Part 19 (1/2)

We all looked at him.

”I'm proud of every one of you. You did a fine job. You saved millions of lives-and the city of New York. This country owes you a great debt. Now, soldiers, you are dismissed,” he barked, and gave us a salute.

With that team Darkwing got up to leave. Benny whispered thai she'd catch up with me later. Cormac rushed out blowing kisses and waving good-bye. Bubba Lee tipped his hat and said. ”See ya,” as he lumbered back through the door, and I lagged behind, needing to speak to J.

”Yes. Miss Urban?” J said, maintaining a totally professional tone.

I fell uneasy about what I wanted to ask, but I plunged on. ”I have a request. I don't know if you can help, but I'd appreciate it.” He nodded at me, so I went on. ”I'd like to get into the hospital to see Darius. Right now his visits are limited to family.”

I couldn't read his reaction: his face remained totally expressionless, but his voice was tight when he answered. ”I'll see what I can do. I'll let you know, is that all?”

”Yes. I mean no, I want to ask you one more thing.” I said. He raised his eyebrows, and I sensed a desire to end the conversation. I plunged on, saying, ”'I spoke with my mother.”

”And?” be said with clear impatience.

”I hope I'm reporting to you and not to her,” I blurted out.

His words were clipped and brief. ”I'm in charge of Team Darkwing. Is that it?”

”Yes, thank you,” I said, and then with a rush of grat.i.tude I reached out and touched his arm as lightly as the landing of a b.u.t.terfly, saying, ”Thank you. J, for everything. I mean that with all my heart.”

I pulled my hand away, and he responded in a gentler voice, ”That's quite all right, Miss Urban. Get some R and R. I'll be in touch on the hospital visits.”

”Good, great,” I said, hastily picking up my things and hurrying out the door. As I was going down in the elevator, I opened the envelope J had handed out earlier. Inside was a form from the United States Government indicating that $1,036 in net earnings had been deposited in my bank account, that I had accrued one vacation day and one sick day, and that the government had started a Thrift Savings Plan and pension for me. Suddenly I felt d.a.m.ned good.

Chapter 17.

Fire does not wait for the sun to be hot, Nor the wind for the moon, to be cool.

-The Zenrin Kushu

Christmas was only a few days away, but the holiday spirit was eluding me this year. Overshadowing everything was the issue of seeing Darius again. I called every day to check on his condition. Yesterday I had learned he was out of the ICU. Today I had discovered he had been transferred to a different hospital. They wouldn't tell me where. If he had gotten word to me that he wanted to see me, I would have moved heaven and earth to get there. But he didn't. I remembered all too clearly that with his dying breath, he refused to look at me. That still hurt, and I thought it always would.

During my days of R & R, I had treated myself to a facial, pedicure, manicure, and Parisian peel. Another Buff V Glo had eliminated my pallor. And I shopped, which is the best therapy a woman can buy. My Bloomingdale's charge card was smoking. When I got back to my apartment after every spending binge, I sadly looked at my purchases and wondered if I'd ever wear most of them.

And there was one more loose end I sewed up, and wished I hadn't. I called the number from Bonaventure's caller ID, the East Side car service. I identified myself as a police officer, a deception that I suppose will just be tacked onto my long list of sins one day, and I questioned a dispatcher about that call.

”Yes, we have a record of that service,” she said.

”Do you know who actually took the trip?” I asked.

”I can ask the driver. It's been a while, but he may remember, especially if it was a regular. Can I get back to you on that?” Yes, I said, and gave her my cell phone number.

”One more thing,” I said as my heart thumped heavily in my chest. ”Do you have the address of the destination?”

”Why, yes. It's right here. The party went to Grand Central Station.”

That bit of information didn't help me any; it just confused me. Catharine told me that Bockerie had been driving a van, so it wasn't him who took the ride. When the dispatcher called me back, she told me that the driver had expected to pick up Bonaventure's maid, as he usually did, but that wasn't who came downstairs and got in the car.

”Who was it?” I asked.

”Two young white guys. One of them had a blond ponytail,” she said.

That information left me confused all over again. Evidently Darius had entered the apartment with an accomplice, and he had kept that information from me. Although I had proof that Bockerie took the diamonds and a.s.sumed he killed Issa and Tanya, there might be another scenario: Darius had been part of an execution squad and Bockerie had arrived after the murders and helped himself to the gems. I wondered if I would ever know the whole truth. Troubling as it was, especially if I contributed to those deaths by opening the door for Darius, the only option was to file the problem away for now.

J called on the evening of the fourteenth day after the Charge of the Vampire Brigade, as Cormac had dubbed our adventure when he phoned with the good news (he got the part in the HBO series) and the bad news (he got killed off in the first episode). J told me that Darius had been sent to a private hospital out on Staten Island. After giving me the address, he told me a visit had been arranged for me that night at nine P.M. if I wanted it. I said I did and thanked him.

J murmured something like, ”You might not thank me after you see him,” and hung up.

Choosing from among my recent purchases, I dressed simply in a long wool skirt and pink cashmere sweater. My short coat was really a suit jacket for the skirt. It was cla.s.sic Chanel. I wanted to look sophisticated, not s.e.xy. I sprayed on a scent to match. Then I took a car service out to Staten Island. It was a long ride all the way down Richmond Avenue toward the Outerbridge Crossing. I had a lot of time to think. When I got out of the car on the tree-lined street of an older block, a dusting of snow covered the ground, and Christmas lights on nearby front porches cast colors across the white. As I started up the sidewalk I saw a cat's paw prints. They looked like fallen plum blossoms.

The ”hospital” seemed more like an office building than a health-care facility. There was no plaque giving it a name. The front door held the building number in plain gold numbers and nothing more. It was st.u.r.dy as a prison and locked tight. I had to ring a buzzer to get in.

The door opened into a waiting room that held some plastic chairs and a table with a few magazines. An artificial Christmas tree sat in one corner, looking forlorn. A guard's station behind heavy gla.s.s filled one wall. I walked over and spoke through a circle cut in the gla.s.s. I soon discovered just how tight security was in this place.

Automatic rifles were held by two of the three guards behind the gla.s.s, and the one unarmed guard now checked for my name on a list. Obviously no one got in without prior approval and the appropriate security clearance. I was buzzed into another room. The two armed guards came out, leaving the third man inside the gla.s.s box facing the entrance. I was quickly fingerprinted, photographed, given a name tag, and told where to go to find Darius's room. The guards were very nice to me; I have to say that. I must have looked tense and unhappy.