Michael Palmer - Silent Treatment

Four o'clock. . five. . five-thirty. . The phone in Harry's apartment continued ringing almost incessantly. Thebizarre events surrounding the gunman at Manhattan Medical Center, followed bythe execution-style slaying of Caspar Sidonis, had thrust him into the centerof the media spotlight. Maura sat alone in the den, watching the story evolveon local and national TV as she used the answering machine to screen calls. TheSimpson and Tonya Harding cases had dominated the airwaves more, but not bythat much. Stations were breaking for updates every five or ten minutes, andone was rehashing the events continuously. Footage of Sidonis's life and manyaccomplishments was beginning to appear.

Maura was emotionally and physicallyexhausted. But she was far too keyed up and worried about Harry to sleep.Tucked between the pillows of the sofa was the note that a man named White haddelivered just a few hours before.

Maura -

I'm okay. Meet me at 10 a.m.right in front of the place where we first met with Walter. If I don't show up,try again in three hours. I will do the same. Take several different cabs, thenthe subway, then walk. Be careful. You will probably be followed.

Love, Harry

White would say nothing to her except thatHarry was unharmed and safe. An hour later, Albert Dickinson had come up to seeher. Guns drawn, he and another policeman had searched the apartment. Despitethe other officer, Dickinson was as abrasive and disrespectful as he had beenin the hospital. He had no patience for hearing any stories from her aboutHarry Corbett's innocence, Anton Perchek, or anyone else. All he wanted to knowwas where he could find his man.

'Miss Hughes, do you know the penalties inthis state for aiding and abetting a fugitive wanted for murder?' he asked. 'Ifyou know where Corbett is, and you don't tell us, I promise that you will spendmost of the rest of life in prison.'

'I can't imagine a prison that could beany more unpleasant than this conversation,' Maura said, smiling sweetly.

'Being a wiseass must be generic. I'mpleased to tell you we just gave that detective's job away to someone who wasmore of a team player and less of a wiseass than your Yalie brother.'

'Lieutenant, if you're going to smoke,you'll have to do it outside.'

Maura pointed to the sixth-story windowrather than the door. For a frozen moment, she thought Dickinson was going tostrike her. Finally, with a fuck you, he stormed out. She triple-lockedthe door behind him, actually managing a smile at the new definition of 'policelock.'

Now, she sat back and watched reruns ofthe interviews with MMC officials, nurses, police, the electrician victimizedby the gunman, and Max Garabedian. The only news was the old news that thebogus Garabedian had been neither apprehended nor identified, but thatfingerprints lifted from the hospital room were being analyzed.

Go Ray, she silently cheered.

She was pleased that at no time during thedifficult, stressful night had she felt the urge to drink. But she also knewthat she needed to sleep. She set the alarm for 8:30, turned off the ringer onall the phones in the apartment, and positioned the answering machine not farfrom her head. If Harry did call with a change of plans, she at least wanted achance to hear his message. Finally, she picked up one of the phones.

'You guys get some rest,' she said. Thenshe slammed the receiver back down.

At eight A.M., a message from the producerof Inside Edition worked its way into her consciousness. He waspromising Harry enough money to hire a first-class defense team in exchange foran exclusive on his story. She showered, made some coffee, and glanced out thewindow. Cloudy, but no rain. C.C.'s Cellar wasn't all that far from the co-op,but she wanted to allow an hour to get there. She would take a cab across townand down to somewhere near the UN. Then she would cut back by foot to a subwaystation. Then another cab and perhaps a trip through a store with multipleexits. And finally, a third cab to within a block or two of the club. It seemedto her that in a place as crowded as Manhattan, with subways and so many storesto duck into, it shouldn't be that hard to ensure that she wasn't beingfollowed.

She dressed in jeans, sneakers, and aplaid button-down shirt, and then selected a deep cloth bag from a collectionof them in Evie's closet. She dropped in her wallet, the dark wig she had wornin the hospital, and a white shirt in case she needed to change her look. Then,just in case, she threw in a shirt, jeans, and sneakers for Harry. It wasdoubtful he was going to be returning to the apartment in any hurry. Therevolver she kept strapped in front of her in her leather fanny pack. Thesecurity of having it at hand felt greater than the fear of being arrested forcarrying an unlicensed handgun.

She took the stairs down six flights,startling Rocky Martino when she came through the stairway door behind him. Hebolted to his feet and stepped back, but not before Maura caught a strong whiffof alcohol. His eyes were bloodshot and his hands slightly tremulous, but hemade a laudable stab at decorum.

'Miss Hughes, you gave me a bit of afright,' he said, moistening his lips with his tongue. 'What can I do for you?'

Maura wondered how many times she had doneas ineffectual job at covering up her intoxication as Rocky was doing, all thewhile thinking, as he probably was, that she was pulling it off.

'Could you please call me a cab?' shesaid, fumbling through the bag for her wallet.

'Yes, ma'am,' Martino said. 'No problem.Any word from Dr. Corbett?'

'No, Rocky. Nothing.'

'Well, my fingers are crossed that he'sokay.'

He stepped back from the desk. Withexaggerated broad-based steps, he shuffled outside and waved up the street.Moments later, a cab pulled up. Maura handed Rocky a one, hesitated, and thengave him a five as well.

'Take a break and have breakfast on me,Rocky,' she said.

He jammed the bills in his pants.

'Oh, I will, ma'am. I will.'

Something about his smile made Maura feeluneasy. She hurried past him into the cab.

'The UN,' she ordered, immediately lookingbehind them as they pulled away. 'I'll tell you how I want you to go. Don'tworry if it's not the most direct way. I'll pay.'

The cabby nodded.

If there was someone following them, theywere damn good. Within a block, Maura was convinced that the street behind themwas clear. It was possible that someone was driving in front of them with aradio, but she could take care of that soon enough. They passed a newsstand.She could see Harry's photo on every front page. Hey, read all about it!Doctor Death Strikes Again! There was nothing the least bit witty orromantic or adventurous about any of this anymore. For a time last night,perched in that tree by the landfill, thinking everything was about to work outfor them, she had felt like Grace Kelly in To Catch a Thief or AudreyHepburn in Charade. This morning she felt deflated, exhausted, andfrightened. She tried to imagine how Harry had felt when he lifted up the trunkof his car.

They were on Broadway now, heading south.She counted off three more blocks.

'Turn right here,' she ordered. The cabcontinued going straight. She rapped on the Plexiglas shield. 'Hey, I said,turn right here.'

The cab made a sharp left, heading for thepark. Halfway down the block, it began to slow. Maura stopped pounding on thePlexiglas. Desperately, she tried to figure out what was happening. She thoughtabout the gun in the pack strapped around her waist, but she sensed that whatshe needed was just to get the hell out of this cab. She reached for the doorjust as the electronic locks snapped open. The cab was still rolling. Suddenly,her door was snatched open. A man jumped in almost on top of her. He was agiant, perhaps six-six, and broad across the shoulders. He shoved her asidewith one hand as if she were a doll. Her head struck the window, just behind herhealed incision. Without a word of instruction, the driver accelerated, cuttingback west, toward the Hudson.