The officer, whose nameplate said LENAHAN, drew his hands back and took the regulation notepad off his belt. He was a young man, maybe two, three years older than Tricia, and she could see in his eyes that he still had the impulse to comfort, to ease suffering. How many cops had that impulse, Tricia wondered. Most of them, probably, the year they joined the force; none of them, probably, a few years later.
“It’s okay, ma’am,” Lenahan said, “we’ve got half a dozen men from the Sixth on the scene and more on their way. She’s not going to escape.”
“Oh, good,” Tricia said. “That’s a relief.”
“Just stay inside and if anyone comes to your door other than a policeman, don’t open it, understand?”
Tricia nodded. She understood.
“Now, what can you tell us about this woman—how tall would you say she was?”
“Oh, taller than me,” Tricia said, “maybe your height.” The cop was nearly six feet.
“What color hair?”
“Brown,” Tricia said. “Light brown, like, um, hazelnut.”
“Hazelnut,” Lenahan said, and wrote it in his book. “Eyes?”
“I didn’t notice, I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. How much would you say she weighed?”
“I don’t know. More than me. She was quite large in the—in the chest, if you know what I mean.” She dipped her eyes demurely.
“In the chest,” Lenahan said as he wrote.
“Oh, and officer, she had a limp, like maybe one leg was shorter than the other.”
“Or maybe one of our men winged her with one of his shots,” Lenahan speculated.
“Sure. Maybe,” Tricia said, and thought of Mitch.
“Anything else you noticed? This is very helpful.”
Tricia tried to think of something else she might have noticed. “Her ears—there was something funny about them. Really long earlobes.”
“Oh, yeah?” Lenahan’s hand hung above his pad, not writing.
What? Was that too much? “Well, I don’t know,” Tricia said. “They looked long to me. But I only got a quick look.”
He wrote it down. “And what was she wearing? I have it here she’s in a blue dress and, um, wide-heeled pumps.”
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t say blue, more like grey, actually.”
A new voice emerged behind her: “Would you? Grey? Didn’t you think it was closer to navy?”
She turned, saw a young man in his shirtsleeves, wiping his hands on a paper towel. She smiled at him hopefully, tried to send a signal without being too obvious about it.
He smiled back at her.
“Or teal?” he said, coming forward. He dropped the crumpled paper towel on a side table.
“Sure, teal,” Tricia said.
“I thought you said your husband wasn’t home,” Lenahan said.
“Oh, he’s not. This is my cousin. Jim. Jim, this is Officer Lenahan of the Sixth Precinct.”
Cousin Jim reached out a hand, shook Lenahan’s when he extended it.
“Pleased to meet you, Officer Lenahan,” he said. “I’ve never seen this woman before in my life.”
Lenahan had her in cuffs before she could even voice a protest, hands behind her back. He patted her down, apologizing for it first, but doing it all the same. She hadn’t imagined that the first time she’d let a man touch her all over would be like this. Even when handcuffs were involved, it somehow seemed so much sexier in the books she’d read.
“Hazelnut,” Lenahan muttered as he swiftly went up her left leg and down her right, pat pat pat. “Large in the chest.” He streaked his fingertips along her shoulder blades and down her spine. “Excuse me,” he said as he felt her backside, her hips, around in front. “It’d be better if I had a matron here to do this, but I don’t, and we’re required to search suspects thoroughly.”
“What do you think I could hide down there, a gun?” Tricia said, and he blushed—for a moment he actually blushed.
“It may sound foolish to you, miss, but they teach us in the academy about women who’ve concealed more than you might think.”
“Doesn’t sound foolish, just painful.”
“Well, there you go. Good thing you didn’t do it, then. Come on.” He guided her by the shoulder toward the stairs and they descended to the ground floor together.
“What are you going to do with me?”
“I’m going to hand you off to a senior officer,” Lenahan said. “He’s going to take you to central booking and get you processed. I’m sure they’ll make it as quick and painless as they can.”
“And then,” Tricia said, “you’ll lock me up?”
“You’re a wanted fugitive, miss. You’ll be a guest of the state till your case is resolved.”
Tricia thought of Charley and Erin and Coral, trapped with Nicolazzo, not to mention with Bruno. How long before Nicolazzo lost his patience and began taking it out on them? How long before he heard about Mitch?
“Officer,” Tricia said, “I need to talk to someone before you lock me up—my sister is in serious danger, she’s being held captive by a fugitive much worse than me—”
“Miss, please,” Lenahan said. “You’ll have your chance to tell your story, I promise.”
“But not in time! Please, he’s going to kill her—”
Lenahan nodded politely, but he wasn’t listening. He’d been snookered by her once; he wasn’t going to fall for it again.
He walked her out through the building’s front door, down a few steps to the sidewalk and over toward a police car parked at an angle to the curb. There was a crowd in the street, cops and ordinary citizens attracted by the sound of gunfire. Down the block she saw Coral’s building, where the biggest mass of people was.
A figure came toward them out of a narrow alleyway between buildings, a policeman with captain’s bars on his jacket and his cap pulled down low. The jacket hung a little loose on him, Tricia thought, like he’d lost weight recently; funny, the things you think about at a time like this.
He strode up to Lenahan, put one hand out to stop him. “Nice going, officer,” he said in a broad Bronx accent. “I’ll take it from here.”
“Captain,” Tricia said, “you’ve got to listen to me, my sister’s life is in danger—”
“Shut up,” the captain said. And when she kept talking he turned to face her, raised his cap for a second and drew a finger along his lips. “Zip it.”
She dropped silent in the middle of her sentence.
“She’s the one we’re looking for,” Lenahan said, “I’m sure of it. I caught her in an apartment she’d broken into—”
“That’s excellent police work,” the captain said. “I’ll make sure you’re recognized for it. Now hand her over. I’ll take full responsibility.”
“Thank you, sir. My name’s Lenahan, sir, Bill Lenahan.”
“All right, Lenahan. You’ll get a commendation for this.” He reached out for Tricia’s arm.
“Is there anything else you need, Captain...” Lenahan leaned forward to look at the captain’s nameplate, but it was half covered by his jacket’s lapel. “Captain...?”
“Um,” the captain said.
Tricia bent to peer under the lapel. “Clohessy,” she read.
“Clohessy,” the captain said.
“Is there anything...?” Lenahan said, looking only slightly more puzzled than he had when Tricia had told him about the long earlobes.
“Yes, there is,” said Captain Clohessy, pulling Tricia out of Lenahan’s grasp. “I want you to go over there,” he
