The Dead Room (23 page)

Since she'd already opened her heart to the first two, she paused to give the twentysomething leaning against the yellow tiles and playing the flute a dollar, too.

As she dropped the bill into his flute case, she felt a sense of something again, a sense of being watched. This was the subway, for God's sake, she told herself. Full of people. Anyone could be watching her.

She paused. There was something in her head, a niggling piece of knowledge, but she couldn't quite get it to make sense. It nagged at her even more strongly as she stood at the top of the stairs leading down to the train platform. She was in the subway. Underground. There were miles and miles of subway tunnels. Maybe that was it. Over the years, subway workers had discovered any number of relics while digging new lines. And there were unused tunnels, too, so…

Great. The killer was probably burying his victims. Wow. Big break. But where?

Huge city. Huge underground.

She started. That strange feeling of being watched struck her again.

Sure, she was being watched. By the guy with the dull eyes in the corner. He wasn't really seeing anything, though.

It was just a feeling, she told herself.

But it wasn't that simple. It was…disturbing. She looked around. And saw a dozen people, none of whom seemed to be staring at her.

New Yorkers were busy people on the move.

Oh, Matt, I'm really becoming a total paranoid. If only…

If only you would speak to me….

Matt was dead.

He lived only in her dreams.

With a mental shake of irritation, she moved on, heading down to the train platform.

People walked fast in New York. She joined the throng, people-watching as she went. There were the tourists, carrying guidebooks and looking around with wide eyes. There were the businessmen and women, looking crisp in their dark suits. There were punks with ski caps and students reading textbooks, oblivious to the world around them, their iPods all the company they needed.

A train had just left when she reached her track. She found her mind wandering as she waited for the next one to arrive.

She was happy, she realized, and she hoped desperately that she would be able to bring peace to Elizabeth Martin. Poor Elizabeth. She wanted to be vindicated so badly. The thing was, so many years had passed…who remained to know or care? It wasn't as if she could go to Elizabeth's loved ones and explain or ease their pain. But Joe had met a reporter the other night—heck, she knew dozens of reporters, she realized—she could get someone to do a story. She could see that Elizabeth received a proper burial.

She noticed a group of people coming down the stairs, crowding onto the platform, surging and jostling behind her. She staggered a bit but held her position behind the yellow line.

As she did, she felt a gust of fear again.

Cold at the nape of her neck.

Unease.

As if she were prey and something was stalking her.

She started to turn.

She was hit in the back by a heavy shove.

The next thing she knew, she was flying toward the track.

And she could hear the shrill cry of the approaching train, speeding along the rails.

J
oe couldn't find a place to park his car. What had he expected? This was New York.

But the sense of danger was so real that he didn't care. Even knowing he would be towed, he pulled into the first empty space he found along Fifth Avenue. He raced up the stairs to the library, past the magnificent lions, and inside. A second's hesitation sent him to research, where an attractive young woman told him that he had just missed Leslie MacIntyre, who'd made the copies she wanted and headed out. “It's impossible to get a cab this time of day, so she probably took the subway. She said she was heading back to Hastings House.”

Joe barely thanked her. He hadn't seen Leslie on the street, which meant he had already lost precious time. For all he knew, she could already be on a subway downtown.

A voice inside his head kept mocking him.
She's fine. She was at the library. You're acting like a madman. She's on her way home.

But another thought kept plaguing him endlessly.

Buried sins.

She wasn't heading down into a crypt, some dark hollow in the earth. Well, not really. She was going to ride the New York City subway, used by thousands of commuters on an hourly basis.

Still…

He saw the entrance and ran down the stairs, scanning the signs for trains heading toward the downtown financial district. He leapt over the turnstile, again damning himself as a madman. Great. His car was going to be towed, and if the subway attendant yelling at him had his way, he would also be arrested.

As he rushed headlong through throngs of people on the stairs, he felt a sense of dread as he headed toward the platform.

Screams echoed from below, and he ran faster, shoving people out of his way and taking the steps two at a time.

 

Move!

In a split second, Leslie was aware of so many things. The vibration of the ground beneath her. The bruises forming on her flesh. The awkward way she was lying. The fear that she was going to be electrocuted. The squeak and scurrying of the subway rats…

And that voice.

Move!

She couldn't move; she was stunned, breathless and in agony.

Move!

Suddenly, arms were reaching for her, pulling her up.

Matt…? Yes, it was Matt!

She blinked, and then she was up, moving with the speed of light. There were arms again, real arms, strong, powerful arms, grabbing her and dragging her up and…

She was lying on the platform. She heard the whistle of the train; felt the air rushing over her, the train so close that its passing rustled her hair, touched her face.

There were new sounds. People. Voices rising in indignation.

“Sweet Jesus—did you see that? She was nearly squashed like a bug!”

“Thank God someone got her out!”

“She got herself out.”

“It's horrible, Harold. I'm always telling you, it's horrible—people pushing and shoving down here all the time.”

“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.