Jeffery Deaver - The Coffin Dancer

Her face was fretted, hair more tangled than this morning. “I hope he’ll be all right.”

Amelia Sachs turned to Percey and said coldly, “You what?”

“I said, I hope he’ll be all right.”

“You hope?” The policewoman towered over her. She stepped closer. The squat woman stood her ground as Sachs continued, “Little late for that, isn’t it?”

“What’s your problem?”

“That’s what I oughta be asking you. You got him shot.”

“Hey, Officer -” Sellitto said.

Composed, Percey said, “I didn’t ask him to run after me.”

“You’d be dead if it wasn’t for him.”

“Maybe. We don’t know that. I’m sorry he was hurt. I -”

“And how sorry are you?”

“Amelia,” Rhyme said sharply.

“No, I want to know how sorry. Are you sorry enough to give blood? To wheel him around if he can’t walk? Give his eulogy if he dies?”

Rhyme snapped, “Sachs, take it easy. It’s not her fault.”

Sachs slapped her hands, tipped in chewed nails, against her thighs. “It’s not?”

“The Dancer out-thought us.”

Sachs continued, gazing down into Percey’s dark eyes. “Jerry was baby-sitting you. When you ran into the line of fire what’d you think he was going to do?”

“Well, I didn’t think, okay? I just reacted.”

“Jesus.”

“Hey, Officer,” Hale said, “maybe you act a lot cooler under pressure than some of us. But we’re not used to getting shot at.”

“Then she should’ve stayed down. In the office. Where I told her to stay.”

There seemed to be a slight drawl in Percey’s voice when she continued. “I saw my aircraft endangered. I reacted. Maybe for you it’s like seeing your partner wounded.”

Hale said, “She just did what any pilot would’ve done.”

“Exactly,” Rhyme announced. “That’s what I’m saying, Sachs. That’s the way the Dancer works.”

But Amelia Sachs wasn’t letting go. “You should’ve been in the safe house in the first place. You never should have gone to the airport.”

“That was Jerry’s fault,” said Rhyme, growing angrier. “He had no authority to change the route.”

Sachs glanced at Sellitto, who’d been Banks’s partner for two years. But apparently he wasn’t about to stand up for the young man.

“This’s been real pleasant,” Percey Clay said dryly, turning toward the door. “But I’ve got to get back to the airport.”

“What?” Sachs almost gasped. “Are you crazy?”

“That’s impossible,” Sellitto said, emerging from his gloom.

“It was bad enough just trying to get my aircraft outfitted for the flight tomorrow. Now we’ve got to repair the damage too. And since it looks like every certified mechanic in Westchester ’s a damn coward I’m going to have to do the work myself.”

“Mrs. Clay,” Sellitto began, “not a good idea. You’ll be okay in the safe house but there’s no way we can guarantee your safety anywhere else. You stay there until Monday, you’ll be -”

“Monday,” she blurted. “Oh, no. You don’t understand. I’m driving that aircraft tomorrow night – the charter for U.S. Medical.”

“You can’t -”

“A question,” asked the icy voice of Amelia Sachs. “Could you tell me exactly who else you want to kill?”

Percey stepped forward. She snapped, “Goddamn it, I lost my husband and one of my best employees last night. I’m not losing my company too. You can’t tell me where I’m going or not. Not unless I’m under arrest.”

“Okay,” Sachs said, and in a flash the cuffs were ratcheted onto the woman’s narrow wrists. “You’re under arrest.”

“Sachs,” Rhyme called, enraged. “What are you doing? Uncuff her. Now!”

Sachs swung to face him, snapped back, “You’re a civilian. You can’t order me to do a thing!”

“I can,” Sellitto said.

“Uh-un,” she said adamantly. “I’m the arresting, Detective. You can’t stop me from making a collar. Only the DA can throw a case out.”

“What is this bullshit?” Percey spat out, the vestigial drawl returning full force. “What’re you arresting me for? Being a witness?”

“The charge is reckless endangerment, and if Jerry dies then it’ll be criminally negligent homicide. Or maybe manslaughter.”

Hale worked up some courage and said, “Look now. I don’t really like the way you’ve been talking to her all day. If you arrest her, you’re going to have to arrest me…”

“Not a problem,” Sachs said, then turned to Sellitto. “Lieutenant, I need your cuffs.”

“Officer, enougha this crap,” he grumbled.

“Sachs,” Rhyme called, “we don’t have time for this! The Dancer’s out there, planning another attack right now.”

“You arrest me,” Percey said, “I’ll be out in two hours.”

“Then you’ll be dead in two hours and ten minutes. Which would be your business -”

“Officer,” Sellitto snapped, “you’re on real thin ice here.”

“- if you didn’t have this habit of taking other people with you.”

“Amelia,” Rhyme said coldly.

She swung to face him. He called her “Sachs” most of the time; using her first name now was like a slap in the face.

The chains on Percey’s bony wrists clinked. In the window the falcon fluttered its wings. No one said a word.

Finally, in a reasonable voice, Rhyme asked, “Please take the cuffs off and let me have a few minutes alone with Percey.”

Sachs hesitated. Her face was an expressionless mask.

“Please, Amelia,” Rhyme said, struggling to be patient.

Without a word she unhooked the cuffs.

Everyone filed out.

Percey rubbed her wrists then pulled her flask from her pocket and took a sip.

“Would you mind closing the door?” Rhyme asked Sachs.

But she merely glanced toward him and then continued into the corridor. It was Hale who swung the heavy oak door shut.

Outside in the hallway Lon Sellitto called again about Banks. He was still in surgery and the floor nurse would say nothing else about him.

Sachs took this news with a faint nod. She walked to the window overlooking the alley behind Rhyme’s town house. The oblique light fell onto her hands and she looked at her torn nails. She’d put bandages on two of the most damaged fingers. Habits, she thought. Bad habits… Why can’t I stop?

The detective walked up beside her, looked up at the gray sky. More spring storms were promised.

“Officer,” he said, speaking softly so none of the others could hear. “She fucked up, that lady did, okay. But you gotta understand – she’s not a pro. Our mistake was letting her fuck up and, yeah, Jerry should’ve known better. It hurts me more than I can even think about to say it. But he blew it.”

“No,” she said through clenched teeth. “You don’t understand.”

“Whatsat?”

Could she say it? The words were so hard.

“ I blew it. It’s not Jerry’s fault.” She tossed her head toward Rhyme’s room. “Or Percey’s. It’s mine.”

“You? Fuck, you ’n’ Rhyme’re the ones figured out he was at the airport. He mighta nailed everybody, it wasn’t for you.”

She was shaking her head. “I saw… I saw the Dancer’s position before he capped Jerry.”

“And?”

“I knew exactly where he was. I drew a target. I…”

Oh, hell. This was hard.

“What’re you sayin’, Officer?”

“He let off a round at me… Oh, Christ. I clenched. I hit the ground.” Her finger disappeared into her scalp and she scratched until she felt slick blood. Stop it. Shit.

“So?” Sellitto didn’t get it. “Everybody hit the deck, right? I mean, who wouldn’t?”