“Drop it,” said Jimmy. “Now.”
Moran flung the gun at him and took off at a dead run toward the exit on the other side of the room. Jimmy fired a warning shot, then took off after him. The professor made it as far as the sinister cabinet with the voltage warning when his foot slipped on one of the stray pieces of paper scattered about the floor. Arms flailing, he skidded on the paper and slid into the side of the electrical housing.
What happened next was hard to tell exactly, because his screams, combined with the buzzing sound from the high-voltage wires, were distracting. Sparks flew into the air, fireworks of yellow and white, like a demonic Fourth of July sparkler, with Moran’s body as the point of origin. Lee and Jimmy watched as his body went rigid, then collapsed to the floor. Neither of them moved for a moment; then Jimmy limped painfully toward the fallen man.
Nearby, Debbie Collins stirred on her gurney. Lee dragged himself over to it and took her hand.
“We’re here,” he said. “The police are here. It’s going to be okay. We’re going to get you out of here.”
Jimmy knelt to check Moran’s pulse.
“Is he—?” Lee said, but Jimmy shook his head.
“Nope. Bastard’s still alive, though not by much.” Jimmy glared at Lee, shaking his head.. “You idiot. You goddamn stupid idiot.”
“It’s nice to be appreciated,” Lee muttered through clenched teeth.
“Jesus! What were you thinking? You been watching too many crimes shows on TV?”
“Can I get a little help here?” Lee said, clutching his leg to stanch the flow of blood. He felt no pain yet—his mind was preternaturally calm. He supposed he was in shock. He looked down at the thick red liquid burbling from the hole in his thigh. There was something mesmerizing about it, this tiny crimson fountain in his flesh, and he stared at it, fascinated. He heard a ripping sound and looked up—Jimmy had removed his own shirt and was tearing it into long strips of cloth, still muttering.
“Who does that? Nobody, that’s who! Only idiots or dumb-ass actors on television!” he said as he knelt to wrap the strips tightly around Lee’s leg. Goose bumps formed on the smooth skin of his back and shoulders, and he shivered as he tied off the tourniquet. Then he wrapped the remaining strips around the wound itself, tucking them inside one another with swift, practiced hands.
“Hey, you’re good at this,” Lee said. He, too, was beginning to shiver. Suddenly it felt cold in there, and he shook so hard, his teeth rattled.
“Oh, great,” Jimmy moaned. “That’s all we need now—you’re going into shock.”
“Th-that’s w-what I th-thought,” Lee said, trying unsuccessfully to control the spasms in his jaw muscles.
“Terrific,” Jimmy said. “Just terrific.” He picked up his jacket from the ground and placed it over Lee’s shoulders.
“Wh-what about you?” said Lee. “W-won’t you b-b-be cold?”
Jimmy glared at him. “Don’t be an ass. Oh, that’s right—you already are one. Trying to get yourself goddamn killed. Idiot.”
“I was just trying—”
“Save it. Now the question is how the hell we’re going to get out of here. Any ideas, Einstein?”
“The way we came,” I guess.
“Oh, crap, that’s, like, half a mile,” Jimmy groaned.
But just then they heard voices. Lee looked up to see Detective Leonard Butts standing in the doorway. Behind him were half a dozen men dressed in bulletproof vests and SWAT jackets.
“What took you so long?” Lee said, and then he fainted.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
“So what was with the Houdini routine?” Lee asked Jimmy as the EMTs closed the ambulance doors. Butts insisted on sending them both to Columbia Presbyterian, which wasn’t far away, though Jimmy protested he wasn’t badly hurt.
“Look, Chen,” Butts growled. “Just go along with Doc to make sure he leaves the nurses alone, okay?”
Jimmy agreed on the condition that Butts take his brother back to the station house until he could come get Barry. Debbie Collins was already on her way to the hospital in another ambulance.
Lee lay on the stretcher, attended by a pretty paramedic, while Jimmy sat next to him, holding a disposable ice bag to the back of his neck.
“Seriously,” Lee said. “How the hell did you get free?”
Jimmy moved the ice bag a little and smiled down at Lee. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Angus. I misspent my teens training to become a magician. Did gigs at the local senior centers in Chinatown, a few bar mitzvahs in Queens. I wasn’t very good at it—my patter was lousy. But I was very good at getting out of ropes—and picking handcuffs is the easiest trick in the book, once you get the hang of it.”
“What did you use?” Lee said.
“That floor was littered with discarded hardware and stuff. I just used a bent nail—easy as pie.”
“Lucky for me,” Lee said, smiling at the paramedic as she adjusted the IV bag hanging over him. She was very young, with lustrous hair and dark eyes—Indian, perhaps, or Pakistani. Her black hair reminded him of Kathy, and he realized with a pang that he wished she were here with him. Then he remembered the missed call from Gemma.
“Can you hand me my jacket?” he asked Jimmy. “I need to make a call.”
The pretty paramedic frowned. “Just be lying still, sir, please.”
“But this is important,” Lee protested.
She wagged a finger at him. “You must not be exerting yourself, sir.”
Jimmy smiled and dangled the jacket over Lee. He fished the phone out and held it up. “Is this what you’re looking for?”
The paramedic snatched it from him. “When you are at the hospital and your condition is stabilized, you may ask about phone calls. Until then, please remain calm.”
The ride to the hospital was brief, and Lee was rushed past the other people in the emergency room to a private room in the back, beyond the nurses’ station. Jimmy followed him, still holding the ice pack to the back of his head.
The serious young doctor who attended them both pronounced Lee’s wound a “through and through.”
“You were lucky—the bullet didn’t hit any bone,” he said, holding the X-rays up to the light. He was tall and thin, with pale blue eyes and such fair skin, it appeared translucent. His bony wrists protruded from his white coat, which looked several sizes too small.
“So that’s good, right?” Jimmy asked.
He nodded. “A few stitches and some antibiotics, and he should be fine. What about you?” he said to Jimmy.
“Nothing much—just a whack on the head,” Jimmy said.
The doctor frowned. “Head injuries can be dangerous. We should take an X-ray just to be sure.”
Jimmy submitted reluctantly, grumbling all the way. Lee had seen this kind of macho stoicism in other cops, as well as on the rugby field at school. It was as if there was something shameful about accepting medical attention, even when it was obviously required.
“Can I use my phone in here?” he asked as the doctor prepared to have Jimmy wheeled to the X-ray lab.
“No cell phone use is allowed back here,” the doctor replied. “You’ll have to wait until you leave the ER.”
After they had bandaged Lee’s leg and given him a prescription for antibiotics, he and Jimmy took the elevator to the floor where Debbie Collins was being held for observation. The hospital offered Lee a wheelchair, but he elected to use crutches.
“You might as well get used to those, Angus,” Jimmy said as he hobbled along next to his friend. “Looks like you’ll be using them for a while.”
When they arrived at Debbie’s room, a doctor was seated next to her bed, listening intently, making notes in her chart, which he held fastened to a clipboard on his lap. He was a solidly built African American with a thick head of steel gray hair. A pair of rectangular spectacles with wide wire frames perched on his nose, giving him a professorial air. The Professor . . . So many unanswered questions there, L
ee thought. Debbie was very pale, her freckles prominent under the hospital lighting. Her blond hair with its red highlights had been combed and pulled back from her face, making it appear even rounder.
The doctor rose from the chair when they entered and extended his hand.
“I’m Lee Campbell, and this is Detective Chen,” Lee said, shaking the doctor’s hand. His palm was dry, with strong fingers, the handshake warm and assertive.
“Dr. Kendra,” he said, “resident psychiatrist. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Ms. Collins was just telling me how you rescued her.”
Debbie looked up at them from her hospital bed and managed something resembling a smile. Lee guessed from her flat affect and dazed expression that she was still under the influence of whatever sedatives Moran had given her. He was glad for her—later, when the drugs wore off, the nightmares would begin.
“How’s she doing?” Jimmy asked.
“Very well,” Dr. Kendra replied, but without much conviction. Lee knew that even if she had escaped physical injury, the wounds to her psyche were likely to be deep and lasting.
“I was almost done with the examination,” Dr. Kendra said. “I’ll check on you later, okay?” he told Debbie. “And your parents there are on their way in from Newark Airport right now.”
She nodded—she seemed to be only vaguely aware of her surroundings. Lee hobbled out to the hall on his crutches with Dr. Kendra while Jimmy stayed with Debbie.
“How is she doing, really?” Lee asked.
Kendra frowned and pushed his glasses up higher on his nose. “It’s hard to say, really. She’s still fairly heavily sedated.”
“What did he give her?”
“I’m thinking something fairly standard—one of the benzodiazepines, like Librium, Valium, Xanax. We’ll know more when we get the blood work back.”
“Is it okay if we talk to her?”
“She’s still in a state of shock, but it might help her to talk to the men who rescued her. Just don’t stay too long.”
“We won’t—thanks, Doctor.”
“I’m just glad you found her in time,” Kendra said, shaking hands again.
His words made Lee wince. Was it in time, really? He had seen the effects of emotional trauma enough to know how devastating they could be.
Lee returned to the room and lowered himself awkwardly into the spare chair next to Debbie’s bed. One of the crutches clattered to the floor. They were going to take some getting used to.
“I was just telling her how I saved your ass,” Jimmy said.
“Yeah, right,” Lee, smiling at her. “Did he tell you how he used to be a magician?”
“Really?” she said, her blue eyes as wide as the meadows of the Midwest. “Is that how you found me, using magic?”
“Yeah,” Jimmy said. “That’s how we found you.”
She tried to smile, but something went wrong, and her face crumpled in on itself. When the sobs came, they shook her whole body, tears spilling from her eyes in thick droplets, sliding onto her blue hospital gown.
Lee and Jimmy looked at each other; then each of them took one of her hands.
“It’s going to be okay. You’re safe now,” Lee said, but he feared Debbie Collins would never feel safe again.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
By the time he and Jimmy left the hospital, it was dark. They shared a cab downtown, after the doctor cautioned Jimmy against driving for a few days. The two of them sat silently in the backseat of the cab, lost in their own thoughts; the frenetic action of the past few hours had left them a bit stunned. Lee gazed out at the buildings whizzing by as the cab rattled down Fifth Avenue, all decked out in holiday splendor. The Cartier Building was encircled by a huge red bow, like an oversized Christmas package. Tourists in front of Saks and Lord & Taylor waited patiently in long lines to look at the animated window displays. They huddled close together in the icy wind, bulky in their down parkas and winter coats, in front of warmly lit Christmas scenes.
Lee looked down at the cell phone in his hand. He needed to call Gemma, but suddenly he wanted desperately to talk to Kathy, to tell her he was all right, to hear the concern in her voice. He hesitated before dialing Gemma’s number. Her voice mail picked up, so he left a brief message and hung up without mentioning the events of the past few hours.
He looked over at Jimmy. His friend’s eyelids were heavy, as though he were half-asleep. Lee’s thigh was throbbing, so he fished around in his jacket for the painkillers they had given him at the hospital, swallowed a couple and leaned back in the seat. They had left the hospital without finding out the fate of Edmund Moran, whether he had lived or died. Lee gazed out into the darkness. Something told him Moran had survived his injuries; a man that evil was too hard to kill.
He was right. When they arrived at the station house, Butts informed him it looked at though the professor would survive his injuries. Apparently the amount of voltage he had received wasn’t enough to kill him, though there was a chance of permanent brain injury. He was in a coma, though there was brain activity. Lee couldn’t decide how he felt about that. On the one hand, he wanted the man brought to justice, but on the other, he knew that as long as the professor was alive, he could harm other people. A jail cell wasn’t secure enough for someone like Edmund Moran.
Elena Krieger was just leaving when they arrived. To his surprise, she grabbed Lee by the shoulders and studied his face.
“You are all right,” she said finally. It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes, I am.”
She let go of his shoulders. “You were both far too reckless.”
He smiled. “That’s a good one, coming from you.”
She frowned at Jimmy. “You see what I have to put up with?”
Jimmy took a step back and waved her off. “Oh, no, don’t try to get me into the middle of this.”
Krieger shook her head one last time before striding out of the station house.
Jimmy watched her go. “Oh, man, if I were straight—”
Lee snorted. “She’d make mincemeat out of you.”
Barry Chen could hardly be pried off Butts’s computer when Jimmy announced he had come to take him home.
“In fact,” Barry said, “I am still doing math problems.”
“You can do them at home,” Jimmy said. “Come on, Barry—it’s been a long day.”
“In fact,” Barry replied without taking his eyes off the screen, “it is the shortest day of the year.”
“Really?” said Butts.
“Today is the winter solstice,” Barry said. “By definition, that is the shortest day of the year.”
“Okay, that’s it,” said Jimmy, closing the laptop. “Come on, we’re going.”
Lee expected that Barry would react with anger, but he simply sat back in the chair, blinked twice and got up.
“Come on, we’re going,” he echoed, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.
“Hey, thanks for your help,” Butts said. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”
“You are welcome,” Barry said, staring at a spot somewhere over the detective’s left shoulder. “Couldn’t have done it without me, in fact.”
Lee felt like giving him a hug but put his hand out instead. “Thanks, Barry.”
Barry looked down at the extended hand, then grasped it in both of his. His grip was surprisingly firm. He gave a single shake, then released Lee’s hand and gave a little bow. He turned on his heel and marched out the door in his peculiar stiff gait, bent forward at the waist, as though charging into a strong wind.
Jimmy gave Lee a half-rueful, half-taunting grin. “See you later, Angus. Try not to fall off those crutches.”
“Yeah,” Lee said, and they hugged awkwardly, the crutches complicating things further.
Jimmy turned to go.
“Hey, Chen,” Butts called after him.
“Yeah?”
“You’re not a total loser after all.”
“Velly nice of you to say so,
Boss,” Jimmy said in an offensively exaggerated Chinese accent.
He was out the door before Butts could react. The detective’s phone rang, and he snatched up the receiver.
“Butts here.” He cradled the phone on his shoulder while he fished a chocolate bar from his desk drawer and unwrapped it. “Yeah, he’s right here.” He handed the phone to Lee. “Captain Morton for you,” he said, taking a bite of chocolate.
Lee took the receiver. “Hello?”
“I hear you got your man.” Chuck sounded nervous, though he was trying to cover it.
“Yeah. He almost got us.”
“I hear you got banged up a little.”
“A little bit. No more boxing for a while.”
“Too bad. I was looking forward to a rematch.”
“Yeah? You didn’t learn your lesson the last time?”
Butts sat at his desk and put his feet up on it, chewing contentedly, a smile on his face, though whether it was from the chocolate or the conversation, Lee couldn’t tell.
“Listen,” Chuck said. “I just wanted to say . . . thanks. For everything.”
“Sure. Everything okay out there?”
“Yeah, fine.” Lee heard a woman’s voice in the background. “Susan sends her love,” Chuck added, obviously in response to prompting.
“Thanks,” Lee said. I’ll bet she does. He heard the beep of call waiting. “We’ve got another call coming in—sorry.”
“No problem. See you later.”
“Yeah—see you,” he said, clicking the receiver and handing it to Butts.
“Detective Butts, Homicide,” he said, taking it. “Yeah?” he said, tossing the candy wrapper into the trash. As he listened, his expression changed, and he rubbed his eyes wearily. “I see. Right, yeah. Okay, thanks for lettin’ me know.”
He hung up and looked at Lee.
“Looks like Edmund Moran will be standing trial after all. He just came out of his coma.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY
As he walked home, Lee remembered what the professor had said to him that night in his apartment. Irrational mathematical constants go on forever. In a sense, you might say they’re immortal. He didn’t believe in gods or spirits or the afterlife, but if he had ever known a man who had made a pact with the devil, it was Edmund Moran. Of course, he knew black magic was the fantasy of the naïve and superstitious, but the professor’s words haunted him as he climbed the front steps to his building.
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