Jeffery Deaver - Hard News

"Hey, that dude was about to draw on three bad guys. Sam, you're a cop. You should watch this stuff. It's like continuing education for you."

He sat down on the ratty green couch and took Rune's hand.

She said, "Oh-oh, what's this? The-wife's-coming-back-to-roost speech? I can deal with it, Sam."

He glanced into the living room to check on Courtney. After he saw she was contentedly playing he kept his eyes turned away as he said, "I got a call from the ops coordinator at the Sixth Precinct. It seems there was a shooting on the pier where your boat was docked."

"Shooting?"

"A girl about your age. Shot twice. Her name was Claire Weisman."

"Claire came back?" Rune asked in a whisper. "Oh, my God, no. Is she dead?" Rune's eyes were on Courtney.

"Critical condition. St Vincent's.

"Oh, God." Rune was crying softly. Then, her voice fading, she said, "Somebody thought it was me, didn't they?"

"There are no suspects."

She said, "You know who did it, don't you?"

"Boggs and the other guy, the fat one. Jack."

"It has to be them. They came back to kill me." Her eyes were red and miserable. "I-" Her hands closed on her mouth. "I never thought Claire'd come back." Rune's gaze settled on Courtney.

Healy held her then said, "I'll call it in to the detectives. About Boggs and Jack. For a shooting they'll do a citywide search."

"Please," she whispered, "please, please…"

"Claire's mother's on her way. She's flying down from Boston."

"I've got to go see her."

"Come on, I'll drive you there."

"I'm so sorry," Rune said.

The woman must've been in her early fifties. She didn't know how to respond to the grief and did the only thing she could think of – put her arm around Rune's shoulders and told her that they all had to be brave.

Claire's mother was heavy, wearing a concealing long, blue-satin dress. Her hair was a mix of pure black strands and pure white, which made it look disorganized even though it was sprayed perfectly into place. She held what Rune thought was a crushed bouquet but what turned out to be a thin white handkerchief, the kind Rune's grandmother called a hankie.

Run looked at the bed. It was hard to see Claire. The lights were very dim, as if the doctors were afraid that too much brightness would give her life a chance to get away. Rune leaned forward. Claire's left shoulder and arm were in a huge cast, and the left side of her face was a mass of bandages. There were tubes in her nose and several others led from a dressing on her neck into jars on the floor. A monitor above her head gave its alarming messages about heartbeats or pulses or breaths or who knew what. The lines were erratic. Rune wished the monitor faced the other way.

Mrs Weisman kept her eyes on her daughter and sad, "Where's Courtney? Claire said she was staying with you."

"I left her with the nurse outside. I didn't think it was a good idea for her to see Claire like this."

There was the dense silence of two people who have nothing in common except grief.

After a few minutes Rune asked, "Do you have a place to stay?"

The woman wasn't listening. She stared at Claire then a moment later asked, "Do you have any children?"

"Other than Courtney, no."

Mrs Weisman turned her head toward Rune at this answer. "Did you tell her anything? Courtney, I mean. About what happened."

"I said her mommy was sick and she was going to see her grandmother. She's okay. But she should get some sleep pretty soon."

Mrs Weisman said, "I'll keep her with me."

Rune hesitated. "Sure."

"Does she have her things with her?"

The clothesI bought, she's got. The toysI gave her. Rune said, "Claire didn't leave her with much."

Mrs Weisman didn't answer.

Rune said, "I've got some things to do. Could you call me if she wakes up?" She wrote Sam Healy' s name, address and phone number on the back of a restaurant receipt she'd found in her purse. "I'm staying here for a while."

She nodded and Rune wondered if she was hearing the words.

"Who'd do such a thing?" Mrs Weisman asked vacantly. "A robber? Claire didn't look like the kind

of girl who'd have a lot of money. Do you think it was like what you hear about in California? You know, where they shoot people on the highway just for the fun of it?" She shook her head as if the answer didn't make any difference.

"I don't know," Rune said. Her mother would find out soon enough what happened. No sense in long explanations now.

But therewas something Rune wanted to add. She wanted so badly to turn to this poor woman and tell her exactly what she was thinking right now. Which was that she didn't give a shit about the news story anymore, she didn't give a shit about the Lance Hopper murder. She cared about one thing, and that only: finding the two of them – Randy Boggs and his fat friend, Jack.

She'd get into the Network somehow – Bradford would help her – and steal her tapes and notes, get all the details on where Randy'd lived over the past ten years, where he liked to go, what he hoped to do in the future. Somewhere in that material would probably be a clue as to where he was running to right now. She'd find him and Jack and make sure theyboth went to Harrison prison.

But then, when it occurred to her that Claire might die and her mother would take Courtney back to Boston, she thought she might not turn them over to the police at all.

She'd kill them herself.

Bradford Simpson was uneasy. "The word is Piper wants you drawn andeighthed. Quartered isn't good enough."

"Look, I just need to get into the newsroom."

"If I were you I wouldn't be in the samecity as Piper Sutton," the young preppy said. "The samebuilding is a very, very bad idea. Very bad."

They were at Kelly's, a bar on the southern end of Columbus Avenue, around the corner from the Network. The shabby place couldn't make up its mind whether it wanted to be the home base for yuppies who traded insider information or for IRA sympathizers who argued politics.

Rune ordered Bradford another martini, a reporter's drink. And one calculated to make him agreeable. She asked him again to get her inside the Network and appended a heartfelt "Please."

"What for? Tell me what for."

"I can't. It's just really, really important."

"Give me a clue." He speared the olive expertly. Connecticutians are good with martinis.

"You know, that might not be the best question to ask. I don't think you really want to know."

"Now that's an honest response. I don't like it but it's an honest response."

"What's the worst that could happen?" she asked.

"I could get fired, arrested and sent to jail on Rikers Island."

"If anybody asks I'll tell them I snuck in. I promise. I wouldn't jeopardize your career. I know what it means to you. Please, help me out. Just this once."

"You're very persuasive," he said.

"I haven't even started trying yet."

He looked at his watch. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Nothing serious."

"Just distract the guard while you slip in?"

"No, it's a lot easier than that. All you've got to do is deactivate the alarm on the fire door downstairs, open it up and let me in. Piece of cake."

"Oh, Christ." The young man looked heartsick at this assignment. He poured down the last slug of martini.

"And look at it this way," Rune said. "If you do get arrested and sent to Rikers Island you'll be able to do a great expose on what life's like in prison. What an opportunity."

It didn't go quite the way she'd planned it.

She got in okay, thanks to Bradford. She even managed to get to her old desk unseen.

The problem was that someone had beat her there.

Everything about Boggs was gone.

Rune went through every drawer, every shelf of her credenza, every wadded-up Lamston's and Macy's bag under the desk. But there was zip about Randy Boggs. All the files, the background tapes, the notes – gone.