a test. Goldberg nudged him aside and put on a pair of glasses. When his gaze landed on the sketches of the young couple, his body convulsed as though he’d been zapped with a stun gun.
“Who the hell are these two?”
No one said anything.
Goldberg turned his attention to Mason. “Did you hear what I asked?”
“I don’t know. I was just told to get the sketch.”
“For what case?”
He shrugged.
Goldberg turned back to Megan. “Where did you see these two?”
“I’d rather wait for Detective Broome.”
Goldberg looked at the sketches again. “No.”
“No?”
“You tell me now. Or you get the hell out of here.”
“Are you serious?”
“I am.”
This Goldberg guy was giving Megan a serious case of the willies. She would indeed get out of here. She’d take a walk, maybe go to the diner, and then she’d call Broome and regroup. There was a reason why Broome wanted to keep her hidden-and maybe it had to do with more than just protecting her identity. Maybe it had to do with his charging rhino of a boss, Goldberg.
She pushed back her chair. “Fine, I’m out of here.”
“Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.”
Goldberg turned away, troubled. His rudeness surprised her. It was almost as though he wanted her out. This was probably some kind of power play with Broome, but she didn’t like it. Still, it would be best to get out of here now so she didn’t tell him anything she shouldn’t.
Megan stood. She had just grabbed her purse when once again the door burst open.
It was Broome.
When Broome first pushed through the door, she could see something odd on his face: anger-even before he saw Goldberg. The anger, weirdly enough, seemed directed at her. She had a second to wonder what that was about, if something had gone wrong with his visit with Lorraine, but before Broome could act upon it, he spotted Goldberg. When he did, Broome’s face fell.
For a moment the two men just stared at each other. Both were making fists and for a split second, Megan wondered if one of them was going to take a swing. Then Broome took a step back, shrugged, and said, “Busted.”
That opened the floodgates. “What the hell is going on, Broome?” Goldberg demanded.
“This woman, who shall remain anonymous, may have seen Harry Sutton’s killers.”
Goldberg’s mouth dropped open. “She was at the scene?”
“She saw these two walking out when she was walking in. We have no reason for them to be in the building at that hour. I’m not saying they did it, of course, but they are people of interest.”
Goldberg thought about it. He flicked his gaze toward Mason. “The sketch done?”
“Just about.”
“Finish it up. You”-he pointed at Broome-“I want to see in my office in five minutes. I got a call to make first.”
“Okay.”
Goldberg left. When he was gone, the anger returned to Broome’s face. He glared down at Megan.
“What?” she asked.
Still staring at her, “Mason?”
“Yeah?”
“Give us five minutes.”
“Uh, sure.”
Rick Mason started to leave. Broome’s eyes were still locked on hers, but he held up his hand toward Mason. “Actually, I need you to do something.”
Mason waited.
“We have an age progression on Stewart Green, right?”
“Right.”
“Add a shaved head and give him a goatee and a hoop earring. Can you do that for me?”
“Sure, yeah, okay. When do you need it by?”
Broome just frowned.
“Got it,” Rick Mason said. “Yesterday.”
“Thanks.”
Broome was still staring at her. As soon as Mason left, Megan decided to take the offensive. “Stewart Green shaved his head and grew a goatee? Did Lorraine tell you that?”
Broome kept glaring.
“What’s your problem?” she asked.
He leaned a little closer to her and waited to make sure that she was looking directly into his eyes.
“Do you want to keep lying to me,” Broome said, “or do you want to tell me about your old beau, Ray Levine?
Del Flynn brought pink roses, Maria’s favorite, to her room. He brought them every day. He showed them to his former wife and kissed her cold forehead.
“Hey, Maria, how you feeling today?”
The nurse-he could never remember her name-gave him flat eyes and left the room. In the beginning, when Maria had first been wheeled into this room, the nurses had looked upon Del Flynn with respect and admiration. Here he was, the ex-husband of this comatose woman, and look at the sacrifices he was making for her. What a man, they’d thought. What a devoted, dedicated, loving, understanding hero of a man.
The staff had left an empty vase already filled with water. After all this time, they knew his routine. Del slipped the bouquet into the water and sat next to Maria’s bed. He glanced toward the door and made sure that no one was in earshot. They weren’t.
“Maria?”
For some reason he waited for her to answer. He always did.
“I should have told you this before, but I got some bad news.”
He watched her face for the smallest change. There wasn’t. There hadn’t been in a very long time. Del let his eyes wander around the room. If appearances meant anything, you’d never guess that they were in a hospital. Sure, there was that constant beeping from the medical equipment and the dull hospital background noise. But Del had transformed this room. He brought in all Maria’s old favorite things-the stuffed bear he’d won for her at Six Flags when Carlton was six, the ornate Navajo rug they’d bought on that vacation to Santa Fe, the dartboard they’d hung up in the basement of that old house on Drexel Avenue.
Del had surrounded Maria with old photographs too-their wedding picture, their first Christmas with Carlton, Carlton’s graduation from Parkview preschool. His favorite photograph had been taken at Atlantic City Mini Golf, right on the Boardwalk by Mississippi Avenue. He and Maria had gone there often. There were bronze statues of children at play throughout the course. Maria had liked that-like it was a visit to a museum and mini golf place all in one. Maria had made a hole-in-one on the last hole, and the cashier, the same guy who’d asked them what color ball they wanted to use, came out and took this photograph, and the way the two of them were smiling you’d think they won a trip to Hawaii rather than a free game.
Del stared at that picture now and then slowly turned back to Maria. “It’s about Carlton.”
No response.
Eighteen months ago, a drunk driver had run a red light and smashed into Maria’s car. It had been late at night. She had been driving alone to pick up a prescription at the all-night pharmacy for Carlton. That was what single women did, he guessed. If she’d still been married to Del, if she hadn’t been so damned stubborn and forgiven him, she would have never been out that late driving and she’d be fine and they’d be fine and they’d still
