“They’re all police officers?”
“All but Al, who owns half a pizza parlor with the Alphonse who is Victor’s brother.” She nodded. “Also not my idea.”
I took a sip of my wine. “Hard, raising boys?”
“At first, but then it gets easier. Unlike with girls, you only have to worry about one prick.” She immediately blushed, and I got a clearer idea from whom Vic’s linguistic patterns had developed. “Oh my God…”
I laughed, and Dog looked at both of us.
She set her glass back on the table. “I’ve had too much wine.” She glanced around the terrace and desperately tried to find another subject. “Yours seems to have done well.”
I set my own glass down. “Yep, I just wish she was closer. I worry about her a lot.”
She grew quiet, and I waited. “When they’re little, you wonder what they’re going to be, and when they grow up you just want them to be happy.” She nudged her glass with her fingertips. “Only child?”
“Yep.”
Her hand was still. “It’s probably better that the Terror and I have some space.”
“Two thousand miles?”
“Her idea, not mine.”
I looked at her. “I thought it was the ex-husband’s.”
“Yet another one that wasn’t my idea.” She looked back up to me and shrugged again, this time with an eyebrow. “One would think I didn’t have many ideas. I guess that’s what happens when you second-guess for a living.”
My lungs forced out a little air in response. “How did those two end up together?”
She picked up her glass in spite of herself. “We all hated him, so of course she married him.” She took a sip. “Reaction has always been Victoria’s trademark.” She swirled the wine in the glass, regarded it, and I hoped she would sing again. “I never thought it would last; he was such a straight arrow, so…normal.”
I nodded. “We call it mugging. Out where I’m from, if you’ve got a horse with too much spirit, you just tie it to a mule for the night. When you come back the next morning, you’ll have a different horse.”
She studied me. “I guess the mule always wins?”
“Pretty much.” It wasn’t the response she wanted.
She continued to study me, and I was starting to feel uncomfortable. “How come you haven’t gotten remarried, Sheriff?”
I was seeing even more of Vic. “I, umm…”
“I guess that was a little forward of me, huh?” She waited. “I guess it was, since you’re not talking.”
“No, I was just thinking. I do that, sometimes, before I talk.”
Lena smiled, this time with her entire mouth. “Not me, robs the evening of all its spontaneity. A little wine, a little truth, and pretty soon you’ve got a real conversation on your hands.” She took a last sip.
I started to pour us both some more. It seemed like the conversation was getting interesting, and I wasn’t quite ready to leave it. “Did you drive here?”
The smile lingered. “Cab. I lost my license two years ago, and Victor made sure I never got another one.” She watched as I poured with abandon. “You haven’t answered my question.”
I set the empty bottle back down, allowed the muscles in my neck to relax, and peered from under the brim of my hat. “I’m not so sure there is an answer.” I thought about it, as promised, and stared up through the trees at the back of the little tannery. “I was…I don’t know, depressed for quite a while, and I’m not sure I’m out of the habit.”
“Of being depressed or of marriage?”
“Both.”
The smile at her mouth faded, but it stayed with her eyes. “Funny, that’s exactly what Vic says.”
“She knows me pretty well.”
“She says that, too.”
I laughed and widened my eyes, letting them drop back to her. After a moment she stood, and I thought the evening was over. “You want to take a walk?”
We strolled left on Quarry and went toward the river, having left Dog curled on the leather sectional sofa in Cady’s living area. As we walked down the cobblestone street in the amber glow of the city’s lights, she broached the subject that must have been on her mind for a while. “What’s in the case on the kitchen counter?”
“Sidearm.”
She was silent for a moment. “Have gun, will travel?”
“Something like that.”
We walked past Fireman’s Hall and down to Elfreth’s Alley which, by the sign, was the oldest continuously inhabited street in America. By the time we got to the end, we could see the municipal pier stretching out into the black distance of the river. The surface of the water reflected the lights of the boulevard, and the rumble of traffic thumped away on the concrete surface of I-95 above. It was a beautiful night, and the humidity-laden air of the river made rings around the gumdrop-shaped lampposts. It was odd, seeing that much water just floating in the close air; it was something that only happened with a hunter’s moon on the high plains.
There was sporadic traffic, so we crossed halfway down the block and looked back up at the western buttress of the bridge. “So, what are you going to do in Philly?”
“I’m supposed to meet the potential prospective parents-in-law in Bryn Mawr. You know where that is?”
“Main Line; just follow the smell of money.” She smiled. “Serious then?”
I looked at the flat expanse of the buttress, which stretched up to the illuminated cap above. “No ring, but it’s the longest relationship she’s had so far.”
She watched me. “You don’t like him?”
“I’ve never met him.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I shrugged. “All right, you got me. It’s why I brought the. 45…” She laughed and then laughed again. “I don’t know. I never thought I would be one of those fathers that think no one’s good enough…”
“But?”
“No one’s good enough.” Another laugh. “All of yours married?”
She turned and looked at the water. “No, the Terror’s the only one who has tried it. Vic Jr.’s got a hairdresser he knocked up, so I figure it’s only a question of time. Al’s been dating the same girl for four years but refuses to buy the cow, Tony’s a ladies man, and Michael…” She continued to look at the water with her lips compressed.
“Michael…?”
She didn’t move. “No one’s good enough.”
It was getting late and I wanted to be there when Cady got home, so we started back from the marine center, where we had been watching the boats gently rock in the current of the big river.
“So, what else have you got planned?”
I tucked my hands into the front pockets of my jeans and listened as my boots made more noise than her shoes on the sidewalk. “I don’t know if Vic’s told you about Henry’s photography exhibit?”
“The Native American photographs?”
“Yep.” I nodded at the political correctness. “The reception is Friday, but that’s about it as far as formalities.” We walked along in silence. “I think I was looking for an excuse to come here, and I think Henry was, too.”
“It’s good to keep tabs.” Her turn to nod. “I don’t worry about Victoria out there. I know it’s foolish, but I figure the odds are better.”
“They are.” I slowed down a little, deciding it was time to comfort my undersheriff’s mother. “There are inherent risks with the job, but county-wise we have one of the lowest crime rates in a state with one of the lowest crime rates in the country.”
I was blowing sunshine her way, but she didn’t seem to mind. “I hear you’re going to retire soon?”
Kyle Straub’s signs had made an impression all the way to Philadelphia. “It’s a strong possibility.”
“What then?”
I thought about it. “Maybe I’ll be your daughter’s deputy.”
It was amazing to me how many people were still on the streets. There were couples walking arm in arm, people in suits swing
ing briefcases in a desperate pursuit of momentum, and a homeless guy who put the touch on me at Race and 2nd. He was an older gentleman and rocked gently on dirty tennis shoes with a sign teetering in his right hand that read VETERAN, HOMELESS, PLEASE HELP.
Lena watched as I pulled a five from my front pocket and palmed it into the palsied hand. “Thank you, sir.”
His voice was remarkably cultured, and I looked at him for a second more-at the surprising blue of his eyes-and then continued on with Lena.
“You keep that up, and you won’t have any money by the time you get out of here.”
I nodded.
“He’ll just use it to get something to drink.”
“I would.”
She shook her head and smiled at me some more. “You were in the military?”
I raised a weak fist. “Remember the Maine.”
“You don’t want to talk about it?”
I smiled at her. “I’ll make you a deal; I don’t have to talk about Vietnam, and you don’t have to sing.”
“Deal.”
We crossed at Paddy O’Neil’s Tavern and looked down Bread, where there was a Philadelphia City Police cruiser idling with its parking lights on. I couldn’t be sure, but it looked as if it sat at Cady’s front door. I glanced at Lena, but she was frowning at the car. “Anybody looking for you?”
“Always.”
We walked down the narrow street; she was hurrying and was just a little ahead of me. By the time I got to the driver’s side of the unit, I could see that the young man behind the wheel looked remarkably like Lena and could only surmise that he was a Moretti. She was the first to speak. “What are you doing here, Tony?”
The patrolman looked up at her, but he didn’t smile. “Hey, Ma.” He looked past her to me and at my hat. “Are you Walter Longmire?”
Whatever smile I had drained away. “Yes.”
“There’s been an accident.”
3
The Trauma Center at the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania was on the other side of town and the Schuylkill River, but it took Officer Anthony Moretti only twelve minutes to get there. It took me half that to get to the Surgical ICU on the fifth floor, and numerous lifetimes to think about the nature of trauma and how it takes more lives than cancer and heart disease combined. He wouldn’t give me details, only that my daughter had been involved in some sort of accident, that she was being treated at HUP, and that, as a professional courtesy, he would drive me there.
Lena Moretti had accompanied us, stating flatly that she could just as easily get a cab from Penn as from Bread Street. She had stayed with Tony while I found myself looking into the very tired eyes of a trauma physician who explained that Cady had sustained a depressed skull fracture and that she was currently unresponsive. A CAT scan had confirmed the damage, and there was a neurosurgeon battling a subdural hematoma.
There really wasn’t anything I could do but sit there with a Styrofoam cup of coffee and wait. There wasn’t a lot of room in the ICU, so I dragged one of the gray upholstered chairs into the hallway, where I had a clear view of the red doors of the emergency elevator. I watched it the next ten minutes. It was creeping up on midnight and, with the lights on all the time and the sounds of the machines, it was like a casino-only the stakes were higher.
Nobody speaks to you in these situations-it’s like you’re a pitcher throwing a no-hitter-they don’t look at you, and you don’t want them to. I thought about all the people I should call, but it was only Henry who could do anything. I pulled out my wallet; the business card from Fred Ray’s Durant Sinclair Service had Henry’s cell phone number scrawled across the back. I didn’t call him on his mobile very often and could never remember the number. I went to the nurse’s desk and asked if I could use the phone. I dialed and watched the elevator as the phone rang and a prissy little voice informed me that the person I was attempting to call was unavailable but that I could leave a message after the tone, which I did.
“Henry, it’s Walt. Cady’s been hurt, and I’m in the ICU at the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania.” I gave him the number of the phone I was speaking into, along with the extension. As I hung up, Lena Moretti and another young police officer who was carrying a plastic basket and Cady’s briefcase turned the corner at the end of the hall. I stood there and waited for them; they stopped a full step away, like you would approach a large wounded animal.
Lena’s hand trailed out to me; she was the brave one. “How is she?”
I took two fingers of the hand and looked at the eyes that were so much like Vic’s. I felt my knees buckle a little. The next thing I knew, the cup of coffee from my other hand was on the polished surface of the speckled tile floor, and I was sitting in my chair trying to catch my breath. Lena and the young man kneeled beside me; he had placed the basket beside my chair, and I saw a small purse, a holstered electronic device I didn’t recognize, a cell phone, a wristwatch, and her grandmother’s engagement ring.
“Take it easy there, big fella.” He had one hand on my shoulder and the other at my back and was holding me there.
I took a deep breath. Lena’s hands were cool on my face. “Walter?”
I continued to breathe and leaned back in the chair. “I’m okay.”
She looked at me, not sure. “Do you want me to get a doctor?” She glanced around for comic effect. “I mean, there seem to be plenty around.”
I tried to laugh, but I think all I accomplished was a funny face. “I’m okay, really.” I thought I was but, when I looked at the young officer to thank him, he looked like Lena, too; everybody had started looking alike. I dipped my head back down and blinked to clear my vision; I looked back up at the guy, but he still looked like Lena, although not exactly like Tony. I felt slightly better when I glanced at his name tag. “Michael Moretti?”
He smiled. “How ya doin’?”
Michael was a handsome kid; somehow the features I had grown used to on females worked on him as well. The eyes were a true dark brown, and his chin was a little stronger, with a cleft that neither Lena nor Vic had. He was a little shorter than six feet, but his shoulders and arms were very large. I nodded to him. “I’m okay.”
He continued to smile. “Yeah, that’s what you keep sayin’.”
I looked at Lena, at the parchment lines at her eyes. “You called in the cavalry?”
She nodded. “It’s in his district, the Wild West. Tony’s the sixth.”
Lena got some paper towels from the nurse’s station and cleaned up the coffee as I signed the personal property list. Michael had heard through unofficial channels that Cady was stabilized and would be moved from surgery to the ICU soon. I looked at the favored son and listened as his almost new gun belt creaked in the silence of the hallway. “Mr. Longmire, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“Walt, just call me Walt.”
“You sure you’re up to this?”
“Yep.”
He nodded. “Your daughter is an associate at Schomberg, Calder, Dallin, and Rhind?”
“Yep, she was working late.”
He wrote on his notepad and looked back at me. “Working late?”
“Yep. I spoke with her earlier, and she was supposed to have dinner with your mother and me, but she had some work to do.”
His lip stiffened, just a little. “The firm is located on the 1500 block of Market?”
“Yes.” I waited.
“Then do you have any idea why she would have been assaulted at the Franklin Institute?”
“Assaulted?”
“Look, I could tell you that it was an innocent accident…” He paused and then inclined his head a little. “But the attending officer said he spoke with the security guard, and he said there was an altercation between the young lady and another individual: male, Caucasian, approximately mid-thirties.”
“Where?”
“Franklin Institute, across from Logan Circle, near the art museum.” He continued to look at me. “The security guard
said he heard voices, and then the next thing he knows the guy is beating on the door and asking for help. By the time he got the door unlocked and got out there, your daughter was lying on the steps and the man was gone. When you spoke with her, did she say anything about another engagement this evening?”
“No, she just said she’d be late.”
“Does the description of the individual sound familiar?”
“Well…she’s dating a young man.”
“And that man’s name?”
I paused a second before I said it. “Devon Conliffe.”
He wrote it down. “Do you have an address?”
“No, but he’s another lawyer…I’m sure Cady has it.”
He looked at the basket. “Would you mind if I looked at her PDA?”
I’m sure he was aware I was staring at him. “If I knew what it was, probably not.”
He reached down and plucked the unknown device from the basket and pulled it from the leather holster. “Is he an attorney with the same firm?”
“No, a different one, but I don’t know the name.”
It looked like a calculator, but evidently it had other abilities. He scribbled Devon Conliffe’s address and phone number on his note pad, put the device back, stood, and looked down at me. “Look, it’s probably nothing, but I’m gonna follow up on this and, if there’s anything, I’ll let you know.” There was an easy quality that overrode how brand-new his uniform looked; I was betting he had been in for less than a year.
He kissed his mother and turned to summon the elevator, but the door was opening, and an entourage of attendants, nurses, and physicians wheeled out machinery and a gurney on which Cady lay. I stood, and we all moved against the wall to allow them to pass. It was good that I had the wall to stand against, because I was feeling a little shaky again. They had shaved the side of her head, where there was a U-shaped incision, and a breathing tube ran into her throat. Her eyes were closed, and she didn’t move. I trailed along behind the group and watched as they installed her in the corner room; the ironic sadness of that was not lost on me.
They parked her carefully like you would a new and expensive car. I watched as the electrocardiogram was attached to the wall monitor, and it began the familiar line and spike.
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