Молчаливая ночь [with w_cat]

8

[290] The crowds on Fifth Avenue had thinned out, although there were still some onlookers around the tree in Rockefeller Center. Others were still lined up waiting to see Saks’s window display, and there was a steady stream of visitors slipping in and out of St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

[291] But as the car she was in pulled up behind the squad car where Officer Ortiz and Michael were waiting, Catherine could see that most of the last-minute shoppers were gone.

[292] They’re on their way home, she thought, to do the final gift wrapping and to tell each other that next year, for sure, they won’t be rushing around to stores on Christmas Eve.

[293] Everything at the last minute. That had been her own pattern until twelve years ago, when a third-year resident, Dr. Thomas Dornan, came into the administration office of St. Vincent ’s Hospital, walked over to her desk, and said, “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

[294] Tom, so easygoing, but so organized. If she were the one who was sick, Tom wouldn’t have stuffed all her money and identification into his own bulging wallet. He wouldn’t have dropped it into his pocket so carelessly that someone either reached in and grabbed it or picked it up off the ground.

[295] That was the thought that was torturing Catherine as she opened the car door and, through the swirling snow, ran the few steps to the squad car. Brian would never have wandered away on his own, she was sure of that. He was so anxious to get to Tom, he hadn’t even wanted to take the time to look at the Rockefeller Center tree. He must have set off on some mission. That was it. If somebody hadn’t actually kidnapped him-and that seemed unlikely-he must have seen whoever took or picked up the wallet and followed that person.

[296] Michael was sitting in the front seat with Officer Ortiz, sipping a soda. A brown paper bag with remnants of a packet of ketchup was standing on the floor in front of him. Catherine squeezed in beside him on the front seat and smoothed his hair.

[297] “How’s Dad?” he asked anxiously. “You didn’t tell him about Brian, did you?”

[298] “No, of course not. I’m sure we’ll find Brian soon, and there was no need to worry him. And he’s doing just great. I saw Dr. Crowley. He’s a happy camper about Dad.” She looked over Michael’s head at Officer Ortiz. “It’s been almost two hours,” she said quietly.

[299] He nodded. “Brian’s description will keep going out every hour to every cop and car in the area. Mrs. Dornan, Michael and I have been talking. He’s sure Brian wouldn’t deliberately wander away.”

[300] “No, he’s right. He wouldn’t.”

[301] “You talked to the people around you when you realized he was missing?”

“Yes.”

[302] “And no one noticed a kid being pulled or carried away?”

[303] “No. People remember seeing him, then they didn’t see him.”

[304] “I’ll level with you. I don’t know any molester who would even attempt to kidnap a child from his mother’s side and work his way through a crowd of people. But Michael thinks that maybe Brian would have taken off after someone he saw take your wallet.”

[305] Catherine nodded. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. It’s the only answer that makes sense.”

[306] “Michael tells me that last year Brian stood up to a fourth-grade kid who shoved one of his classmates.”

[307] “He’s a gutsy kid,” Catherine said. Then the import of what the policeman had said hit her. He thinks that if Brian followed whoever took my wal let, he may have confronted that person. Oh God, no!

[308] “Mrs. Dornan, if it’s all right with you, I think it would be a good idea if we tried to get cooperation from the media. We might be able to get some of the local TV stations to show Brian’s picture if you have one.”

[309] “The one I carried is in my wallet,” Catherine said, her voice a monotone. Images of Brian standing up to a thief flashed in her mind. My little boy, she thought, would someone hurt my little boy?

[310] What was Michael saying? He was talking to the cop Ortiz.

[311] “My grandmother has a bunch of pictures of us,” Michael was telling him. Then he looked up at his mother. “Anyhow, Mom, you gotta call Gran. She’s going to start worrying if we’re not home soon.”

[312] Like father, like son, Catherine thought. Brian looks like Tom. Michael thinks like him. She closed her eyes against the waves of near panic that washed through her. Tom. Brian. Why?

[313] She felt Michael fishing in her shoulder bag. He pulled out the cellular phone. “I’ll dial Gran,” he told her.