped short and stood, flanks heaving. The large horse was directly in front of Sophia, who was forced to a stop. Yoko was behind her and the other police horses were moving close. Sophia had no place to go. Leaning over to look the panting woman in the eyes, the captain said, “I believe Dr. Kamimura has reason to detain you.”
He reached for his handcuffs and tossed them down to Yoko. Glad she’d practiced the maneuver to cuff a suspect although she didn’t think she’d ever actually use it, Yoko grabbed Sophia’s arms, spun her round and clicked the cuffs over Sophia’s wrists.
She paid scant attention to Sophia’s angry scream. “How dare you? You know who I am?” Her blustering morphed into pitiful pleas. “I’m the widow, I’m the victim.”
Then, for the heck of it, although Zoran had the authority, Yoko told the widow Fellini her Miranda rights. Something else she never thought she’d get to do. Kinda fun when you had a crowd of respectful onlookers.
Sophia didn’t take advantage of her right to remain silent.
“I’m not guilty of anything. I’ll fight any charges. I’m well respected. You can’t do this.”
The widow was still ranting when she was helped into the police car.
Jessica, on the other hand, was completely silent. Ashen-faced and trembling, she said nothing when her rights were read to her. She avoided looking at Sophia Fellini and slid quietly into a second police car, head lowered. She didn’t look at anyone.
Yoko didn’t see either Sophia or Jessica again until the trial several months later, during which time the two women were kept behind bars. Despite every attempt by the widow and her attorneys, Sophia Fellini and Jessica were held without bail.
36
A month after the biggest triumph of her short career as a civilian consultant to the NYPD, Yoko Kamimura was near exhaustion. So much had happened, almost all of it good, but a lot of it stressful. Most days she felt like leaving town, taking off for parts unknown. She desperately needed a break.
Dan’s voice was excited and Yoko knew that she wasn’t going to get away any time soon.
“Hans Reiniger’s doctors finally gave me permission to interview him.” Dan said over the phone from the precinct. “I’m on my way to the hospital now.”
“That’s terrific,” she managed, thinking, please, please don’t ask me to join you.
“I’ll be at your office in ten minutes to pick you up.”
Crap. The last thing she needed was another visit to the hospital. The eight interminable days Dan spent at the hospital, undergoing not one, but two surgeries on his kidneys, first removing the kidney shredded by Jessica’s arrow, then later repairs to save his remaining kidney, damaged only slightly, had taxed her to her limits. Every day, a new medical emergency seemed designed to take Dan from her.
Daily assurances from Dante Nicosian, Dan’s self-elected hospital advocate, hadn’t done much to relieve her worry, because Dante’s eyes revealed his own doubts. Yoko knew that the eyes were not just the windo
w of the soul, they provided an intimate view of the mood of the brain as well. Even as Dante uttered his hopeful words, his eyes bespoke his worried thoughts.
And yet, Dan had pulled through. He had survived. More than survived. Dan seemed determined to treat his thrice-weekly four-hour dialysis sessions as little more than a minor annoyance. That was encouraging. Before Dan’s release from the hospital, Dante had warned her of the risks of dialysis, careful to explain that dialysis would be a way of life for Dan until his application for a kidney transplant moved to the top of the waiting list. A transplant eliminating the need for dialysis could be months away, perhaps as long as a year, maybe longer.
Dante had been right about one thing. “Your man’s fortunate,” he told Yoko one evening. “He’s managing dialysis quite well. Not everyone does, because most dialysis patients are older people who have other things wrong with them besides bad kidneys. High blood pressure, congestive heart failure, diabetes. Not Dan. Before that arrow tore him up, he was in wonderful shape. He’s strong, really strong, and his will to live is indestructible. He’s got you to thank for that, Yoko.
“I need to warn you that once a kidney is available, he will need more surgery and more days in the hospital to recuperate. Like all transplants, kidney transplants are a little risky. He could have an adverse reaction to the anti-rejection drugs and it’s always possible that his body will reject the kidney he receives. That happens less often with kidneys than with other organs, but still….”
Most of Yoko’s discomfort was emotional but there was physical discomfort, too. She was staying with Dan at his apartment, spending nights on Dan’s couch because she was a restless sleeper. Dan didn’t need more bruises. Her place was a no-go. Her walk-up on the fourth floor would be way too much exercise, even for a determined Dan.
At least Yoko’s research project with Dr. Bertolli was on schedule. She’d managed to complete the first part of the iris biometrics study, an analysis of vision test results for the children in the study. Now she was waiting for other researchers to complete their analysis of the adults. The iris biometrics study was critical, because it would be the basis for police and other agencies’ programs to help protect children and seniors.
At night, as she tossed and turned on the couch and listened to Dan’s even breathing in the next room, she tried not to think about what difficulties might be ahead. We’ll get through, she told herself, again and again. And so far, that seemed to be the case. But lord, she was tired.
Hans Reiniger, the Gypsy, hadn’t been as fortunate as Dan. His injuries had turned out to be even more massive than Dan’s, his spleen ruptured, one of his kidneys completely destroyed. His sternum had deflected the arrow’s course, causing multiple injuries. The balloonist had been close to death more than once.
“So is it okay if I pick you up on my way to the hospital?” Dan asked, ending her reverie.
Yoko sighed. The hospital. God. She’d already lived through far too many angst-ridden hours at Dan’s bedside. No more, she thought. No more.
“Why do you need me there?” she finally said, hoping to avoid more time listening to the hisses and clicks of the formidable array of equipment she knew she’d find in Reiniger’s hospital room.
“What? You don’t you want to hear Reiniger explain why he was floating above Marco Fellini’s rooftop in a hot-air balloon and carrying a Luger? I figured you’d want to know. I mean, you were the first person Hans saw when he crashed. Hell, the guy even spoke to you.”
“A few words,” Yoko protested. “He was in terrible pain, I doubt he’ll remember seeing me.”
“Trust me, when a guy sees you, he remembers, pain or no pain.”
“Flattery won’t work, Dan.”
“Okay, then how about this. If you’re with me, Hans won’t mind my questioning him.”
“Dan, the guy must have known he’d be prosecuted unless he thought he could do whatever he planned to do, fly off like a bird. Hot-air balloons aren’t allowed over lower Manhattan and that permit Reiniger gave the cop in Union Square was fake. Besides, it was for a demo in the park, not a flight out of the park and over….”
“Yoko, obviously he knew what he was doing when he planned his junket and faked a permit. He’s experienced at flying a balloon, that’s clear. It was a major risk just to get a crew to help him take it to the park and set it up. I want to find out why he took those risks. There’s gotta be something behind all his clever maneuvering….”
Dan paused as if he finally understood Yoko’s reluctance. “Look, my love. Here’s the deal. We need answers and this might be our only chance to get them. The docs say the guy’s fighting for his life. It’s now or never.”
Yoko relented, as deep down she knew she would.
At the hospital, a shiver ran through Yoko at the sight of the balloonist surrounded by life-support machines. Memories of Dan fighting for his life flooded back. She forced herself to focus on Hans Reiniger, who appeared to be asleep. The nurse at his bedside gave them a warning look as she expertly inserted a catheter.
“The patient has a morphine drip that he can operate when he wants. Be brief. He’s in no shape to talk.” At the door she muttered, loud enough so they’d hear, “I can’t believe you’re bothering the poor fellow.”
Dan pulled up a chair for Yoko on one side of the bed. He walked to the other side of the bed and quietly introduced himself. The man in the bed didn’t move.
“Mr. Reiniger, my companion is Dr. Kamimura,” Dan said.
The man’s eyes opened. He looked at Dan then slowly turned his head and stared at Yoko. She was struck again by the amazingly vivid blue of his eyes. His pupils were almost normal, an indication he’d been on the morphine for some time. When morphine is first administered, the pupils become very small. Gradually, they return to a normal size. Hans frowned slightly, keeping his eyes fixed on Yoko’s.
“I know you, don’t I?” His voice was barely audible, his breathing almost as labored as when she’d first seen him lying in the wreckage of the balloon.
“I was on the street where your balloon crashed.”
“Yes, I thought I’d die then,” he whispered. “Be reunited with my Brigitta. You’re beautiful. May you find a love like ours.”
The Gypsy’s eyes closed. He reached for the button on the device nestled by his hand and squeezed it. Yoko heard a click and watched the morphine level sink a fraction. She looked over at Dan, who shrugged. Was Hans listening? What happened when morphine flowed into your body? Hans had been on morphine for some time. What did that do to your clarity of mind? How intense must the pain be for the doctor to give you freedom to self-medicate with such a powerful drug, even if the drip was restricted to infinitely small doses?
Yoko tried again. “You spoke to me. You said you thought you’d cleared the top of the building.” On the other side of the bed, Dan nodded encouragingly.
Hans opened his eyes and looked at Yoko. She bent close to hear his voice. “Your ancestors are Asian. You live in the city, you know what it’s like to be in the minority.” His finger on the morphine button relaxed and his eyes closed.
Dan cleared his throat. “We’re from the police. We want to ask you some questions.”
Hans lay in the bed, eyes shut, thin face calm. In the brief moments since he’d pressed the button for morphine, the harsh sound of his breathing had eased. Yoko wasn’t sure the Gypsy was actually breathing. Was he? It was hard to see if his chest was actually rising and falling. Yoko looked at the heart monitor in a panic. The pulsating line crossing the monitor wavered, its peaks flattening. The machine beeped loudly.
A nurse came in at a run, others on her heels.
“You have to leave.”
Yoko and Dan waited outside the room. The voices inside were muffled, peaking in bursts. People hurried in and out, faces tense. Minutes ticked by. Finally, one of the doctors came out to where they sat on two cold metal chairs.
“The patient is unconscious. You won’t be able to vi
sit him again.”
The next day, the hospital notified the public that Hans Reiniger was in a coma.
The day after that, Herr Félix Tolliver of Zürich, Switzerland, faxed a very long letter from his client, Hans Reiniger, to the New York Times and to the NYPD.
37
A week later, eager to find out the status of the District Attorney’s case against Sophia Fellini and Jessica Ware, Yoko met with Zoran at the Elephant & Castle on Greenwich Avenue, around the corner from St. Vincent’s hospital. They’d been meeting at the Elephant & Castle since Dan’s hospitalization—the restaurant was as close to the hospital as Zoran’s OCD would permit. Hospitals were dangerous, too many people who were sick with germs of hideous origin. Zoran could handle armed criminals, lunatics with Uzis, druggies and gang leaders, but hospitals were a different story. Zoran agreed with Vinnie Baldoni, every hospital was its own “Germ City.”
Originally, Zoran had suggested regular meetings so that he could offer Yoko moral support and those meetings had continued even after Dan’s discharge from the hospital and return to duty at the precinct. The OCD detective was a mysterious mix: paranoid germaphobe, major control freak. Even though Dan was out of the hospital, Zoran still insisted on meeting Yoko at the restaurant.
Yoko agreed to continue meeting Zoran because she wanted to find out what was happening with the D.A.’s case. She knew Zoran had his own agenda at the meeting, one that would need to be addressed first—she’d have to wait her turn and hope Zoran would talk quickly.
She ought to have known better. Zoran not only had his own agenda, he had his own timetable and it was immutable. He began the meeting by reminding her why they weren’t meeting at a place named the Greenwich Avenue Inn.
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