“Excuse me?”
“I was assaulted and, from what you’re saying, robbed. Wouldn’t a cop be interested?”
She folded her arms across her chest. “And you think, what, they’d just sit here and wait for you to wake up?”
She had a point—like the doctor waiting on TV.
Then Bertha added: “Most people don’t bother to report this kind of thing anyway.”
“What kind of thing?”
She frowned again. “You want me to call the police for you too?”
“I better call my wife first.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I think that’s probably best.”
He reached for the bed’s control button. Pain tore across his rib cage. His lungs stopped. He fumbled for the control and pushed the top button. His body curled up with the bed. He tried to squiggle more upright. He slowly reached now for the phone. He got it to his ear. It wasn’t hooked up yet.
Tia must be in a panic.
Was Adam home by now?
Who the hell had jumped him?
“Mr. Baye?”
It was Nurse Bertha reappearing at the door.
“Dr. Baye,” he corrected.
“Oh, silly me, I forgot.”
He hadn’t said it to be obnoxious, but letting a hospital know that you were a fellow physician had to be a good idea. If a cop is pulled over for speeding, he always lets the other cop know what he does for a living. File it under “Can’t Hurt.”
“I found an officer here for another matter,” she said. “Do you want to talk to him?”
“Yes, thanks, but could you also hook up the phone?”
“Should be ready for you any minute now.”
The uniformed officer entered the room. He was a small man, Latino with a thin mustache. Mike placed him in his mid-thirties. He introduced himself as Officer Guttierez.
“Do you really want to file a report?” he asked.
“Of course.”
He frowned too.
“What?”
“I’m the officer who brought you in.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Do you know where we found you?”
Mike thought a second. “Probably in that alley by that club. I forget the street.”
“Exactly.”
He looked at Mike and waited. And Mike finally saw it.
“It’s not what you think,” Mike said.
“What do I think?”
“That I was rolled by a hooker.”
“Rolled?”
Mike tried to shrug. “I watch a lot of TV.”
“Well, I’m not big on jumping to conclusions, but here’s what I do know: You were found in an alley frequented by prostitutes. You’re a solid twenty or thirty years older than the average club goer in that area. You’re married. You got jumped and robbed and beaten in a way I’ve seen before, when a john gets”—he made quote marks with his fingers—“ ‘rolled by a hooker or her pimp.’ ”
“I wasn’t there to solicit,” Mike said.
“Uh-huh, no, no, I’m sure you were in that alley for the view. It’s pretty special. And don’t get me started on the delights of the aroma. Man, you don’t have to explain to me. I totally get the allure.”
“I was looking for my son.”
“In that alley?”
“Yes. I saw a friend of his. . . .” The pain returned. He could see how this would go. It would take some time to explain. And then what? What would this cop find anyway?
He needed to reach Tia.
“I’m in a lot of pain right now,” Mike said.
Guttierez nodded. “I understand. Look, here’s my card. Call if you want to talk some more or fill out a complaint, okay?”
Guttierez put his card on the night table and left the room. Mike ignored it. He fought through the pain, reached for the phone, and dialed Tia’s cell phone.
18
LOREN Muse watched the street surveillance tape from near where her Jane Doe’s body was dumped. Nothing jumped out at her, but then again, what had she expected? Several dozen vehicles drove past that lot at that hour. You couldn’t really eliminate any. The body could be in the trunk of even the smallest car.
Still she kept watching and hoping and when the tape rolled to the end, she had gotten a big fat goose egg for her trouble.
Clarence knocked and stuck his head in again. “You’re not going to believe this, Chief.”
“I’m listening.”
“First off, forget that missing man. The Baye guy. Guess where he was?”
“Where?”
“A Bronx hospital. His wife goes away on business and he goes out and gets mugged by a hooker.”
Muse made a face. “A Livingston guy going for a hooker in that area?”
“What can I tell you—some people like slumming. But that’s not the big news.” Clarence sat down without being asked, which was out of character. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and there was a hint of a smile breaking through the fleshy face.
“The Cordovas’ Acura MDX is still in the hotel lot,” he said. “The local cops knocked on some doors. She’s not there. So I went backward.”
“Backward?”
“The last place we knew where she was. The Palisades Mall. It’s a huge mall and they got a pretty extensive security setup. So I called them.”
“The security office?”
“Right, and here’s the thing: Yesterday, around five P.M., some guy came in to say he saw a woman in a green Acura MDX walk to her car, load some stuff in, and then walk to a man’s white van parked next to her. He says she gets in the van, not forced or anything, but then the door closes. The guy figures, no big deal except another woman comes along and gets in the woman’s Acura. Then both cars drove out together.”
Muse sat back. “The van and the Acura?”
“Right.”
“And another woman is driving the Acura?”
“Right. So anyway, this guy reports it to the security office and the guards are like, uh, so? They don’t pay any attention—I mean, what are they going to do? So they just file it. But when I call, they remember and pull the report. First off, this all took place right outside the Target. The guy came in to make the report at five fifteen P.M. We know that Reba Cordova made her purchase at Target at four fifty- two P.M. The receipt is date-stamped.”
Bells started clanging, but Muse wasn’t sure where they were coming from.
“Call Target,” she said. “I bet they have surveillance cameras.”