The October List (8 page)

His voice was tinted with panic too. ‘I know you’re upset. I know you’re hurting, but we have to move, Mac.’

‘I—’ she began, shaking. ‘I don’t think—’

But Daniel interrupted. ‘It’s all about your daughter. Remember what you keep saying, “Focus.” Well, focus on your daughter.’

‘My …’ she gasped.

‘Sarah.’ He said the name firmly. ‘I’m sorry, Mac. It’s a fucking shame this happened. But it did and we’re not going to be able to help Sarah if you go to jail. There’ll be a time to deal with it – later.’

Her face a pale mask, Gabriela nodded.

‘Keep moving.’

She followed as if she were a toddler unsure how to walk.

Suddenly he froze. ‘No, wait, go the other way. We’ll circle around the block to the subway.’

‘Why, what’s wrong?’

‘The way we were going, there’s a meter maid at the corner.’

‘Meter maid?’ she asked. ‘What difference does that make?’

Daniel leaned close and whispered, ‘Gabriela, everybody in New York City, from dogcatchers to the FBI, is looking for you now.’

CHAPTER
26

11:35 a.m., Sunday
15 minutes earlier

In the trenches …

Think, figure this out, Hal Dixon told himself.

You work in the trenches. Improvise.

He looked around the streets, spotted someone he thought could help.

Dixon strode up to the hot dog vendor, who guided away the smoke of the coals warming chestnuts and pretzels in his cart with the wave of a hand. The smoke returned instantly.

The smell made Dixon hungry but he was on his mission and he ignored the sensation.

‘Please, I need to ask you something,’ he said to the skinny vendor in jeans and a Mets T-shirt. ‘A couple came by here, a man and a woman. Just a few minutes ago.’

The man glanced at Dixon’s wrinkled gray suit and bright yellow shirt and maybe came to some conclusion about the color combination. Then he was looking back at Dixon’s sweaty face. ‘Man and woman?’ A faint lilt of accent.

Dixon described them.

The hot dog man was instantly uneasy. ‘I didn’t see anything. Nothing. No.’

‘It’s okay. I’m a deacon.’ Trying to calm him.

‘A …?’

‘In a church, Presbyterian,’ the rumpled man said breathlessly. ‘In New Jersey. A deacon.’

‘Uhm,’ said the street vendor, who seemed to be a Muslim and would probably have no idea what a deacon was but might appreciate devotion.

‘Religious. I’m a religious person.’

‘A priest?’ the man asked, becoming confused. He was again regarding Dixon’s old suit and yellow shirt.

‘No. I’m just religious. A deacon’s a layperson.’

‘Oh.’ The vendor looked around for somebody he could sell a hot dog to.

Mistake. Dixon said, ‘I’m
like
a priest.’

‘Oh.’

‘A private person who helps the priest. Like helping the imam.’

‘Imam?’

‘Look.’ Dixon reached into his breast pocket and took a small, black-bound Bible from it.

‘Oh.’ The man said this with some reverence.

‘I was just on Madison Avenue.’ He gestured broadly though the vendor would obviously know where Madison Avenue was.

‘Yes.’

‘And what happened was, I saw this woman commit a crime, a bad crime. The woman I just described.’

‘A crime?’

‘That’s right.’

The vendor touched his chest with his fingertips, perhaps a form of prayer. Dixon noted his hands were filthy. He decided he’d never get a hot dog from a street vendor again. The man asked, ‘All the sirens? Is that what’s going on?’

‘Yes, all the sirens. Lots of sirens.’

Dixon pulled a napkin out of the holder, then two more. He wiped his face.

‘You want some water, Father? I call you “Father”? Is that what you say?’

‘No, I’m not a reverend,’ Dixon said. ‘I don’t want any water. A deacon. It’s
like
a priest.’

‘Okay, but if you do, just ask. A bottle. Or a soda.’

‘Here’s what I need—’

‘You don’t have a cell phone and you want to borrow mine?’

‘No, no. I need to find out where they went – she and this other man, a friend of hers, I guess. I’m going to talk to them, help them give themselves up.’

The vendor blinked, waved at the smoke again.

Dixon repeated, ‘She should surrender to the police. I’ll help her. But she has to do it now. If they run, the police will think they’re guilty and they may just shoot them down. They’re panicked. I know they are.’

‘You’re … what do they call that, people in your bible? Who help other people?’

What? Oh. ‘Samaritan,’ Dixon said, wiping more sweat. The pits of his shirt were grayish yellow.

‘Yeah, that’s it.’

My bible …

‘I guess I am. I don’t know. They came this way.’

The vendor was more comfortable now. ‘Yes, these people you’re talking about? I saw them. A few minutes ago. I saw them because they were walking fast. And they were rude too.’

Dixon’s heart beat a bit faster. ‘Where did they go?’

‘They went into that store there. Do you see it?’

‘On the corner.’

‘Next to the corner. The souvenir store.’

It was only forty or so feet away.

‘Did you see them leave?’

‘No, I think they’re still in there. But I wasn’t paying attention. They might’ve left.’

‘Thank you. I think you’ve saved some lives.’

Dixon started across the street, then paused. The couple slipped from the store. They were wearing hats and she had a different bag, Dixon believed. But it was clearly them. They gazed up and down the street, spotted Dixon and froze for a moment. Then they vanished in the opposite direction. He noted the woman seemed to be limping.

Dixon started after them.

‘Be careful,’ the vendor said, his voice deflating, as if he wanted to append the word ‘Father,’ but was recalling that Dixon wasn’t one. ‘If they’ve done a crime they might not understand you want to help them. They might be desperate, dangerous.’

‘I’ve made my peace with God,’ Dixon called breathlessly as he broke into a trot, tapping his chest to make sure the small Bible was seated firmly in his pocket.

CHAPTER
25

11:10 a.m., Sunday
25 minutes earlier

‘The gun just went off,’ Gabriela whispered, her voice the tone of hysteria. ‘I didn’t mean to do it.’

Daniel remained silent. He steered her quickly down the sidewalk away from the scene of the shooting.

She asked desperately, ‘He didn’t die, did he? What did you see, Daniel? What did you
see
?’

Still, no response.

Sirens filled the air around them as they headed east from Madison Avenue. There were lights too, piercing white and blue flashers. And reflections of white and blue flashers in windows. Lights seemed to be everywhere. Daniel and Gabriela kept their heads down. They didn’t dare look up.

Then he directed her quickly to the side, a ninety-degree turn. She nearly stumbled but he held her firmly.

‘What?’ she gasped.

A car skidded to a stop, an unmarked police car. Two detectives in suits leapt out and headed into a crowded specialty food store, displaying their badges.

‘Do they think we’re in there?’ she asked.

‘Just keep walking.’

Manic, Gabriela asked, ‘He didn’t die, did he? He was so young! Please, tell me!’ Her grip must have hurt. He frowned. She relented.

‘I don’t know, Mac. I’m sorry, but I don’t know. It’s possible.’

Walking as fast as they dared without drawing attention, they moved east, leaving the unmarked car behind. She glanced back. The officers didn’t appear. She and Daniel hurried south, then east again.

To anyone else’s eye, they resembled a typical couple. Not particularly jovial, not particularly conversational. Harried. A relationship limned by stress, money woes, child woes, sexual woes. Life in Manhattan, professionals. Yet every glance their way seemed tinted with suspicion.

But no one pointed, no one called out, no one seemed about to rip cell phones from holsters and speed-dial 911.

No one fled from the homicidal auburn-haired woman and her actor look-alike companion.

‘I didn’t think, Daniel. There was the gun. It was just there. I grabbed it! It went off. I’ve never even touched one before. I was just … Oh, Jesus. What’ve I done?’

A look behind revealed a half-dozen pedestrians, but no police. Still, Gabriela focused on a man in a suit – a rumpled gray one, of thin cloth, which seemed inadequate in the chill. He was walking in their direction. She noticed him because of his yellow shirt. His stride seemed purposeful though he wasn’t paying particular attention to them.

Gabriela nudged Daniel. ‘That guy? Yellow shirt? Look carefully.’

‘Got it.’

‘I’ve seen him before, I think. On Madison.’

‘He followed us from the shooting?’

‘I don’t know—’ Gabriela winced, gasped, then stopped abruptly, her hand on her side.

‘It’s bad?’ he asked, gesturing down toward her ribs.

A nod.

‘Can you walk?’

‘Yes.’ Though she frowned when they began again.

They kept their heads down, not looking anywhere but at the sidewalk. Suddenly Daniel took her arm and guided her quickly into a Korean deli, where they paused to examine the fresh-cut flowers and a tub of ice in which nested plastic bottles of orange and mango juice.

‘What?’ Gabriela asked in a whisper.

‘Cops.’

A police cruiser sped past, silently, but its lights pierced as harshly as a siren.

Blue and white …

A moment later they took to the sidewalk again. They dodged through traffic and bicyclists and joggers and more pedestrians. When they hit the uptown–downtown street, another police car sped past.

She looked back and said urgently, ‘I thought I saw him again. The yellow shirt guy.’

When they reached the next intersection, another police car sped past. It didn’t slow, but the officers were looking around. He said, ‘We need to get out of sight. There’s a place we can stay.’

‘Where?’

‘The Norwalk Fund has an apartment, for out-of-town clients.’

‘Norwalk … Oh, your company, right?’

He nodded. ‘It’s empty now. Off First Avenue in the Fifties.’ He noted the cross street sign:
79th
. ‘It’s a long walk,’ he said. ‘But I’m worried about cabs. They have that new video system, the TVs. Your picture might show up on the screen.’

‘I can walk, sure.’

After five minutes, he paused and examined her. ‘You can’t walk.’

She sucked in a breath, then coughed. ‘Subway, okay.’ She leaned against him again. ‘Is that man behind us, Yellow Shirt?’

‘I don’t see him.’

He took her arm and directed her east.

She inhaled again and let herself be led down the sidewalk. ‘On Madison Avenue? He wasn’t dead when we left. You saw that, right? He’ll probably be okay, don’t you think? He was so young.’

Daniel Reardon didn’t speak for a moment. He said, ‘I don’t know, Gabriela. It depends on where you shot him.’

‘He was married. He had a wedding ring on. Maybe he has children.’

‘Gabriela …’

‘I didn’t
mean
to. I panicked. I didn’t want to hurt anybody. But they were going to stop me and I couldn’t let them. It was for Sarah … You understand. I had to do something.’

‘People can get shot and still live.’

‘The ambulance would be there soon, right? Probably minutes.’

At 74th and Lexington they dodged through traffic and paused at a light, next to a pushcart vendor, who called, ‘You want hot dog? Pretzel?’ He glanced at them with some curiosity. When they ignored him he turned to another customer and fished a frankfurter out of the gray frankfurter water.

The light changed and they crossed.

She said, ‘People’re looking at us, Daniel.’

‘At you, Mac. Not us.’

‘What?’

‘Because you’re beautiful.’

She gave a wan smile. She nodded at a souvenir shop. ‘Hats,’ she said, pointing to a rack.