The Dead Room

“They should be arrested!”



“Who should be arrested? I couldn’t tell who did it.”



She just lay there, gasping for breath, staring up. Joe. Joe was there, hunkered down by her side. She tried to smile. He looked up as two policemen came running along the platform, calling for people to get back, to give her some air.



“The paramedics are on their way,” a young uniformed cop said, squatting down by Joe.



She tried to rise up on her elbows, looking at Joe for help, wondering how in hell he had managed to be there. “I’m all right. I’m luckier than a lottery winner, but I’m all right.”



“Sit tight,” Joe said. He had the strangest expression on his face. “Did you break anything? Are you in pain?”



She didn’t have a chance to answer, because just then there was a break in the crowd, and two young paramedics, a man and a woman, made their way to her side.



Joe and the officer backed off as the paramedics started gently questioning her. She explained as best she could that she was all right, that she was just bruised and the wind was knocked out of her. In a few seconds they determined that she had no broken bones, her back wasn’t injured, and she could be moved.



The pulse of the city could keep thundering.



“What happened?” the second officer asked when it became clear that there was no immediate medical emergency.



“I don’t know. It was really crowded down here,” she said.



He looked fiercely concerned. “Were you pushed?”



“Well, of course I was pushed. But—”



“So you didn’t…you didn’t jump, did you?”



“Of course not!” she replied indignantly.



“Did you see anyone who looked like they wanted to hurt you? Did you see any gang members down here? Anyone out of the ordinary?”



She stared back blankly. “I don’t come here every day. I didn’t see any gang members. I think the platform was just very crowded, and people were getting edgy and worried about getting on a train when it did come. Look—”



“Take it easy, Leslie,” Joe said.



Then, while the paramedics continued to watch her gravely, the officer grilled Joe, who produced his ID and said that he’d known she was at the library, and that he’d come to find her, he hadn’t just happened to be on the platform.



It was a nightmare.



And despite her protests, she was put into an ambulance to be taken to the hospital, where a doctor would officially ascertain the nature of her injuries. And though Joe rode in the ambulance with her, the police officer came, too, taking down her statement.



They both left her while the doctor on duty ordered X-rays and went through a long checklist of symptoms with her, and gave her a thorough physical exam. She had to explain that the little bump on her head was left over from an earlier accident. That seemed to concern him, which disturbed her. Did the man think she was suicidal?



Robert Adair showed up with Ken Dryer. Leslie was ready to pull her hair out. She wanted nothing more than to be alone, to try to remember those fateful seconds in the subway, to remember them exactly, to understand what had happened.



The voice.



Had it been Joe’s voice? Had he been there, down on the platform, with her?



She didn’t know. All she remembered for sure was Joe being there, reaching for her, pulling her up off the track.



“You sure do like to create a lot of excitement,” Ken Dryer teased, coming in once she was dressed and the doctor had moved on to his next patient.



Robert, who was right behind him, looked both irritated and anxious. “Are you sure you’re all right?”



“No. I have a bruise on my thigh, and it hurts. Is it anything bad? No. Please, I’m desperate just to get out of here,” she said.



“What happened?” Ken asked.



“It was crowded in the subway. People push and shove. I should have been more careful. I should have stayed farther back. It was an accident.”



Even as she said the word, she thought it sounded hollow.



An accident?



The blast at Hastings House had been an accident.



The ceiling giving way in the crypt had been an accident.



Move!



Who had whispered the word to her? Had Matt somehow been with her in a time of mortal danger, or had she seen Joe’s face in the crowd and imagined that her dead lover had reached out from the grave to help her?



Joe pushed past the others to get to her where she lay on the hospital bed. “You should stay here.”



“Why?”



“Because I have work to do,” he said ruefully.



She stared at the drawn, but still striking, contours of his face and longed to touch him. “How did you happen to be there?” she marveled.



“I was afraid for you.”



“Why?”



“I don’t know. But the doctor wants to keep you overnight for observation, and I think you should stay here.”



She stared back at him. And lied.



“Okay. Sure.”



He arched a skeptical brow. “Really?”



“Sure.”



“All right,” he said.



“My papers!” she exclaimed, sitting up suddenly.



“Your papers?”



“I had a bunch of copies from the library,” she said with dismay.



“Stuff you had from the library, huh? I’ll, uh, see if the paramedics collected your things,” Robert said. She could tell that he was humoring her. They all thought she was either insane or ungrateful. She had survived a fall onto the tracks when a train had been coming, saved by no more than a few seconds from a hideous death, and she was worried about some papers.



But…



It mattered. Somehow, it all mattered. And the “accidents” wouldn’t stop happening until she figured out why.



“Thank you, Robert,” she called after him as he left the exam room.



“Looks like I’ll be warning people to be careful on the subways tonight.” Ken Dryer squeezed her hand. “You sure you’re okay, kid? I know it’s my job, but I’m getting to be a regular on the news, and you seem to have a lot to do with it.”



“Thank God you’re good on TV,” she told him. “I’m fine.”



He left. Joe was still tarrying, but before he could say anything, Robert returned to the room. “Some kind citizen apparently gathered your purse and whatever papers they could find. The nurses will see that your things are returned.” He stared at her, then at Joe, then at her again. “You know…I’d been anxious to see you myself. I thought maybe you could help with the missing hookers. But now…I think you ought to leave town.”



“Leave town? I’m in the middle of a project,” Leslie protested.



Robert shook his head. “I don’t like it.”



“I’m not leaving town,” she said firmly. “Robert, please. This is ridiculous. If it hadn’t been me, it would have been someone else. The subway was a zoo. That’s it. That’s all. Okay?”



He looked at her, shook his head, started out, then turned back. “Stay safe,” he said firmly. He shot Joe a look that seemed to blame him, then left.



She noticed that Joe looked thoughtful as he watched the other man leave. “What is it?”



“I don’t know.” He turned back to her, leaning over her, arms braced on either side of the mattress. “I need to know. I need to know a lot. You are going to stay here, right?”



“You bet. As soon as they find me a room, I’ll catch a nice nap. Some nice candy striper will bring me tea and lunch. It will be great.”



“It had better be,” he warned. And then, at last, he left her.



To Joe’s amazement, Didi was still waiting for him at Starbucks. She was with another woman.



“Joe!” Didi called when he entered, and stood, smiling.



“You waited all this time,” he said.



“I knew you’d come.”



“And who is this?” Joe asked politely.



She was tiny, blond and blue-eyed. She looked a little edgy, though.



“Do you want some coffee?” he asked, trying to put her at ease.



“Heidi wants a cigarette,” Didi said.



Joe’s eyes riveted on the woman. “You’re Heidi Arundsen?”



She nodded nervously. Her size and delicate bone structure made her look young. But there was a tension about her, a strain, that showed her age.



“Go ahead. There are some tables outside. I’m going to get myself some coffee. Can I get you ladies something while I’m at it?”



He expected an answer of “Just regular coffee.” Maybe with cream or sugar. But Heidi wanted a double latte with a shot of sugar-free vanilla syrup and fat-free milk. Didi was into a grande mocha, two pumps only, no whipped cream, and a piece of coffee cake.



In line, he chafed. But he had no intention of scaring Heidi away from spilling whatever she might be able to tell him. So he waited. And he was careful to get the order right. When he joined the two women at the table, he sat down casually, asked if he’d gotten everything right, then waited.



“Heidi saw the car, too,” Didi informed him.



“The dark sedan?” he asked.



Heidi looked at Didi, as if for reassurance. Then she turned back to Joe. “It wasn’t just dark, it was black. Tinted windows. Like Betty Olsen.”



It took him a second to shift gears. Then the name registered as one he’d seen in the files about the missing prostitutes. Betty Olsen had disappeared approximately a month before Genevieve O’Brien. Betty hadn’t been listed in Genevieve’s case folders, but Heidi had been interviewed after Betty was reported missing.



“Betty was a friend of yours?”



“Betty lived in my building. I was out with her, chatting on the street, you know. And I saw her get into the black sedan. And that was the last time I saw her. Black,” she repeated. “I know it was black.”



“You don’t remember the make or model?”