searching for answers in the faces around her.
“Susan.” Gavin sprang out of his seat to meet her. As he hurried over, he saw a nurse coming from across the room to intercept
her as well.
Susan turned to his voice. “Where’s John?” she cried in a pleading tone.
“I’m sorry,” Gavin said. The words sounded ridiculously inane, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He reached out
to embrace her and she shook off his touch, bending over as if her stomach was cramping.
“I want to see my husband. I want to see John.”
The nurse had tears in her own eyes as she looked at Gavin. He closed his eyes and slowly nodded.
“Your husband’s in the other room, Mrs. Garrity,” the nurse said. “I’ll bring you to him.”
Gavin stepped back and watched the nurse walk the grieving woman through the swinging doors, her arm at the small of Susan’s
back. They were the same doors Chris and the blonde woman had been rushed through earlier. The doctors had told him the preliminary
prognosis looked good for the both of them. Chris appeared to have a mild concussion and a broken left arm. The girl had broken
her left leg, but the air bag had saved her from any other serious injury. In fact, if not for the air bag, treating her broken
leg would not have been necessary. She and Chris would both spendthe night in the ICU and in all probability would be moved into private rooms in the morning.
“Pierce!” Gavin looked up and saw Mel Gasman hurrying toward him. Gavin smiled grimly.
“Gasman,” he said. “You’re just the guy I want to talk to.”
Gasman looked as though he must have heard wrong. “You want to talk to me?” he said, pointing to his chest.
“Yeah! How would you like to help me catch the Ghost Driver?”
“I get the exclusive?”
“The story will be yours.”
“Then I’m yours.”
“Don’t you even want to know what you’ll have to do?”
Gasman shrugged. “What’s the difference? As long as I get the story.”
“Good. I’ve got breaking news. And I want tomorrow’s front page.”
16
A fter blindly fumbling with several buttons and switches, trying to quiet the buzzer on his new, overly optioned, alarm clock,
Gavin gave up and reached for the plug. He wished he were a morning person. He had regularly tried to make the conversion,
but it was hopeless. Morning people had regular bedtimes and seemed to enjoy snuggling under their covers at night and hoppingout from under them in the morning. Gavin, on the other hand, found once he was asleep, he wanted to stay asleep and once
he was awake, he wanted to stay awake. While awake, he didn’t want to leave any problem unsolved and his mind would dig and
search and build up and tear down until his cowardly eyelids gave in. Then he would sleep, so deeply that hurricanes and thunderstorms
and sirens could rarely stir him to consciousness.
But not today.
Gavin immediately grabbed his phone, called the hospital, and was informed both Chris and Karianne Stordal were stable and
asleep. Although she had no serious injuries, the flight attendant would be no good for questioning until later because of
the high levels of alcohol in her system. Amber Clayborne, he was told was still in a coma.
Gavin then broke his usual morning sequence by heading directly for the paper. He couldn’t wait to see what kind of impact
his conversation with Mel Gasman had had. In exchange for all the seedy details and likelihood of more to come, Gasman had
promised to emphasize a particular message Gavin wanted to send to the killer.
Gavin opened the front door. To his surprise, the paper wasn’t on the stoop. He ventured out a bit further, wearing only a
pair of
The Far Side
boxer shorts that he’d received as a joke gift from Chris for his last birthday. Standing with his hands on his hips and
surveying his meager landscape of fenced-in lawn, he noticed a bicycle in the driveway. It was a mountain bike,
“Susan.” Gavin sprang out of his seat to meet her. As he hurried over, he saw a nurse coming from across the room to intercept
her as well.
Susan turned to his voice. “Where’s John?” she cried in a pleading tone.
“I’m sorry,” Gavin said. The words sounded ridiculously inane, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He reached out
to embrace her and she shook off his touch, bending over as if her stomach was cramping.
“I want to see my husband. I want to see John.”
The nurse had tears in her own eyes as she looked at Gavin. He closed his eyes and slowly nodded.
“Your husband’s in the other room, Mrs. Garrity,” the nurse said. “I’ll bring you to him.”
Gavin stepped back and watched the nurse walk the grieving woman through the swinging doors, her arm at the small of Susan’s
back. They were the same doors Chris and the blonde woman had been rushed through earlier. The doctors had told him the preliminary
prognosis looked good for the both of them. Chris appeared to have a mild concussion and a broken left arm. The girl had broken
her left leg, but the air bag had saved her from any other serious injury. In fact, if not for the air bag, treating her broken
leg would not have been necessary. She and Chris would both spendthe night in the ICU and in all probability would be moved into private rooms in the morning.
“Pierce!” Gavin looked up and saw Mel Gasman hurrying toward him. Gavin smiled grimly.
“Gasman,” he said. “You’re just the guy I want to talk to.”
Gasman looked as though he must have heard wrong. “You want to talk to me?” he said, pointing to his chest.
“Yeah! How would you like to help me catch the Ghost Driver?”
“I get the exclusive?”
“The story will be yours.”
“Then I’m yours.”
“Don’t you even want to know what you’ll have to do?”
Gasman shrugged. “What’s the difference? As long as I get the story.”
“Good. I’ve got breaking news. And I want tomorrow’s front page.”
16
A fter blindly fumbling with several buttons and switches, trying to quiet the buzzer on his new, overly optioned, alarm clock,
Gavin gave up and reached for the plug. He wished he were a morning person. He had regularly tried to make the conversion,
but it was hopeless. Morning people had regular bedtimes and seemed to enjoy snuggling under their covers at night and hoppingout from under them in the morning. Gavin, on the other hand, found once he was asleep, he wanted to stay asleep and once
he was awake, he wanted to stay awake. While awake, he didn’t want to leave any problem unsolved and his mind would dig and
search and build up and tear down until his cowardly eyelids gave in. Then he would sleep, so deeply that hurricanes and thunderstorms
and sirens could rarely stir him to consciousness.
But not today.
Gavin immediately grabbed his phone, called the hospital, and was informed both Chris and Karianne Stordal were stable and
asleep. Although she had no serious injuries, the flight attendant would be no good for questioning until later because of
the high levels of alcohol in her system. Amber Clayborne, he was told was still in a coma.
Gavin then broke his usual morning sequence by heading directly for the paper. He couldn’t wait to see what kind of impact
his conversation with Mel Gasman had had. In exchange for all the seedy details and likelihood of more to come, Gasman had
promised to emphasize a particular message Gavin wanted to send to the killer.
Gavin opened the front door. To his surprise, the paper wasn’t on the stoop. He ventured out a bit further, wearing only a
pair of
The Far Side
boxer shorts that he’d received as a joke gift from Chris for his last birthday. Standing with his hands on his hips and
surveying his meager landscape of fenced-in lawn, he noticed a bicycle in the driveway. It was a mountain bike,
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