Silent Treatment (52 page)

“You all right?”

“Cut on my arm and my face, but I’m okay.”

Tires and brakes screeched as she snapped the wheel to the left. They skidded on the wet pavement, then felt a bump and heard the crunch of metal against metal. The lurch sent cabinets flying open. The fax machine snapped off its stand and shattered against the wall. Pots, pans, and
canned goods clattered out onto the carpet and bounced off the teak dining table.

“Can you put your seat belt on?”

“I can’t let go of the wheel!”

Harry dropped the phone, picked up Maura’s gun, and raced to the driver’s-side window in the lounge.

“I don’t see them!” he cried. “Maybe you knocked them off the—”

The window behind him shattered. He whirled and fired three shots just as Maura pulled the wheel sharply to the right. He lost his balance and cried out as his wounded arm struck a counter. The collision with the sedan was louder and more forceful this time. The heavy sedan was much faster, but hardly a match for the Luxor in close-in battle.

“Harry?”

“I’m okay. There are three of them, I think! Perchek’s in the back seat! I’m sure of that!”

He had to holler now to be heard over the rush of wind and the roar of the two engines. They were heading down a fairly steep hill.

“Harry, I can barely stay on the road!”

“Is there any way you can make a left onto a side street?”

“I’m going fifty-five! I’d have to slow to ten! I just hope this road doesn’t turn too sharply, or we’re going to tip over!”

“Hang in there! You’re doing great!”

The sedan pulled alongside them again. This time, the center window on the driver’s side was shot in. Harry braced himself and pulled the trigger of his revolver, but got only an impotent click. The pursuers inched forward.

“Watch it, Maura!” he cried.

A shot came up through the vacant Window beside her and spiderwebbed half the windshield. She whipped the wheel to the left. Only the pressure from the sedan kept them from flipping. Harry scrambled into the passenger seat, fumbled for the seat belt with his wounded arm, and
then gave up trying. If she didn’t have one on, he didn’t want one either.

“Harry, they’re in front of us, trying to cut us off!” she yelled. “I can hardly see through this windshield! Harry, watch out! The road’s gone! They’re in front of us!”

The sedan had spun against the grille of the Winnebago, beneath the massive windshield. It was being pushed sideways, plowing through a forest of saplings and low bushes at fifty miles an hour. Trees snapped like firecrackers as the Winnebago barreled forward, brakes screeching. Several larger trees flashed past, their branches whipping through the empty windows. Again and again, the wheel spun out of Maura’s grasp. Each time she managed to steady it. Then suddenly, the dense young woods fell away. A ten-yard stretch of wild grass ended in blackness. Ahead of them were the lights of Manhattan. Well below them was the Hudson.

“Harry! Harry!” Maura cried, bracing herself. “We’re going over!”

The sedan and motor home hurled off the edge of the precipice together. Harry grabbed the edge of his seat, stiffened his legs, and watched through the cracked windshield in numb horror as the car tumbled away from them and hit the water just beneath them. The Winnebago nosed slightly downward as it passed over the spot where the sedan had splashed down. It hammered into the ebony water with dizzying force, striking it first with the front bumper. Instantly, the windshield collapsed inward, and the massive dual airbags filled. Chilly water flooded the cabin.

Harry snapped forward and collided with the dash at the instant the airbag drove him back into the seat. The pain in his chest, which had never fully abated, exploded through him once again.

“Maura!” he cried.

The river poured in with force, filling the Winnebago in seconds. Still tilted forward, the huge RV glided downward, beneath the surface. Harry, battling the rushing water, the airbag, and the pain in his arm and chest, inhaled deeply and clawed his way toward the driver’s seat, expecting
at any moment to connect with Maura’s body. The murky river pushed him backward toward the sitting area. He kicked off his sneakers and struggled to calm and orient himself. The blackness was total.
Where were the windows?
Below him? Above? Were they still sinking? His breath was going. He kicked and battled to find a way out. Nothing. Water was entering his nose and mouth. Soon, any second now, he would have to take a breath. He felt the consuming panic of being trapped in water—panic unlike any he had ever known.

His movements grew weaker, more futile. The pain in his chest grew worse. Water seeped down his throat.

Breathe
, his mind cried.
You must take a breath
.

Darkness closed in.

Reluctantly, Harry surrendered to it. His arms grew heavy. The dreadful ache beneath his breastbone began to fade. Then, at the instant his consciousness vanished, he felt a hand take hold of the back of his shirt.

Harry’s first awareness was the smell—the unmistakable amalgam of cleaning solutions, antiseptic, laundry starch, and human illness. It was an aroma as familiar to him as his own room. He was in a hospital, cranked up in bed at a forty-five-degree angle.

Piece by piece, image by image, the nightmare began returning to him. He was dead. Had to be. The god-awful sensation of muddy river water filling his mouth and lungs—it had to have been fatal.
Is this Heaven? No, it’s Iowa
.… He was dead, and it really wasn’t all that bad. He would open his eyes now and there would be clouds billowing about his feet. James Mason would be ushering new recruits to the celestial escalator that would take them to the next level.

“Dr. Corbett? Dr. Corbett, open your eyes.”

A woman’s voice. Harry did not respond immediately, although he sensed that he could. Instead, he tested his limbs. First his legs, then his left arm, and finally his right.
There was no movement there.
The arm was gone!
The bullet had severed an artery and the arm was gone. He opened his eyes a slit and peered down at his chest. His arm and hand were there, resting in a loose cloth sling, working exactly as they were supposed to.

“Maura …”

He murmured the word, then said it again, louder.

“Who’s Maura?” the woman asked.

Harry opened his eyes fully and turned to the voice. A young woman with short, sandy hair and an attractive, intelligent face looked down at him. She had on a white clinic coat with a blue name tag that read
Carole Zane, M.D. Cardiology
.

“Maura Hughes is the woman who was with me,” Harry said, his senses clearing rapidly.

“There
was
a woman survivor from the accident, but I don’t know her name. From what I heard, you were in worse shape than she was. I think she was taken to a hospital in Newark.”

Thank God she’s alive
, was all he could think.

“Do you know anything else about the accident?” he asked.

“Nothing at all except that you were in a camper and you flew off a thirty-foot cliff into the Hudson.”

“Some camper,” Harry said. “Where am I now?”

“You’re in the coronary care unit of University Hospital in Manhattan. I’m Dr. Zane, one of the cardiac fellows. You were brought here by chopper last night. Apparently we were the closest facility to the accident with an available cardiac bed.”

“What day is it?”

“Saturday.”

“The first?”

“The first of September. Yes.”

September first. The end for Gramps. The beginning of the end for Dad. Now it’s Harry’s turn
.…

“Have I had a coronary?”

“Maybe. We don’t know for sure. I understand you are a physician?”

“A GP, yes.”

“Okay, then. You’ve been shot through your upper arm. The humerus has been chipped, but it’s intact. They wanted to explore the wound last night, but they couldn’t because your EKG is abnormal. It’s showing ST segment changes suggesting acute posterior wall injury. Your cardiac enzymes are slightly elevated as well, so there definitely has been some minor cardiac muscle damage already.”

“So I’ve had a coronary?”

“Not
had
. The EKG patterns keep changing. Whatever is going on is still evolving. That means we have a chance to fix it.”

“With a balloon?”

“Or a bypass.”

“Damn.”

Harry quickly reviewed his family history and his months of intermittent symptoms. The physician took notes, stopping him from time to time to clarify a point. She was quite obviously bright, but more important to Harry, she was also kind, attentive, and careful not to show him how rushed she was.

“Are you having any pain now?” she asked.

“No. I never have had pain when I’m at rest. Mostly I tend to get it when I run hard or jump.”

“Well, we’ve decided against blood thinners and clot dissolvers because of the gunshot wound and the possibility of internal injuries we don’t know about yet. You
are
on a nitroglycerine drip.”

She motioned to the plastic bags draining into his left hand. The nitro drip was running piggyback through a long, slender needle inserted through the rubber infusion port of the primary line—sugar water, which was keeping the vein open.

“No problem,” Harry said, wondering how he might best go about finding out where Maura was and how she was doing.

“We’d like to do a cardiac catheterization on you as soon as possible,” Zane said.

“Do whatever you have to.”

She handed him a clipboard—the operative permit.

“There are a number of potential problems with this procedure listed on page two. I am required to inform you of them one at a time.”

“Don’t bother,” Harry said, signing. “I’ve already been dead once, and it didn’t feel all that bad. Do you think I could make a phone call or two?”

“First let me listen to your heart and lungs. Then there’s someone here to see you.”

Curious, Harry let himself be examined. Then Carole Zane promised to meet him in the cardiac cath lab as soon as possible and turned toward the door. Harry followed her with his eyes. Only then did he notice the uniformed policeman seated just across from his glass-enclosed cubicle, facing him.

“Dr. Zane?”

She turned back.

“Yes?”

“What’s the policeman doing here?”

She smiled at him patiently.

“Well, from what I’ve been told, you are under arrest. I’ll see you downstairs.”

Harry electronically cranked himself up another few degrees and searched about for a phone. If he was under arrest, then Phil had to be in trouble as well. Undoubtedly the police had already traced the Winnebago to him.

“One call, Corbett. Just like you were in jail.”

Albert Dickinson walked into the room and stopped at the foot of the bed. He was wearing his usual suit and smelled as if he had just smoked an entire pack of cigarettes at once. Harry felt a mix of anger and disgust at the sight of him.

“Have you gotten people out to Doug Atwater’s house?” he asked.

“The New Jersey police are working on it.”

“Maybe you should all just wait until someone burns the place down. Do you know anything about Maura?”

“She’s not in the DTs yet, if that’s what you mean.”

“You snide bastard. Isn’t there any kindness inside you at all?”

“Not toward murderers or drunks. No, not much.”

“You’re going to feel very dumb when the truth comes out. Now what about Maura?”

“She’s in Newark City Hospital. Hurt, but not badly. From what I hear, she’s the one who saved you. Apparently she went up to the surface, couldn’t find you, and then dived back down. The docs tell me you were on your way out when she pulled you to shore. Apparently you were having a coronary.”

“So they say. What about the sedan that went over with us?”

“They’re hauling that up right now.”

“Any survivors?”

Dickinson shook his head.

“None.”

“How many were in there?”

“Dunno. I’ll be looking into that and into who they were later today. I’m going to wait until after you’re taken care of to get a statement from you, so you’ll have some time to put together a real doozy. Your file in the office is already three inches thick with fairy tales. I ought to tell you that we know where that monster mobile home came from. The Jersey police will be paying your brother a visit as soon as our DA tells them we want to press aiding and abetting charges, which we do.”

Harry adjusted the oxygen prongs in his nose and wondered if the detective was trying to provoke him on purpose just to see what a full-blown coronary looked like.

A nurse came in with a syringe.

“What’s that?” Harry asked.

“Just some Demerol to keep you relaxed during your catheterization. The cath lab people will be up for you in a minute.”

“No medicine, please,” Harry said. “I’ll be calm. I promise.”

“Okay,” the nurse replied. “But I’ll have to notify Dr. Zane.”

“This man is under arrest, Miss,” Dickinson said. “If he goes anywhere, an officer must go with him.”

The nurse’s expression suggested that she was not nearly as taken with Dickinson’s importance as he would have liked. Harry asked her for a phone.

“One call,” Dickinson reminded him.

Harry swallowed back a dozen or so comments on the policeman and his ancestry. Then he called his brother collect. Phil had just heard about the accident and was getting set to drive to the hospital. As Harry would have predicted, he made light of the loss of the elegant mobile home.

“Hey, that was going to be your fiftieth-birthday present anyway, Harry. I was just waiting to have it wrapped.”

He was, however, concerned about Harry’s cardiac situation.

“Sounds like you just worried about that curse and worried about it until it came true,” he said.

“Maybe so.”

Phil promised to find out what he could about Maura and to see Harry in a couple of hours. Moments later, a gurney was wheeled in by a stoop-shouldered man with horn-rimmed glasses and a graying moustache. He was wearing surgical scrubs beneath a loose surgical gown. He transferred Harry’s IV bags to a pole on the gurney and then grabbed the sheet beneath Harry’s head. Two nurses on opposite sides of the bed grasped the same sheet at hip level.