Michael Baden - Remains Silent

“The ground floor is still too hot for firefighters to get inside,” Minton continued, “so there’s no way to know if Dr. Rosen was at home at the time of the blast. Fire Commissioner Nicholas Gould, a personal friend of Dr. Rosen’s, says that the cause might have been a faulty gas line, but he stresses that this is only speculation. Dr. Rosen testified recently in the trial of Mafia hitman Freddy “Big Ears” Francesca, but it’s far too early to tell if-”

Manny stood up, winced at the pain, grabbed her keys, and limped away as fast as she could.

THERE ARE MOMENTS in New York when hailing a cab is like finding water in the desert, Manny thought. Not even her doorman could work a miracle; every cab was occupied. Please, please, please! Please, cab, come!

Finally a cab pulled up. Manny got in. “I’m in a rush, sir,” she urged.

“Who isn’t?”

“A bomb went off at the home of a friend of mine-” She could barely get the words out.

He turned to look at her, suddenly interested. “The one uptown?”

“Yes.”

“Just heard about it on the radio.”

“Then please hurry!”

“You got it.”

They drove up the FDR Drive, heading north. Manny leaned back, picturing Jake. Please, God, not dead- I take back everything I said about him. Please, God, not dead! “Don’t tempt God,” her mother used to say. Well, she was tempting him now- begging him- and if he granted her wish she didn’t care about the consequences.

The cabbie left the drive on Ninety-sixth Street, went up First Avenue, and stopped at 103rd Street. “Can’t go any farther, lady. Street’s blocked.”

She threw him a twenty and scrambled out of the cab, ignoring the pain in her leg while she negotiated through a sea of people who had gathered near Jake’s house to watch the tragedy. By the time she got to the staging area, yellow police tape was already up and uniformed policemen had formed a cordon to make sure nobody got past. Behind them she could see fire engines, police cars, the mayor, the police commissioner, and-oh, Lord-an ambulance. Flashing lights and the wail of sirens gave the scene the feel of a war zone.

There was damage to the outside of Jake’s house and its front windows. Jake’s city-owned car, the driver’s side now crumpled metal, was sitting directly in front of the house. “Let me through!” she shouted. A stretcher sat next to the ambulance. There was a body on it. A corpse? With a wail, she pushed under the police tape. A policeman grabbed her arm. “You can’t come in here, ma’am.”

“I have to!”

“It’s a crime scene. No one’s allowed in.”

“I’m his wife!”

She pulled free and made her way to the stretcher. The man on it was covered in blood. She leaned down. Is he breathing?

She shrieked and stepped back. Sam! The body was Sam! “He got it worse than I did,” a voice from the side of the stretcher said, “but the doctors say he’ll be all right.”

Jake’s voice, calm and resonant and comforting and dear. She gave a little cry and hugged him, squeezing so hard he grunted.

“Hey,” he said. “Careful.” But he hugged her just as hard.

May he never let go. May we stay like this forever. After a moment, though, she stepped back to look at him. His face was covered in soot, giving his eyes a charred, hollow, ghostlike appearance. They were directed again toward his brother; she could see worry in them. “Took some shrapnel in the head,” he said. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“You’re not hurt.” A command more than a question.

“Shaken up. Every bone’s gonna ache when the shock wears off.”

“What happened?”

“I was going to the front door to meet Sam when the bomb exploded. He was still outside. That’s why-” His voice broke, and he put a gentle hand on Sam’s forehead. “Just lucky. Both of us.”

The police commissioner, Lucas Melody, joined them, staring at Manny. “What’s she doing here? Who let her in?”

The policeman who had tried to stop her came over. “My fault, sir. She pushed past.”

“Actually, I’m to blame,” Jake said. “She was just following orders. I told her to get here no matter what.” He lowered his voice. “I was afraid my brother would need to make his last will and testament. She’s the family lawyer, and-”

“She’s his wife,” the patrolman said.

Jake looked at Manny, who shrugged. “Yes, my lawyer and my wife,” he confirmed.

“Congratulations.” Melody seemed dubious. “Talk about a shotgun wedding.” He took Jake’s arm. “I need to talk to you.”

They moved aside.

“A Mafia hit,” the commissioner said. “Bomb in the car, meant to go off when you started the motor. The person planting it must have seen your brother arriving and tried to rush the job. He tripped the mechanism; it detonated prematurely.”

He’s probably right about the bomb but wrong about the hitman, Jake thought. He had testified against mob figures several times before with no aftereffects. The current case wasn’t high-level, nor was his testimony vital enough to provoke such violence. But it wasn’t worth arguing with Melody, at least not yet. First he needed irrefutable proof that the bombing was connected to the Turner skeletons.

He walked back to his brother, Manny next to him. Sam’s eyes were open, and his blood-caked lips managed a smile. “I said I’d like a cocktail when I came, but this is ridiculous.”

“They’re going to take you to Lenox Hill Hospital,” Jake told him. “Probably overnight, just for observation. The commissioner’s asked me to answer some more questions. I’ll come right over as soon as he’s finished.”

“Are you crazy?” Sam struggled to raise his head. “Is there something wrong with you? You’ve got a beautiful woman clutching your arm. There’s no way you can sleep at home tonight, so you’ll have to go to her place. And you want to look after me?”

Jake took a long look. Color had come back to his brother’s cheeks, and his eyes were bright. “Sam,” he said, “you just might be right.”

“What are you holding?” Manny asked. “You’ve had it clutched in your hands ever since I found you.” They were sitting on the stoop, waiting for Melody to finish questioning two witnesses about the bombing.

“X-rays.” He held an envelope out to her. “I didn’t get a chance to study them all at Galt’s lab.”

She shied away. “The commissioner might be right. This could be a Mafia hit and not have anything to do with the bones at all.”

His fingers played around the edges of the envelope. “I don’t think so. The bomb in the car was one-directional, a claymore mine. Only the person standing behind the mine would be hurt, because it exploded in that one direction only.”

“So our attacker’s a soldier? This weapon is military ordnance.”

“Ex-soldier, probably. Which narrows our suspect list to three hundred fifty thousand.”

“Or one. Is Wally still in Turner?”

“On his way home. Why?”

“We could ask him to look up Sheriff Fisk’s record. See if he fought in Vietnam.”

“Probably we can find out from here,” Jake said. “If not, I’m sure Wally’d be glad to go back.”

Melody had only a few more questions, and Jake had nothing to add. The police, having secured the area, were leaving; only two patrolmen were standing guard. A third was assigned to drive Manny and Jake anywhere they wanted to go.

Jake stood. “I’d better see about a place to stay.”

“Are you crazy?” Manny asked. “You heard your brother. You’re coming home with me.”

IT WAS AFTER midnight when they were dropped off at Manny’s building. “Good evening, Christopher,” Manny chirped to the night doorman, as if she waltzed through the lobby every evening with a tall, sooty man in torn jeans and bloody shoes.