The Bone Collector

behind.
    “Can you swim?” she asked.
    “Me? A lap or two at the Health and Racquet Club.”
    They’d never make it.
    Sachs stopped suddenly, spun around in a fast circle, gazing at the deserted streets.
    * * *  
    The water was nearly to his nose.
    A small wave washed over William Everett’s face just as he inhaled and the foul, salty liquid streamed into his throat. He began to choke, a deep, horrible sound. Racking. The water filled his lungs. He lost his grip on the pier piling and sank under the surface, stiffened and rose once more, then sank again.
    No, Lord, no . . . please don’t let—
    He shook the cuffs, kicked hard, trying to get some play. As if some miracle might happen and his puny muscles could bend the huge bolt he was cuffed to.
    Snorting water from his nose, swiping his head back and forth in panic. He cleared his lungs momentarily. Neck muscles on fire—as painful as his shattered finger—from bending his head back to find the faint layer of air just above his face.
    He had a moment’s respite.
    Then another wave, slightly higher.
    And that was it.
    He couldn’t fight anymore. Surrender. Join Evelyn, say goodbye . . .
    And William Everett let go. He floated beneath the surface into the drecky water, full of junk and tendrils of seaweed.
    Then jerked back in horror. No, no . . .
    He was here. The kidnapper! He’d come back.
    Everett kicked to the surface, sneezing more water, trying desperately to get away. The man shone a brilliant light into Everett’s eyes and reached toward him with a knife.
    No,no. . .
    It wasn’t enough to drown him, he had to slash him to death. Without thinking Everett kicked out toward him. But the kidnapper vanished under the water . . . and then, snap, Everett’s hands were free.
    The old man forgot his placid goodbyes and kicked like hell to the surface, sucking sour air through his nose and ripping the tape from his mouth. Gasping, spitting the foul water. His head banged solidly into the underside of the oak pier and he laughed out loud. “Oh, God, God, God . . .”
    Then another face appeared . . . Also hooded, with another blindingly bright lamp attached, and Everett could just make out the NYPD emblem on the man’s wetsuit. They weren’t knives the men held but metal cutters. One of them thrust a bitter rubber mouthpiece between Everett’s lips and he inhaled a dazzling breath of oxygen.
    The diver slipped his arm around him and together they swam to the lip of the pier.
    “Take a deep breath, we’ll be out in a minute.”
    He filled his narrow lungs to bursting and, eyes closed, sailed with the diver deep into the water, lit eerily by the man’s yellow light. It was a short but harrowing trip, straight down then up again through cloudy, flecked water. Once he slipped out of the diver’s hands and they separated momentarily. But William Everett took the glitch in stride. After this evening, a solo swim in the choppy Hudson River was a piece of cake.
    * * *  
    She hadn’t planned on taking a cab. The airport bus would’ve been fine.
    But Pammy was wired from too little sleep—they’d both been up since five that morning—and she was getting restless. The little girl needed to be in bed soon, tucked away with her blanket and her bottle of Hawaiian Punch. Besides, Carole herself couldn’t wait to get to Manhattan—she was just a skinny Midwest gal who’d never been farther east than Ohio in all her forty-one years, and she was dying for her first look at the Big Apple.
    Carole collected her luggage and they started towardthe exit. She checked to make sure she had everything they’d left Kate and Eddie’s house with that afternoon.
    Pammy, Pooh, purse, blanket, suitcase, yellow knapsack.
    Everything accounted for.
    Her friends had warned her about the city. “They’ll hustle you,” Eddie’d said. “Purse snatchers, pickpockets.”
    “And don’t play those card games on the street,” maternal Kate had added.
    “I don’t play cards in my living room,” Carole reminded her, laughing. “Why’m I going to start playing on the streets of Manhattan?”
    But she appreciated their concern. After all, here she was, a widow with a three-year-old, heading to the toughest city on earth for the UN conference—more foreigners, hell, more people than she’d ever seen at one time.
    Carole found a pay phone and called the residence hotel to check on their reservations. The night manager said the room was ready and