As soon as the med tech went off for a stretcher, Joe took a deep breath and made it to his feet. Damn, it hurt. Well, hed been pretty much sandblasted when he skidded down on the roadway, and he wasnt exactly eighteen anymore.
He saw that there was no way in hell he would be leaving the scene in his own car. But it wasnt blocking anyone, so the thing was just to start walking, to get away.
He did. It was easier than hed imagined, but then, he was walking away from a scene of chaos, and everyones attention was on the wreck, not on one lone pedestrian. He could hear voicesmost alarmed and concerned, some merely excitedsurrounding him as he escaped the scene. More and more cop cars and ambulances passed him.
He headed south along the shoulder, and at last he followed an entrance ramp down to the street, where he hailed a taxi. The driver didnt even blink at his appearance. Hey, this was New York.
He suggested a route to Brooklyn that didnt involve the FDR.
He got home eventually, where he showered and changed, then went out into his living room and turned on the television, looking for the local news.
The accident was center stage.
Twelve were injured and are being given care in various area hospitals, the attractive newscaster was saying. Her face was grave. There was one fatality. Adam Brookfield was killed when his car flipped over the median. The medical examiner reports that Mr. Brookfield died instantly, though a heroic onlooker, who fled the scene, carried the mans body from the automobile just instants before the car exploded. That same man rescued Mr. Brookfields six-year-old niece, Patricia, who is doing well at St. Vincents Hospital, where her parents are with her.
The woman shifted in her chair to look into a different camera. The somber expression left her face. She smiled. This weekend, we welcome the All American Chorale Union to Kennedy Center, and for those of you with tickets, remember that tonights the night for the special showing of ancient Egyptian artifacts at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. All those pricey meal tickets will pay for more archeological research right here in New York. And now
Joe no longer heard her. He was irritated.
That man, Adam Brookfield, had been alive; he had spoken to Joe. It was bull about him dying on impact. He couldnt have spoken if hed been dead.
Joe glanced at his watch. It would be hours before he could reasonably go for his car, which meant it would probably be towed anyway. Screw it.
He had been on his way to attend tonights fund-raiser at the Met when hed gotten sidelined by the accident, but now he decided he no longer cared. He was heading to Manhattan and a bar that had become one of his favorites.
Congratulations, shes just beautiful, Senator, Genevieve OBrien said to Senator James McCray and his wife. They had been showing her pictures of their new grandson, Jacob. She had done the right thing, oohing and aahing.
Frankly, the baby looked like a pinhead at the moment. As bald as a buzzard. Squinched up andnewborn.
But the senator was a supporter of the Historical Society, and had a paid great deal for his meal and a walk through the museum. Naturally she was going to say all the right things about his grandchild. Of course, if shed met him on the street, she still would have said the same things, she realized.
She damned digital cameras.
The senator had not had just one picture but at least a hundred.
You need to get married and have children yourself, young lady, James McCray said.
His wife elbowed him. Shed suddenly gone pale.
Genevieve sighed and tried not to show her feelings in her expression, but she was so weary of this. Anything that so much as hinted of sex was considered taboo around her. Shed been the victim of a maniac whod been stalking New Yorks streets and targeting prostitutes, the same prostitutes Gen worked with. Everyone knew what shed been through and that it was a miracle she was alive.
She had stayed alive because she had realized quickly that her attacker was actually incapable of sex. She had played on his own psychological makeup, providing the bolstering and ego boosts that he needed, and though she had been a prisoner and abused, she wasnt suffering as shatteringly from the experience as the world seemed to think she should be. If she faced an inward agony, it was knowing that someone incredible, her friend Leslie MacIntyre, had died.
I would love to have children one day, Senator, Mrs. McCray, she said cheerfully. When the right person to be a dad comes along. You enjoy that beautiful baby. But now, if youll excuse me, I need to see to a few things.
Yes, she needed to see to an escape.
She walked quickly into a side hall, opened only for the convenience of the Historical Society, which was hosting the event. There was a bench, and she sat on it.
He hadnt shown.
She let out a sigh, wondering why she had even thought Joe would show up. He was a fascinating guy, intrigued by almost everything in the world. He hadnt come from money, but if anyone out there knew that money really wasnt everything, it was her. Joe was one of those people who lived life, and hed done well enough for himself. He could look like a million dollars in a suit. Definitely a striking guy.
And her friend, she thought.
When he wasnt avoiding her.
She smiled to herself. If she was in trouble, if she needed rescuing, he would be right there. Thing was, she didnt need rescuing. And she didnt want to need rescuing, either.
Her smiled faded.
She did want help.
She had hoped he would show tonight because she wanted to ask him about the current worry dogging her life.
A murder.
The media had dubbed it the Poe Killing, because the victim, Thorne Bigelow, had been president of the New York Poe Society, a readers and writers group whose members studied the works and life of Edgar Allan Poe, and called themselves the Ravens, and the killer had left a note referring to the famous author.
She looked around the room. Most of the members were involved with things that were considered either literary or important educationally in the city of New York. There were several of the Ravens here tonight; like her own mother, they also supported various groups interested in history and archeology. Among them she noticed newspaper reporter Larry Levine, who had come to cover the event. Then there was Lila Hawkinsbrassy and outspoken and very, very rich. Quite frankly, she was obnoxious, but she did do a lot of good things for the arts in the city. Just a few minutes ago, Gen had seen Lila with Barbara Hirshorn, another Raven and the complete opposite of Lila; Barbara was so timid, she had difficulty speaking to more than one person at the same time.
She had noted that even Jared Bigelow had made a brief appearance with Mary Vincenzo, his aunt, on his arm. He was gone now, and she hadnt had a chance to speak to him. He had shown up just to support the cause tonight; he was still in mourning for his father.
From her seat on the bench she could hear the booming voice of Don Tracy, the one Raven whod taken Poe to the masses. He was an actor, a good one, even if hed never become a household name. He loved the stage and had performed Poes works on numerous occasions.
None of them seemed to be frightened by the note that had been found with Thornes body.
Thorne Bigelow had been a very wealthy man. A well-known man. And though murder happened all too often, it was the sad truth that a murder with a hooklike a victim who was regularly in the headlines and a mysterious note making reference to a long-dead storyteller and poetintrigued the media more than most deaths did.
Thorne Bigelow had been a very wealthy man. A well-known man. And though murder happened all too often, it was the sad truth that a murder with a hooklike a victim who was regularly in the headlines and a mysterious note making reference to a long-dead storyteller and poetintrigued the media more than most deaths did.
It was only happenstance that Thorne Bigelow had been a very rich Raven. The Ravens didnt demand that a member be wealthy, published on the topic of Poes life and works or world-renowned, though sometimes they were. Thorne Bigelow had written a book on Poe that was considered to be the definitive work on the man. Bigelow was honored far and wide for his knowledge.
And he had been poisoned. Poisoned with a bottle of thousand-dollar wine.
He loved wine, perhaps even to excess. And he had died of it.
À la Poe.
The Black Cat.
Or perhaps The Cask of Amontillado.
The killer didnt seem to have been too precise about which story he meant Bigelows death to parallel. He had made his intentions clear in the note hed left at the scene, though.
Quoth the raven: die.
The police were pretty much at a standstill, though why the media were harassing them so strongly about the case, Genevieve wasnt certain. Thorne Bigelow had only been dead a week. She knew from personal experience that bad things could go on for a very long time before a situation was resolved. If it hadnt been for her familys wealth and her own disappearance, the sad deaths of many of the citys less fortunate might have gone unsolved for a very long time.
But Bigelow was big news.
My darling, there you are!
Genevieve looked up. Her motherit was still strange to call Eileen Mother, when she had grown up believing that she was her auntwas standing before her. Eileen, only in her early forties now, was stunning. Her love for Genevieve was so strongnot to mention that without her persistence, Genevieve would surely be dead nowthat it was easy to forgive the lies of the past. Especially since Genevieve knew what family pressure was like, and that her mother had been far too young to speak up for herself when Gen had been born.
But Eileen Brideswell had finally decided that a New York that embraced reruns of Sex and the City would surely forgive her a teenage, unwed birth. What she might once have been damned for now passed without notice by most in the city.
And after all, Genevieve had loved Eileen all her life.
Here I am, Genevieve said cheerfully.
He didnt show, Eileen said.
No.
Eileen hesitated. She was very slim, and had classic features, the kind that would make her just as beautiful when she turned eighty as she was now. But at the moment, her expression was strained.
What? Genevieve asked, suddenly worried by what she saw in her mothers eyes.
There was a terrible accident on the FDR.
Genevieve leapt up. When? Joe uses
About an hour ago. The reports are just coming out now. One man was killeddont panic, it wasnt Joeand a number of other people were injured.
Genevieve sat back down and fumbled in the pocket of her black silk skirt for her cell phone. That bastard better answer me, she muttered.
Joe Connolly, came his voice, after three rings.
She could hear music in the background. An Irish melody. He was at OMalleys, she thought.
Joe, its Genevieve.
Hey. You still at your big soiree? he asked.
Yes. I thought you were coming.
I couldnt make it past the traffic.
She let out a sigh. All right. That might be a legitimate excuse.
Ah.
Im at OMalleys.
Yes, it sounded like OMalleys.
He was silent. It felt like an awkward silence. Was she being too clingy? Good God, did she sound disapproving, as if she were his wife or something?
Stop, she warned herself. She had to be careful of expecting too much from him. It had seemed, after she was rescued, after Leslie haddied, that they were destined to be close. The best of friends, needing one another.
But then it was as if he had put up a wall.
She gritted her teeth. She needed him now. Cut and dried. Needed his professional help. He was a private investigator. Finding people, finding facts, finding the truth. That was what he did. And she needed to hire him. She wasnt asking any favors.
Well, have fun, she said.
She clicked the phone closed before he could reply.
Eileen looked at her. Dont worry, dear. Her mother sat down beside her and patted her knee. Its all going to come out fine.
Mom The word seemed a bit strange, but Genevieve loved to use it. Mom, Im worried about you now. Youre a Raven, and
Eileen sighed. Oh, darling, dont worry. Im a fringe member, at best. Poor Thorne. I like being a member, I love all the reading and discussing we do, buthonestly, Im just not worried.
Mom, he was murdered.
Yes.
By someone who apparently wasnt impressed with his work on Poe.
And Ive never written a book, Eileen assured her.
Genevieve sighed, rising. But you are a Raven.
Along with many other things.
Cant help it. Im worried about you. Henry is driving you home, right?
Eileen frowned. Yes, of course. What about you? Are you leaving, too?
Im going to drop by OMalleys.
Oh. Eileen frowned worriedly.
Ill be all right, Genevieve assured her. Im in my own car, but I know where to park. Ill let security see me out and I wont leave OMalleys without someone to walk me to my car. Okay? Ill be safe, I promise. Hell, I think they ask your approval before they hire anyone at OMalleys.
Eileen laughed, but there was a slight edge to it. I do not tell them who they can and cant hire. Ive simply always enjoyed the place, and Im a friend of the owners.
And Im safe there, Genevieve said very softly.
Eileen still appeared worried, Gen thought. Then again, these days she was worried every time Genevieve was out of her sight.
But Genevieve had gone back to living in her own apartment. Not that she didnt adore Eileen or love the mansion. She just loved simplicityand her independence.
It was sadly ironic that they both seemed to be frightened for each other these days, just when they had become so close.
She couldnt help worrying about Eileen in the wake of Thornes murder, though. Eileen was a Raven, and though the police discounted the idea, it seemed to Gen that Thorne had been killed specifically because he was a Raven, not just because he was a published Poe scholar.
Admittedly, it was quite likely the book that had brought him to the killers attention, and it was true that Eileen had never written a book. She had way too many charities and womens clubs to worry about to devote much time to being a Poe fan.
Still, the connection made Genevieve uneasy, and she wanted Joe involved.
That was it, cut and dried.
Or was it so cut and dried?
Maybe she was lying to herself; maybe she wanted to see Joe for personal reasons, too. God knew there was enough about him that was easy to see. He was intelligent, funny, generous and a little bit rough around the edges. Sexy and compassionate. A hard combination to resist.