Eye Wit (22 page)

She knelt beside Dan, wondering why her arms ached when she was only applying the lightest of touches. Time stretched into eternity.

“You’re going to be fine,” she told Dan.

She could hear his labored breathing but he didn’t speak and Yoko wasn’t certain if he was fully conscious but she kept up a conversation, one-sided though it was. That’s what she’d done when she’d found Lanny, her godmother, after Lanny’d been pushed over the balcony on to the historic glass dome at the National Arts Club. That attack caused traumatic brain injuries and it had taken months of therapy for Lanny to regain any semblance of a normal lifestyle.

Surely Dan wouldn’t suffer such a trauma? Still, kidneys are as vital to good life function as the brain. Would Dan need a kidney transplant? Or dialysis? Maybe the arrow had missed his kidney area. What other lethal damage could such a sharp object cause? She didn’t know and her training in anatomy and physiology didn’t provide answers. The preparation to be an optometrist had been thorough but it hadn’t included much about kidneys and nothing about damage to the body from a hunting arrow.

“I know you’ll be fine because Zoran actually gave me his Armani tie to press around the arrow shaft. You know, the tie I really like, that gray and beige and black Escher-style pattern? He’s way too logical to abandon them if….” She bit off the end of that sentence, it sure wasn’t heading in the right direction. “Can you believe it?” she continued. “He used one of his cotton shirts, too.”

She stifled a sob and turned her head so the tears wouldn’t fall on the fabric packed around the wound in Dan’s back, fabric that was relentlessly turning deep red as blood saturated it. From the report about the arrow wounds suffered by the balloonist as well as what she’d heard about the fatal attack on Marco, she knew that a hunting arrow could easily penetrate the body, often passing part of the way through it so that the tip and sometimes part of the shaft protruded from the victim’s other side. If, like Marco––and now Dan––the arrow hit the back first, the victim usually fell face down. This meant that if the arrow that gone right through the body, it would be forced back to some degree. This result? Even more massive tissue damage and heavy internal bleeding as well as considerable blood loss. Even if the sternum had deflected the arrow to some degree, the internal damage would be serious.

Yoko focused on the words she’d heard from Dante about the first two victims. Words that gave her hope as she knelt in the cold dank tunnel at Dan’s side.

“If Marco Fellini had received prompt medical attention, death could have been avoided,” Dante had said. “Today’s powerful bows are enough to propel razor-sharp arrows all the way through most anything they hit. I've talked to deer hunters who choose to use bows rather than rifles and the damage is extraordinary. Arrows will completely penetrate the 12-inch thick neck of a big deer, for example, at a shooting distance of 25 to 30 yards. Arrows can actually kill deer more quickly than bullets because of their sudden shocking power. They are a larger projectile than a bullet, though a bullet moves much faster.”

Sobering information but, she reminded herself, Dan was not going to die like Marco Fellini. He would get prompt medical attention. Whatever the internal damage, whether to kidneys, arteries, stomach, intestines, Dan would have good doctors. He was strong and healthy. He would survive, he would be all right.

Yoko heard voices and footsteps. It was Zoran. Two men with a stretcher followed close on his heels.

Dan was placed carefully on the stretcher for the return trip to the surface. Every few yards, Zoran issued verbatim repetitions of Dante’s instructions. Yoko knew that he must have already relayed the details to the ambulance men as he led them to where Yoko waited by Dan. Zoran’s therapy and medication helped curb his obsessions and compulsions and he managed well, but this situation was different: a matter of life and death, his obsessions heightened by the urgent need to make sure his partner, Dan Riley, would survive.

“Keep Detective Riley on his stomach,” Zoran cautioned. “Let Dr. Kamimura walk beside you so that she can keep the material around the arrow shaft in place.”

No one complained about the quiet but forceful repetitions as the group carefully maneuvered their way out of the underground passages. They knew Zoran’s genuine concern prompted his parrot-like comments.

Dan made it to the hospital.

The Armani tie was a goner.

A second tap on the door to Dan’s hospital room broke into Yoko’s reverie and she yanked it open before anyone could tap again.

“Sorry, Yoko.” It was Vinnie Baldoni. He peered over her shoulder. “Jeez, he’s sleeping like a babe, gonna have to call him Sleepy.”

Yoko stifled a laugh, only Vinnie would try to make her see the funny side of the situation right now. Jokes aside, Vinnie was one of many who’d stepped up immediately to make sure Dan had a continuous police guard from the time he arrived at the hospital, even from the moment he was in the OR. City fathers had tightened department budgets drastically earlier in the year but volunteers never had to be asked to help. They automatically lined up to sign the unofficial roster posted by Zoran’s desk at the one-three.

Once the first round of surgery was completed and Dan was out of the recovery area and in a private room in intensive care, volunteers from the precinct arrived every few hours to sit outside the door to Dan’s room and a squad car was parked unobtrusively near the hospital entrance. No one cooped, or slept, in that car. Whoever was in it stayed alert, ready for action, wanting action, hoping for some way to redress the brutal assault on one of their own. No outside harm would come to Dan under their watchful eyes. More than the security, this was a show of solidarity. Like police the world over, the one-three looked after their own.

“Yes, Vinnie?”

“It’s Zoran. Would you go down to the squad car? He wants to talk to you. He won’t come inside the hospital, you know our Monk.”

Yoko didn’t waste time. She ran down the three flights of stairs, hoping the exertion would clear her head. It was barely four in the afternoon but it had been a day of long, anxious, fatiguing hours. From the time Dan was so terribly hurt in the tunnel to the mortifying news that Sophia and Jessica had managed to escape, Yoko had tried to keep up with the news but the barrage of information flooding in from the hospital staff and the police was overwhelming. She knew one fact with certainty––Dan had made it through the life-saving emergency surgery. The doctors were pleased with his progress. Thank god Dante helped to interpret the medical language and anticipate necessary questions. The fact that Sophia Fellini and Jessica Ware had somehow eluded capture was not high on Yoko’s list of priorities. She knew that throughout the city and beyond, trained eyes were watching for the fugitives.

Zoran was standing by the squad car.

“Yoko, a call has come in from the chief at the 20
^th
Precinct on West 82
^nd
Street. One of the women on bike patrol in the area received a tip from the super at the Dakota. The super is pretty sure that Sophia Fellini is staying there, in the apartment of a resident who is away in Paris. When she arrived, Sophia claimed to be a friend and gave the name, Marguerite Monde. She had a set of the apartment keys and showed the super a letter, supposedly from the apartment’s resident, saying that Marguerite could stay in the apartment as long as she wants. The super said it is very obvious that Sophia is wearing a wig and glasses.”

Yoko came fully awake at this news. Incredible that Sophia Fellini was as close as the massive apartment building, the Dakota, on 72
^nd
Street. She knew that John Lennon had been shot there in 1980. Like every New Yorker, Yoko also knew that it was a really expensive building, though maybe not as pricey as Sutton Place and some of the Park Avenue complexes. It was doubtful that any of the people living in these deluxe buildings had ever seen a railroad apartment like the one she had on Second Avenue. They’d probably recoil in disbelief at the sight of the bathtub in her kitchen, the room the apartment’s front door opened onto.

“What about Jessica, is she at the Dakota too?”

“Sophia Fellini is alone as far as the super can tell. He has his eyes and ears around the building and not much goes unnoticed. Plus someone from the Twentieth stopped by and checked the security tapes from the video cameras on the halls and elevators. It is definitely only one woman, the same woman, at the apartment.”

“They must have split up,” Yoko said. “Decided to go their separate ways.”

“That is not clear yet but ever since the tip came in, a specialist has been monitoring open wi-fi networks. You know Lauren, yes?”

“Sure,” Yoko said.

“She is, I believe, extremely capable and I have no reason to question her information. She picked up messages to the apartment from a Jane Fraser. It is a virtual certainty that ‘Jane’ is Jessica Ware.”

Yoko hid a smile. As unbearably pedantic Zoran as might be, she was sure he’d made a deliberate word play about wi-fi networks with his comment, “a virtual certainty.” She listened as Zoran finished his news.

“The messages are from the Plaza Hotel, a penthouse apartment. A friend at the Twentieth ran a discreet check on that situation for me. The scenario is precisely the same as that with Sophia Fellini at the Dakota. The owner of the penthouse, apparently a well-known artist, is away. The woman claiming to be Jane Fraser arrived with the keys and a letter of permission for her to be at the penthouse.”

Fascinating, Yoko thought, stifling a yawn, but why was Zoran telling her?

She soon found out.

“I wish to go immediately to the Dakota to apprehend Sophia Fellini. I regret that it may not be protocol, but if quick action is taken it will be over before anyone can stand in the way. It is not only because Dan is my partner and has been viciously attacked. My intuition tells me that the right questions will bring a resolution of this strange case. Revenge is not the only motive. More is at stake.” Zoran paused in the careful presentation of his daring plan and took a deep breath. “What do you say, Yoko? Will you accompany me?”

“Yes,” Yoko said without stopping to consider what it meant to join obsessive-compulsive Zoran in confronting the fugitive Sophia. Deep in her atavistic memory was her own obsession: evil had to be ended.

34

As Yoko had anticipated, she was the designated driver for the trip to the Dakota. Everyone understood that Zoran was reluctant to take the steering wheel of any car, regardless of how many times it had been wiped with his sanitizing Purell wipes. So many other facets of driving were overload for someone with OCD, even though Zoran’s disability was mostly under control. Traffic in Manhattan’s multi-lane avenues and streets was unpredictable. Cars, busses and trucks roared up to you, changed lanes at lightning speed and blasted horns freely, despite the threat of heavy fines for noise pollution. Working with an obsessive-compulsive was often frustrating but at other times it was flat-out quirky. Yoko amended the word quirky to zany. That was it! Zoran was full of quirks, some were zany, some…not so much.

Yoko knew it was useless to ask what Zoran planned to do when they arrived at the Dakota. When he was good and ready, that’s when he’d open up. Zoran was silent, his eyes shut as much to shield him from the flood of vehicles around them as to help him think. His hands moved in slow, small motions, back and forth, signs that he was methodically considering the task ahead. Zoran’s dogged persistence and his unique analysis had resolved more than one case headed for the dead files.

Yoko was relieved she didn’t have to make conversation. When Zoran asked if she’d join him on the trip up to the Dakota, she’d agreed impulsively. Not that she regretted her answer, she knew Dan was in capable hands. He even had Dante as his bold advocate. Privately, Dante had assured Yoko and the entire 13
^th
Precinct that the surgeons and support staff caring for Dan were the best.

“New York’s Finest are guaranteed the finest care,” he said.

At the hospital, Dante asked probing questions and made sure every step of the complicated surgeries facing Dan was evaluated and re-evaluated. Still, Yoko felt pangs of anxiety at being absent, knowing that Dan faced more operations. He’d recovered brilliantly from the initial, emergency procedures. After that, the team of specialists had to decide just what was needed to restore Dan’s body to working order. Again, Dante had not forgotten to tell her what that meant.

‘You’ll have your lover back, Yoko, he’s durable goods, U.S. brand, best on the market. Don’t worry about the bedroom scene. He won’t miss a beat.” He’d laughed mischievously at her embarrassment but the heavy look in his eyes told Yoko that Dante wasn’t as confident as he sounded. Her optometric training had taught her to observe the eyes, the end receptors of the vision system, the direct pathway to the brain. No, the bottomless black of the pupils of Dante’s eyes told her that he was not absolutely certain all would be well.

The turmoil of the past hours was light years from the happy plans she and Dan had made for a relaxed summer day at Staten Island’s South Beach. When they went to the beach, they strolled the boardwalk and swam in the Atlantic. They always visited the Freedom Circle at the south end of the boardwalk to pay their respects to the men and women listed there, defenders of the country in times of strife. They’d eat at one of the cafes and discuss whether to stay and watch the fireworks or take the ferry back to Manhattan for the evening. Yoko and Dan had been coming to Staten Island for two summers. Never once had they seen the fireworks.

They weren’t like the couples who made out in public, they kept their loving at home, intimate caresses that pleased and satisfied. Her mind’s eye conjured up the image of the photo of the two of them standing by South Beach’s spectacular Dolphin Fountain, arms casual across each other’s shoulders. Casual yet intimate. Yoko could feel Dan’s warmth on her body even when he was nowhere close. God, she couldn’t bear to lose him. Yes, he was insufferable at times and the Irish blarney didn’t begin to cover the cracks in the relationship but he mustn’t die.