"You look like a man who would want to know the truth. Are you?"
Actually I'm a man who wants to keep you on the line for the next ten seconds. Nine...eight...
"You know, Mrs. Brookstein, the best thing you could do right now would be to turn yourself in." Six...five...
Grace laughed. "Please, Detective. Don't insult my intelligence. I have to go now."
"No. Wait! I can help you. If you are innocent, as you say you are, there are legal channels - "
Click.
The line went dead. Mitch looked hopefully at the guys on the other side of the glass, but the shake of their heads told him what he already knew.
"Two more seconds and we'd've had her."
Mitch sank into his chair and put his head in his hands. Immediately, the phone rang again. Mitch leaped on it like a jilted lover, willing it to be her. "Grace?"
A man's voice answered. "Detective Connors?"
Mitch felt the hope drain out of him like blood from a severed vein. "Speaking."
"Detective, my name is John Rodville. I'm the head of admissions at the Putnam Medical Center."
"Uh-huh," Mitch said wearily. The name meant nothing to him.
"We have a patient here, brought in last week with a knife wound to the back. He was in a coma till this morning. We didn't think he'd make it. But he pulled through."
"That's terrific, Mr. Rodville. I'm happy for him."
Mitch was at the point of hanging up when the man said cheerily, "Yeah, I thought you might be. Especially since he just identified his attacker as Grace Brookstein."
Chapter Nineteen
MITCH BURST INTO THE INTENSIVE-CARE UNIT.
"Detective Connors. I'm here to see Tommy Burns." He flashed his badge at the staff nurse.
"Right this way, Detective."
The head of admissions had filled Mitch in on the van driver's story. According to Tommy Burns, he was a freelance gardener who'd happened to pick up a hitchhiker a couple miles outside of Bedford last Tuesday night. The woman went by the name of Lizzie. Tommy drove her about forty miles north before she suddenly pulled a knife on him, forced him into the woods, stabbed and robbed him, leaving him for dead.
"Some local kids found him. They were out hunting. A few more hours and he'd have bled to death for sure."
"And he believes this Lizzie who attacked him was actually Grace Brookstein?"
"He seems certain of it. A few hours after he came to, he asked to have the TV turned on. Brookstein's face came on the news and he went crazy. We had to sedate him. He wants to talk to you but he's still very weak, so go easy. His wife and kids haven't even seen him yet."
Mitch thought, Wife and kids. The poor bastard's a family man. But of course Grace Brookstein didn't care about that. She picked him up, used him to get what she wanted, then left him to die in the woods, alone. Painful memories of his dad's murder came flooding back to him. Pete Connors's killer would never be caught. But Grace Brookstein sure as hell would be. Men like Tommy Burns deserved justice. They deserved to be protected.
Mitch approached Tommy Burns's bed full of compassion.
When he left the hospital fifteen minutes later, he found himself wishing Grace Brookstein had finished the job. Tommy Burns was about as likable as a bad case of hemorrhoids. He was also a rotten liar.
"Jesus, Detective, I already told you. I was the Good Samaritan, okay? I saw a chick in trouble and I did the right thing. One minute we was driving along, listening to the radio, nice as pie. The next minute, bam! The bitch has a knife to my throat. I never stood a chance."
Mitch wanted to believe him. Badly. Right now Tommy Burns was the only witness he had. But he didn't believe him. Something about the guy wasn't right.
"Let's go back to when you first picked her up, shall we, Mr. Burns? You said she looked like she was in trouble?"
"She was half dressed. It was freezing out there, snowing. She had this thin blouse on. You could see right through it." A half smile flickered across his face at the memory. Just then a pretty young nurse came in to refill the water pitcher. Mitch Connors watched Tommy Burns follow her lustfully with his eyes as she turned and left the room. A light went on in Mitch's brain.
"You didn't think to ask her why she was dressed like that on a freezing winter's night?"
"Nope. Why should I? None o' my business."
"I suppose not. Still, out of curiosity..."
"I'm not a curious person."
"Yes. I can see that."
Tommy Burns's eyes narrowed. Something about Mitch's tone gave him the feeling he was being mocked. "What d'you mean by that?"
"I don't mean anything by it. I'm simply agreeing with you that you lack curiosity. For example, you don't seem to have asked yourself why, after going to all the trouble of trying to murder you, this woman didn't finish the job."
Tommy Burns became agitated. "Hey now. Don't you go givin' me no 'this woman' bullshit. It was Grace Brookstein. I saw her on the TV, plain as day. You catch her, I'll be wanting that two-hundred-thousand-dollar reward."
"Fine," said Mitch. "Let's say it was Grace Brookstein who attacked you."
"It was."
"If it were me, I'd still be asking myself that question: 'Why did she let me live? Why didn't she finish the job?' But then again, you see, I am a curious person. We detectives usually are."
Tommy considered this. "I guess she thought she had. Finished the job, I mean. We were out in the middle of nowhere. Probably figured I'd die slow."
Mitch pounced. "Really? Why do you think she would want you to die slowly?"