Silent Night

SIX

The lift inside the building on 66 and Amsterdam dinged, opening on the 20 floor.

Before the doors had fully parted, Archer and Josh sprinted out. The door to the stairwell was straight ahead. Archer wrenched it open and the two men raced up the stairs that led to the roof, bursting through the last door and running out onto the rooftop.

Fifteen yards away, they saw up close what they’d caught a glimpse of from the street.

A man was standing on the edge of the rooftop.

Ten feet behind him was a young woman, her hands covering her mouth.

Both of them were in lab coats.

The woman turned when she heard the two newcomers arrive. She looked distraught and terrified. She was standing beside a smoking oil can, bits of burnt paper swirling around her, catching the wind and whipping off into the air.

Archer pulled his badge and showed it to her silently, walking forward. She nodded, eyes wide with fear. As he moved closer, Archer saw that they were also filled with tears. Josh motioned for her to walk over and join him. She passed Archer as he walked past her slowly, approaching the man on the edge of the roof.

He was completely motionless, his back turned, staring down at the Manhattan street far below.

Apart from the whistling of the wind, it was quiet. All the street noise down below was a distant murmur. But the situation was highly dangerous. There was no building or windbreak cover and the gales blowing in from the Hudson were strong, rifling through Archer’s hair. Looking down, he saw the roof under his feet was icy and treacherous. At any moment, the man on the edge could be blown off or slip.

As could he.

Moving towards him ten feet to the right, Archer didn’t say a word.

The man didn’t react or respond when Archer came into his peripheral vision. The wind was snapping through the folds of his white lab coat as if it was a sail.

Archer came to a stop, his hands up in a non-threatening gesture. Standing there in silence, a few feet from the edge, he looked at the man.

He had grey hair and glasses.

He looked terrified.

‘Sir, I’m a detective with the NYPD. My name is Archer.’

The man didn’t respond.

‘My first name’s Sam. What’s yours?’

There was a long pause.

‘Peter.’

Silence.

The only sound was the wind and the noise Peter’s coat made as it was whipped around his body. Archer glanced to his right and looked out over Central Park. From up here he could see all the way up to Harlem. He felt his stomach lurch and fought down vertigo. Turning his attention back to the rooftop, he saw Josh standing with the woman near the door, arms wrapped around her in comfort but also to keep her from moving towards Peter and startling him.

Both of them were watching the tense exchange in silence.

Archer turned back to Peter. Looking down, he noticed that the tips of the man’s shoes were over the edge of the building, just his heels keeping him in place.

‘Peter, if you step back, we can sit down and talk,’ Archer said, slowly and reassuringly. ‘I’m sure that whatever’s wrong, we can fix it. Together.’

‘No. We can’t.’

Silence.

‘Do you have a family?’ Archer asked.

Silence.

‘I’m sure they’d want you to move away from the edge,’ he said, taking his time, choosing each word carefully. ‘Whatever has happened, I’m sure they’d understand.’

He paused.

‘Nothing could be worth this.’

For the first time, the man turned his head and looked at Archer.

His eyes looked haunted behind the glasses.

‘You need to get out.’

‘Out?’

‘Of New York. You need to leave right now.’

‘Why?’

‘Thousands of people are going to die.’

‘Why, Peter? What’s going to happen?’

Silence.

‘Talk to me, Peter.’

Silence.

Archer glanced back at Josh.

And Peter took a step forward.



Across the East River in Astoria, the doors to a Manhattan-bound N train opened and the three men from the diner stepped inside the carriage. Given that it was the weekend the service had been delayed and they’d been waiting on the 30 Avenue platform for a while. The trio stood together by the doors across the carriage. There wasn’t a word of conversation between them. The train was moderately full but no-one gave the men a second glance. There was nothing unusual about them; they blended right in.

By the far doors, Bleeker grabbed a support pole with a meaty hand and looked down at the white bag he held in the other. He saw the shoebox tucked inside.

His ticket to a whole new life.

A female voice came over the intercom. Stand clear of the closing doors.

A second later, the doors slid shut.

And the train moved on towards the city.