officers ringing the place. The broadcaster, clearly losing abattle with self-restraint, opined that this was New York, after all. Maybe theoddly clad fugitive had simply stepped on to the streets of Manhattan andblended in.
At seven o'clock, MMC public-relationsdirector Barbara Hinkle held a news conference, excerpted on WINS. The hospitalshe said, was grateful no one had been hurt in the unfortunate incident.Hospital officials would have nothing further to say until a preliminaryinvestigation into the near-calamity was completed. She did add that hospitalauthorities as yet had had no luck reaching Dr. Harry Corbett, the physicianwho admitted the gunman to Grey 218.
'I am sure you all know,' she said, 'thatDr. Corbett has been under a great strain lately as a result of the tragicdeath of his wife. I have been told he has been under a physician's care forhis grief reaction, as well as for some post-traumatic stress issues related tohis heroic service in Vietnam …'
'Hospital Barbie speaks with forkedtongue,' Harry said aloud.
Clearly, MMC's spin doctors had alreadymet and decided on their strategy for dealing with the collective disastersbrought down on their house by Dr. Harry Corbett — post-traumatic stress. Harrywondered what name they would come up with if anyone ever demanded to know whohis shrink was.
'. . We at the hospital are speculatingthat Dr. Corbett borrowed the name of Max Garabedian in order to hospitalizesomeone he cared about who was very ill but without health insurance,' Hinklewent on, 'possibly a fellow Vietnam veteran. The plan backfired when hispatient went haywire.'
'Nice,' Harry said. 'Not bad.'
The rest of Hinkle's press conferenceadded nothing of substance except that nursing officials were looking into theidentities and backgrounds of the special-duty nurses brought into the hospitalby the gunman.
For forty minutes, nothing new wasbroadcast. Then, with just half an hour to go before Harry was to leave, one ofthe many mysteries connected with the case was reported solved. An electriciandoing work on the heating system of the hospital had been found by amaintenance man, bound and gagged in the subbasement. He had been robbed atgunpoint by a man answering the fugitive's description. His clothes and shoeswere taken, along with twenty-five dollars from his wallet. The wallet was thenreturned to him. Police were checking it for fingerprints, as well as thehospital room where the gunman was a patient for three days.
'He was nervous and scared, I think,' theelectrician said. 'But he was decent enough to me. He gave me back my walletbecause he said he knows what a hassle it is getting a new driver's license. Hedidn't hurt me. But I think maybe he would have if I didn't do as he asked..'
Harry checked the time. Eight-ten. Outsidethe garage, dusk was gradually yielding to night. The lights, of the city wereon. He started the BMW and slowly, ever so slowly, rolled down the ramp to theexit. Finally, at exactly eight-fifteen, he shut off the radio and pulled outon to the street. The game was afoot.
Harry drove past one block, then another.He didn't feel all that nervous, but his hands were white on the wheel. Heglanced at his watch. It was twenty past.
'Yes,' he said.
'Harry, I'm in a tree,' Maura whisperedwith breathless excitement. 'I'm up a fucking tree in the woods next to a dump.Do you believe it? If I had known there was a man around like you who could getme to climb trees at garbage dumps at night in New Jersey with a gun in myfanny pack, I never would have bothered drinking.'
'Well, I'm in no place that exotic,' Harrysaid, whispering although there was no need to. 'Ninety-sixth, heading for theparkway. Is anyone there yet?'
'Not a soul. I found a great place toleave the car and a perfect place to hide.'
'And you're sure no one saw you?'
'Positive. Are you being followed?'
'I can't tell yet.'
'It doesn't make any difference whetherthey do or not. Listen, Harry, I think I see a car coming up the road. I'llcall you again at ten to nine unless he's standing too close to this tree.'
'You're doing great, Maura. Are you warmenough? I think it's going to rain soon.'
'Hey, I'm fine. I told you. Tonight's thenight.'
With one eye on the road ahead and one onthe rearview mirror, Harry swung on to the Henry Hudson Parkway. Several carsbehind, he caught sight of a dark sedan, which he felt fairly certain had beenwith him from the beginning. Maura was right, though. It really didn't matterwhether the caller had someone tailing him or not. He was going to follow instructionsto the letter. Maura was their ace in the hole.
By the time he had crossed the GeorgeWashington Bridge, a misty rain had begun to fall. Harry found windshieldwipers annoying and had always postponed turning them on until he absolutelyhad to. This time he switched them on at the first droplets. If things cameunraveled tonight, it wasn't going to be because he did something pigheaded orstupid.
Once on the New Jersey side of the river,he consulted the directions. After two miles he swung off the main road into adensely built, working-class neighborhood. The streets were tree-lined, and thesmall yards of the clapboard houses were strewn with balls, Big Wheels, andother trappings of new families. The sedan followed several blocks behind, itslights off. Harry felt certain he could see two people silhouetted inside. Heeasily located the corner where he had been instructed to stop and wait for oneminute. He was pulling away when the phone buzzed. Maura was several minutesearly. And Harry knew as he was reaching for the receiver that there wastrouble.
'Yes?'
'Harry, stop right now!' she said in apanic-driven whisper. 'This place is crawling with police. A dozen of them.Maybe more. Their cruisers are out of sight, and you wouldn't know a thing waswrong. But they're here.'
His blood suddenly ice, Harry glanced inthe mirror. The sedan was still there, about two or three blocks back. Heshifted into gear and began slowly rolling down the street.
'Go on,' he said.
'Harry, your friend Dickinson's here. Atone point he was about ten feet from this tree. Now he's strolling aroundchecking that everyone's in place.'
'You're sure?'
'I'm sure. He's working with somelieutenant who seems to be from the local police. He's very excited about beinghere to nail you. From what I could hear, someone called and tipped off thepolice that you had demanded a meeting at this place, that you have a body withyou, and will pay twenty-five thousand dollars for this guy to get it athousand miles from here and bury it where it will never be dug up. The mansaid you were crazy. That you killed people for fun. He wanted nothing to dowith you, except have you in jail where you couldn't hurt him. You've got toget out of here, Harry.'
His mind whirling, Harry began slowly toaccelerate.
'Just stay out of sight until it's safe togo home,' he said. 'Then go to my apartment. I'll be in touch.'
He heard her telling him to be careful ashe set the receiver down. Then he glanced at the directions he had writtendown. In one more block, he would go left or straight instead of turning rightas instructed. It would take the men in the sedan several seconds to realize hewas diverging from the plan. Three or four seconds at the most. That was all hehad. His best bet was to try and get back to the highway. He sped up to aroundforty.
In the same instant Harry understood whatwas happening, he cut his lights, swung a sharp left, and hit the gas. He madea sliding right, then another left. The siren was on behind him now, and hecould see the blue strobe through the trees. The streets, baked to bone-dry foralmost two weeks, were slick with rain and oil. He skidded into another turn,on to a street that was a long straightaway to the main road. The speedometerwas nearing eighty. He had always been a laid-back driver and rarely drove thisfast even on a turnpike. A couple backing out of their drive to go to thestore, a kid on her bicycle — there were any number of possibilities fordisaster now. Undoubtedly, the men in the unmarked cruiser had called forbackup as well.
He tried desperately to think thingsthrough. The best he could do was to acknowledge that the situation wasabsolutely horrible. He was racing around rain-soaked streets in a neighborhoodthat was completely foreign to
