Dino ran down the upstairs hallway and tried the door: locked. He knocked. “Mr. Abney?”
“God knows what’s going on in there,” Rosie said from behind him.
Dino knocked again. “Mr. Abney, it’s the police. Open the door.” No response. Dino pulled his weapon, took a step back, and kicked the door open, splintering the jamb. Rosie followed him in. There were dishes and glasses on the table, but the room was empty.
Rosie opened one of the two other doors in the room. “Powder room,” she said.
Dino opened the other door and found the back stairs. “Let’s go!” He ran down the stairs, pushed open the fire door, and stepped outside. He found himself in an alley and it was raining. There was a dumpster and half a dozen trash cans scattered about.
“He’s got a car,” Rosie said. “The shortest way is back through the restaurant.” She tried the door, but it had locked behind them. “Shit!” she yelled. “We’ll have to go around!”
They started down the alley at a run, but as they ran, Rosie heard a sound like a car alarm, muffled as if from a garage, but there was no garage in the alley. “Wait!” she yelled at Dino, then she turned back, looking around.
“What is it?”
“I hear an alarm. Viv was wearing a wristwatch with a panic button.” She ran to the dumpster and pushed up the lid. Viv was lying inside in a pile of garbage, her eyes glazed.
“Give me a hand,” she said to Dino. Together, they lifted her out of the dumpster and laid her on the wet tarmac.
Rosie produced her cell phone and called 911.
“I can’t get a pulse,” Dino said, bending over Viv and gently moving her hair from over her face.
“We need an APB for Abney’s town car,” Rosie said.
Dino got on the radio. “License number?”
Rosie sighed. “I didn’t get it, and there are a million black town cars in this fucking city.”
DINO PACED up and down the hallway outside the ER, talking rapidly into his cell phone. “Rosie, do you know Abney’s address?”
“He lives in a hotel on the West Side, the Broadway Savoy.”
Dino got back on the phone. “Abney lives at the Broadway Savoy, on West Forty-sixth, west of Eighth Avenue. If he’s not there, try his office.” He made a beckoning motion to Rosie.
“West Forty-fourth, a couple of doors west of Sardi’s.”
Dino relayed the name and address. “The charge, for now, is assaulting a police officer.” He hung up.
“I could kill myself, not getting the license plate,” Rosie said. “That’s rookie stuff.”
“It might not have helped,” Dino said. “There are too many town cars.” He sat down on a steel chair in the hallway.
“What the fuck are they doing in there?”
A young doctor in green scrubs pushed through the doorway, followed by Viv on a gurney. “OR four,” he said to the orderly. “I’m right behind you.” He turned to Dino. “She’s been drugged. We won’t know what until the tox screen comes back, but it’s probably some sort of date rape drug. They’re everywhere. She’s also got a partly crushed trachea, so she’s headed for surgery. The drug may have saved her life. It slowed her respiration and heartbeat. If she’d been conscious and had panicked, she might not have been able to get enough air. OR four is on the third floor. I’ve got a reconstruction surgeon on the way in. She’ll be okay in a couple of hours. Gotta go.” He turned and ran down the hall after the gurney.
Dino sat down again. “I should never have let you two do this thing.”
Rosie sat down beside him. “We didn’t count on the restaurant, and once we knew about it, we didn’t count on the upstairs room. From what the bartender said, it was a regular stop for Abney.”
“He threw her in a fucking dumpster, like she was garbage,” Dino said.
“He must have thought she was dead, or he would have finished her off.”
Dino looked at her. “If you tell me she got lucky, I’ll transfer you to the Bronx.”
THREE AND A HALF hours later, a man in scrubs walked into the surgery waiting room. “Who’s the lieutenant?”
Dino stood up, and so did Rosie.
“Detective DeCarlo is in recovery and out of the woods,” the surgeon said. “I replaced about two inches of her trachea.”
“Replaced?” Dino asked. “With what? A plastic tube?”
The surgeon shook his head. “The real thing, from a cadaver.”
Dino’s face fell. “From a cadaver?”
“Don’t get all creeped out, Lieutenant, it’s a standard procedure these days. We transplant bone, cartilage, all sorts of body parts. It works. Her injury was below her voice box, so her speech won’t be affected. She’ll be on her feet in the morning and out of here in a few days.”
“Thank you,” Dino said. “Send the bill to the police commissioner.”
“There won’t be a bill,” the surgeon said.
DINO AND ROSIE were there when Viv came to. The nurse allowed them to stay long enough to speak to her, then threw them out.
Dino got on his cell phone. “Have we got Abney? Why the hell not? Hang on.” He turned to Rosie. “Where does Abney hang out?”
“Sardi’s upstairs, but I doubt if he’s there this late. That’s all we got on him.”
Dino spoke into the phone again. “Check the upstairs bar at Sardi’s, if it’s still open. Add to the APB that the suspect badly injured a female cop.” He hung up. “Maybe somebody will shoot the son of a bitch,” he said.
47
Dino and Rosie were at the Bright Lights, Ink, office at the stroke of nine a.m. He showed his badge to the receptionist. “Is Mr. Abney in?”
“No, he normally doesn’t arrive until around ten,” she replied.
“Who is his secretary?”
“Margie Quinn.”
“Where does she sit?”
“Through the double doors, across the big room to the corner office. Her desk is just outside his door.” She reached for the phone.
Dino put his hand on hers. “Don’t,” he said, “and when Abney arrives, act normal, you understand?”
“No, I don’t understand,” the woman said.
“I have a warrant for his arrest,” Dino said. “There’s room on it for your name, too.”
“I understand,” she said.
“Let’s go, Rosie.” Dino pushed open the double doors and entered a large room with more than a dozen cubicles. He walked around them and came to Margie Quinn’s desk and showed her his badge. “Come with me,” he said, and pushed open the door to Abney’s office.
It was big enough to hold a large desk, a conference table, and a sitting area with a sofa and a pair of chairs.
“What is this about?” Quinn asked.
“It’s about Mr. Abney,” Dino said. “How long have you worked for him?”
“Twelve years,” the woman replied.
“Then you know what this is about.”
She bit her lip. “What do you want from me?”
“Sit down, Ms. Quinn,” Dino said, pointing at the sofa.
She did as she was told. “Has Ed Abney ever put his hands on you?”
She looked away.
“How long ago and how often?”
