I felt like I was taking refuge from the storm in a toy car. The rain bounced off the hood and flooded the windshield. I told myself that I couldn’t call Child because I wouldn’t be able to hear him over the deafening beat of the rain. He’d called me and I hadn’t answered the phone. I couldn’t face that conversation just yet, not until I had an answer for him—not until I’d found a way out.
I tried Christine’s cell again. Voice mail. Trailing through my dialed call list, I hit the number for the hospital. This time I got through to the nurse on Popo’s ward pretty quickly. He was conscious, cooperative, and filled full of morphine, so they wouldn’t let me talk to him. They weren’t letting the cops talk to him either. I asked the nurse to tell Popo I’d called and that I was grateful for what he’d done for David. The nurse said she’d pass it on. I disconnected the call and returned my attention to West Forty-sixth Street.
There were no people on the street; the rain kept pedestrians inside. I’d been parked for almost twenty minutes and I hadn’t seen a single person pass my office. A few cars drove by way too fast to be casing the place. I’d driven up and down a few times myself, just to look out for anyone who might be sitting in a car, waiting for me to go back to my office. As far as I could tell, the street was clear. I was no surveillance expert, and I’d resigned myself to wait for Kennedy. For all I knew, Gerry Sinton could have half of his security team in my office already with eager guns waiting in the dark for my return.
I was late and Kennedy hadn’t shown. I was about to call him when I saw a dark sedan pass me and park fifty yards ahead, just outside my building.
I waited and saw the tall, lean figure of Bill Kennedy exiting the car, a blue plastic folder tucked underneath his right arm. The horn on the Honda sounded like a sick donkey. It was enough to turn Kennedy around. I flashed the lights, got out of the car, and locked it with the ignition key. By the time I’d joined him, I was wet through and the files I carried in my jacket weren’t faring much better. The rain was too hard for us to stop and talk and we ran to the entrance to my building.
I hadn’t been in my office since early that morning, and with the normal traffic through the front door, there was no point in putting my usual precautions in place. There was no dime and no toothpick to tell me if I had any unplanned guests waiting for me upstairs. We entered noisily and I closed the door too quickly, much too eager to get out of the storm. If anyone was upstairs, they probably heard us come in.
We shook out our clothes, and I wiped the rain from my face and swept back my hair, which had begun to cling to my forehead. Our breath was misty in the cold lobby, and pools of rainwater already formed around our feet. I gestured toward my office with a flick of my eyes. Kennedy nodded, handed me the plastic folder, drew his service weapon, and ascended the stairs cautiously. I followed him at a distance.
A reading light shined in my office.
Kennedy put his palm out flat, telling me to remain at the top of the stairs. He moved with a graceful, silent skip toward the door, his gun ready in a two-handed grip. I followed him, and we took our positions on either side of the door. Kennedy shook his head and mouthed that I should stay put. In one smooth, fluid movement, he flicked the doorknob with one hand, then kneed it all the way open as he pushed inside, his gun raised in front of him.