Silent Night (Sam Archer 4) (6 page)

Both of them were in lab coats.

The woman turned when she heard the two newcomers arrive. She looked distraught and terrified. She was standing beside a smoking oil can, bits of burnt paper swirling around her, catching the wind and whipping off into the air.

Archer pulled his badge and showed it to her silently, walking forward. She nodded, eyes wide with fear. As he moved closer, Archer saw that they were also filled with tears. Josh motioned for her to walk over and join him. She passed Archer as he walked past her slowly, approaching the man on the edge of the roof.

He was completely motionless, his back turned, staring down at the
Manhattan
street far below.

Apart from the whistling of the wind, it was quiet. All the street noise down below was a distant murmur. But the situation was highly dangerous. There was no building or windbreak cover and the gales blowing in from the
Hudson
were strong, rifling through Archer’s hair. Looking down, he saw the roof under his feet was icy and treacherous. At any moment, the man on the edge could be blown off or slip.

As could he.

Moving towards him ten feet to the right, Archer didn’t say a word.

The man didn’t react or respond when Archer came into his peripheral vision. The wind was snapping through the folds of his white lab coat as if it was a sail.

Archer came to a stop, his hands up in a non-threatening gesture. Standing there in silence, a few feet from the edge, he looked at the man.

He had grey hair and glasses.

He looked terrified.

‘Sir, I’m a detective with the NYPD. My name is Archer.’

The man didn’t respond.

‘My first name’s Sam. What’s yours?’

There was a long pause.

‘Peter.’

Silence.

The only sound was the wind and the noise Peter’s coat made as it was whipped around his body. Archer glanced to his right and looked out over
Central Park
. From up here he could see all the way up to
Harlem
. He felt his stomach lurch and fought down vertigo. Turning his attention back to the rooftop, he saw Josh standing with the woman near the door, arms wrapped around her in comfort but also to keep her from moving towards Peter and startling him.

Both of them were watching the tense exchange in silence.

Archer turned back to Peter. Looking down, he noticed that the tips of the man’s shoes were over the edge of the building, just his heels keeping him in place.

‘Peter, if you step back, we can sit down and talk,’ Archer said, slowly and reassuringly. ‘I’m sure that whatever’s wrong, we can fix it. Together.’

‘No. We can’t.’

Silence.

‘Do you have a family?’ Archer asked.

Silence.

‘I’m sure they’d want you to move away from the edge,’ he said, taking his time, choosing each word carefully. ‘Whatever has happened, I’m sure they’d understand.’

He paused.

‘Nothing could be worth this.’

For the first time, the man turned his head and looked at Archer.

His eyes looked haunted behind the glasses.

‘You need to get out.’

‘Out?’

‘Of
New York
. You need to leave right now.’

‘Why?’

‘Thousands of people are going to die.’

‘Why, Peter? What’s going to happen?’

Silence.

‘Talk to me, Peter.’

Silence.

Archer glanced back at Josh.

And Peter took a step forward.

Across the East River in
Astoria
, the doors to a Manhattan-bound N train opened and the three men from the diner stepped inside the carriage. Given that it was the weekend the service had been delayed and they’d been waiting on the
30
th
Avenue
platform for a while. The trio stood together by the doors across the carriage. There wasn’t a word of conversation between them. The train was moderately full but no-one gave the men a second glance. There was nothing unusual about them; they blended right in.

By the far doors, Bleeker grabbed a support pole with a meaty hand and looked down at the white bag he held in the other. He saw the shoebox tucked inside.

His ticket to a whole new life.

A female voice came over the intercom.
Stand clear of the closing doors.

A second later, the doors slid shut.

And the train moved on towards the city.

A police cordon had been set up on
Amsterdam
just outside the building off 66
th
. Several officers in uniform were standing with their backs to some blue wooden barriers, preventing any pedestrians who were unwise enough to want to see what had happened from getting any closer. It was easier said than done.

The body was covering about an eight foot radius, concealed under a series of hastily placed sheets. The impact of the fall had left a grisly aftermath. Luckily, no one had been hit by the falling man, although a handful of people had been walking nearby on the sidewalk at the point of impact. They were all in an ambulance nearby being cleaned up and treated for shock.

Inside the lobby and relieved to be back down on street level, Archer looked at the spread of white sheets covering the ground. A four-man team from the CSU, the forensics specialists, had arrived. Archer had just finished speaking to two of them, providing them with the details of what had happened up on the roof, including every word that had been spoken between him and Peter. Standing with the pair of investigators, he watched as a third member of their team knelt down and lifted the sheet with a latex-gloved hand. The fourth dropped to a knee beside him and took photographs of whatever was underneath. Some detectives from the 20
th
precinct had arrived and were standing together watching the investigators work. Although the death was on their turf it wasn’t a homicide, so they were letting Archer and Josh take the reins on this one.

The two CSU investigators thanked Archer. He nodded, then turned and walked back into the main building. A large group of workers from upstairs had gathered in the lobby, some asking what had happened, others trying to catch a glimpse as building security and two other NYPD officers kept them from going outside. Given that the possibility of terrorism was on everybody’s mind these days, New Yorkers liked reassurance and word had clearly spread fast about the number of police officers, squad cars and ambulances suddenly gathered outside their building. To the left of the cluster, Archer saw Josh approaching, clicking off a cell phone and tucking it back into his pocket.

‘I just spoke to Rach,’ he said. ‘His full name was Dr Peter Flood.’

‘Flood Microbiology.’

‘Exactly. He owned the company. He was the senior scientist and the guy we were supposed to be meeting.’ Josh looked over Archer’s shoulder at the scene outside. ‘Poor guy.’

‘
You hear what he said?’

‘You need to get out of
New York
right now. Thousands of people are going to die.’

‘I don’t like this. It’s too coincidental.’

‘You think it’s related to the dead guy in the Park?’

Archer nodded.

‘I looked into his eyes. Something was scaring the shit out of him.’

‘Well Rach is checking out everything she can find on him. We’ll know more about him soon.’

Archer looked past Josh and saw the young woman who’d been up on the roof when they’d arrived. She was sitting across the lobby on a bench against the wall, a navy-blue NYPD jacket draped over her slender shoulders. She was alone, staring straight ahead with a cup of coffee in her hands. She’d been hysterical after the man had stepped off the roof to his death, but now seemed to have cried herself out. Josh noticed his partner watching her.

‘Her name’s Maddy,’ he said. ‘Twenty eight years old. She’s a doctor too.’

He paused.

‘And Peter Flood’s daughter.’

Archer looked at him. ‘Oh shit.’

‘Yeah. That’s her daddy out there on the sidewalk.’ He paused. ‘Hey. You did a good job up there, by the way.’

‘Yeah, right,’ Archer said. ‘Perfect outcome.’

‘He’d made up his mind. He was stepping off regardless. Nothing you could have done or said would have changed his mind. Was he your first jumper?’

Archer nodded. He went to say more but felt his phone ringing in his pocket. He pulled it out and took the call as Josh turned and headed across the lobby towards the female doctor.

‘Archer.’

‘Arch, it’s Shepherd. I heard Rach speaking to Josh, but I wanted to get your take too. How’s everything going?’

Archer looked over his shoulder at the white-sheeted area cordoned off on the street.

‘Getting cleaned up. CSU and some local detectives are here. It’s going to take a while.’

‘How’s the girl?’

Archer watched Josh take a seat beside the woman. He was talking to her quietly.

‘Better. She’s calmed down.’

‘We’re drawing a blank over here. Rach can’t find anything on Flood or his company that could be relevant to this virus. But I think there’s a connection.’

‘Yeah. I’m getting that feeling.’

‘We need her to fill in the blanks and find out why he took a dive.’

‘Yes, sir. Anything from Marquez?’

‘Yes. CSU found a set of fingerprints on the box from
Central Park
. They belong to a man called Rashad Cantrell. He’s a low-level street dealer based up in
Harlem
. They're headed over to get him now.’

‘That’s good.’

‘Keep me posted. And get that girl talking.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The call ended. Archer tucked the phone back into his pocket. Then he headed over to join Josh and Maddy Flood in the corner of the lobby.

At the Counter Terrorism Bureau, Shepherd put his cell phone back on the table, then examined the computer screen mounted on the wall of the briefing room. Beside him, Rach was tapping the keys, searching through every database she could access.

‘Still nothing?

‘Not on our system. I think plain old Google could be our friend on this one,’ she said, pulling up the website homepage and typing in Flood’s name.

The search immediately brought up a number of hits. She clicked on several, lining them up on the screen. Shepherd saw they were newspaper articles and not just from periodicals.
The New York Times, The
Washington
Post, The Sunday Times.
Every headline was interesting.

But one of them was particularly pertinent. It came from a
UK
paper called
The Guardian.

American doctor thinks a cure for lung cancer is just around the corner.

‘Hold up,’ Rach said, centring the article on the screen. ‘This could be something.’

As the two of them studied the screen, there was a knock on the door behind them. Shepherd turned and saw the head of the Bureau, Lieutenant General James Franklin, standing in the doorway.
Franklin
was a commanding presence, a thirty year veteran, as tough as redwood with a thick grey moustache and a leathered face, the result of many years of active service for the Department. He was well-known as having been a real bruiser back in the day. He was a guy who didn’t answer to anyone in the building, but he never stood on ceremony with anyone and was a good boss to have, especially considering the daunting responsibilities he carried. He also shared a striking resemblance to the actor Sam Elliott. A lot of detectives referred to him as
Wade
, the name of Elliot’s character in the cult movie
Road House
. They never did it to his face, though.

‘Morning, sir,’ Shepherd said.

‘Morning, Shep,’
Franklin
said. ‘Can I have a word?’

Shepherd nodded. ‘Of course.’ He turned to Rach. ‘Keep searching.’

He followed his boss outside, joining him by the railing on the walkway. Down below, the desk area for the field teams was busy, detectives milling everywhere.

Facing him,
Franklin
patted Shepherd on the shoulder.

‘How you doing?’

Shepherd nodded, trying to force a smile. ‘OK, sir. Bit of a tough morning.’

‘How’s Beth?’

Shepherd looked away.

All attempts at a smile faded.

‘I don’t know. We haven’t spoken in a while.’

‘When was the funeral?’

‘Last week.’

Franklin
nodded. ‘How’s this virus situation?’