Молчаливая ночь [with w_cat]

12

[432] It was five after ten. Mort Levy sat at his desk, deep in thought. He had only one explanation for the disconnected call: Cally Hunter. The tap from the police surveillance van outside Cally’s building confirmed that she had dialed him. The men on duty there offered to go up and talk to her if Mort wanted them to. “No. Leave her alone,” he ordered. He knew it would be pointless. She’d only repeat exactly what she’d told them before. But she knows something and she is afraid to tell, he thought. He had tried to phone her twice, but she had not answered. He knew she was there, though. The lookouts in the van would have notified them if she’d left the apartment. So why wasn’t she answering? Should he go over to see her himself? Would it do any good?

[433] “What’s with you?” Jack Shore asked impatiently. “You forgot how to hear?”

[434] Mort looked up. The rotund senior detective stood glowering down at him. No wonder Cally’s afraid of you, Mort thought, remembering the fear in her eyes at Jack’s anger and open hostility.

[435] “I’m thinking,” Mort said curtly, resisting the impulse to suggest that Shore try it sometime.

[436] “Well, think with the rest of us. We’ve gotta go over the plans to cover the cathedral.” Then Shore’s scowl softened. “Mort, why don’t you take a break?”

[437] He isn’t as bad as he tries to seem, Mort thought. “I don’t see you taking a break, Jack,” he replied.

[438] “It’s just that I hate Siddons worse than you do.”

[439] Mort got up slowly. His mind was still focused on the elusive memory of some important clue that had been overlooked, something he knew was there, right in front of him, but that he just couldn’t make himself see. They’d seen Cally Hunter at seven-fifteen this morning. She’d already been dressed for work. They had seen her again nearly twelve hours later. She looked exhausted and desperately worried. She was probably in bed asleep now. But every nerve in his body was telling him that he should talk to her. Despite her denial, he believed she held the key.

[440] As he turned away from his desk, the phone rang. When he picked it up, he again heard the terrified breathing. This time he took the initiative. “Cally,” Mort said urgently. “Cally, talk to me. Don’t be afraid. Whatever it is, I’ll try to help you.”

[441] Cally could not even think of going to bed. She had listened to the all-news station, hoping but at the same time fearing that the cops had found Jimmy, praying that little Brian was safe.

[442] At ten o’clock she had turned on the television to watch the Fox local news, then her heart sank. Brian’s mother was seated next to the anchorman, Tony Potts. Her hair seemed looser now, as though she’d been standing outside in the wind and snow. Her face was very pale, and her eyes were filled with pain. There was a boy sitting next to her who seemed to be about ten or eleven years old.

[443] The anchorman was saying, “You may have heard Catherine Dornan’s appeals for help in finding her son Brian. We’ve asked her and Brian’s brother, Michael, to be with us now. There were crowds of people on Fifth Avenue and Forty-ninth Street shortly after five o’clock this evening. Maybe you were one of them. Maybe you noticed Catherine with her two sons, Michael and Brian. They were in a group listening to a violinist playing Christmas carols, and singing along. Seven-year-old Brian disappeared from his mother’s side. His mother and brother need your help in finding him.”

[444] The anchorman turned to Catherine. “You’re holding a picture of Brian.”

[445] Cally watched as the picture was held up, listened as Brian’s mother said, “It’s not very clear, so let me tell you a little more about him. He’s seven but looks younger because he’s small. He has dark reddish brown hair and blue eyes and freckles on his nose…” Her voice faltered.

[446] Cally shut her eyes. She couldn’t bear to look at the stark agony on Catherine Dornan’s face.

[447] Michael put his hand over his mother’s. “My brother’s wearing a dark blue ski jacket just like mine, ’cept mine is green, and a red cap. And one of his front teeth is missing.” Then he burst out, “We gotta get him back. We can’t tell my Dad that Brian is missing. Dad’s too sick to be worried.” Michael’s voice became even more urgent. “I know my dad. He’d try to do something. He’d get out of bed and start looking for Brian, and we can’t let him do that. He’s sick, real sick.”

[448] Cally snapped off the set. She tiptoed into the bedroom where Gigi was at last sleeping peacefully and went over to the window that led to the fire escape. She could still see Brian’s eyes as he glanced over his shoulder, begging her to help him, his one hand in Jimmy’s grasp, his other holding the St. Christopher medal as though it would somehow save him. She shook her head. That medal, she thought. He hadn’t cared about the money. He followed her because he believed that medal would make his father get well.

[449] Cally ran the few steps back into the living room and grabbed Mort Levy’s card.

[450] When he answered, her resolve almost crumbled again, but then his voice was so kind when he said, “Cally, talk to me. Don’t be afraid.”

[451] “Mr. Levy,” she blurted out, “can you come here, quick? I’ve got to talk to you about Jimmy- and that little boy who’s missing.”