Flawless (9 page)

Craig looked up. He had been in his office with Mike, the two of them studying the manifests of stolen property and comparing them to the items stashed by the jewel thieves, and retrieved by the police when they executed their search warrants.

That Eagan was looking in on them—rather than summoning them—was somewhat surprising.

“Your trip to Rikers with Miss Finnegan. Did it help you any?” Eagan asked.

Craig nodded. “Her conversations with the suspects reinforced my belief that there's a second gang out there—one that copycatted our guys, but with real guns and killing.”

“You going soft on the guys you picked up?” Eagan asked him. “Because you lived? I mean, that's a good reason, but I want to make sure that's not the
only
reason.”

“When have you known Craig to be soft?” Mike asked.

“Hey,” Craig protested. “I told you from the get-go that it looked like two groups. I'm waiting on the guys in Tech. They're making comparisons of the footage from the different locations. But study the footage again, sir,” he told Eagan. “Miss Finnegan pointed out a lot of differences in the way the men stood, in their body language—I'll be happy to show you.”

“I've looked at that footage so many times now that I'm all but blinded,” Eagan said. “Here's the problem—the DA's office isn't on board with there being two sets of thieves. They want to go for federal prosecution and maybe even the death penalty. They want this over with, and they're going for the big win. That's a hell of a big bill for the Justice Department.”

“And it's crazy,” Craig insisted. “Look, I'd happily throw the federal book at the murderers, but only if they really
are
the murderers. But what's that saying? ‘It's better that ten guilty men go free than one innocent man is wrongly convicted'? Something like that, anyway. William Blackstone, I believe.”

“Very big-picture of you, buddy,” Mike said. “Especially when a majority of the city is screaming for blood, afraid someone here's going to get killed.”

“That doesn't make it right,” Craig said.

“I didn't say that it did. I'm just seeing it from the point of view of the victims' families and playing devil's advocate,” Mike told him.

“Neither of you is a prosecutor,” Eagan told them. “And neither am I. If you feel strongly, get out there and prove the existence of the second gang. In the meantime, I'd like to speak with Miss Finnegan myself. After today she's both victim and consultant.”

Craig glanced at his watch. “I doubt she's still at her office. It's almost six. Only underpaid federal employees with no real lives work all hours of the day.”

Eagan grinned. “I feel the need for a Guinness. Want to join me?”

Craig wasn't sure if he was eager or loath to join Eagan. The woman was going to think he was stalking her.

Maybe not a bad thing. She was hiding something from him, and he needed to know what it was.

“I could use a beer,” Mike said, watching Craig, a light in his eye betraying the fact that he was amused.

“Well, there's two of you, then,” Craig muttered.

“She's a lovely young woman,” Mike told Eagan.

Craig groaned. “What the hell. It's true that I have no life. Oh, yeah. And that I'm horribly underpaid. Let's go get a beer.”

* * *

Leaving the offices of Fuller and Miro, Kieran paused on the sidewalk. She didn't need to head to Finnegan's tonight; Declan didn't expect her to work all day and then all night every night of the week. And this was Wednesday night, traditionally slow. But she didn't feel like going home, so she headed for the subway.

The term
rush hour
could mean almost anything in New York City. It now extended far beyond the morning going-into-work and early evening getting-off-work hours.

As she walked the block and a half to the subway entrance, she thought about the city. She loved her hometown. She knew that, once upon a time, there had been signs at a number of businesses that read No Irish Allowed. But now, some of the finest St. Patrick's Day festivities in the country were right here in New York. Everyone came to the Big Apple. The Statue of Liberty was there, the very symbol of America to many. Immigrants from all over the world had met prejudice here, then become accepted as Americans here, and it was still one of the most wonderful melting pots to be found anywhere. New Yorkers had a reputation for being rude, and there was the standard joke about not making eye contact. But New Yorkers weren't rude; they were just trying to get from point A to point B on an island that was sometimes filled with more than twenty million people.

And, of course, when you had millions of people running around, you were bound to get a bad element now and then. Muggers, thieves, rapists and murderers. And yet, for a city the size of New York, she thought that the police did a damned good job. Crime was very much on a downward trend.

Just outside the subway entrance, Kieran saw a woman with a map in her hand looking baffled. She paused to offer her assistance. The woman looked at Kieran warily for a moment, and then smiled with relief and admitted she was lost. Kieran was able to direct her to the A train. She thanked Kieran, then walked away with a wave and a smile. Kieran hurried down the stairs to catch her own train.

The subway platform was filled with all kinds of people: businessmen in suits and carrying briefcases, women leaning on the uprights to change from their work heels into their “getting around” sneakers or sandals. Several women in burkas were herding a group of children and trying to keep a safe distance from the edge of the platform. She could hear the distinct Southern accent in a nearby woman's voice as she chatted with friends about a play she had seen the night before. A group of uniformed Catholic-school students was milling nearby, talking about homework assignments.

A foursome of high-school boys was hanging out at the edge of the platform, laughing and cutting up. At least half the people there looked bored and tired and ready to be home. It was going to be a crowded train.

She stepped closer to the tracks. As she did, she noticed a man in a dark hoodie standing some distance away. She couldn't see his face; his head was down and he'd pulled the hoodie low over his forehead.

She felt oddly uneasy and wondered why; she'd passed dozens of people in hoodies on her way to the train.

It was spring. Hoodies were perfect for spring, just enough when there was a chill in the air, not too much when the sun was warming things up.

She forced herself to stop looking at the man and pulled out her phone. She found a group message from Kevin to her and her brothers to say that his shoot had gone great. The director had mentioned using him for a new cola ad he was shooting soon.

She texted back that she was proud and delighted.

When she looked up, the man in the hoodie was gone.

She turned in the direction the train would be coming from and saw light, a sure indication that it was on its way.

It was then that she felt someone behind her. She wasn't sure what had alerted her, but she could tell that someone was there.

She stepped quickly out of the way, edging between a rabbi and a teenage Goth.

She heard a scream.

When she turned in that direction, she saw that someone was falling.

Onto the tracks.

And the train was practically there.

It was a teenage girl wearing a Catholic-school uniform. Her backpack had gone flying, and she was down on her knees.

Kieran didn't think. She simply reached out to help the girl. People were screaming and shouting directions, but she ignored them as the girl looked at her with grateful eyes and grabbed her hand.

Kieran pulled hard, the train's roar loud in her ears. The girl flew through the air, falling back on Kieran, knocking her over. Several people—who had tightly gathered first to board the train and then to help with the rescue—fell, as well.

The train shrieked to a halt.

Kieran heard shouts from all over.

“Hey! What happened?”

“Is anyone hurt?”

“That girl was nearly killed!”

Kieran felt as if she was being crushed beneath the weight of all the people on top of her. They were trying to disentangle themselves and get to their feet. As soon as she could move, she scrambled to do the same. As she tried to stand she realized that her skirt was hiked up around her hips. She quickly pulled it down, then accepted the hand of the rabbi, who had a look of concern and admiration on his face.

She thanked him quickly, then looked around. There was still chaos everywhere.

“She was pushed! That kid was pushed.”

Someone from the transit authority had arrived. Then, as if they'd called on some kind of warp speed, police were flooding the platform.

Kieran wanted out. She tried to back away and bumped right into an officer—tall and powerfully built and intimidating in his crisp uniform.

“Hold on, miss. You're the one who helped her up, aren't you?” he asked.

“I gave her a hand, that's all,” Kieran said. She wanted to disappear. The situation was nerve-racking.

“She's a hero!” someone cried.

“Hey, she was on the news the other night. She helped catch those jewelry thieves!” someone shouted.

Her face flooded what must have been a brilliant shade of red.

“Please,” Kieran said to the officer. “I have to get out of here.”

“Sorry, but I can't let you go till we've talked to you about what you saw. Hell, we have to close the station, talk to everyone who might have seen anything. People are saying a man pushed her onto the tracks just as the train was coming. Is that what happened?” he asked.

“I don't know. It's rush hour,” Kieran said. “There were tons of people, jostling and pushing and... I don't know.”

“Did you see anyone suspicious?” he asked her.

She started to speak, but the words froze in her throat.

Was she obsessed with men in hoodies now? She'd seen that guy, and then he'd disappeared. And
then
she had been certain that...

That he was behind her.

And then that girl had fallen. Or been pushed.

“This is New York. What do we consider suspicious?” she asked.

The way the officer looked at her, it seemed that he considered
her
to be suspicious.

“Anyone acting strangely? Agitated, intense...something other than tired and ready just to get on a train and get home,” the officer said.

She couldn't say. No, she just didn't want to say. She was afraid that she'd become paranoid, convinced that men in hoodies were chasing her everywhere.

Which meant, of course, that she was afraid of at least 10 percent of the people walking around the city.

“You're the girl from the jewelry robbery, aren't you?” he asked. “I saw you on TV.”

She nodded. “Yes,” she said, looking at him and deciding honesty was the best policy. “And that's why I'm hesitant to say anything. I'm worried that I'm just being paranoid because of what happened that night. There was a man on the platform walking around in a dark hoodie with his head down. I saw him, but then I looked away for a second, and when I looked back he was gone. And then I had the feeling someone was behind me, and I was afraid it was him. So I moved away from the edge of the platform, and the next thing I knew, that girl was on the tracks. Please, may I go?”

“Not until we've taken your statement.”

She felt her phone vibrating in her pocket. She pulled it out, looked down and winced.

It was Declan. She sighed and said, “Mind if I take this? It's my brother. God knows, this could be on the news already, and I don't want him worrying.”

The officer nodded and stared at her expectantly. Apparently she wouldn't be having this conversation in private.

She smiled and answered.

“Hey, kid, what's up?” he asked her. “You don't have to work the bar tonight. You know that, right? You probably had a long day.” She was relieved to realize he hadn't heard anything about the subway incident.

“I actually was on my way there, but there was an accident on the subway.”

“You're okay?” he asked anxiously.

“I'm fine. A girl fell onto the tracks—” no way was she telling him the girl might have been pushed “—and I was right there, so I helped her up, and now I have to give a statement. Are you being slammed? Do I need to hurry?” she asked, looking pointedly at the officer.

It was growing apparent to her that the old saying was right: no good deed went unpunished.

“Craig is here with his boss, who wants to meet you. Are you sure you're all right?”

“Absolutely,” she told him.

“Where are you? Maybe one of these guys can get down there and help you out,” Declan said.

Her blood seemed to drain away. Without thinking, she said, “No, Declan,
no
. We can't have them getting that cozy with us.”

“Huh?”

She didn't want to explain her statement, and the perfect out suddenly occurred to her, not to mention it could keep her from being there all night.

“Yes, send someone down.” She told him where she was, then smiled at the officer as she hung up. “The FBI is on the way,” she said sweetly.

“I don't care if God is on the way,” the officer said. “I need your statement.”

She forced herself to keep smiling. The man's badge said that he was Officer Kurtz, but she decided to try thinking of him as Officer Friendly. “I just gave you my statement,” she said.

He pulled out a pad of paper. “I need it again. From start to finish.”

Kieran looked around. Other people were speaking with different officers. Emergency med techs had arrived and were speaking with the girl who had fallen onto the tracks; they had her on a gurney. The crowd had thinned out. Apparently some people had already escaped the scene. Others were talking loudly and almost enthusiastically about their experience.