按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
seat in the corner facing the doorway。 He looked over at Jackson。 Their eyes met briefly and each man evaluated the other。 Wayson had cool； detached eyes； and a wispy smile at the corners of his mouth。 Robby gave him a closer look。 There was a slight bulge under his left arm。 Wayson affected to read a paperback novel； which he held in his left hand； but his eyes kept flickering to the door every few seconds； and his right hand stayed free in his lap。 He caught Jackson's glance and nodded。 So； Robby concluded； a spook； or at least a security officer。 So that's what this is all about。 The realization came as a blast of cold air。 The pilot's hands flexed as he considered the type of person who would deliberately attempt to murder a woman and her child。
Five minutes later three State Police officers made their belated arrival。 They talked to Ryan for ten minutes。 Jackson watched with interest and saw his friend's face go pale with anger as he stammered answers to numerous questions。 Wayson didn't look but heard it all。
〃You were right； Jimmy；〃 Murray said。 He was standing at the window； watching the early morning traffic negotiate the corner of Broadway and Victoria。
〃Paddy O'Neil in Boston likes to say what wonderful chaps Sinn Fein are；〃 Owens said speculatively。 〃And our friend O'Donnell decides to embarrass them。 We could not have known； Dan。 A possibility of a suspicion is not evidence and you know it。 There was no basis in fact for giving them a more serious warning than what you did。 And you did warn them； Dan。〃
〃She's a pretty little girl。 Gave me a hug and a kiss before they flew home。〃 Murray looked at his watch again and subtracted five hours。 〃Jimmy； there are times 。 。 。 Fifteen years ago we arrested this this person who went after kids； little boys。 I interrogated him。 Sang like a canary； he couldn't be happier with himself。 He copped to six cases； gave me all the details with a big shit…eatin' grin。 It was right after the Supreme Court struck down all the death…penalty laws； so he knew that he'd live to a ripe old age。 Do you know how close I came to 〃 He stopped for a moment before going on。 〃Sometimes we're too damned civilized。〃
〃The alternative； Dan； is to bee like them。〃
〃I know that's true； Jimmy； but I just don't like it right now。〃
When Barry Shapiro next checked his watch it was five in the morning。 No wonder I feel so tired； he thought。 Twenty hours on duty。 I'm too old for this。 He was senior staff。 He was supposed to know better。
The first sign was staying on duty too long； taking on too much personal responsibility； taking too keen an interest in patients who in the final analysis were nothing more or less than bruised and broken pieces of meat。 Some of them died。 No matter how great his skill； how refined his technique； how determined the efforts of his team； some would always die。 And when you got this tired； you couldn't sleep。 Their injuries and worse； their faces were too fresh in your memory； too haunting to go away。 Doctors need sleep more than most men。 Persistent loss of sleep was the last and most dangerous warning。 That was when you had to leave or risk a breakdown； as had happened all too often to the Shock…Trauma staffers。
It was their grimmest institutional joke： how their patients arrived with broken bodies and mostly went home whole but the staff doctors and nurses who came in with the greatest energy and highest personal ideals would so often leave broken in spirit。 It was the ultimate irony of his profession that success would engender the expectation of still greater success； that failure in this most demanding of medical disciplines could leave almost as much damage on the practitioner as the patient。 Shapiro was cynic enough to see the humor of it。
The surgeon reread the printout that the blood…analyzer unit had spat out a minute before； and handed it back to the nurse practitioner。 She attached it to the child's chart； then sat back down； stroking her dirty hair outside the oxygen mask。
〃Her father is downstairs。 Get relief here and go down and tell him。 I'm going upstairs for a smoke。〃 Shapiro left the CCRU and got his overcoat； fishing in his pockets for his cigarettes。
He wandered down the hall to the fire stairs； then climbed slowly up the six flights to the roof。 God； he thought。 Dear God； I'm tired。 The roof was flat； covered with tar and gravel； spotted here and there with the UHF antennas for the center's SYS munications net； and a few air…conditioning condensers。 Shapiro lit a cigarette in the lee of the stairway tower； cursing himself for his inability to break the noxious habit。 He rationalized that； unlike most of his colleagues； he never saw the degenerative effects of smoking。 Most of his patients were too young for chronic diseases。 Their injuries resulted from the miracles of a technical society： automobiles； motorcycles； firearms； and industrial machinery。
Shapiro walked to the edge of the roof； rested his foot on the parapet as though on a bar rail； and blew smoke into the early…morning air。 It wafted away to appear and disappear as a gentle morning breeze carried it past the rooftop lights。 The doctor stretched his tired arms and neck。 The night's rain had washed the sky clean of its normal pollution； and he could see stars overhead in the pre…dawn darkness。
Shapiro's curious accent resulted from his background。 His early childhood had been spent in the Williamsburg section of New York； the son of a rabbi who had taken his family to South Carolina。 Barry had had good private schooling there； but emerged from it with a mixture of Southern drawl and New York quip。 It was further damaged by a prairie twang acquired during his medical training at Baylor University in Texas。 His father was a distinguished man of letters in his own right； a frequent lecturer at the University of South Carolina at Columbia。 An expert in 19th…century American literature； Rabbi Shapiro's specialty was the work of Edgar Allan Poe。 Barry Shapiro loathed Poe。 A scribbler of death and perversity； the surgeon called him whenever the subject came up； and he'd been surprised to learn that Poe had died in Baltimore long before； after falling asleep； drunk； in a gutter； and that Poe's home was only a few blocks from the University Hospital plex； a demi…shrine for the local literati。
It seemed to the surgeon that everything about Poe was dark and twisted； always expecting the inevitability of death violent； untimely death； Shapiro's own very personal enemy。 He had e to think of Poe as the embodiment of that enemy； sometimes beaten； sometimes not。 It was not something he talked about to the staff psychiatrist； who also kept a close eye on the hospital staff but now； alone； he looked north to the Poe house。
〃You son of a bitch；〃 he whispered。 To himself。 To Poe。 To no one。 〃You son of a bitch！ Not this time you don't get this one！ This one goes home。〃 He flicked the cigarette away and watched the point of orange light fall all the way to the shining； empty street。 He turned back to the stairs。 It was time to get some sleep。
Chapter 16 Objectives and Patriots
Like most professional officers； Lieutenant mander Robby Jackson had little use for the press。 The irony of it was that Jack had tried many times to tell him that his outlook was wrong； that the press was as important to the preservation of American democracy as the Navy was。 Now； as he watched； reporters were hounding his friend with questions that alternated between totally inane and intrusively personal。 Why did everyone need to know how Jack felt about his daughter's condition？ What would any normal person feel about having his child hovering near death did they need such feelings explained？ How was Jack supposed to know who'd done the shooting if the police didn't know； how could he？
〃And what's your name？〃 one finally asked Robby。 He gave the woman his name and rank； but not his serial number。
〃What are you doing here？〃 she persisted。
〃We're friends。 I drove him tip here。〃 You dumbass。
〃And what do you think of all this？〃
〃What do you think I think？ If that was your friend's little girl up there； what the hell would