Silent Night (3 page)

The street they were on now wasn't bright with decorated store windows like the one they had just left. Some places were boarded up and there was a lot of writing on the buildings and some of the streetlights were broken. A guy with a beard was sitting on the curb, clutching a bottle. He stretched out his hand to Brian as he passed him.

For the first time, Brian felt scared, but he kept his eyes on the woman. The snow was falling faster now, and the sidewalk was getting slippery. He stumbled once, but managed not to fall. He was out of breath trying to keep up with the lady. How far was she going? he wondered. Four blocks later he had his answer. She stepped into the entranceway to an old building, stuck her key in the lock, and went inside. Brian raced to catch
the door before it closed behind her, but he was too late. The door was locked.

Brian didn't know what to do next, but then through the glass he saw a man coming toward him. As the man opened the door and hurried past him, Brian managed to grab it and to duck inside before it closed again.

The hall was dark and dirty, and the smell of stale food hung in the air. Ahead of him he could hear footsteps going up the stairs. Gulping to swallow his fear, and trying to not make noise, Brian slowly began to climb to the first landing. He would see where the lady went; then he would get out of there and find a telephone. Maybe instead of calling Gran, he would dial 91l, he thought.

His mom had taught him that that was what he should do when he
really
needed help.

Which so far he didn't.

*   *   *

“All right, Mrs. Dornan. Describe your son to me,” the police officer said soothingly.

“He's seven and small for his age,” Catherine said. She could hear the shrillness in her voice. They were sitting in a squad car, parked in front of Saks, near the spot where the violinist had been playing.

She felt Michael's hand clutch hers reassuringly.

“What color hair?” the officer asked.

Michael answered, “Like mine. Kind of reddish. His eyes are blue. He's got freckles and one of his front teeth is missing. He has the same kind of pants I'm wearing, and his jacket is like mine 'cept it's blue and mine is green. He's skinny.”

The policeman looked approvingly at Michael. “You're a real help, son. Now, ma'am, you say your wallet is missing? Do you think you might have dropped it, or did anyone brush against you? I mean, could it have been a pickpocket?”

“I don't know,” Catherine said. “I don't care about the wallet. But when I gave the boys money for the violinist, I probably didn't push it down far enough in my purse. It was quite bulky and might have just fallen out.”

“Your son wouldn't have picked it up and decided to go shopping?”

“No, no, no,” Catherine said with a flash of anger, shaking her head emphatically. “Please don't waste time even considering that.”

“Where do you live, ma'am? What I mean is, do you want to call anyone?” The policeman looked at the rings on Catherine's left hand. “Your husband?”

“My husband is in Sloan-Kettering hospital. He's very ill. He'll be wondering where we are. In fact, we should be with him soon. He's expecting us.” Catherine put her
hand on the door of the squad car. “I can't just sit here. I've got to look for Brian.”

“Mrs. Dornan, I'm going to get Brian's description out right now. In three minutes every cop in Manhattan is going to be on the lookout for him. You know, he may have just wandered away and gotten confused. It happens. Do you come downtown often?”

“We used to live in New York, but we live in Nebraska now,” Michael told him. “We visit my grandmother every summer. She lives on Eighty-seventh Street. We came back last week because my dad has leukemia and he needed an operation. He went to medical school with the doctor who operated on him.”

Manuel Ortiz had been a policeman only a year, but already he had come in contact with grief and despair many times. He saw both in the eyes of this young woman. She had a husband who was very sick, now a missing kid. It was obvious to him that she could easily go into shock.

“Dad's gonna know something's wrong,” Michael said, worried. “Mom, shouldn't you go see him?”

“Mrs. Dornan, how about leaving Michael with us? We'll stay here in case Brian tries to make his way back. We'll have all our guys looking for him. We'll fan out and use bullhorns to get him to contact us in case he's wandering around in the neighborhood somewhere. I'll
get another car to take you up to the hospital and wait for you.”

“You'll stay right here in case he comes back?”

“Absolutely.”

“Michael, will you keep your eyes peeled for Brian?”

“Sure, Mom. I'll watch out for the Dork.”

“Don't call him. . . .” Then Catherine saw the look on her son's face. He's trying to get a rise out of me, she thought. He's trying to convince me that Brian is fine. That he'll be fine.

She put her arms around Michael and felt his small, gruff embrace in return.

“Hang in there, Mom,” he said.

J
immy Siddons cursed silently as he walked through the oval near Avenue B in the Stuyvesant Town apartment complex. The uniform he had stripped from the prison guard gave him a respectable look but was much too dangerous to wear on the street. He'd managed to lift a filthy overcoat and knit cap from a homeless guy's shopping cart. They helped some, but he had to find something else to wear, something decent.

He also needed a car. He needed one that wouldn't be missed until morning, something parked for the night, the kind of car that one of these middle-class Stuyvesant Town residents would own: medium-sized, brown or
black, looking like every other Honda or Toyota or Ford on the road. Nothing fancy.

So far he hadn't seen the right one. He had watched as some old geezer got out of a Honda and said to his passenger, “Sure's good to get home,” but he was driving one of those shiny red jobs that screamed for attention.

A kid pulled up in an old heap and parked, but from the sound of the engine, Jimmy wanted no part of it. Just what he'd need, he thought; get on the Thruway and have it break down.

He was cold and getting hungry. Ten hours in the car, he told himself. Then I'll be in Canada and Paige will meet me there and we'll disappear again. She was the first real girlfriend he'd ever had, and she'd been a big help to him in Detroit. He knew he never would have been caught last summer if he had cased that gas station in Michigan better. He should have known enough to check the john outside the office instead of letting himself be surprised by an off-duty cop who stepped out of it while he was holding a gun on the attendant.

The next day he was on his way back to New York. To face trial for killing a cop.

An older couple passed him and threw a smile in his direction. “Merry Christmas.”

Jimmy responded with a courteous nod of the head. Then he paid close attention as he heard the woman say,
“Ed, I can't believe you didn't put the presents for the children in the trunk. Who leaves anything in sight in a car overnight in this day and age?”

Jimmy went around the corner and then stepped into the deep shadows on the grass as he returned to watch the couple stop in front of a dark-colored Toyota. The man opened the door. From the backseat he took a small rocking horse and handed it to the woman, then scooped up a half-dozen brightly wrapped packages. With her help he transferred everything to the trunk, relocked the car, and got back on the sidewalk.

Jimmy listened as the woman said, “I guess the phone's all right in the glove compartment,” and her husband answered, “Sure it is. Waste of money, as far as I'm concerned. Can't wait to see Bobby's face tomorrow when he opens everything.”

He watched as they turned the corner and disappeared. Which meant from their apartment they wouldn't be able to glance out and notice an empty parking space.

Jimmy waited ten minutes before he walked to the car. A few snowflakes swirled around him. Two minutes later he was driving out of the complex. It was quarter after five. He was headed to Cally's apartment on Tenth and B. He knew she'd be surprised to see him. And none too happy. She probably thought he couldn't find her. Why
did she suppose that he didn't have a way to keep track of her even from Riker's Island? he wondered.

Big sister, he thought, as he drove onto Fourteenth Street, you promised Grandma you'd take care of me! “Jimmy needs guidance,” Grandma had said. “He's in with a bad crowd. He's too easily led.” Well, Cally hadn't come to see him
once
in Riker's. Not once. He hadn't even heard from her.

He'd have to be careful. He was sure the cops would be watching for him around Cally's building. But he had that figured out, too. He used to hang around this neighborhood and knew how to get across the roofs from the other end of the block and into the building. A couple of times he'd even pulled a job there when he was a kid.

Knowing Cally, he was sure she still kept some of Frank's clothes in the closet. She'd been crazy about him, probably still had pictures of him all over the place. You'd never think he'd died even before Gigi was born.

And knowing Cally, she'd have at least a few bucks to get her little brother through the tolls, he figured. He'd find a way to convince her to keep her mouth shut until he was safely in Canada with Paige.

Paige. An image of her floated through his mind. Luscious. Blond. Only twenty-two. Crazy about him.
She'd arranged everything, gotten the gun smuggled in to him. She'd never let him down or turn her back on him.

Jimmy's smile was unpleasant. You never tried to help me while I was rotting in Riker's Island, he thought—but once again, sister dear, you're going to help me get away, like it or not.

He parked the car a block from the rear of Cally's building and pretended to be checking a tire as he looked around. No cops in sight. Even if they were watching Cally's place, they probably didn't know you could get to it through the boarded-up dump. As he straightened up he cursed. Damn bumper sticker. Too noticeable.
WE'RE SPENDING OUR GRANDCHILDREN'S INHERITANCE.
He managed to pull most of it off.

*   *   *

Fifteen minutes later, Jimmy had picked the flimsy lock of Cally's apartment and was inside. Some dump, he thought, as he took in the cracks in the ceiling and the worn linoleum in the tiny entranceway. But neat. Cally was always neat. A Christmas tree in the corner of what passed for a living room had a couple of small, brightly wrapped packages under it.

Jimmy shrugged and went into the bedroom, where he ransacked the closet to find the clothes he knew would be there. After changing, he went through the place looking for money but found none. He yanked open
the doors that separated the stove, refrigerator, and sink from the living room, searched unsuccessfully for a beer, settled for a Pepsi, and made himself a sandwich.

From what his sources had told him, Cally should be home by now from her job in the hospital. He knew that on the way she picked up Gigi from the baby-sitter. He sat on the couch, his eyes riveted on the front door, his nerves jangling. He'd spent most of the few dollars he found in the guard's pockets on food from street vendors. He had to have money for the tolls on the Thruway, as well as enough for another tank of gas. Come on, Cally, he thought, where the hell are you?

At ten to six, he heard the key inserted in the lock. He jumped up and in three long strides was in the entryway, flattened against the wall. He waited until Cally stepped in and closed the door behind her, then put his hand over her mouth.

“
Don't scream!
” he whispered, as he muffled her terrified moan with his palm. “Understand?”

She nodded, eyes wide open in fear.

“Where's Gigi? Why isn't she with you?”

He released his grip long enough to let her gasp in an almost inaudible voice, “She's at the baby-sitter's. She's keeping her longer today, so I can shop. Jimmy, what are you
doing
here?”

“How much money have you got?”

“Here, take my pocketbook.” Cally held it out to him,
praying that he would not think to look through her coat pockets. Oh God, she thought, make him go away.

He took the purse and in a low and menacing tone warned, “Cally, I'm going to let go of you. Don't try anything or Gigi won't have a mommy waiting for her. Understand that?”

“Yes. Yes.”

Cally waited until he released his grip on her, then slowly turned to face him. She hadn't seen her brother since that terrible night nearly three years ago when, with Gigi in her arms, she had come home from her job at the day-care center to find him waiting in her apartment in the West Village.

He looks about the same, she thought, except that his hair is shorter and his face is thinner. In his eyes there wasn't even a trace of the occasional warmth that at one time made her hope there was a possibility he might someday straighten out. No more. There was nothing left of the frightened six-year-old who had clung to her when their mother dumped them with Grandma and disappeared from their lives.