The Boy from Reactor 4

CHAPTER 5





AFTER WAITING THIRTY-THREE minutes, Nadia was escorted to the squad room by a detective named Hyland. He was a sturdy veteran with suspicious eyes and love handles above the shirt collar around his neck.

Nadia took a seat in a chair beside his workstation. Stacks of papers, folders, and nine empty Diet Coke cans covered his desk. A flyer promoted the NYPD Museum Car Show.

She told him everything that had transpired that evening, omitting nothing. The problem was, the words coming out of her lips sounded preposterous, especially to a cop who worked Alphabet City. By the time she was done, Nadia could smell his disbelief.

“Did you happen to get a license plate?” he said, twirling a pen that looked like a Montblanc except the black lacquer paint was peeling.

“No.”

“No as in nothing? Not even a partial? On either car?”

“No, I’m sorry. When I was on the sidewalk, both cars were parked parallel to me. When I was in the sports car, we were moving fast. And when I got out of the sports car, I didn’t look back. I was running for my life.”

“Right,” Hyland said, dunking the word in a vat of sarcasm as he looked down at his notes. “From the doctor who turned out to not be a doctor. Which you figured out when he kept asking you what the dying man whispered in your ear. Which was that Damian and Andrew—was it Stein or Steen?”

“Steen.”

“Right. Steen. Damian someone or other and Andrew Steen control the fate of the free world.”

“No. That’s not what he said. He didn’t say they controlled the fate of the free world. He just said, ‘Fate of the free…’” Nadia’s voice trailed off. It didn’t matter what he had said.

Hyland placed his pen on his notes with both hands as though laying it to rest in a casket.

She sighed. “I know. I know how it sounds. Look, I’m not a good liar. I don’t even pretend to be. You must be a good judge of character after all your years as a policeman. Do I look like I’m lying to you?”

Hyland tilted his head at Nadia and leaned back in his chair. “Have you been drinking tonight, Miz Tesla?”

“No, I have not been drinking.”

“Not one drink?”

“No means no.”

“Have you ever been arrested?”

“Excuse me?”

“Have you ever been arrested and charged with a crime?”

Nadia looked around to see if anyone else was listening. The other detectives in the room were on the phone or conducting their own interviews.

“Yes,” she said.

His eyebrows shot up. “What was the charge?”

“Weapons possession.”

“In New York?”

Nadia shook her head. “New Jersey.” She told him how she’d inadvertently taken a bag with an old family gun to the airport.

“What was the disposition of the case?”

“I pleaded guilty to a misdemeanor disorderly-persons charge.”

“When did this happen?”

“March.”

Hyland sat up straight. “Of this year?”

“Yes.”

“You’re on probation now?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any weapons in your possession now?”

“No, I don’t have any weapons—”

“What about that pepper spray you used? Did you buy it in New York?”

“No, I bought it at a sporting goods store in Connecticut. I gave my mother one canister and kept the other. Pepper spray is legal in New York.”

“Not if it was bought outside the state. It has to be bought in New York State. If it was bought in Connecticut, you’re actually carrying an illegal weapon that is a violation of your probation.”

“What? This is ridiculous. I came here to report a crime, and I told you the complete truth. A man got shot, for God’s sake. He got shot. And you’re worrying about where I bought my pepper spray?”

“Oh. About the man you say got shot. Officers responded to a nine-one-one call earlier tonight. It was a muffled voice from an untraceable cell phone. Said a man had been shot on Seventh Street.”

“That’s it,” Nadia said. “That must have been Specter calling in the shooting of Mr. Milan.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was,” Hyland said with disgust, the kind honed by a lifetime of listening to lies. “In your mind.”

“Pardon?”

“There was no victim when our officers arrived. There was no man. There was no shooting. Some residents said they heard a car backfire a few times, and there was a crash. But both cars moved on. No one was shot, Miz Tesla. There was no body at the scene.”

Nadia lost her breath. “What?”

“The only crimes that have been committed here are yours. False reporting of a crime. Possession of an illegal weapon. Both are violations of your probation and could result in your immediate incarceration. Do you want to go to prison, Miz Tesla?”

Nadia opened her mouth to fight, to argue with the fat bastard, but what was she going to say? Her head started to fall, but she caught it. Raised her chin, looked Hyland in the eye, and stood up.

“Thank you so much for your time, Detective,” Nadia said.

She started to leave. What if Brad Specter was waiting for her outside? She’d told him to take her here. He could be planning to kidnap her right now. She turned back. She didn’t mind pushing her luck.

“Excuse me, Detective Hyland? Would it be possible for an officer to drive me home?”

He looked at her like the principal who’d just shelled out detention instead of expulsion to the school sociopath.

“How about the subway station at Astor Place?” Nadia said. “It’s a five-minute drive, at most. Please.”

He waddled up to her and stuck his chins in her face. “I think you’ve wasted enough taxpayer money tonight, don’t you, Miz Tesla? And if you pull a stunt like this again, you’re going in. Do we understand each other? Have a nice evening.”

When Nadia stepped outside, rain was pouring from the sky. Pedestrians scattered for cover. Head on a swivel, she sloshed her way to Third Avenue. All the taxis were occupied. The subway was the only way home.

She hugged the curb to stay out of the shadows in case someone was waiting to kidnap her. Cars plowed through puddles. Water thrashed her shoes, clothes, and face. She soldiered on, wishing it were all a practical joke, uncertain if she would make it home alive.