Spectrum (The Karen Vail Series) (15 page)

VAIL WAS EXAMINED by an obstetrics nurse, who did a urine test to confirm the pregnancy. Not surprisingly, it was positive. After a general exam pertaining to the accident, they cleaned the blood off her face and dressed her two scalp wounds, one requiring six stitches. Next they splinted her sprained right index finger—sustained in the accident or while transferring Thorne to the Lexus—and then the obstetrician entered the treatment suite to give her a pelvic ultrasound.

“This’ll determine your gestational age, which will dictate treatment. It’ll also give us a look inside to make sure there hasn’t been any trauma to the fetus.”

A moment later, a noise like a galloping horse emanated from the console.

Vail jerked her head up. “Is that a heartbeat? My baby’s heartbeat?”

“It is,” the obstetrician said, keeping his eyes on the screen.

Vail watched the monitor, the blacks and whites and grays undulating as the doctor shifted the sound head.

“So,” he said, “looks like you’re six weeks pregnant.” He handed the device to the nurse. “You also have some vaginal spotting, which is consistent with what I saw on the ultrasound. You’ve got a subchorionic hemorrhage.”

“A what? A hemorrhage?”
That can’t be good.

“Yes. But it’s very, very minor. And it’s not surprising given the accident you had. Good news is that it’ll resolve by about twelve weeks and you’ll have a normal pregnancy.” He lifted his chart and clicked his pen. “We’ll draw some blood and monitor you for a bit.”

“Is that it?”

The doctor finished his note, then made eye contact for the first time. “There are some risks. An impact like this could have detrimental effects on your fetus. I didn’t find signs of blunt force trauma, which is very positive. The fetus looks healthy, from what I can tell. Overall, I think you’re going to be fine. No heavy lifting for two months, and no vigorous exercising.”

Yeah, like chasing perps across apartment building roofs.

“So you should take it easy, no work for a couple of weeks.”

“You’re kidding. Take two weeks off?”

The doctor peered over his glasses at her. “Miss Vail, you want to keep this baby?”

Vail gave the man a look.

“Then follow my recommendations. Make an appointment with your OB, have him do another ultrasound. If the bleeding’s stopped, that’s when you can safely return to work.” He made a final note in the chart and then left the room.

Take time off? I just started doing this detective thing. Will Thorne be back to work before me? What do they do in a situation like this? They can’t leave no one working the case so soon after the murder.

“You can get dressed,” the nurse said.

Vail slid off the exam table. “Any word on Tim Thorne?”

“No idea. Sorry.”

Vail had wanted to call Deacon to tell him about the accident, but she knew he would only worry. It would be better for him to see her in the flesh, and know that she was okay when she started describing what had happened. For all he knew, she was still dealing with the witness they were supposed to be interviewing.

Until she received an update on Thorne’s condition, however, she would not be going home. She called Russo and told him what happened—but she did not mention the part about having to take time off work. She would save that for when he arrived.

She walked into the waiting room and saw a black woman and teenage girl seated in a corner, holding hands and leaning against each other.

Vail introduced herself, taking them for Thorne’s wife and daughter; she was mostly correct, the exception being that the woman was his ex-wife.

They had not heard any news on Thorne’s status, other than the fact that he was still in surgery.

Surgery. Well, that’s more than I knew before.
She did not want to ask what the surgery was for, so she merely nodded and then curled up on the couch in the waiting room lounge and dozed off.

When a doctor entered, she sat up too quickly and had to steady herself from the dizziness.

“Are you Tasha Thorne?”

Thorne’s ex-wife nodded.

He lowered his voice but Vail could still hear. “I’m Dr. Lederman. I operated on your husband.” He took a breath. “The impact caused a traumatic rupture of his aorta. It’s common in automobile accidents and likely due to different rates of deceleration of the heart and the aorta, which is held in place in a fixed position. I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but he passed away fifteen minutes ago, during surgery.”

Vail sat there, no longer listening. She had only met Thorne last night and her first—and second—impressions of the man had been less than stellar. Yet she had come to respect him, even like him.

And now he was dead.

WHEN RUSSO ARRIVED, he saw Tasha Thorne and embraced her, no doubt taking their tear-streaked faces as the bad news he didn’t want to hear.

They talked, hugged again, and then he joined Vail when Tasha and her daughter were taken into a room to complete some paperwork.

Russo sat down heavily, visibly stunned.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“What happened?”

“We were in high speed pursuit of that van,” she said, assuming Russo had already been briefed on the explosives-laden truck. “Car ran a red, plowed into us. Broadside, driver’s door. We had lights and siren, right of way …” She closed her eyes as the accident played out in her thoughts. “I liked the guy. I only knew him twenty-four hours, but …”

“I’m sorry too.” Russo pulled her close. “Just so you know, the department brass is on the way over, including the commissioner. And Mayor Giuliani. They’ll be here any minute.”

Vail sat up. “What about the van? Did we get it?”

“We did, about half a mile from your accident. Another friggin’ ‘patriot’ movement. Domestic terrorism. Good thing we got ’em, ’cause they were wired for sound. It would’ve been as bad as Oklahoma City if they’d detonated.” He sat there, thinking, then said, “Timmy didn’t die for nothing. I guess that’s something.”

Not much consolation as far as I’m concerned. Dead is dead.

“How ’bout you? You okay?”

“I’m fine. Some stitches in my head and a sprained finger. Oh, and some-thing called a subchorionic hemorrhage.”

“Hemorrhage? The baby—”

“It’s okay. It’s—I heard its heartbeat. It was pretty cool.”

“There’s life right there in a nutshell, isn’t it, now?”

“Come again?”

Russo took a deep breath. “Life and death. A new life inside you … balances out Timmy’s death.” He looked at her, saw her confusion, and said, “Yeah, it’s bullshit, isn’t it? Dead is dead.”

Vail nodded knowingly.

“Something else, Russo.” She hesitated.
Do I really want to tell him this?

“What?” Russo asked when she did not continue.

“The doc said I should be off work for two weeks. I know this is a really bad time, with the murder and now Tim’s dead and I’m the only one with continuity on the case—”

“I’ll reassign it.” Russo stood up and pulled out his phone. “If the department doc gets wind of this hemorrhage, you’re gonna have nine months to rest up.”

“No. I’ll—I’ve—I’ve got a sprained index finger on my shooting hand. Can’t pull the trigger. The doc’ll give me some time off. All I need is a couple of weeks, soon as the bleeding stops. And then I want to be back on the case.”

“You take care of yourself.” He lowered his voice. “And the baby. There’ll be other cases.”

But—No, don’t take me off this case.

“I have a feeling this asshole’s gonna kill again. You’ll probably be back on board sooner than you think.”

Vail sat forward and buried her face in her hands.

Far as I’m concerned, not soon enough.

23

>ASTORIA, QUEENS

Saturday, May 19, 1973

Livana arrived home with Dmitri at 10:30 PM. Although she had told Fedor on the phone that Dmitri was going to be fine, she had no way of knowing that her assessment may have been premature. She was speaking emotionally, relieved to have her son back.

But now, seeing his demeanor—withdrawn, refusing to make eye con-tact, not wanting to talk—she knew something was wrong.

They sat on the front porch, the kids playing cards at the kitchen table. Actually Cassandra and Niklaus were playing. Dmitri was sitting there, not playing, not speaking.

A breeze blew and Livana drew her sweater tight around her body.

“I’m worried about him.”

Fedor said they needed to give him some time. “It was a frightening experience that no child should ever live through. He probably didn’t know what was going on, why they took him. Or if he’d even see you and Cassie again. Coming so soon after losing his father, he’s just in a bad way right now.”

Livana wiped away a tear. “He told the detective they hit him, used a belt on his back. They did other stuff, which he wouldn’t talk about.”

Fedor fisted his right hand. “Bastards. I wish there was something—” He closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

Livana buried her face in her hands. “God knows what else they did to him. I stopped Proschetta from asking him anymore questions. He was really upset and I thought he’d been through enough.”

“Whatever they did to Dmitri … the details … it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he’s back and we’ll help him feel loved and secure. He’ll be okay. Just give him time.”

Livana wanted to think that Fedor was right, but she knew deep in her heart that something had been taken from her son today, something he would never get back: his innocence, his sense of security.

He had come face-to-face with evil, and he had the scars to prove it. She and Basil had done everything they could to shield him from the violence that permeated some neighborhoods. Theirs enjoyed relative safety. She never would have thought anything like this could happen.

“I was thinking,” Fedor said, “while you were gone. I had a lot of time to think,” he said with a wince. “It was all I could do to keep from going crazy. I wanted to take the kids to the park, let them burn off some steam, take our minds off it, but I didn’t want to miss your call.”

Livana studied his face, and when he did not continue, she said, “You said you were thinking. About what?”

He looked away. “It’s not safe here. We’re not safe. Then I realized I was being paranoid, worrying for nothing. This thing with Dmitri freaked me out, I was overreacting. But a couple of hours later I got a phone call. I thought it was you.”

“Who was it?”

“He didn’t give his name.” Fedor sat there, staring at the stoop. “Didn’t need to. He was obviously with the Castiglias. He said we should move out of the city and not come back. For any reason.”

“Move away? What for? We did what they told us to do.”

“I think it’s to punish us, to make us leave our home, community, my job. He said that just because we’re cooperating today doesn’t mean we’ll keep our mouths shut six months, a year from now. Or two years from now. There’s no statute of limitations on murder. And since the kids may’ve seen Crinelli’s face—”

“They didn’t!”

“
I
know that. But
they
don’t. And they’re not about to take my word for it.”

“I can’t believe this. We have to tell Detective Prosc—”

“No. He said that if they hear anything about us going to the police, they’ll …” His voice trailed off.

“They’ll what?”

“They’ll kill all of us, starting with the kids. They’d rather not wipe out a whole family, but they will if we leave them no choice. Can you believe that? That’s what he told me. Like they’re some kind of good Samaritans by not killing all of us.” He turned to face Livana. “He said they’d know if we went to the police. They have cops on their payroll.”

Livana shuddered. “My god, what have we gotten ourselves into?” She stood up and started pacing. And then she couldn’t help herself: the tears started rolling down her cheeks and she dropped to her knees, sobbing, the stress of the past couple of months reaching a crescendo and boiling over like a pot of water on a high flame.

Fedor knelt beside her and draped an arm around her shoulders. “It’s going to be okay. Listen to me, Liv. We’re going to be fine.”

She sucked in her breath, dragged a sleeve across her eyes. “How can you say that, Fedor?”

“Remember I told you I had a lot of time to think? I came up with a solution. Someone I work with, a few months ago he told me about this guy he knows who moved to Ellis Island.”

“Ellis Island. The place where immigrants came over to the US, back in the early 1900s? I didn’t know people lived there.”

“Nobody’s been there for about twenty years. Supposedly there’s no one on the island except for a few people who live in the old hospital complex. For the most part, it’s abandoned.”

“Abandoned? How can we live there?”

“I haven’t figured it all out, but we’ll make it work.”

“Why don’t we just move to Connecticut, or Rhode Island, or—”

“My grandparents. I can’t be that far away.”

Fedor’s grandfather was eighty-three and his grandmother eighty-four, having been the first of his family to settle in America from Greece twenty-five years ago. Livana knew he was very close with them and had promised his mother when she was dying of lung cancer that he would look after them.

Fedor picked up a baseball-size rock and played with it in his hands. “I’m going to have to come by and check on them, even if the Castiglias don’t like it. The nursing home staff have to see me, so they know I’m watching over their care. It’s very important, or they’ll be neglected.”

“But—”

“I’ll be very careful. I mean, really, can they fault me for taking care of my old grandparents?”

“Look what they did to Basil, to Dmitri. These bastards are not reasonable, Fedor.”

“This is the way it’s going to be. They’ll have to accept it.” He shrugged. “If you want to take the kids and go somewhere else, I understand. I won’t stop you. I can’t stop you.”

“No,” Livana said without hesitation. “They’ve suffered enough loss. I want them to be around you and Niklaus. You’re their family. Now more than ever.”

“You could also go back to Greece.”

“For what?” Livana shook her head. “We’ve got nothing there. No friends, no family. No work. No future. Here at least we have each other.” She thought a moment, then said, “What will we do for money? Food?”

“I’ll get a job in the city, as far away from Astoria as I can get. There are millions of people in Manhattan. Our paths won’t cross. I’ll keep a low profile. The job doesn’t have to be anything fancy, just enough for what we’ll need. We’ll be living rent free, which is a really big deal.”

Livana set her head back against the wrought iron railing, thinking. In her wildest dreams, when she and Basil had left Kastoria, she never thought that in a matter of several years he would be dead and she would be living on an abandoned island, banished from mainstream life by the Mafia.

“What do you think?”

She pulled herself from her fugue and looked at him. “Is it safe? The island?”

“Is it safe.” As he pondered the question, Fedor tossed the rock onto the postage stamp-size lawn. “Look at it this way, Liv. It’s safer than here. For us, at least.”