Desperate Measures

18

Outside the apartment building, the shadows were thicker, cooler. Shivering but not from the temperature, Pittman walked to the end of the cul-de-sac and went up steps to a promenade that overlooked the East River.

“Grollier Academy. Not just Jonathan Millgate, but Eustace Gable and Anthony Lloyd.”

“The grand counselors,” Jill said.

Pittman turned. “I had no idea. Do you suppose the others went there, as well-Winston Sloane and Victor Standish?”

“But even if they did, what would that prove?”

“Yes.” Pittman’s forehead throbbed. “What’s so important about Grollier Academy that the other grand counselors were willing to kill Millgate and blame me for his murder and kill Father Dandridge and…? All to prevent anyone from knowing why Millgate was fixated on his prep school.”

“Or maybe we’re completely wrong. It could be Millgate was in fact rambling.”

“No,” Pittman said emphatically. “I can’t believe that. If I did, I’d be lost. I’d have to give up. I wouldn’t know how to keep going.” He shivered again and put on his overcoat, feeling the weight of the gun in each pocket, repelled by the conditions of his life. “Even as it is… what now? What are we going to do about you? It’ll soon be dark. You can’t go back to your apartment, and you can’t use your credit card to rent a room. The name on your card would help the men looking for you find where you’re staying.”

“Where were you going to spend the night?”

Pittman didn’t reply.

“The other nights,” Jill asked. “Where-?”

“A park bench and the floor of the intensive-care waiting room.”

“Dear God.”

“Maybe the police aren’t such a bad idea. Call them. Maybe they can protect you.”

“But for how long? I told you, I’d be terrified that they’d let down their guard. No. I’m staying with you,” Jill said.

“In the long run, I’m not sure that would be smart.”

“But in the short run, it’s the option that scares me the least. Besides, there’s something you still haven’t figured out about me,” Jill said.

“You mean in addition to the fact that you have money?”

“The money’s part of it. I don’t have to work for a living. The point is, I’m a nurse because I want to be. Because I need to be. And right now…”

“Yes?”

“My conscience wouldn’t bear what might happen to you if you fail. You need help.”

Pittman’s chest became tight with emotion. He touched her arm. “Thank you.”

“Hey, if I don’t hang around, who’s going to change the bandage on your hand?”

Pittman smiled.

“You ought to do that more often,” Jill said.

Self-conscious, Pittman felt his smile lose its strength.

Jill glanced toward East End Avenue. “I’d better find a pay phone and tell the hospital that I won’t be coming to work. They’ll still have time to get a replacement.”

But after she made the call and stepped from the booth, Jill looked perplexed.

“What’s wrong?”

“My supervisor in intensive care-she said the police had been in touch with her.”

“They must have checked your apartment and connected you with the hospital.”

“But she said somebody else called her as well, one of my friends, telling her I was all right but that I wouldn’t be coming in.”

“What friend?”

“A man.”

Pittman’s muscles contracted. “Millgate’s people. Trying to cover everything. If you did show up at the hospital tonight, you would never have gotten to the sixth floor. But your supervisor wouldn’t be worried enough to call the police when you didn’t show up-because your ‘friend’ told her you were okay.”

“Now I’m really scared.”

“And we still haven’t solved our problem. Where are you going to stay?”

“I’ve got a better idea.”

“What?”

“Let’s keep moving,” Jill said.

“All night? We’d collapse.”

“Not necessarily. You need to go to the library, but it won’t be open until tomorrow.”

“Right.” Pittman was mystified.

“Well, they’ve got libraries in other cities. Instead of waiting until tomorrow, let’s use the time. We’ll be able to sleep on the train.”

“Train?”

“I take the overnight when I go skiing there.”

Pittman continued to look perplexed.

“Vermont.”

Pittman suddenly, tensely understood. A chill swept through him. “Yes. Where Professor Folsom told us it was. Grollier Academy. Vermont.”