Most prominent in the scene was the dog barking triumphantly, for she'd found what she'd been looking for and won the prize. The long-sought smell of David's sweat was now combined with his blood, and the delighted dog was hanging on him, trying to kiss him and lick his seeping wound.
April was on her radio calling for backup and three EMS vehicles. Staying calm and speaking as tersely as she could, she described the critical nature of the situation and gave their location before she went in to help. She had no clear idea of the extent of the carnage. In all the mud and gore, she could not at first tell what had happened in there. When she signed off, hung the radio on her belt, and moved closer, she had a view into unfathomable horror.
The face of the missing jogger was unrecognizable, filthy and awash with blood. It poured out of a gash in his forehead and from his nose. A girl April couldn't immediately identify lay on the ground with her skirt pulled up around her hips. Her face, too, was bloody and her features indiscernible. Her nose looked broken and ragged bone could be seen sticking out of her ankle. Was this Brandy? Dylan Rodriguez? She couldn't tell.
And last, the boy, David, was bent over, holding his neck with one hand. The other brandished what looked like a bloody poker. Blood gushed out of his neck, and he was the one who was screaming.
Peachy had him pinned against some structure that looked like a gate. She had no idea of restraining him. She was greeting him, slobbering on him, and humping him with all the joy of a long-lost friend while David shrieked his head off, 'I'm hurt, I'm hurt. He stabbed me.' He sounded like a lost little boy.
John took command of the dog, thanked her lavishly, and moved her out of the way. Then he heeled Peachy and took off for the cars to set up his flares and continue talking on the radio through Central to lead the medical teams in to the closest access.
'April, we need your help in here,' Mike said.
April responded quickly. Now was the dilemma of which injured person to attend to first-the perpetrator or the victims. Once long ago, when April was a rookie, she and her partner were the first on the scene of a jewelry store robbery gone bad. The perp had shot the owner in the neck. Her partner ran after the perp and April crouched on the floor with a hand clamped over the victim's wound, talking to him for five interminable minutes until EMS arrived.
Together April and Mike moved David out of the cave, laid him down. Mike put his jacket under the boy's head and clamped his wound. April went in for the girl. She, too, took off her jacket. Underneath was a cardigan and a shirt. She ripped them both off to cover the sobbing girl. April was stripped down to her bra and talking softly to soothe the girl, when she realized it was Dylan. She took Dylan's hand and squeezed it.
'It's April Woo. Hold on there, you're going to be okay. I'm with you, just hold on.' April kept talking. 'Your mom's waiting for you. Just a few more minutes. Dylan, can you hear me? We're going to get you out of here.'
'Don't move her, don't move her,' Maslow cried.
'I'm not moving her. How are you doing?' April held Dylan's hand but turned her attention on him.
'Don't worry about me. I'm fine.' The voice sounded strong.
'Good, take my jacket. I've got her.' April handed him her jacket.
'Woody, take Dr. Atkins out. Hurry.'
For once Woody had his brains screwed in. Despite Maslow's protests, he half-carried him out of the cave.
Turned out, the three officers and the dog tracker worked perfectly together, so well, in fact, that before EMS arrived, Woody had covered his boss with his own shirt and given his jacket to Dylan. They were all on a high, having done what they set out to do, and saved three lives in the process.
Back on Park Avenue, Brandy Fabman missed the storm. Long before ten, she'd slipped back into her building unnoticed by the two officers on a three-minute coffee break from watching her building. She was at home in bed, dreaming of the money she would make when her story was sold to the movies and of the skimpy dress she would wear on her TV appearances.
At two in the morning, when David Owen and Dylan Rodriguez were both in operating rooms having emergency surgery, Cheryl Fabman got her wish to be reunited with her ex-husband. She and Seymour stayed all night together in a police station where they waited for a lawyer to come and deal with the kidnap, assault, and attempted murder charges against their daughter.
Epilogue
Jerome Atkins and his wife, Adina, received the news early Friday morning at their Park Avenue apartment that their son, Maslow, had been rescued from the small cave in Central Park where he had been held captive since Tuesday evening by two Park Avenue teenagers who attended fancy private schools. The couple hurried to the hospital for a reunion with him. Several hours later, they appeared holding hands at a scheduled press conference. Also present at the news conference held at Roosevelt-St. Luke's Hospital on Columbus Avenue were Lieutenant Arturo Iriarte, Sergeant April Woo, Lieutenant Mike Sanchez, and Dr. Jason Frank, described (to his chagrin) as a close friend of the Atkins family.
During the conference, held in time for the local five o'clock news, a hospital public relations spokesman reported that Dr. Atkins had been heroic in his efforts to save his half-sister. Dylan Rodriguez had been captured and severely beaten while searching for Maslow after earlier police attempts to find him in the park had failed. She was in stable condition after surgery. No mention was made of the awkward circumstance that Dylan had been Maslow's patient.
Smiling broadly in an elegant silver suit, Lieutenant Iriarte stepped forward into the flashes of many cameras and video cams. Looking every inch the boss of bosses, he described in great detail the planning and execution of the rescue. After seven minutes of air time (later cut to thirty seconds), almost as an afterthought, he introduced two officers who had implemented the operation. The two officers, though clean and wearing the clothes from their lockers, looked appropriately grubby and modest. They in turn gave credit for the remarkable rescue during one of the worst thunderstorms in New York history-which caused flooding and power outages that were still creating problems throughout the city-to NYPD dog tracker John Zumech and his Doberman pinscher, Peachy, who had kept going despite impossibly difficult weather conditions.
The two officers, Woo and Sanchez, were recognizable to that certain segment of New York City residents who followed the Metro section of the
After them Jerome Atkins, looking very happy at the bank of microphones outside the hospital, said that he and his wife had never given up hope that their son was alive and were deeply relieved and grateful for his return. Questioned about his twenty-year-old daughter, Dylan, and long-term relationship with coworker Grace Rodriguez, Atkins said there was nothing to the rumor. With his wife by his side, he explained that Grace Rodriguez and he had had a short relationship many years ago and had since remained friends for the sake of their child. He further added that Adina, his wife and best friend of thirty-eight years, knew all about his youthful indiscretion and had forgiven him years ago.
Dr. Maslow Atkins's hospital physician then reported that although Dr. Atkins was not able to appear live on camera, he had a statement to make. He was grateful to the New York City Police officers who had saved him and his sister and that he was happy to be alive.
Clips appeared on all the local network and cable TV programs and on the national morning news. In the following days, media attention would focus heavily on the lives of Brandy Fabman and David Owen and the debate over the punishment children should receive for their violent acts. But that was the news circus.
For April and Mike, the time of action was over. Now would come the long days of getting the facts and answers, tying up the loose ends, working with the DA's office, doing the paperwork. And who knew, perhaps even an IAB investigation of their own part in the case. In any event, they knew that when the red lights went off the video cameras, the department lights would come up hard on them.
They'd been up for over thirty-six hours when Jason, stopped on his way out to say good-bye.
'Thanks,' he said to them. 'I owe you everything.'
'True,' April replied deadpan. 'Name your next child after Mike.'
Jason froze. His face did a wild dance of surprise and horror as he did a quick calculation. 'Are we pregnant?' he
