Eye Sleuth (11 page)

“Before we had these standardized tests, it was loosey goosey,” Steve said. “Some cops threw coins on the ground and said, ‘Pick up only nickels or quarters.’ Then there was the school of thought that had a driver count backward from one hundred by threes.”

“You never know what you’ll come up against on DUI patrol,” Mac said, turning so she could see us without craning her neck. “Drunks, druggies, run-of-the-mill villains. On this duty, you’re either hooked or want to rotate off ASAP. The burnout rate’s bad but it can be addictive.” She nodded at Gus. “What do you think, Doc? How long before we have an even dozen?”

They laughed at my groan but before Gus could answer, we heard another car coming round the dangerous bend. Steve and Mac switched their attention front and the patrol car was quiet. All told, twenty cars came around the twisting turns in the time we sat there, cats at a mouse hole. Most navigated the sharp bends without problems. Four did not. By the time we’d watched those four drivers take the test, I was limp from the suspense. No one was as much trouble as the first but all would be charged DUI.

By the time we returned to the station, I was exhausted.

“Back to New York City with you,” Gus said cheerfully when he dropped me at the train station. “Will you make it to the dedication ceremony? I won’t be able to go, it’s my daughter’s birthday.”

The dedication ceremony! That’s what Dr. Forrest meant when he said he’d see Detective Riley on the weekend. In the turmoil of the last few days I’d totally forgotten about the dedication of the renovations to the Infants’ Clinic, the result of strenuous fund-raising, mostly by my boss.

It was after eleven when the train pulled in to Grand Central. Other than a conductor ambling across the station and two hikers with bulging backpacks sitting on the floor by the information desk, the place was deserted. My footsteps echoed as I walked to the Park Avenue exit. After sitting most of the evening full of nervous tension, I needed to stretch my legs and walk. By the time I reached my building I was more relaxed. I scanned the sidewalk, something we city dwellers do. All clear. Shouldering my way through the main door, I headed for the stairs. The door creaked as it slowly began to close behind me and I looked back to check if it was closing. It wasn’t. A man had caught the door halfway and come in. He stood in the entrance, staring at me. My neck prickled.

The damn hall light was out again and in the shadowy hall, the man was a faceless outline, gently backlit by lights from the street. A reality nightmare. The pause lengthened. A neighbor or visitor wouldn’t stand silently looking at me. I couldn’t see if this was the man who’d attacked Lanny, but if it was, he had only one reason for following me. If I ran up the stairs, he’d follow. Better to chance finding my neighbor Larissa home in her ground-floor apartment or maybe someone would come in from the street, scare the guy off. I jumped off the stairs and darted along the hall to Larissa’s door. Feet pounded behind me. Throwing myself at the door, I beat on it.

“Help. Call the police, Larissa. It’s Yoko,” I yelled.

A hand clamped across my mouth and a strong arm grabbed me around the waist, lifting me off the floor. Kicking back, I heard a grunt as my shoe connected with a shinbone. Again I kicked, forward this time, drumming both feet on the apartment door. No response. Total silence inside the apartment. Larissa must not be home otherwise she’d have called out that she’d dialed the police or that her son, the cook at KK next door, would be here in seconds with mace.

The arms round me were tight. My struggles to break free were getting me nowhere. Lashing out at his legs again, I stamped down, trying to bend over, hoping to pull him off balance. In retaliation, my head was bashed against the metal doorframe. Fireworks exploded and a warm trickle started down my neck. I was dizzily aware I was being dragged down the hall. Why was the hall getting dark? Oh, my vision’s fading.

Through drooping eyelids, I watched lazily as a match flared. A teardrop of a flame floated over me towards the trashcans the super kept lined up by the basement door. The flame flickered and hovered over a large pile of plastic bags then fell on them.

“Careful,” I wanted to say, but the word didn’t come and the plastic started to smolder. Darkness sucked me to its soft heart as acrid smoke stung my nose.

“She’s waking up. Yoko, come on.”

One by one, my eyelids came unglued. Groggily, I tried to focus on the two figures bending over me. It was Larissa and her son, Marvin, staring anxiously down. Larissa crooned soothingly as she dabbed at the side of my head. Her mouth set in a tight line as she rinsed the cloth in a bowl of water. I stared in rapt attention as the swirls of water turned pink. Was that my blood? I flinched as Larissa dabbed at me again.

“I’m cleaning your neck, you’re not bleeding there,” she said sharply. “You’ve a gash in the side of your head and I’m nowhere near that. What did you do? You let someone in? What were you thinking? A drug pusher or a mugger who hit you then started a fire? We could all be dead in our beds.” The outrage masked concern.

“We came in and found the hall filling up with smoke. So much for that dang smoke detector. Not a peep out of it. You were out cold by the basement door,” Larissa said. She stopped dabbing at me and took the bowl of water to the sink, rinsing the rag, wringing the water out of it in angry twists. She came and stood over me, hands on hips, frowning.

I grinned weakly. That was my Larissa. Yell at you and offer comfort, all in the same breath. I knew better than to take the schnapps. Even when I’m in good shape, it blows off the top of my head.

“Tea.”

“Schnapps would be better,” Larissa grumbled as she poured two liberal shots of the liquid explosive she recommended for every purpose. She and Marvin tossed their shots back. I sipped the tea eagerly and caught a whiff of the acrid smell plastic makes when it burns. I sniffed. Yes, the smell was coming off me.

“Eau de Trash Bag. Liz Taylor, eat your heart out,” I said.

After one astonished look, Larissa and Marvin burst out laughing and the three of us roared uncontrollably.

“That’s right, kiddo. You smell but good,” Larissa wheezed as she wiped her eyes. “You’ll need to wash your clothes twice or send them to the cleaner. You were something straight out of a movie in that smoky hallway. Blood trickling down your neck, flat on the floor like you were a dead woman. What happened?”

“I remember seeing a match, after he banged my head on your door,” I started, my voice shaky. “The man who grabbed me, he pushed his way in behind me before the door latched.”

The last question took me by surprise but he had a point. Was I so fixated on trouble coming in a terrorist’s package of three that I’d overlooked robbery as a motive? Patting my pockets to see what was in them stirred up another acrid smell. I pulled out my keys, my one credit card, the SUNY ID tag and a small wad of dollar bills that added up to the same fourteen dollars I’d had after paying for the train ticket to Bridgeport. It’s rare I have a purse or even a wallet on me, I load my pockets instead.

“Yes,” I said in relief. “Got everything, I travel light. No, I didn’t smell drink and I don’t know if he was high, I didn’t have time to think, just tried to fight him off.” Then I remembered the folder I’d been carrying. “Where’s my file?”

“This it?” Marvin held up a limp beige folder, damp but intact.

Relieved, I nodded my thanks and was instantly dizzy. Then I remembered the flash drive, the one I kept exclusively to record the prototype information from Dr. Anders. Had I brought it with me or left it locked in the office file cabinet? I patted all my pockets again. No flash drive. Wait, I was sure I’d left it at the office. That made sense. I wouldn’t have time after the trip to Connecticut to go over anything on my laptop. Was that why I’d been mugged, was someone after information about the prototypes? Was I imagining it or did I have a hazy memory of hands groping in my pockets, could the mugger have been looking for my flash drive? But how would there be any connection between Lanny and the work Fred Anders was doing? Serious thinking was beyond me right then and I was easily distracted by Larissa’s next question.

“Did he try to fool with you? Was it a rapist? Did you see his face?” Larissa was blunt.

Cautiously, moving my head slowly so as not to get another jolt of pain, I looked down. My clothing hadn’t been disturbed, nothing was out of place.

“No,” I said slowly. “It wasn’t a rapist. I couldn’t see him clearly when he came in. That hall light is always on the blink. Only the other morning I saw the super change the bulbs.”

“The fixture shorts out all the time, a real fire hazard. Won’t matter how many new bulbs get put in. I told the super that last week.” Marvin shrugged.

Larissa nodded then went back to her explanation. “We were coming in and a man, not anyone who lives in the building, rushed from the back of the hall and pushed by us,” she said. “Smoke was billowing up so that got our attention. Just as well we didn’t go after him, the flames from the plastic bags were almost at the piles of newspapers. My boy grabbed the fire extinguisher and I managed to drag you in here. Marvin put out the fire. Couldn’t do a thing about the smell, though.”

“Ma, you know there’s a psycho a day out there,” Marvin said. “What about when that subway booth was bombed? With the two clerks inside? What sane person would do that?”

“And tell them what?” his mother said. “That something was stolen? No. Someone was hurt? Not badly enough to interest them. Nothing personal, Yoko. The police don’t come these days if a car is broken into and the tape deck ripped out.”

Larissa was right. Except for one thing. Detective Riley. He might listen. He might even agree there was a possible connection to Mary Sakamoto’s warning.

“The detective who interviewed me when that woman was shot in front of me––I could speak with him,” I said.

Larissa nodded, satisfied.

“I’ll call the super. When I tell him you’ve got your own city cop on tap, a detective yet, maybe he’ll get round to replacing the batteries on the smoke detectors and repairing the light fixture before the end of the year.”