Молчаливая ночь [with w_cat] - Мэри Кларк

[278] And this kid with his St. Christopher medal.

[279] The awesome power of the New York City Police Department ground methodically into gear as plans were laid to assure that Jimmy Siddons did not slip between their fingers, just in case, at the last minute, he panicked and decided not to surrender after midnight Mass.

[280] As soon as their wiretap recorded Cally’s phone calls from Jimmy, and to his lawyer, Jack Shore had called in the information. He had let the higher-ups know exactly what he thought of Siddons’s “decision” to surrender. “It’s an out-and-out crock,” he had barked. “We tie up a couple of hundred cops till one-thirty or two in the morning, and he’s halfway to Canada or Mexico before we find out that he’s made us look like a bunch of fools.”

[281] Finally the deputy police commissioner in charge of the manhunt had snapped, “All right, Jack. We know what you think. Now let’s get on with it. There’s been no sign of him around his sister’s place?”

[282] “No, sir,” Jack Shore had said and hung up, and then he and his partner, Mort, had gone to visit Cally. When they got back to the van, Shore again reported in to headquarters. “We just were back to Hunter’s apartment, sir. She’s fully aware of the consequences if she helps her brother in any way. The baby-sitter dropped off her kid as we were leaving, and my guess is Cally’s in for the night.”

[283] Mort Levy frowned as he listened to his partner’s conversation with the deputy police commissioner. There was something about that apartment that was different from the way it had looked this morning, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. Mentally he reviewed the layout: the small entryway, the bathroom directly off it, the narrow combination living room-kitchen, the cell-like bedroom, barely large enough to hold a single bed, a cot for the little girl, and a three-drawer dresser.

[284] Jack had asked Cally if she would mind if they looked around again, and she had nodded assent. Certainly no one was hiding in that place. They had opened the door to the bathroom, looked under the beds, poked in the closet. Levy had felt unwilling pity for Cally Hunter’s attempts to brighten the dismal flat. All the walls were painted a bright yellow. Floral pillows were randomly piled on the old couch. The Christmas tree was bravely decorated with tons of tinsel and strings of red and green lights. A few brightly wrapped presents were placed under it.

[285] Presents? Mort did not know why this word triggered something in his subconscious. He thought for a moment, then shook his head. Forget it, he told himself.

[286] He wished Jack hadn’t bullied Cally Hunter. It was easy to see that she was terrified of him. Mort hadn’t been in on her case, which had been tried over two years ago, but from what he’d heard, he believed that Cally honestly thought that her troublesome kid brother had been in a gang fight and that the members of the other gang were hunting him.

[287] What am I trying to remember about her apart ment? Mort asked himself. What was different?

[288] They were normally scheduled to go off duty at eight o’clock, but tonight both he and Jack were going back to headquarters instead. Like dozens of others, they would be working overtime at least until after midnight Mass at the cathedral. Maybe, just maybe, Siddons would show up as he had promised. Levy knew that Shore was aching to make the arrest personally. “I could spot that guy if he was wearing a nun’s habit,” he kept saying, over and over again.

[289] There was a tap at the back door of the van, signifying that their replacements had arrived. As Mort stood up, stretched, and stepped down onto the street, he was glad that just before he left Cally Hunter’s apartment, he had slipped her his card and whispered, “If you want to talk to anyone, Mrs. Hunter, here’s a number where you can reach me.”

8

[290] The crowds on Fifth Avenue had thinned out, although there were still some onlookers around the tree in Rockefeller Center. Others were still lined up waiting to see Saks’s window display, and there was a steady stream of visitors slipping in and out of St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

[291] But as the car she was in pulled up behind the squad car where Officer Ortiz and Michael were waiting, Catherine could see that most of the last-minute shoppers were gone.

[292] They’re on their way home, she thought, to do the final gift wrapping and to tell each other that next year, for sure, they won’t be rushing around to stores on Christmas Eve.

[293] Everything at the last minute. That had been her own pattern until twelve years ago, when a third-year resident, Dr. Thomas Dornan, came into the administration office of St. Vincent ’s Hospital, walked over to her desk, and said, “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

[294] Tom, so easygoing, but so organized. If she were the one who was sick, Tom wouldn’t have stuffed all her money and identification into his own bulging wallet. He wouldn’t have dropped it into his pocket so carelessly that someone either reached in and grabbed it or picked it up off the ground.

[295] That was the thought that was torturing Catherine as she opened the car door and, through the swirling snow, ran the few steps to the squad car. Brian would never have wandered away on his own, she was sure of that. He was so anxious to get to Tom, he hadn’t even wanted to take the time to look at the Rockefeller Center tree. He must have set off on some mission. That was it. If somebody hadn’t actually kidnapped him-and that seemed unlikely-he must have seen whoever took or picked up the wallet and followed that person.

[296] Michael was sitting in the front seat with Officer Ortiz, sipping a soda. A brown paper bag with remnants of a packet of ketchup was standing on the floor in front of him. Catherine squeezed in beside him on the front seat and smoothed his hair.

[297] “How’s Dad?” he asked anxiously. “You didn’t tell him about Brian, did you?”

[298] “No, of course not. I’m sure we’ll find Brian soon, and there was no need to worry him. And he’s doing just great. I saw Dr. Crowley. He’s a happy camper about Dad.” She looked over Michael’s head at Officer Ortiz. “It’s been almost two hours,” she said quietly.

[299] He nodded. “Brian’s description will keep going out every hour to every cop and car in the area. Mrs. Dornan, Michael and I have been talking. He’s sure Brian wouldn’t deliberately wander away.”

[300] “No, he’s right. He wouldn’t.”

[301] “You talked to the people around you when you realized he was missing?”

“Yes.”

[302] “And no one noticed a kid being pulled or carried away?”

[303] “No. People remember seeing him, then they didn’t see him.”

[304] “I’ll level with you. I don’t know any molester who would even attempt to kidnap a child from his mother’s side and work his way through a crowd of people. But Michael thinks that maybe Brian would have taken off after someone he saw take your wallet.”

[305] Catherine nodded. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. It’s the only answer that makes sense.”

[306] “Michael tells me that last year Brian stood up to a fourth-grade kid who shoved one of his classmates.”

[307] “He’s a gutsy kid,” Catherine said. Then the import of what the policeman had said hit her. He thinks that if Brian followed whoever took my wal let, he may have confronted that person. Oh God, no!

[308] “Mrs. Dornan, if it’s all right with you, I think it would be a good idea if we tried to get cooperation from the media. We might be able to get some of the local TV stations to show Brian’s picture if you have one.”

[309] “The one I carried is in my wallet,” Catherine said, her voice a monotone. Images of Brian standing up to a thief flashed in her mind. My little boy, she thought, would someone hurt my little boy?

[310] What was Michael saying? He was talking to the cop Ortiz.

[311] “My grandmother has a bunch of pictures of us,” Michael was telling him. Then he looked up at his mother. “Anyhow, Mom, you gotta call Gran. She’s going to start worrying if we’re not home soon.”

[312] Like father, like son, Catherine thought. Brian looks like Tom. Michael thinks like him. She closed her eyes against the waves of near panic that washed through her. Tom. Brian. Why?

[313] She felt Michael fishing in her shoulder bag. He pulled out the cellular phone. “I’ll dial Gran,” he told her.

9

[314] In her apartment on Eighty-seventh Street, Barbara Cavanaugh clutched the phone, not wanting to believe what her daughter was telling her. But there was no disputing the dreadful news that Catherine’s quiet, almost emotionless voice had conveyed. Brian was missing, and had been missing for over two hours now.

[315] Barbara managed to keep her voice calm. “Where are you, dear?”

[316] “Michael and I are in a police car at Forty-ninth and Fifth. That’s where we were standing when Brian… just suddenly wasn’t next to me.”

[317] “I’ll be right there.”

[318] “Mom, be sure to bring the most recent pictures you have of Brian. The police want to give them out to all the news media. And the news radio station is going to have me on in a few minutes to make an appeal. And Mom, call the nurses’ station on the fifth floor of the hospital. Tell them to make absolutely sure that Tom isn’t allowed to turn on the TV in his room. He doesn’t have a radio. If he ever found out that Brian was missing…” Her voice trailed off.

[319] “I’ll call right away but, Catherine, I don’t have any recent pictures here,” Barbara cried. “All the ones we took last summer are in the Nantucket house.” Then she wanted to bite her lip. She’d been asking for new pictures of the boys and hadn’t received any. Only yesterday Catherine had told her that her Christmas present, framed portraits of them, had been forgotten in the rush to get Tom to New York for the operation.

[320] “I’ll bring what I can find,” she said hurriedly. “I’m on my way.”

[321] For an instant after she finished delivering the message to the hospital, Barbara Cavanaugh sank into a chair and rested her forehead in her palm. Too much, she thought, too much.

[322] Had there always been a feeling haunting her that everything was too good to be true? Catherine’s father had died when she was ten, and there had always been a lingering touch of sadness in her eyes, until at twenty-two she met Tom. They were so happy together, so perfect together. The way Gene and I were from day one, Barbara thought.

[323] For an instant her mind rushed back to that moment in 1943, when at age nineteen and a sophomore in college, she’d been introduced to a handsome young Army officer, Lieutenant Eugene Cavanaugh. In that first moment they’d both known that they were perfect for each other. They were married two months later, but it was eighteen years before their only child was born.

[324] With Tom, my daughter has found the same kind of relationship with which I was blessed, Barbara thought, but now… She jumped up. She had to get to Catherine. Brian must have just wandered away. They just got separated, she told herself. Catherine was strong, but she must be close to the breaking point by now. Oh, dear God, let someone find him, she prayed.

[325] She rushed through the apartment, yanking framed photographs from mantels and tabletops. She’d moved here from Beekman Place ten years ago. It was still more space than she needed, with a formal dining room, library, and guest suite. But now it meant that when Tom and Catherine and the boys came to visit from their home in Omaha, there was plenty of room for them.

[326] Barbara tossed the pictures into the handsome leather carryall Tom and Catherine had given her for her birthday, grabbed a coat from the foyer closet, and, without bothering to double lock the door, rushed outside in time to press the button for the elevator as it began to descend from the penthouse.

[327] Sam, the elevator operator, was a longtime employee. When he opened the door for her, his smile was replaced by a look of concern. “Good evening, Mrs. Cavanaugh. Merry Christmas. Any further word on Dr. Dornan?”

[328] Afraid to speak, Barbara shook her head.

[329] “Those grandkids of yours are real cute. The little one, Brian, told me you gave his mom something that would make his dad get well. I sure hope that’s true.”

[330] Barbara tried to say, “So do I,” but found that her lips could not form the words.

[331] “Mommy, why are you sad?” Gigi asked as she settled onto Cally’s lap.

[332] “I’m not sad, Gigi,” Cally said. “I’m always happy when I’m with you.”

[333] Gigi shook her head. She was wearing a red-and-white Christmas nightgown with figures of angels carrying candles. Her wide brown eyes and wavy golden-brown hair were legacies from Frank. The older she gets, the more she looks like him, Cally thought, instinctively holding the child tighter.

[334] They were curled up together on the couch across from the Christmas tree. “I’m glad you’re home with me, Mommy,” Gigi said, and her voice became fearful. “You won’t leave me again, will you?”

[335] “No. I didn’t want to leave you last time, sweetheart.”

[336] “I didn’t like visiting you at that place.”