Kill Switch by Neal Baer Page B

could see was Tommy Wessel lying near death on the train tracks.
    The troops had arrived at the subway station within minutes, the paramedics whisking Wessel off to the hospital while at least fifty cops and detectives searched the shut-down subway tunnel for any sign of Todd Quimby. But he had vanished, probably through an emergency exit. Savarese determined that Nick was in no mental shape to take part in the search and, after debriefing him on the subway platform, drove him to be with his short-time partner.
    â€œWe’re here, Nicky,” Savarese said, bringing Nick back to the present.
    As he exited the car, the precinct numbers on the police cruisers he passed told the story: Cops, from the lowest rookie to chiefs with stars on their shoulders, from around the corner to the farthest reaches of Queens and Staten Island, were pouring into the ER to show support and give blood. Nick himself had participated in the ritual for many a fallen cop more times than he cared to remember. But never before was the downed officer his partner.
    Now, as Savarese escorted him through the double doors into the waiting room, Nick saw the dozens of cops praying, talking, crying. All turned silent as they became aware of Nick’s presence. The media attention he’d gotten eight months earlier ensured that every cop in the city—and most of its citizens—knew his face. As he passed through the throng of his brethren, Nick couldn’t help but notice their solemn expressions. Were they looking at him with sorrow and sympathy? Or were they thinking that once again Nick Lawler screwed up?
    The sound of quiet sobbing rattled Nick, which Savarese couldn’t help but notice. He wiped his bald, sweaty head with a handkerchief and led Nick through another door into a treatment area. A few feet ahead, Lieutenant Wilkes was doing his best to console Debby Wessel, a pretty, obviously pregnant, twenty-five-year-old brunette. She and Wilkes were looking through a glass window into a room where a team of doctors and nurses worked on her husband. Nick’s eyes returned to Debby. She’s way too young to have to face this, he thought.
    â€œYou can’t be in here,” came a voice from behind them. It was a doctor, the credentials hanging from his neck identifying him as Gavin Lester, chief of emergency medicine.
    â€œPolice, Doc,” said Savarese. He pointed to Nick. “He’s Detective Wessel’s partner.”
    â€œAre you taking care of him?” Nick asked.
    â€œYes, I am,” Lester replied. “We’re trying to stabilize him for surgery.”
    â€œWill he make it?” Nick managed, afraid to hear the answer.
    â€œIf we can get the brain swelling down, he stands a chance.”
    Nick let out a breath.
    â€œBut that’s the good news,” Lester said, as if he’d said the same words too many times before. “His right fibula and tibia are shattered.”
    â€œWhich means what, Doc?” Nick asked, hoping it wasn’t what he thought.
    â€œWe’ll pin his leg back together, but he’ll never be the same.”
    His days as a cop are over, Nick thought.
    â€œThanks, Doc,” was the only reply Nick could manage.
    Lieutenant Wilkes now looked in their direction. Nick could see him whisper to Wessel’s wife that he needed a moment. He walked the few feet over to them, all business.
    â€œWhat’d the doc say?” asked Wilkes.
    â€œJust that they’re trying to get him up to surgery,” said Savarese.
    â€œI need you back at the scene,” Wilkes told Savarese, gesturing over to Debby. “She’s a mess and nobody’s been able to reach Tommy’s parents, so I have to stay here.”
    â€œOn my way, Boss,” Savarese said, looking at Nick.
    â€œI’m okay,” Nick said, reading the look. “I’ll get myself home.”
    Savarese nodded, then headed off. Wilkes glanced over toward Debby.
    â€œYou