Janek winced.
They walked a block in silence. Then Janek turned to her: "What I want you to do is find that girl, the one who got sliced in the hotel."
"There ought to be something in the hospital records."
Janek nodded. "Find her, handle her right and she may put you on to the rest of them."
"And once we're on to the bad girls, maybe we can find the girl did Dietz."
"That's the idea."
When they reached the precinct, Janek started to look for a cab. "I'm due at the Savoy for a stand-up with Channel Six." "I'll drop you," Sue said, "then head over to Roosevelt. I want to get started on this right away."
Janek could have kissed her. "You like the work, don't you?" he asked as he slipped into her car.
"Want the truth?" Janek nodded. "I love it-every friggin' minute. I love it so much my lover's jealous. She says I'm more committed to it than her. And you know what, Frank? She's friggin' right!"
The interview went fairly well, he thought. There was the usual obligatory camaraderie with the reporter, or "wax job" as Aaron called it-which ended the moment the cameras began to roll. Then Meg Chang transformed herself into the shrewd, street-smart TV journalist she was, all canny questions and meaningful squints:
"We understand Mr. Dietz was shot in the head."
"That's correct."
"We also hear his room was ransacked. Was there a robbery, Lieutenant?"
"There are things missing. But we're not sure robbery was the only motive."
She examined him skeptically. "Does this mean that visitors aren't safe from crime even in a luxury hotel?"
"It doesn't mean that at all. We're still investigating. My preliminary opinion is that Mr. Dietz was targeted."
"There're rumors around the hotel that shortly before he was killed he was seen with a redheaded woman in the downstairs lounge. "
"Sorry, Meg-you know I can't discuss an ongoing investigation."
She nodded curtly, then turned directly to the camera:
"There you have it. Lieutenant Janek will not confirm the presence of a mystery redhead seen with Philip Dietz just before he was killed.
Meantime, the question hangs in the air, are visitors to Manhattan safe, even inside two-hundred fifty-dollar-a-night hotel rooms? This is Meg Chang, Channel Six News, in front of the Savoy."
Although he was exhausted, he couldn't get to sleep. The encounters of the day kept ricocheting inside his brain. Dakin, Capiello, Kane, Carlson, Timmy, Stiegel-as soon as he finished reviewing his meeting with one, memories of his meeting with another would intrude.
The confrontations had been too intense, the aroused emotions too inflamed, for him simply to push the skirmishes out of mind. These men haunted him-their sad, canny or glaring eyes; their ravished, hard or angry faces. There was a common element, he realized: Each, in his way, was a victim of the city and each had found his own way of coping with its violence. Even Kane, from out of town, seemed, with his threats and games, like a New Yorker.
Close the album, let their faces fade. Plenty of time to think about them tomorrow.
He shut his eyes tightly, then slowly relaxed until his eyelids gently met. The image of the redhead came into his mind, the two artists' sketches superimposed. Yeah, he thought, something about her, something about her eyes… He took a half dozen deep breaths, rolled over onto his side, exhaled, then felt himself finally falling-falling into sleep.
A quarter hour later his telephone rang. Although it took him only a couple of seconds to come awake, the process seemed interminable, as if he were rising slowly from a deep, dark well. Grasping for the receiver, he knocked the phone to the floor.
"Frank? Are you there?" When he picked up the handset he heard Sarah's voice.
"Yeah, I'm here," he said. "I was asleep."
"Sorry. I didn't know. It's just eleven."
"I had a tough day. Maybe you could call back-"
"I want to talk about the roof. I left a couple of messages."
"I got them. Why don't we-?"
She interrupted. "That last estimate's pretty good. I told the contractor you wouldn't pay five figures." He thought a moment, then made up his mind. "Yeah. well, I'm not going to pay anything."
Silence. Her voice went terse. "What do you mean, Frank?" "Just what I said. Don't count on me. I'm out."
"This is pretty strange. I thought we had an understanding."
"I told you I'd consider it. I have. It's your problem now. So, please, let's not talk about it anymore."
A long silence. "May I ask why this change of heart?"
Sure, that's fair. "I don't feel like paying for it, okay'?"
Another silence, then she hissed, "You are a bastard!"
"Don't start on me, Sarah."
"You broke your word!"
"I never gave you my word."
"Of course you did!" "No," he said. "You heard it that way because you wanted to."
"Not true, Frank!"
"It's true."
"I can't believe you'd break your word just like that. Without telling me. Without even-"
Suddenly there was an explosion, so close it pained his ears. Then he heard pieces of metal cascading down upon the street. His first thought was that a gas main had exploded and ripped open the pavement.
"Hold on. Something happened."
He got out of bed. Carrying his phone, he went into the living room to look out ' the window. People in the building across the way were standing in nightclothes in lit windows staring down.