“He can join us,” says Rudi.

“No. It’s what Willie and I call alone time. He needs it. We both need it.”

When Rudi speaks again, his voice is fast, crisp, and downright unfriendly. “Very well. Whatever you care to do. But I must tell you that I’m quite disappointed.”

For a moment I think he’s putting me on, faking the anger.

“Please get out of the car,” he says.

“Rudi, come on, enough teasing…” I begin.

“Damn it, Lucy. Get out of the car.”

He’s not teasing.

Chapter 20

Chapter 20

THE NEXT DAY BEGINS like any other. I’m taking the number 3 subway train from Crown Heights into midtown Manhattan, and of course my cell phone is not getting service. Everyone around me on the train is listening to music or playing games, but I’m sitting there reliving my ride home with Dr. Sarkar. The ride, and the oddly unpleasant ending.

As soon as I get aboveground, two blocks from the hospital, I go to my cell and check the hospital page labeled “Daily Staff Locations.” I look first to see what’s up with Troy and Tracy Anne. Troy is “on call, in hospital.” Tracy Anne is “in hospital after 5 p.m.”

Then I click on what I really want to see. Is Rudi Sarkar in today? Here it is: “SARKAR A/D GUH GC.” This means that he’s spending all day (A/D) at the Gramatan University Hospital (GUH) clinic on the Grand Concourse (GC) in the Bronx.

Like most other New York City assholes who use their cell phones while they’re walking on the street, I bump into someone who reminds me that I am an asshole.

I make my way through the employees’ entrance security. This time, I don’t get into an argument with anyone.

Then I head straight for Katra’s room. She’s out of recovery and in a maternity patient room adjacent to the midwife area. The first thing I notice is this: a two-officer police team is standing outside Katra’s door. And a plainclothes female detective sits on a folding chair very close to the NYPD officers. The detective seems to know who I am. She says, “Go right in. One of your guys is in there, and the patient’s parents have been here overnight.”

Katra is in bed. Quiet, scared, teary, but not bad, considering she had her body sliced open and stitched back up less than twenty-four hours ago. She’s even had some time and energy to apply a little very pale pink lipstick.

“Katra’s doing good, by my evaluation,” Troy says, “really good, Lucy, but she’s not in the mood for talking.” He positions himself in such a way that I’m the only one who can see his eyes roll and his eyebrows arch up.