had its own warped logic. The three of them were linked by a secret that must not be divulged at any cost, that it was in nobody’s interest to divulge.
Bellew stood up and leaned with his clenched fists on the desk. ‘We urgently need a name to put with those photographs. We can’t publish them with the words
Vivien realized that they were referring to these two unknown people as the father and the son. Absurdly, memories of her childhood welled up to underline the tragic irony of the situation.
The image of herself, still a child, in a church with the scent of incense around her was erased by other images: buildings in flames and bodies being put in ambulances.
There was a knock at the door. Detective Tyler entered the office holding a file. His stubbled chin and generally dishevelled appearance indicated a sleepless night. When he saw Russell, a grimace of disapproval crossed his face for a moment.
Ignoring Russell and Vivien, he said, ‘Captain, I have the results you wanted.’
His tone was that of someone who had done hard, boring work and knew that it wouldn’t be recognized. The captain reached out his hand, took the file and looked through it quickly.
He spoke without raising his eyes from the paper. ‘OK, Tyler. You can go.’
The detective went out, leaving a trace of stale cigarettes and surliness in the room. Bellew waited for him to move away from the door, before informing Vivien and Russell of what he had just read.
‘I put a couple of three-man teams on it. Telling them as little as I could. This is what he have.’
He turned his attention back to the papers in his hands.
‘The house that blew up on Long Island belonged to an ex-soldier, a Major Mistnick. Apparently he served in Vietnam. That may not mean anything, but it’s curious all the same. The firm that built it was indeed a small company in Brooklyn, Newborn Brothers. The company responsible for the building on the Lower East Side on the other hand is called Pike’s Peak Buildings. And here we’ve had a real stroke of luck. Some time ago, the management hired an IT company to put all its data on computer. That means we can look at everything, even from years ago.’
‘That’s good news,’ Vivien said.
‘There’s more.’ There was no joy in the captain’s voice. ‘We need to look at the company that fixed up Twelfth Avenue and built the warehouse in Hell’s Kitchen, the one that blew up last night. It was a municipal contract, so the company must have used union labour, which means the data should still be available. We’ll proceed in the same way with the company that renovated the building on 23rd Street, where the body was found. If we can get hold of the names of the people who worked on those four sites, we can compare them and see if any coincide.’
Bellew passed his hand through his hair, maybe thinking that he was too old for his professional expertise to be put to the test like this.
‘It’s not much of a lead but it’s all we’ve got. I’ll ask the commissioner for backup, and put as many men to work on this as I can. I’ll tell them it’s a Code RFL.’
Russell frowned. ‘Code RFL?’
Vivien intervened with an explanation. ‘It’s a code that doesn’t exist but every police officer in New York knows. RFL stands for
She looked back at her chief.
‘I want you to talk to Newborn Brothers. If it was a small company, with not many workers, the direct contact may be more productive. Someone may remember something. While you’re on your way down, I’ll ask the switchboard to get the number. You can pick it up from the desk officers.’
Vivien stood up, glad to do so. As they left the office they heard Bellew’s voice: he was already on the phone, getting them what he had promised.
They walked downstairs. Russell was in front of her, and Vivien could smell his eau de cologne. She remembered his lips in the hollow of her elbow and his hand in her hair. Then she remembered the blinding flash and the thunderous sound that had abruptly pulled them out of the time and space they had carved out for themselves.
After the blast they had dressed quickly, saying nothing. They had gone into the living room and switched on the TV. After a few minutes’ wait, Channel One had interrupted its broadcasts with news of the attack. They had continued hopping from one channel to another as the news was updated minute to minute. The magic there had been between them had vanished, lost in the flames now leaping on the TV screen.
Bellew had sent them a text. A few words only:
There wasn’t much more to say. Both she and the captain knew there was nothing they could do right now, except wait a few hours. The night had ended and the light through the windows had surprised her and Russell sitting on the couch, concerned and incredulous, close without touching, as if what they were seeing could come out of the screen and contaminate them.
As she descended the stairs, responsibility gripped her chest. The lives of so many people depended on her, on what she would do in the next few hours. It made her a little dizzy, and she was happy to reach the bottom of the stairs.
As soon as he saw her come through the door, a uniformed officer held a sheet of paper out to her.
‘Here it is, detective. It’s a cell number, if that’s OK. The man’s name is Chuck Newborn and he’s working on a big site in Madison Square Park.’
Vivien was grateful to code RFL, which was making everything move at a speed she wasn’t accustomed to.
They left the precinct house and walked to Vivien’s car. Silently they climbed in, both lost in their thoughts. After switching on the engine but before heading out, Vivien gave voice to hers.
‘Russell, about last night…’
‘Go on.’
‘I just wanted to say that I…’
‘I know. That you don’t want complications.’
That wasn’t what Vivien had meant to say. But Russell’s words and detached tone brought her up short, on the threshold of a place she could enter only if she was invited in.
‘That’s fine by me,’ he went on.
She turned to look at him but saw only the back of his head. Russell was looking intently out the window on his side. By the time he turned back to look at her, he was back in the present.
‘Traffic’s pretty heavy.’
Vivien put off any response to what he had said earlier in favour of more urgent priorities. ‘Now you’ll see how useful is to be a police officer.’
She took the flashing lamp and put it on the roof. The Volvo pulled away from the kerb and set off at speed.
They reached Madison Square Park after going west along 23rd street at a speed that had left Russell stunned.
‘You’ll have to lend me that gadget sometime.’
He had gone back to being the way Vivien had known him at the beginning. Ironic and detached, friendly and at the same time distant. She had to admit, with a touch of resentment towards herself, that the previous night had been a mistake, never to be repeated.
‘When this is all over, I’ll buy you a police car.’
They immediately saw the place they were looking for. To their left, facing the park, was
