The SCREECH of the approaching tires completely drowned out Skylar’s attempt at a scream. “Eddie!”
The black sedan missed him by less than a foot. Probably closer to six inches. The side-view mirror practically grazed his left cheek. The sedan’s driver angrily blared his horn at Eddie throughout the next block.
Eddie never noticed him or his sedan. In fact, he never even flinched. He remained transfixed, a junkie chasing the ultimate high, and continued running through traffic, away from the cab, with his laptop and echo box in hand.
“Eddie, stop! Stop!” But he kept right on going. In a panic, Skylar scrambled after him into traffic, leaving the driver enraged.
She, too, was nearly killed in an instant. A delivery truck narrowly avoided her as it sped on by. Drivers, it seemed, just weren’t prepared for random pedestrians running in front of their vehicles without any warning whatsoever. The bigger problem with this oversized vehicle, for Skylar, was that it completely obstructed her view of Eddie. Which would have been okay, except that it was followed by another truck. And another one. “Eddie!”
By the time the small convoy ended, Eddie was nowhere to be seen. She bolted across the remaining three lanes of traffic, looking everywhere. “Eddie!” It was only pure luck that kept her from being run over. Reaching the other side of the street, she didn’t understand where Eddie could have gone. Or why he would have bolted away. She was spinning in circles, beginning to panic, when something dawned on her. She realized why Eddie had bolted from the cab.
She turned around to face one of the most revered American buildings ever constructed.
CHAPTER 59
Carnegie Hall, New York City, May 27, 5:21 p.m.
Eddie’s expression was one of pure wonder as he walked through the lobby of the hallowed confines. Not unlike children driving up to Disneyland, or adults looking out an airplane window and seeing the Las Vegas Strip for the first time, it was something people never forgot. He had imagined this location more times than he could remember. He was already looking forward to regaling anyone who would listen with every detail of his visit to Carnegie Hall. In the foyer, the Florentine Renaissance decor and the tinged marble floor—gently worn from the millions of footsteps that had crossed over it through the years—were just as he had pictured them. So were the round-headed archways of white plaster and gray stone. And the Corinthian pilasters. And the vaulted ceilings hanging over the gold-and-white interior.
On one side of the lobby was the box office, where a line of twenty people hoped to buy tickets to an upcoming event. Alas, each of them was being told by the two salespeople behind bulletproof Plexiglas that every show was sold out.
On the other side of the lobby, a German tourist group was setting out on their guided journey into the main hall, the Isaac Stern Auditorium. As their guide opened the door to the hall, utterly lustrous MUSIC wafted through the opening. Conductor Charles Dutoit was rehearsing the Philadelphia Orchestra as they readied for their performance of Hector Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique later that evening. The sounds were some of the most beautiful Eddie had ever heard, but they only lasted a few seconds, because the doors then closed. There was no question in his mind. He simply had to hear more. Eddie quickly caught up with the tour group and remained in the middle of them, just as Detective McHenry had suggested. He apparently looked sufficiently German, because none of the tourists even glanced twice at him. The lone security guard on duty at the entrance didn’t, either, so Eddie was allowed to move with the group into the auditorium.
Inside the hall, Eddie immediately stopped moving. Even momentarily stopped breathing. He closed his eyes as the most blissful smile crept over his face. He bathed in the thunderous music flooding over him. Everything he’d read about this place was true. The acoustics were simply astonishing. Architect William Tuthill did, indeed, have a golden ear.
The rest of the tour group continued quietly through the hall, but without Eddie. He sat down at the rear of the auditorium, slowly rotating his head from side to side as he listened to the sumptuous SOUNDS. His level of bliss was one few would ever know. He hoped he could stay there for days.
Unfortunately, his visit was about to be cut short.
Out of breath, Skylar raced into the lobby, frantically scanning every face for the one she was looking for. “Eddie!” Nobody paid much attention to her. This was, after all, New York. She rushed to the front of the ticket line, pressing her face to the protective partition. “Excuse me—”
The salesperson never bothered to look up and spoke in a monotone. “You’ll have to wait in line like everybody else.”
Skylar put her mouth right next to the slots of the circular opening. “I’m a doctor. I’m looking for my patient.”
Now the clerk glanced at her. “Why would your patient be here?”
“Because I think he ran in here.”
“Is he dangerous?”
“No, he’s not. But he’s lost. I need to find him.”
“If you don’t see him, then I haven’t seen him, either.” She turned back to her computer screen.
Skylar surveyed the others in the lobby, moving toward the entrance to the main hall. The security guard approached her. “Ma’am, you cannot go into the auditorium without an escort.”
“Will you escort me?”
“Next tour starts in an hour. You can wait over there.” He pointed to an area off to the side.
“I can’t wait.” She continued through the doors without stopping as the orchestra rehearsed. The guard quickly caught up with her as she surveyed the thousands of auditorium seats. She knew Eddie had to be here somewhere.
The guard got right in her face and whispered intensely, “Leave now, or I will call the police.”
“Good. Do it. Ask for Detective Butler McHenry.”
The security guard hadn’t expected this. “What is this about?” There was more than a hint of concern in his voice.
She answered tersely. “I’m a doctor looking for a patient who has escaped from a mental institution.” She kept scanning the empty seats, wondering where the hell Eddie could be.
The guard’s eyebrows raised. “A mental patient?”
She nodded for emphasis, allowing the guard’s fears to run rampant. “He’s about five foot ten, Caucasian, with brown hair. He’s carrying a blue nylon backpack. Have you seen him?”
“What’s in the backpack?” The guard was clearly concerned about the possibility of weapons—or worse—in the possession of a mental patient inside the building.
“Electronic equipment. Nothing that could hurt anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “Why would an escaped mental patient be here?”
They were apparently talking too loudly. At the conductor’s direction, the musicians stopped playing, and the auditorium fell silent. The maestro turned to glare across the expanse of the hall at the source of the distraction. “Do you mind?”
The guard blushed. He held up his hand as if to say, Sorry, won’t happen again. He pointed toward the door. “Let’s continue this outside.”
Skylar took one last look around the auditorium before leaving. Where the hell could Eddie have gone?
At that moment, Eddie was being escorted out of the building by another guard, who had been dispatched the moment Eddie had taken a seat in the great hall. The act was strictly forbidden. Upon entering the building, his every movement had been followed through a well-concealed security system, because of the way he had been carrying his backpack. It clearly contained something of weight, and could very well be an explosive device.