affect personality.”
“Can I see him?”
“I don’t see why not. His family is on the way. You have to wear a gown and so on.”
“Of course.”
Pia went off to don her protective garb.
Only then did Dr. Hill remember something about being on the lookout for a young woman.
In Will McKinley’s room, Pia found George standing by Will’s bed.
“Pia, my God!” George said, and grasped her in an embrace. “Are you okay? What happened to you?”
“I’m fine. I’ll tell you later. Will . . . how is he doing?”
“No one knows. I have to go back and talk to some more cops, but I wanted to see him. I saw the whole thing. I saw him get shot and you taken. I can’t believe he’s alive. And you too. Thank God. What happened?”
George stared at Pia as if she were an apparition, but she turned to look at Will. His breathing was being handled by a machine, there were tangles of wires and tubes enveloping him, and he was surrounded by banks of devices with illuminated readouts. Will’s face looked calm and peaceful and his color was normal. Except for all the medical equipment and the beeping and clicking, he might have simply been sleeping. A nurse hovered nearby. Pia looked around the room and caught her reflection in the unit’s large window. She looked terrible, like something the cat dragged in. She turned her attention back to George.
“George, I’m so sorry I got you into this. Please forgive me,” she said. “If I had listened to you, then this would have turned out differently, I know that.”
“Pia, I feel as terrible as you do about this. I was sleeping while you were waiting for me at the station. I slept through your calls. I should have come to you. It should be me lying there.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better. Will had no idea what was going on and I didn’t say anything. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me so there’s a couple of things I want to say while I have the chance.
“I want to say thank you for going out of your way to help me. I don’t really understand why you’d do that for someone without her asking, and without her appreciating what you’re doing. But there are a lot of things I don’t understand.
“I guess the main thing I don’t understand is myself. I think you do know yourself, which is why you’re able to say you love someone, like you did to me. And I’m sorry for not listening then either. I’m jealous that you can do that, and I wonder why I can’t. I think there’s something broken in me or something that was never there, and it’s taken until now for me to see that. For a lot of reasons, I find it very difficult to trust people. As if I need to tell you that…. But I don’t know how to love someone either, or how to accept their love. It’s a big responsibility, being loved, and you should think hard before rejecting someone’s love.
“But you’ve made me want to learn more about myself, to see if I can’t fix that broken part. I think we studied that course together, in first-year psych, the part about people with personality issues who never accept that they’re the ones who are different. So if they’re marching, if they lead with their right foot while everyone else uses their left, they say with unshakable belief that it’s everyone else who’s out of step, not them. I think I’m like that.”
Pia looked around. She hadn’t realized the nurse had left, nor had she seen or heard the man enter the room. He was stocky, in a cap and gown, just like she and George were wearing, over his streetclothes. He was standing at the back of the room as she stood with George by Will’s bed. The man waved his hand as if to say, “Don’t mind me! Go on!”
“I never understood people’s feelings, George. I sneered at people who said they were in love because I never knew what that meant. I don’t know if I can change, and I don’t know if someone can be taught how to love. But I do know I want to try to change.”
Pia reached out and touched George’s cheek with one fingertip.
“Please try to forgive me.”
George closed his eyes.
“Pia, there’s nothing to forgive. I’m just so happy you’re safe.”
Pia stepped back and studied Will’s peaceful face, then turned toward the visitor. She sensed he was there to talk to her.
“Miss, I’m Detective Captain Lou Soldano. You’re Pia Grazdani, I assume?”
“Yes.”
“You have to come with me now.”
“I understand. Do you mind if I use the bathroom first?”
“Of course not,” Lou said.
After Pia told George she’d see him later, she and Lou walked out of the intensive care unit.
“I’m glad to see you,” Lou said. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Pia said, before disappearing into the women’s room near the elevators. After locking the door, she took out her smartphone. Quickly she tapped out an e-mail, forwarding a sizable message she’d already written. After making certain it had gone, she used the toilet. She then looked at herself in the mirror over the sink and said: “Now the shit hits the fan.” Taking a deep breath, she composed herself to go out and meet Detective Lou Soldano who represented her old nemesis, the City of New York.
64.
EAST TENTH STREET NEW YORK CITY MARCH 26, 2011, 2:13 A.M.
The man was aware of the buzzing of a phone right next to his ear. He went immediately from deep sleep to partial consciousness but it took him a few beats to realize where he was. He picked up the phone, saw his device, didn’t recognize the number but accepted the call just to stop the noise.
“McGovern. This better be good, whoever you are.”
“Is this Chet McGovern?” a female voice said.
“I believe so, ask me tomorrow. What time is it anyway?”
“About two-fifteen, sorry about that.”
“Do I know you?”
“My name is Jemima Meads. I’m calling from the
“The
The mention of the paper made McGovern sit up. He looked across at the redhead lying fast asleep on the other side of the bed. Her bed, he remembered, somewhere in the Village. What was
“Dr. McGovern, we’re looking at a story that has two researchers at Columbia being killed by the radioactive agent polonium-210, just like the KGB colonel in London. Do you have a comment?”
“It’s two-fifteen in the morning,” McGovern said groggily.
“And I do apologize, but we want to be first and make sure we have the story right.”
“But I thought we weren’t releasing the cause of death,” said McGovern.
“So you can confirm it?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It kind of is.”
“Look, speak to my colleague, Jack, he did the autopsies. But I recommend it be tomorrow during normal business hours.”
“Jack Stapleton, the ME?”
“Yes, him.”
“Okay, thanks. And sorry for disturbing you.”
The woman ended the call, and Chet lay back in bed. What was that about?
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