Authors: Michael C. Grumley
8
Griffin paid Lenny and
picked up both hot dogs.
Lenny Markowitz
was small and boisterous, almost 70, and had been selling hot dogs on the same
street corner in Manhattan for 43 years.
And he was proud of it.
He had
survived recessions, natural disasters, and every kind of struggle life could
throw at him, and he did it by selling hot dogs.
That was perseverance.
Griffin and Buckley liked him immensely and
faithfully bought his dogs for lunch twice a week.
Griffin walked back to
the car, where Buckley was leaning against the fender, and handed him one.
“So,” he said, taking a bite, “no hospital or
clinic within ten miles reported having someone show up that night with a wound
bleeding that badly.”
Buckley nodded.
“Apparently not.”
“So if Eisendrath is
right, and this person had less than twenty minutes to get help,” he paused,
“let’s call it forty minutes…he would either have had to get help from
somewhere else or left in a way that didn’t involve hundreds of downtown
traffic lights.”
“Or both,” Buckley
added with a swallow.
“Or both,” Griffin
acknowledged. “Or they were not wounded that badly after all.”
“But how could someone
bleed that much if they weren’t hurt that bad?”
“Exactly. Which means
they
had
to be that hurt.”
Griffin took a bite.
“I guess
they just disappeared.”
“What I don’t
understand,” started Buckley, “is if there were three people running out the
back, or at least three that we know of, why was the fourth still upstairs?”
“Maybe he was in the
hallway before the other three came down the stairwell, and he came down with
them.”
Buckley shook his
head.
“Then why didn’t we see huge
amounts of blood on the stairs or across the parking lot too?”
Griffin took a drink of
his soda.
“Maybe they bled out by then
which means the other three would have had another body to carry…”
“Which slows them down,
adds more weight, another source of blood droplets…all of which we don’t see.”
Griffin shook his
head.
“It doesn’t work.”
He thought for a minute, absently watching a
woman walk by with her dog.
“Okay, let’s
forget the other three in the parking lot for the moment.
Why would the person in the hall, who was
hemorrhaging, simply be
standing
there?”
Buckley shrugged and
downed his last piece of hot dog.
“Deciding which way to run?”
“I don’t think so.
It doesn’t take that long to pick a
direction, a few seconds maybe.
And even
if he did, there was no other trail of blood downstairs or around the hotel.”
“So where did he go?”
asked Buckley.
“I don’t know.”
Buckley finished his
soda and tossed his cup in a nearby trash can.
“So, let me ask you something else, is it just me or are you wondering
why it would take four guys, at least, to take down one single mother?”
Griffin folded his
arms.
“I’ve been wondering the same
thing.
And the amount of damage to that
room was incredible.
How much fight does
one woman have against four attackers?”
“Or more.”
“And when and how did
little Sarah escape?”
Griffin wondered
out loud.
He suddenly looked at
Buckley.
“What if the person in the hall
was looking for Sarah?”
“And simply stopped
looking because he was bleeding too badly.”
“That fits.”
Griffin said.
“But why would they
not
go with the other three?
Wouldn’t that be their best chance at getting
treatment somewhere?
It still doesn’t
make sense.”
Buckley reached into
the car and grabbed his cell phone.
It
had a voice mail on it.
He dialed the
number and listened.
With the phone
still next to his ear, he looked at Griffin.
“Roberts says she left you a voice mail.”
Surprised, Griffin
pulled his own phone out of his pocket.
He frowned and rolled his eyes, holding it up for Buckley to see.
“Damn thing turned off again.
I think my battery is dying.”
“You’ve got to get a
new phone,” Buckley said pulling out a small notepad and writing on it.
“What’s the message?”
Buckley finished
writing and hung up his phone.
“She says
they have an address for Barbara Baxter’s work.
Ready for a ride upstate?”
Albany, New York, was
just over two hours away and had the distinction of being one of the oldest
surviving colonies from the newly discovered Americas.
First settled in 1614, it was located at the
north end of the Hudson River and now served as the state capital of New York.
Just three blocks away
from the state capital building, Griffin and Buckley arrived at Simon &
Meyer, a small but prominent law firm.
Both
men were escorted to a conference room where they were joined by Aaron Meyer
and Karen McClay, manager of the firm’s support staff.
The two were devastated when they heard the
news about Barbara.
“Who on earth would do
something like that?” asked Meyer incredulously.
McClay sat beside him weeping.
“That’s what we’re
trying to find out,” said Griffin.
He
reached for a tissue box behind him and passed it to Karen.
“Can you tell us how
long Barbara worked here?” asked Buckley.
“Years,” replied Meyer,
trying to think.
“Five, maybe six years.”
“Did she have any
problems that you’re aware of?”
Meyer shook his
head.
“At work?
God no, she was incredible.
She worked hard and was as sharp as a
tack.”
He looked at Karen, who was still
struggling.
“I don’t really know much
about her home life. Karen might.”
Karen looked up, but
still couldn’t stop crying long enough to get the words out.
After a long time, she finally shook her
head.
“N-not that I know of.”
“Do either of you know
what she was doing in New York?”
Griffin
asked.
Meyer shrugged and
again looked at Karen.
She wiped her
eyes and said “It was a last minute thing.
A vacation for her and her daughter.”
Karen’s eyes opened wide.
“My
god, is Sarah okay?”
“She’s fine.” Griffin
nodded.
“She’s being tended to until we
sort everything out.”
Buckley cleared his
throat.
“Do you know if she was in any
trouble?
Anybody she was arguing with or
not getting along?”
“No!” Karen shook her
head.
“Not a single person that I know
of.”
“Any boyfriends or bad
relationships? Bad breakups maybe?”
“Not that I know
of.
As far as I know, she hadn’t dated
anyone in a long time.
It was just her
and Sarah.
She was all Barbara cared
about.”
“Any idea if she was
meeting anyone there?”
“Mmm…I think so.
But you’d have to ask one of the other legal
secretaries she worked with.
They talked
to her more often than I did.”
Both detectives nodded
and continued to write in their pads.
Griffin looked up at Meyer.
“Would you mind if we talked to some of the other staff?”
“Of course not.”
Griffin turned to Karen.
“Have you ever met her daughter Sarah?”
Karen looked
surprised.
“Of course I have.
We all have.
She’s a wonderful child, simply incredible.”
Griffin looked at
Buckley.
“What do you mean incredible?”
She shrugged.
“She’s just about the nicest little girl I’ve
ever met.
Always polite, mature, and
very perceptive.”
“Perhaps we can see
Barbara’s employment records and a list of phone calls?”
Meyer managed a polite
smile.
“I’d like to detective, but I’m
afraid we have some rather paranoid clients.
You’d have to get a warrant for that.”
He looked at
Meyer.
“How about a look at her desk?”
Meyer thought about it
for a moment.
“I’ll tell you what, you
can take as long as you like at her desk, provided I stand next to you and keep
you away from any client related data that might be proprietary to the firm.”
“That would be fine,”
said Griffin.
“You do realize, however,
that we
will
come back with a warrant.”
Meyer smiled.
“I certainly do.
But for the sake of our business and
reputation, we have to be diligent.”
9
Christine and Sarah
walked through the lobby of the Human Resources Administration building on 8
th
Avenue.
They crossed the marble floor
and found a long line forming in front of the elevators.
Sarah spotted the stairs behind them and
tugged on Christine’s arm.
Christine looked at the
sign on the door and smiled.
“Okay, I
probably need the exercise anyway.”
They reached the fifth
floor a little out of breath and found the cause of the delay.
One of the two elevators was offline for
repairs.
A technician could be seen
inside with his head stuck in an open panel.
Christine opened the
door and Sarah walked in ahead of her, looking around at the giant open office
area.
They headed down a long hallway,
turned a corner, and stopped in front of Liz Iverson’s office.
Several minutes later,
Christine was standing next to Liz.
They
both watched Sarah in the small room next door, sitting at an oversized table
with a giant box of crayons.
Christine sighed.
“I really didn’t think she would come.”
“I’m glad she did,” Liz
replied.
“Let’s see if she agrees to an
exam.”
She handed Christine a small
business card.
“I made an appointment
for you this afternoon at the Children’s Hospital.
Just in case.”
“Thanks.”
Christine took the card and looked it over.
Liz looked at Sarah
again.
“How is she?”
“It’s hard to say,”
Christine said.
“She’s talking and
starting to open up a little bit.”
She
looked back and gave her a nervous look.
“I just feel like I’m fumbling a bit here.”
“You’re doing fine,”
Liz said, putting a hand on her arm.
Christine managed a
grin.
“Thanks.”
“So listen, I spoke
with Officer Roberts at the police department.
They’re trying to track down next of kin and find out if there was a
will or trust that addresses her mother’s wishes for custody.
Has Sarah said anything about brothers or
sisters, maybe aunts or uncles?”
Christine shook her
head.
“So far she hasn’t said a whole
lot of anything.”
“Okay,” Liz
nodded.
“Well, if she continues to open
up, see what you can find out.”
“I will.”
“You might also see if
you can find out anything about her father, like whether he is still in the
picture at all.”
Christine frowned.
“Liz, what if there
is
no one or we
can’t find anyone?”
“We usually do, even if
it takes some time. If it’s a lengthy process, we will have to find a foster
home or a temporary family she can stay with until we figure things out.”
Christine said nothing
and Liz knew what she was thinking.
“Look Christine, it’s normal to become attached.
And to some extent that’s okay.
But we have to keep our heads here.
The hardest part about our job is putting
aside our emotions and personal interests to make sure we do what’s right for
these children.
In the long run, that’s
the most help we can give them.”
“I know,” Christine
replied watching Sarah.
“You just feel
so bad.
I mean no one should have to go
through what she has.”
She looked back
at Liz.
“We’re going to get her some
counseling right?”
“If the new guardians
have no will or money to work with, then yes, we’ll try to help.”
Christine thought about
that term,
new guardians
.
It
sounded so matter of fact, so detached.
These children were so innocent and vulnerable, how could people detach
themselves so easily? How could they just let some procedure or checklist
determine the outcome?
Maybe she had
trouble with kids, but she sure wasn’t heartless.
Not that her colleagues were either, but
where exactly was that line?
How long
did it take to eventually close off enough of your sympathy to function
effectively in this job?
And if they
turn that off, how were they supposed to really feel and sense the kind of
relationship the children might have with their
new guardians
?
It wasn’t just about finding someone who
would take good care of them was it?
Wasn’t their job really about finding someone who would truly love these
kids like they were their own?
Or was
that just a romantic vision that everyone new to the job brought with them,
until they were finally beaten down by the reality of life?
Christine tried to sound
professional.
“So, how long…you know, do
I…”
“How long do you look
after her?”
Liz asked.
“Right.”
“Usually a few
days.
Obviously the sooner we get her
into a positive environment, the sooner the healing can begin.”
The
healing
.
How long, Christine thought, does it take to
heal from hearing your mother being thrown out of a window?
Decades?
Liz gave Sarah one last
look.
“Okay, I’ve got to run.
Stay in touch and let me know how it goes
this afternoon.”
“I will.”
With that, Liz ducked
back inside her office and grabbed her purse.
She patted Christine on the arm once more as she passed and headed out.
Christine turned her
attention back to Sarah.
Watching Sarah
sitting there coloring all alone stirred so many emotions.
She looked so alone and vulnerable, and yet
she also somehow looked strong at the same time.
It was simply amazing how resilient some
children could be.
Christine opened the
glass door and quietly walked in.
Sarah
remained focused on her drawing as Christine approached and stood next to her,
peering down at what she was working on.
It had a small, blue house in the middle and a bright, yellow sun in the
upper left hand corner.
“What are you drawing,
Sarah?”
“My house,” Sarah
replied without looking up.
“And who are these?”
she asked, pointing to some stick figures.
“Me and mommy and
kitty.”
“Ah, very nice.
And is this the sun here?”
Sarah nodded.
“And what are these?”
Christine asked, pointing to small circles around the stick figures.
“Shadows.
Kitty has one too but it’s little.”
Christine smiled.
“It’s beautiful Sarah.”
She looked up when the door opened and the
receptionist entered.
“Christine, I have a
call for you,” the receptionist whispered.
“Who is it?”
“Not sure, she didn’t
give a name.”
“Okay.
Thanks Jen.”
Christine reached for the phone and picked up the line.
She held the phone up to her ear.
“Hello, this is Christine.”
“Is this Christine
Rose?” a female voice asked.
“Yes it is.”
The caller was silent
for a moment.
When she spoke again, she
sounded reserved.
“I have some
information about the Baxters…”
“Oh.
You know I don’t…I think you want to talk to
the police, I’m not-”
“I don’t want to talk
to the police,” the woman interrupted.
“Um, okay,” Christine
said.
“Well you probably know-”
“I know about the other
night, that’s why I’m calling.
This is
not about Barbara, it’s about her daughter…Sarah.”
Less than two minutes
later Christine was walking quickly down the hallway and back towards the
elevators with Sarah in tow, barely keeping up.
If she walked any faster, she would have been dragging Sarah.
They reached the double doors of the
elevators and Christine quickly pressed the down button.
“Where are we going?”
Sarah asked.
“To talk to the
policemen.”
The elevator doors
opened. Several people looked up at them and stepped back to make room.
Christine took a step forward but was
stopped.
She looked down behind
her.
Sarah was pulling hard on the arm
of her blouse.
“Come on, Sarah.”
Sarah looked up at her
and shook her head.
“It’s okay, Sarah.
Elevators are safe.”
She put her arm around Sarah’s shoulders to
help her forward but Sarah dug her feet in.
“What is it honey?
Have you not
been on one of these before?”
Sarah shook her head
even more and backed away.
Christine frowned.
“Okay, we don’t need to go that way.
If you’re afraid of elevators, let’s take the
stairs again.”
Sarah ran ahead to the
stairs as Christine apologized to the others and waved for them to go
ahead.
She trotted after Sarah as the
elevators doors closed gently behind her.
“Hold on, Sarah.
Not so fast.”
She grabbed the heavy stairway door that Sarah was trying to pull open.
Suddenly a terrible
screeching of metal against metal sounded from the other side of the elevator
doors, followed by a loud blast.
The
giant silver doors instantly bulged outwards, and a loud banging could be heard
as the elevator car plunged five stories to the bottom of the shaft.
Within seconds, the car smashed into the
bottom floor.
Christine screamed and
instinctively pushed Sarah into the stairwell and stared at the elevator
doors.
Sarah held on tight to Christine,
looking into the stairwell with a frightened look on her face.
Shocked and horrified, Christine stared at
the elevator and covered her mouth with her hands.
“Oh my god!
OH MY GOD!”
Several people came
running out of their offices.
They
reached the elevator just in time to see smoke and dust seeping through the
twisted doors.