'And then?'
'To work, I guess.'
Tyrese shook his head.
'What?' I asked.
'You up against some bad dudes, Doc.'
'Yeah, I kinda put that together.'
'Bruce Lee ain't gonna let this slide.'
I thought about that. He was right. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't just go home and wait for Elizabeth to make contact again. In the first place, I'd had enough with the passive; gentle repose simply was not on the Beck agenda anymore. But equally important, the men in that van were not about to forget the matter and let me go merrily on my way.
'I watch your back, Doc. Brutus too. Till this is over.'
I was about to say something brave like 'I can't ask you to do that' or 'You have your own life to lead,' but when you thought about it, they could either do this or deal drugs. Tyrese wanted to help – perhaps even needed to help – and let's face it, I needed him. I could warn him off, remind him of the danger, but he understood these particular perils far better than I did. So in the end, I just accepted with a nod.
Carlson got the call from the National Tracing Center earlier than he expected.
'We were able to run it already,' Donna said.
'How?'
'Heard of IBIS?'
'Yeah, a little.' He knew that IBIS stood for Integrated Ballistic Identification System, a new computer program that the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms used to store bullet and shell casings. Part of the ATF's new Ceasefire program.
'We don't even need the original bullet anymore,' she went on. 'They just had to send us the scanned images. We can digitize and match them right on the screen.'
'And?'
'You were right, Nick,' she said. 'It's a match.'
Carlson disconnected and placed another call. When the man on the other end picked up, he asked, 'Where's Dr. Beck?'
Chapter 39
Brutus hooked up with us on the sidewalk. I said, 'Good morning.' He said nothing. I still hadn't heard the man speak. I slid into the backseat. Tyrese sat next to me and grinned. Last night he had killed a man. True, he had done so in defense of my life, but from his casual demeanor, I wasn't even sure he remembered pulling the trigger. I more than anyone should understand what he was going through, but I didn't. I'm not big on moral absolutes. I see the grays. I make the calls. Elizabeth had a clearer view of her moral compass. She would be horrified that a life had been lost. It wouldn't have mattered to her that the man was trying to kidnap, torture, and probably kill me. Or maybe it would. I don't really know anymore. The hard truth is, I didn't know everything about her. And she certainly didn't know everything about me.
My medical training insists that I never make that sort of moral call. It's a simple rule of triage: The most seriously injured gets treated first. It doesn't matter who they are or what they've done. You treat the most grievously wounded. That's a nice theory, and I understand the need for such thinking. But if, say, my nephew Mark were rushed in with a stab wound and some serial pedophile who stabbed him came in at the same time with a life-threatening bullet in the brain, well, come on. You make the call, and in your heart of hearts, you know that the call is an easy one.
You might argue that I'm nesting myself on an awfully slippery slope. I would agree with you, though I might counter that most of life is lived out there. The problem was, there were repercussions when you lived in the grays – not just theoretical ones that taint your soul, but the brick-and-mortar ones, the unforeseeable destruction that such choices leave behind. I wondered what would have happened if I had told the truth right from the get-go. And it scared the hell out of me.
'Kinda quiet, Doc.'
'Yeah,' I said.
Brutus dropped me off in front of Linda and Shauna's apartment on Riverside Drive.
'We'll be around the corner,' Tyrese said. 'You need anything, you know my number.'
'Right.'
'You got the Glock?'
'Yes.'
Tyrese put a hand on my shoulder. 'Them or you, Doc,' he said. 'Just keep pulling the trigger.'
No grays there.
I stepped out of the car. Mothers and nannies ambled by, pushing complicated baby strollers that fold and shift and rock and play songs and lean back and lean forward and hold more than one kid, plus an assortment of diapers, wipes, Gerber snacks, juice boxes (for the older sibling), change of clothing, bottles, even car first-aid kits. I knew all this from my own practice (being on Medicaid did not preclude one from affording the high-end Peg Perego strollers), and I found this spectacle of bland normalcy cohabiting in the same realm as my recent ordeal to be something of an elixir.
I turned back toward the building. Linda and Shauna were al ready running toward me. Linda got there first. She wrapped her arms around me. I hugged her back. It felt nice.
'You're okay?' Linda said.
'I'm fine,' I said.
My assurances did not stop Linda from repeating the question several more times in several different ways. Shauna stopped a few feet away. I caught her eye over my sister's shoulder. Shauna wiped tears from her eyes. I smiled at her.
We continued the hugs and kisses through the elevator ride. Shauna was less effusive than usual, staying a bit out of the mix. An outsider might claim that this made sense, that Shauna was giving the sister and brother some space during this tender reunion. That outsider wouldn't know Shauna from Cher. Shauna was wonderfully consistent. She was prickly, demanding, funny, bighearted, and loyal beyond all reason. She never put on masks or pretenses. If your thesaurus had an antonym section and you looked up the phrase 'shrinking violet,' her lush image would stare back at you. Shauna lived life in your face. She wouldn't take a step back if smacked across the mouth with a lead pipe.
Something inside me started to tingle.
When we reached the apartment, Linda and Shauna exchanged a glance. Linda's arm slipped off me. 'Shauna wants to talk to you alone first,' she said. 'I'll be in the kitchen. You want a sandwich?'
'Thanks,' I said.
Linda kissed me and gave me one more squeeze, as though making sure I was still there and of substance. She hurried out of the room. I looked over at Shauna. She kept her distance. I put out my hands in a 'Well?' gesture.
'Why did you run?' Shauna asked.
'I got another email,' I said.
'At that Bigfoot account?'
'Yes.'
'Why did it come in so late?'
'She was using code,' I said. 'It just took me time to figure it out.'
'What kind of code?'
I explained about the Bat Lady and the Teenage Sex Poodles.
When I finished, she said, 'That's why you were using the computer at Kinko's? You figured it out during your walk with Chloe?'
'Yes.'
'What did the email say exactly?'
I couldn't figure out why Shauna was asking all these questions. On top of what I've already said, Shauna was strictly a big picture person. Details were not her forte; they just muddied and confused. 'She wanted me to meet her at Washington Square Park at five yesterday,' I said. 'She warned me that I'd be followed. And then she told me that no matter what, she loved me.'
'And that's why you ran?' she asked. 'So you wouldn't miss the meeting?'
I nodded. 'Hester said I wouldn't get bail until midnight at the earliest.'
'Did you get to the park in time?'
'Yes.'
Shauna took a step closer to me. 'And?'
'She never showed.'
'And yet you're still convinced that Elizabeth sent you that email?'
'There's no other explanation,' I said.
She smiled when I said that.
'What?' I asked.
'You remember my friend Wendy Petino?'
'Fellow model,' I said. 'Flaky as a Greek pastry.'
