She wasn’t about to tell him she didn’t, so she pulled her cell phone out of its special pocket on the outside of her handbag. “Why don’t I just make this easy?” she suggested as she held down the digit ‘four.’ For ease of memory, she’d made his number the same digit from both her home and cell phones.
She could feel the policeman’s eyes on her as she waited for Dexter to pick up. One ring, two, three. Why didn’t he answer?
“Voicemail,” she explained to the officer as the annoying pre-recorded message played. Genevieve would swear that every Voicemail and automated telephone system she’d ever heard featured the same woman’s voice. She spoke carefully, aware that the policeman listened to every word. “Dexter, it’s...Jenny. Don’t panic, but I’ve just been, um, knocked down by a robbery suspect fleeing the scene on Seventy-Second Street. I’ve got some cuts and bruises and a twisted ankle. The police have questioned me about what I saw, and just to be on the safe side, they’re going to bring me to the E.R. to have me checked out.” Realizing the policeman would think it odd if she didn’t give her husband the name of the hospital where she’d be, she lowered the phone for a moment. “Which hospital are you taking me to?”
“Lenox Hill, I suppose.”
“They’re bringing me to Lenox Hill,” she said into the receiver. She ended with a jaunty, “Call me!”
“Your husband works at a hospital?” the officer inquired.
“Yes, in the path lab.” She smiled at him sweetly, hoping he would ask which hospital. At least that question she could answer.
“Yes, well, I’ll escort you to the squad car, and we’ll drive you over.”
She hadn’t expected that. “Squad car? I thought I’d be going in an ambulance.” She didn’t want to spend so much as a minute more in the company of this policeman. She’d never met anyone with such a suspicious aura, like he perceived every person he encountered as a potential criminal. He was relatively young, maybe thirty. How could he possibly have become so jaded?
“We’re only transporting a few of the more serious injuries by ambulance, Miss—Mrs. Gray, like a few elderly people who may have fractures and a man who was knocked unconscious. I’ll help you to the car. We’ll probably transport another witness along with you.”
She took the arm he offered because she had no choice; she couldn’t walk without assistance. For the minute it took to walk to the curb, she concentrated only on the pain of her ankle.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.
She realized he heard the squeal of discomfort she’d so valiantly tried to conceal. “Yes, yes.”
“We can probably bring you over to the hospital where your husband works if you’d like.”
“That’s not necessary. He’s way across town.” Hips first, she gracefully climbed into the back seat of the squad car. While grateful to be alone while the officer went off to gather up another injured party to join her, she also felt captive by the combination of the forbidding-looking black metal netting that separated her from the officers. The back seat also had no door handles. Was this how beavers and other animals with valuable pelts felt when they were caught in traps?
She quickly did away with that notion. She wasn’t a beaver or a mink.
But that policeman certainly behaved like he was out for her hide.
Chapter 19
Officer Terrence Gulliver approached the emergency room physician. “Doctor, can I have a minute?”
“Can I help you, Officer?”
“Are you the physician treating a Genevieve Gray?”
“Yes, I am. I just wrote orders to have her sent for an x-ray of her left ankle and her right wrist. Is there a problem?”
“Will the x-ray take a long time?”
The man shrugged. “It shouldn’t, but we’re running a fair number of cases. That thief knocked down his fair share of pedestrians, didn’t he?”
“Yes, and he was tackled himself when we caught up with him,” Terrence replied. “But back to Ms. Gray.”
“It doesn’t look like anything out of the ordinary. She’ll likely be treated and released. Is there anything I can do?”
“Yes. I’d appreciate it if you could delay her discharge. Some new facts have come to light. We have to question her further.”
“I suppose I can, at least within a reasonable amount of time. I hope you’re not talking about keeping her for five more hours.”
“No...it shouldn’t take that long.” Terrence nodded. “Thank you, Doctor.”
He turned to the bay where Genevieve Gray had been taken, quickly disappearing around a corner when an orderly pushed her gurney out, probably bringing her to x-ray.
He caught a glimpse of her when she was rolled past him. Her head rested on the pillow and her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted. She looked like she was waiting to be kissed.
She was a pretty woman, and Terrence had initially been disappointed to learn she was married, but something about that setup didn’t sit right with him. For one thing, she wore no wedding band. For another, she hadn’t been able to remember her husband’s cell phone number. It was no more than a hunch, of course, but he’d detected a slight accent in her speech. That along with her obvious nervousness made him think hers was a ‘green card’ marriage.
Not likely for her benefit. Genevieve Gray, with her pale yellow sweater and denim skirt, looked like a typical young well-to-do New Yorker, out shopping on a Saturday afternoon in a part of the city lined with expensive boutiques. She hardly fit the typical profile of an illegal immigrant. Then again, she might have been spending some of the thousands she’d gotten from her husband in exchange for marrying him and making him eligible to get that vital green card. He pondered the possibility that Mr. Gray hailed from the same place she did. Maybe they’d met at church, one of the few places that welcomed illegal immigrants.
Nor did Terrence buy Mrs. Gray’s story about her husband working in a pathology lab. If anything, the dude probably did some low-level work, like custodial, for a hole-in-the-wall employment service, one willing to risk employing illegals and who in turn farmed them out for grunge work at businesses all over the city.
Of course, Mrs. Gray’s marriage and husband had nothing to do with the robbery, and Terrence would do nothing about it even if he was able to prove his suspicions, even if the force was cracking down on illegal immigrants in the city. He just wanted to test his instincts. He was considering taking the detective’s test, and doing a little investigation would help him determine if had what it took to solve cases rather than merely serve and protect.
He felt the best investigation would be to see if the husband showed up. Terrence wasn’t married, but he knew that if he did have a wife who called and left a message like the one Mrs. Gray said, he’d drop everything to be by her side, both to see if she really was okay as well as to bring her home. He figured that if Mr. Gray failed to appear, that would be a red flag.
Fortunately, he had reason to hang around the hospital. His partner had learned there’d been two participants in the scheme, a well-dressed young couple pretending to be engaged and shopping for rings. No one knew what happened to the female perpetrator. Their best guess was that she ran the other way and changed her appearance somehow, blending in with the rest of the pedestrians. His partner had remained in the neighborhood to question anyone who might have seen anything: employees of nearby stores and restaurants, people out walking dogs, mail delivery people. Terrence would question the suspect as soon as his medical treatment was concluded, and then he’d bring him to a holding cell. In the meantime, there was the mysterious matter of Genevieve Gray.
Terrence left word with the head nurse that he was to be notified if anyone came to see her. In the interim, he questioned the other available witnesses who had been hurt severely enough to require medical attention.
He bid a polite farewell to a woman of about seventy who had received stitches in her leg and a sling for her sprained elbow wrist. She’d been le
ft with remarkably minor injuries, considering she’d had the misfortune to be walking past the jeweler’s at the moment the perpetrators ran off with the goods and was the first to be pushed to the ground. When he questioned her, she did remember seeing a young woman run the other way, carrying a blue canvas bag that Terrence figured contained items for a quick clothing change.
That meant Genevieve Gray wouldn’t be able to help him with any further information, but he still wanted to meet her husband – or better yet, to not meet him.
“Officer?”
He turned in the direction of one of the nurse’s aides. “Kate at the front desk wanted me to tell you it’s a go.” Her uncertain tone suggested she hadn’t the faintest idea what the strange message meant.
“Thanks.”
Terrence understood and made his way down to Genevieve’s bay, just in time to see a tall, thin man wearing surgical scrubs and badly in need of a haircut rushing down the hall, his wide natural hair bouncing with each step. By the time Terrence took his place against the wall, standing far enough by the partially open curtain, the man was leaning over the sleeping Mrs. Gray, his face anxious, his fingertips gently touching her cheek.
Disappointment closed in on Terrence as he watched the scene unfold. The man’s attire was typical of what a lab tech would wear. And his tender actions certainly didn’t strike him as the action of a man who’d bought a wife, but one who was very much in love with her.
Not only did Terrence think that he might want to hold off on taking that test, but he found himself feeling a little envious of Mr. Gray as well.
Genevieve knew without opening her eyes that Dexter had come to her bedside. She heard movements and quickly recognized the scent of his skin, of his hair.
She turned her face so that her jaw rested against his warm palm. “I see you got my message.”
“It was a hell of a message.” He sat on the edge of her bed and tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Let’s see the damage.” He lifted the lightweight blanket and fingered the outside of the bandage on her right knee.
“That’s just a scrape. They cleaned it and put a bandage on it.”
“Did they update your tetanus?”
“Yes.”
His hand went to her ankle, wrapped in an Ace bandage and elevated on a pillow. “They x-rayed this, I suppose.”
“Yes. No fracture, but a bad sprain. They just want me to stay off it for the next week.”
“Are they done?”
“As far as I know, yes. They’ve already given me crutches and crutch training.” She pointed over her shoulder, and he saw the crutches propped against the wall. They’d provided her with a pair, even though with her arm in a sling she could only use one. “I’m just waiting for the doctor to discharge me. He’s taking forever. They didn’t look like they were all that busy to me.”
“Maybe he took a late lunch or something. I’ll go to the desk and ask if they know how long it’ll be.”
Someone behind them cleared their throat. “Excuse me.”
Genevieve looked up to see the uniformed policeman who’d brought her in. “Officer? Are you still here?”
“Yes, well, actually, we received some new information, Mrs. Gray. I’ve remained here so I can speak to all the witnesses again, and some of them were unavailable, down in x-ray and things like that.” He nodded at Dexter. “You must be Mr. Gray.”
“Yes. Dexter.”
Terrence noticed that Dexter still held his wife’s hand, and with disappointment he noted that his usually sharp instincts couldn’t have been more wrong. “I’m Officer Terrence Gulliver. I got to the scene shortly after the incident occurred.” He smiled sheepishly. “You know, your wife behaved awfully strangely when I asked her about contacting you. She couldn’t even remember your phone number.” He paused, still feeling a little bit foolish at his error. “For a moment there, I doubted that you even existed.”
Dexter Gray threw back his head and laughed uproariously, and his wife merely smiled in a manner that seemed less than genuine. Terrence decided she must be a little embarrassed.
“Now, that’s funny,” Dexter said.
Terrence felt downright stupid. Not only did this man work in a hospital, but the efficient way he assessed his wife’s injuries suggested he knew a thing or two about medicine. Best to question Mrs. Gray quickly and make himself scarce. “Mrs. Gray, we’ve learned that there were two perpetrators, a male and a female. Did you happen to notice a young woman holding a blue shopping bag?”
She thought a moment, then shrugged. “No. I only saw the back of the man who knocked me down as he ran off.”
Terrence expected that reply, since he’d already been told the woman of the team had gone the other way, but witnesses’ accounts differed all the time, and it was part of his job to ask. “Well, that’s it, then. Thank you very much.”
“What happened exactly, Officer?” Dexter inquired.
Terrence recapped the robbery for him. “One man he knocked down was diagnosed with a mild concussion. They’re holding him for observation. There’s a woman in her seventies who possibly has a broken hip. I don’t think they’ve gotten the x-rays back yet. Everyone else is being sent home.” He tipped his cap. “Mrs. Gray, I wish you a speedy recovery. Mr. Gray.” He swiftly backed out of the room.
Terrence sought out the doctor and told him it was no longer necessary to delay Genevieve Gray’s release. His error in judgment annoyed him. If he expected to make detective he’d have to develop sharper instincts. Dexter and Genevieve Gray had as genuine a marriage as his own parents, the kind he hoped to have one day himself.
“Nice fellow,” Dexter remarked. “Too bad you can’t introduce him to Cesca.”
She grunted. “He’s been nice only since you showed up. I was so nervous when he asked me how to contact you. I couldn’t remember your cell number, only the speed dial I assigned it. The way he looked at me really gave me the creeps. I could tell he was suspicious.”
“I’m glad I got here and convinced him otherwise.”
“Me, too,” she said, speaking just above a whisper. “And forget about fixing him up with Cesca. She hates policemen. She had a terrible experience with the police a few years ago, and so did her father. It was so unpleasant I think that had a lot do with him taking early retirement and leaving the state.” She sighed.
“Are you really all right, Jenny?” He stroked her hair.
“Yes, I’m fine.” She closed her eyes, savoring his touch. “Just a little tired,” she added truthfully.
“I think I should stay at your place this week. “You’re going to have a hard time moving around.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine, Dexter.”
He shook his head. “No. You shouldn’t be alone. I insist.”
Genevieve sighed. She knew his reaction to seeing her laying flat on her back, with her arm in a sling, her leg bandaged, and her ankle wrapped had helped convince Officer Gulliver that he’d been on the wrong track. The lawman had made himself scarce quickly enough after that. But Dexter hadn’t known about the policeman’s suspicions when he rushed to her bedside, hadn’t known they were in danger of being found out when he leaned over her with such fear on his face. He’d reacted in a genuine manner, the way any loving husband would...and now he wanted to stay with her. No wonder he was so concerned. She must look a sight.
He’ll think you’re beautiful, even when you’re looking your worst.
The way her mother’s long-ago words suddenly popped into Genevieve’s head did nothing to help the puzzlement she felt. The entire episode confused her; she didn’t know what to make of it.
Chapter 20
Dexter insisted on carrying her upstairs when the cab dropped them off at the condo, ignoring her protests that she could walk on her crutches. With no other choice, she looped her good arm around his neck and cradled her head in the niche where his neck met his shoulder.
By now it was late enough for Z.L. to be on duty. He c
lapped his hands to his round cheeks in distress, his mouth falling open, as Dexter lifted her from the cab after he paid the driver. “Mr. Gray. What happened to Jenishka?”
“I’ll be back down in a few minutes and tell you about it,” Dexter replied. “In the meantime, could you grab those crutches out of the back seat? I’ll be down for them right after I get Jenny settled.”
Genevieve, worn out from the ordeal, went to sleep the moment he laid her on her bed. When she woke up three hours later, the first thing she saw was a framed photo of she and Dexter, taken at the Alexandria courthouse the day they got married, on her bedside table. She reached for her crutches and put one under her good arm and hobbled out to the living room, where Dexter’s tall body was stretched out on the sofa, watching television. “Dexter, did you put that photo in my bedroom?” It unnerved her a little that he’d entered her bedroom while she’d been asleep. She’d deliberately not shown it to him when she brought him to the apartment; the king-sized bed that dominated the room was too suggestive. She just hoped she hadn’t been snoring or had her mouth open.
“I put one out here, too.” He pointed to the end table with his chin.
She followed with her eyes. There on the table was an eight by ten version of the same photo in a more ornate frame. She looked at him quizzically.
He got up and helped her descend the two steps into the living room, an action that had previously required no thought, something that had changed now that she had to navigate it with crutches. After they were both seated—she in a chair, he back on the sofa—he began to explain. “Now that it’s fall and everyone’s vacations are over, I predict you’ll hear from the INS within the next few weeks. Those few things I gave you won’t cut it, Jenny. They’ll be looking for proof that I really live here. A toothbrush isn’t going to prove jack.” He pointed to the foyer, where his duffel bag and two lidded boxes rested on the floor. “I brought some things over, in case they want to look in the closets. Z.L. helped me carry them upstairs. So clear out some space in your dresser drawers for my underwear and socks.”
Save the Best for Last Page 19