you were being honest with me? Now that I actually have Elizabeth, I think maybe we can see eye to eye. You bring me the body, and I will let her go.”
“I want to talk to her,” Quinn said.
“Naturally. I wouldn’t expect you to believe me if you didn’t.”
“Just put her on!”
The phone fell silent for a moment. The next thing Quinn heard was heavy breathing.
“Liz?”
“Jake? God, Jake. Help.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Just bruised.”
“That’s it?”
“So far.”
He then asked the question he’d avoided with Palavin. “What about Nate?”
She sobbed. “They shot him. They—”
There was the sound of movement. “I think you’ve talked enough,” Palavin said. “We’ll call later with the location.”
Palavin hung up.
Quinn grabbed Orlando by the shoulder. “Come on,” he said, pushing her toward the exit back into the station.
“What happened?” Orlando asked.
“Nate,” he said, then started sprinting for the entrance to the Underground.
There were half a dozen police cars parked on Charlotte Street. A large area in front of the apartment building had been cordoned off. As with all crime scenes, a small crowd had gathered around the outside of the police zone.
Quinn and Orlando approached a couple standing just off to the side.
“What happened?” Quinn asked, trying to sound curious but unconcerned.
The woman glanced over. “We heard a man was shot,” she said.
“Really?” Orlando said. “In this neighborhood? Was he badly hurt?”
The woman shook her head. “Don’t know. We’ve only been here a few minutes.”
“Thanks,” Quinn said.
They walked over to the sidewalk on the other side of the street. There was a waiter standing next to an empty outside table in front of an Indian restaurant. He was looking toward a group of police gathered beyond the police line. The restaurant itself was empty.
“Someone got shot? Did I hear that right?” Quinn asked.
“Yes. Apparently.”
“Did you hear it happen?”
“No,” he said. “But I saw people running out of the building. Then one of the neighbors came out yelling about gunfire.”
“Just the one person hit?”
“As far as I know,” the man said. “An ambulance took him away ten minutes ago.”
“Unbelievable,” Orlando said. “I wonder what happened.”
The man shrugged. “Drugs probably. Isn’t that what it always is?” He turned and walked back into the restaurant.
Orlando pulled out her phone and began typing. While she did, Quinn guided them toward Tottenham Court Road.
“The closest medical facility is University College Hospital,” Orlando said.
“Is that where they took him?” Quinn asked.
“I don’t know yet.” She pressed a button on the phone, then held it up to her ear. “Yes, hello,” she said, using a remarkably good British accent. “This is Chief Inspector Owens. I’m checking on the status of a man who would have been brought there within the last thirty minutes.… Yes, I’ll hold.”
They had reached Tottenham Court Road.
“Taxi or foot?” Quinn asked.
“Foot for now,” she said, then pointed toward the north. “That way.”
They darted through traffic to the other side of the street.
“I’m here,” Orlando said as they reached the sidewalk. “Yes, I’m involved with the investigation on Charlotte Street. It was my understanding that the victim was brought to your hospital. Is that not right? … Oh, good. He
She disconnected the call.
