Seven Minutes to Noon (32 page)

“She’s done it!” Maggie spoke first, excitedly, with a tinge of anger in her tone. “She’s slipped right out of our fingers!”

“Sylvie?” Mike asked.

“Seems so,” Simon answered.

“What happened?” Alice addressed Dana, who seemed most likely to have a reliable answer.

Dana was sitting on the piano bench, legs crossed in the lotus position. “Frannie just buzzed me. We’ve pinned her down on the F train to the E to Jamaica. She caught the sky train to JFK, which is where Danny lost her. But now we’ve got an eyewitness who saw her at the Air France counter.”

“She left the country,” Alice said.

“Someone called her and told her the crime scene was found.” Mike’s eyes were bright in a face pale as clay. “That second call at the park today!”

“The call scared her,” Alice said. “She had to leave.”

“And so she’s fled back to France,” Simon added. “Where extradition is hard-proven.”

Dana listened with a therapist’s calm as the friends’ guesswork unscrolled, but didn’t say what she was clearly thinking:
no assumptions.
Alice remembered the core philosophy of this strange journey and stopped talking.

Assumptions were as lethal as doubt.

“Frannie and Paul are giving a news conference in a few minutes,” Dana said, “if you feel like watching. You can get the facts.”

They all went upstairs to the family room and turned on the television. Most of the local stations had gathered for a live news conference held by Detectives Francesca Viola and Paul Giometti of the Seventy-sixth Precinct. They stood together in front of the blue-tiled police station, facing the inevitable cluster of microphones and a bank of lights that blanched the night’s natural darkness. They looked bone tired. Drained of their defenses, they stated the facts.

“This afternoon we issued an Amber Alert for two children who appeared to have been abducted by their babysitter in Brooklyn. The children have been recovered
and are safe at home. The babysitter is Sylvie Devrais and she has not been found.”

A picture of Sylvie suddenly filled the screen. Seeing her like this, as a suspect, stripped her of the sweet innocence Alice had always assumed for her. The detectives reappeared on the screen, explaining that Sylvie was also wanted for murder and that she may have had an accomplice.

“We have a list of suspects who may have helped Sylvie Devrais, but without hard forensic evidence” — Frannie paused on camera, her shrewd eyes blinking — “we won’t make an arrest.”

Alice read between the lines. Frannie had considered her words —
can’t
became
won’t
— free will substituted for helplessness. They were holding Julius Pollack at the precinct but they hadn’t arrested him? Wasn’t the print hit enough to get him on harassment and violating the restraining order? And what about Judy Gersten and Sal Cattaneo? Were the Three Musketeers of Brooklyn real estate all going to be questioned, then freed before hard answers were in hand? Either their lawyers were playing for time or the detectives were trolling for more action, setting traps. As Frannie spoke to the cluster of reporters, Alice knew the detective was calculating what she would put out to the media, as she had all along.

“I understand JFK’s sealed off,” another reporter asked. “No flights going in or out. How long will that last?”

“As long as necessary,” Frannie said. Her tone sharpened to add, “We’re looking for a murderer.”

“What about Tim Barnet?”

Frannie’s split second of hesitation told Alice something was up with Tim.

“Tim Barnet is one of many people we’ve been talking to,” Frannie said, “but we have no reason to suspect him over anyone else at this point.”

“He left town.”

“We’ve been in close contact with him,” Frannie said too quickly.

Had Tim’s
guy
lost him too? Had Tim needed to get lost? Was Austin okay? Alice felt the first pulse of adrenaline that was always a precursor to insomnia. She wouldn’t even try to sleep tonight, she decided. As long as Frannie was awake at the precinct, Alice would stay up too. Wait for news.

“What about Simon Blue?” another reporter asked.

“Oh, give me a break!” Simon howled, sitting between Maggie and Mike on the couch. “Have you poisoned everyone’s minds, Maggie dear?”

Maggie gave Simon’s leg a sharp slap, and laughed. “If only I could.”

Simon and Maggie clasped hands and leaned against each other.

“Ms. Devrais worked for him,” Frannie told the microphones, “so traces of her are all over his house, but beyond that we’ve found no evidence of his involvement in the case.”

“Bloody right!” Simon called out to the TV.

“What about a money trail?” another reported asked. “How does Metro Properties tie into the missing women and babies?”

“Yes, we’ve looked at all the bank accounts of Metro Properties, as well everyone else who has come under investigation.” A shaft of light momentarily blinded Frannie. She lifted her hand to shadow her eyes, and continued. “There’s no indication that anyone received unusual amounts of money. There’s nothing unusual there. Except” — she hesitated — “we haven’t located any bank accounts for Sylvie Devrais.”

“So the baby sale thing is—”

“We don’t know,” Frannie cut that reporter off. The whole issue of illegal baby sales clearly riled her. It was one hypothesis of many that had first been introduced, to Alice’s knowledge, by Erin Brinkley in one of her articles. “We’re looking at evidence, not taking shots in the dark.”

“One more question—” a reporter shouted, but was interrupted by someone louder:

“What is the connection between Sylvie Devrais and Julius Pollack?”

Alice leaned in toward the television, listening closely.

Frannie’s eyes narrowed. It was like she was standing in an avalanche of wild conjecture, fending off small bits while others flew by.

“None that we know of at this moment,” she answered.

“What about—”

Giometti shifted in front of the microphones and said, “That’s all for now.”

Alice watched them turn around and walk back into the police station. She could almost feel the cool shade of the place, with its predictable comforts. The soda machines, ready to serve. The tables and chairs and dropped ceiling pocked with silver sprinkler heads. The fish circling in their illuminated tank. She wondered if the big fish had eaten up all the little fish yet, and if so, how it would survive alone.

Simon used the remote to click off the TV, then clicked it right back on. “Too wound up for bed,” he said. “Let’s see if Mr. TiVo did his job today.” A few clicks and that afternoon’s Red Sox versus Phillies game appeared on the television. Mike leaned forward, instantly glued to the game. Alice and Maggie looked at each other; clearly this was how their husbands were going to unburden their minds.

“I’ll make us some hot milk, ladies,” Maggie said. “I think there might be some gingersnaps too.”

Dana stood up and stretched. “I’m heading over to the precinct,” she said. “Rula’s staked outside, if you need anything.”

Mike pulled his attention away from the screen. “Does he do pizza runs?”

Dana looked at him and forced a wry smile. He forced one back.

“Honey, you’re in Brooklyn. You can get a pizza delivered twenty-four/seven without police assistance.”

Alice walked Dana to the front door while Maggie headed into the kitchen.

“Thanks,” Alice said, “for everything.”

“Just doing my job.” Dana started to lean forward to give Alice a sisterly peck on the cheek — as if they were actually friends — but pulled back. She seemed embarrassed by the momentary lapse in professionalism. Instead, she put out a hand and Alice gave it a little squeeze.

Alice watched Dana walk down the front stoop. Detective Rula, a young Hispanic man in a gray sweatshirt and white Mets cap, appeared to doze in a dented Honda Civic parked at the curb.

Maggie had arranged two red ceramic mugs of hot milk and a plate of gingersnaps on the coffee table in the living room. Alice settled into the couch. She picked up one of the mugs and blew on her hot milk, watching a shiny skin congeal and wrinkle under her breath. It was still too hot to drink so she set it down and waited for Maggie, who had gone back to the kitchen.

Alice thought of Nell and Peter’s two-hour absence today with immense relief and a shiver of fear that she felt would haunt her forever. But her children were safe now, home as it were; as close to home as they could get for the moment. Alice could almost smell their deep sleep, floating like a sticky-sweet cloud above the raucous din of the television one flight up. Beyond this room, this house, these people, the neighborhood slept soundly. Or so it seemed by the heavy silence outside. Alice wondered what she would find if she went out right now and walked the quiet nineteenth-century sidewalks. How many windows would be lit yellow, containing a fretful wakefulness? How many people in this city couldn’t sleep?

She thought about flight. About staying and leaving. She and Mike hadn’t had a chance to seriously discuss it, but they would. Later tonight or tomorrow morning. There were a hundred places they might go. Though admittedly, at this moment, she felt less determined to flee. She was so very tired.

“You know,” Maggie said, flouncing onto the couch next to Alice. “I’m thinking Simon and I might just give it another go.”

“Well,” Alice said, wavering between her habitual diplomacy on this subject and a desire to say something mean and sharp to end Maggie’s indecision, “you two are meant for each other.”

“So.” Maggie faced Alice. Silver moonlight shifted across the ceiling, shadowing her face. “Tell the truth. Do you think Tim’s involved in this?”

Alice shuddered at that awful thought. “I don’t want to think it,” she said. “I
can’t
think it.”

Maggie leaned in. “But
do
you?”

“Maybe,” Alice said, allowing that possibility to seep into her thoughts. “Do you?”

Maggie nodded decisively. “I always thought that man was too good to be true. He was too
easy,
do you know what I mean? Never a complaint. Perfectly devastated when Lauren died. But then he left town.”

“He said he couldn’t stay here anymore.” Alice wanted to believe Tim wasn’t capable of anything so horrible as what happened to Lauren. “It made sense, Mags, didn’t it? Even you defended him at the time. He
had
to go.”

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Maggie said. “Simon stayed around when things got tough, and I really gave him hell.”

“He stayed because of Ethan.”

“Partly, yes,” Maggie said. “But he also stayed because this is his home. Tim left because he didn’t feel comfortable here. In this
place.
With
us.
Something else had changed. Don’t you see it?”

Alice did and she didn’t. If Maggie was right, then the detectives had been doubly right in thinking from the start that one of the friends had been guilty in Lauren’s death. They had already connected Sylvie to the crime scene. Wasn’t that enough?

If Alice had learned anything through all this, it was not to jump to conclusions. One thing she knew for sure
was that people who cared about this case were burning the midnight oil. Frannie, Giometti and Dana were at the precinct right now, working shoulder-to-shoulder with the FBI. Police were swarming over the city all the way to Kennedy airport and beyond looking for Sylvie, hoping to pick up a trail that might lead to one lost baby girl.

“What time is it?” Pam looked down at her body, which even beneath the white sheet showed that she had lost about twenty pounds. “Where am I?”

“You mean what day is it,” Ray said, looking both enervated and wildly alert.

“No, Raymond,” Esther corrected, “she means what
week
is it.”

“I see Click and Clack haven’t lost any love for each other.” Pam winked at Alice, who had just stepped into the room behind Frannie and Giometti. She had persuaded them to let her come along in the hope that seeing her might help jog Pam’s memory of the days just before her attack.

“Look at you!” Pam reached out to touch Alice’s stomach. “Do you hate it when people do that? Maybe I
have
been here awhile; you look a size bigger. We had an appointment, I think—”

“We saw the house,” Alice said, not knowing where to begin. The house was the last thing on her mind right now, after her children’s recovery, after Pam’s luminous eyes, her smile, her boisterous wakefulness, her life.

“Strange,” Pam said somewhat wearily, but not without the verve that had made her voice so powerful on a good day. Alice felt a wave of relief, even joy. “Mom says I overslept but, to be honest, I don’t feel that rested.” She leaned back into her pillows. “Listen, people,
I’ve got something I’ve got to say. Alice, you won’t like it. Have a seat.”

Ray immediately scraped a chair across the floor to Pam’s bedside and gently guided Alice into it.

“It might interest you two coppers too.” Pam winked, not losing a chance to dig in a proverbial elbow.

Frannie smiled. Alice only now noticed that Frannie’s bangs had grown long in the last two weeks, touching her eyebrows, threatening her eyes. She needed a haircut, and some sleep, and probably a decent meal. When all this was over, Alice decided, she would invite Frannie over for dinner at the new house. Get to know her as a friend, fan what had sparked between them that first day on the playground when she was a local aunt out for a romp at the playground like everyone else.

“Go ahead,” Frannie told Pam. She glanced at Giometti, who pulled his small notepad out of his shirt pocket and uncapped his pen.

“Too much talk could tire her out,” Esther said, “after what she’s been through.”

“We’ll stop if she gets too tired,” Frannie said, “but this may be important.”

“You hear that, Mom? It’s important. So let me talk.” Pam cleared her voice and was about to begin when Ray interrupted.

“You want I should take some photos?” Ray suddenly asked. “Document the conversation? I have my camera right here.”

“You got it working?” Pam asked.

“Honey, I got you with every visitor, every doctor, every nurse. I filled an album already!”