Liberty Falling-pigeon 7 by Nevada Barr Page B
Authors: Nevada Barr
Tags: Fiction, General, detective, Suspense, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Mystery, Mystery Fiction, Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, Fiction - Mystery, Crime & mystery, Mystery & Detective - Series, Pigeon; Anna (Fictitious character), Women park rangers, Mystery & Thrillers, Ellis Island (N.J. and N.Y.), Statue of Liberty National Monument (N.Y. and N.J.)
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said. "My husband was an actor," she told him, in an unusual moment of confidence. "Zach was dying to get on Broadway."
"I didn't know you was married," Hatch said. He held open the inner security door to the statue and Anna joined him as if it had been prearranged. "He still dying to get on Broadway?"
Zach had died trying to get across Ninth Avenue, hit by a cab, but Anna didn't want to get that personal. "He went on to better things," she said.
Hearing what he must have thought was the flippancy of a slightly bitter divorcee, Hatch dropped the subject. "You come to help me with the sweep?"
Merely thinking of those 354 steps made Anna's thigh hurt, but there was such hope in his voice, and she had to admit, it wasn't like she had anything better to do. She gave in gracefully and followed him into the orgasmatron.
"How do you use this for medical emergencies?" she asked as they squeezed in, sardine fashion. "No room for a backboard, wheelchair, nothing."
"It's to get us to them. Then we carry them or whatever."
"How often does it happen?"
"Not often. Hasn't while I been here."
A miracle in itself. With the high-density traffic and no way to clear a path from level S-l to the crown, it was a wonder there had not been at least a handful of heart attacks and strokes. "What a mess," Anna said, picturing the situation.
"You got it," Hatch replied. "If some old guy croaks up high, you got all of PS 191's third-grade class steppin' over the corpse to get down the stairs. We been lucky."
Anna followed him up the spiral staircase, through the light-drenched frontal lobe of the lady and back down to the orgasmatron. The climb had tweaked at her gash and she could tell it was bleeding again, but it was well dressed and the seepage wouldn't amount to much.
Keeping to a pattern too predictable to be desirable in a law enforcement officer, Hatch stopped at the top of the pedestal and went out to the same place he had the first time Anna had accompanied him. "Time to do drugs," he said.
There was a faint breeze. Anna welcomed its tickle in her hair. Hatch, ahead of her on the high balcony, turned when he reached the parapet. Indicating the crenel facing Manhattan, he said: "You want to sit? You being company, I don't want to hog the best spot."
Self-preservation, dragged from dormancy by the gang of cleaning men, reasserted itself. Backlit, faceless, Hatch no longer seemed utterly harmless. Alone, sixty feet above an unforgiving surface, it was not unthinkable that he had pushed a girl to her death.
"No thanks. Afraid of heights," Anna lied, and planted her back firmly against the wall beneath Liberty's big toe.
Hatch was quiet for a moment and still. For the latter Anna was grateful. With his face in darkness and his uncharacteristic failure to speak, if he'd started toward her she might have embarrassed them both by making a run for it. Was this how the little girl felt? Confronted by a nameless threat? Or was he nameless? The child was not identified. Nothing existed to prove she hadn't known Hatch, or he her.
"You're afraid of heights?" Hatch said after too long a silence. "You was okay in the elevator and it's all glass. That gets to most--what do you call 'em? Acrophobes? Agoraphobes?"
"Acrophobes."
"I get it," he said, and there was a change in his voice that made her uncomfortable, an undercurrent of anger. "It's okay." He turned away, swinging himself up onto the chest-high parapet.
Anna sucked in her breath, took two steps toward him, thinking for an instant he meant to jump.
He settled himself, legs dangling, and fished the foil packet with its Gauloises from his shirt pocket. "You're thinking of that little girl. I've about thought of nothing else." He seemed himself again. His anger was at the child's death; nothing to do with Anna. Prickling subsided from the back of her neck and she walked over to lean on the wall, close enough to be companionable but not so close she could be grabbed had she mis-guessed
"I didn't know you was married," Hatch said. He held open the inner security door to the statue and Anna joined him as if it had been prearranged. "He still dying to get on Broadway?"
Zach had died trying to get across Ninth Avenue, hit by a cab, but Anna didn't want to get that personal. "He went on to better things," she said.
Hearing what he must have thought was the flippancy of a slightly bitter divorcee, Hatch dropped the subject. "You come to help me with the sweep?"
Merely thinking of those 354 steps made Anna's thigh hurt, but there was such hope in his voice, and she had to admit, it wasn't like she had anything better to do. She gave in gracefully and followed him into the orgasmatron.
"How do you use this for medical emergencies?" she asked as they squeezed in, sardine fashion. "No room for a backboard, wheelchair, nothing."
"It's to get us to them. Then we carry them or whatever."
"How often does it happen?"
"Not often. Hasn't while I been here."
A miracle in itself. With the high-density traffic and no way to clear a path from level S-l to the crown, it was a wonder there had not been at least a handful of heart attacks and strokes. "What a mess," Anna said, picturing the situation.
"You got it," Hatch replied. "If some old guy croaks up high, you got all of PS 191's third-grade class steppin' over the corpse to get down the stairs. We been lucky."
Anna followed him up the spiral staircase, through the light-drenched frontal lobe of the lady and back down to the orgasmatron. The climb had tweaked at her gash and she could tell it was bleeding again, but it was well dressed and the seepage wouldn't amount to much.
Keeping to a pattern too predictable to be desirable in a law enforcement officer, Hatch stopped at the top of the pedestal and went out to the same place he had the first time Anna had accompanied him. "Time to do drugs," he said.
There was a faint breeze. Anna welcomed its tickle in her hair. Hatch, ahead of her on the high balcony, turned when he reached the parapet. Indicating the crenel facing Manhattan, he said: "You want to sit? You being company, I don't want to hog the best spot."
Self-preservation, dragged from dormancy by the gang of cleaning men, reasserted itself. Backlit, faceless, Hatch no longer seemed utterly harmless. Alone, sixty feet above an unforgiving surface, it was not unthinkable that he had pushed a girl to her death.
"No thanks. Afraid of heights," Anna lied, and planted her back firmly against the wall beneath Liberty's big toe.
Hatch was quiet for a moment and still. For the latter Anna was grateful. With his face in darkness and his uncharacteristic failure to speak, if he'd started toward her she might have embarrassed them both by making a run for it. Was this how the little girl felt? Confronted by a nameless threat? Or was he nameless? The child was not identified. Nothing existed to prove she hadn't known Hatch, or he her.
"You're afraid of heights?" Hatch said after too long a silence. "You was okay in the elevator and it's all glass. That gets to most--what do you call 'em? Acrophobes? Agoraphobes?"
"Acrophobes."
"I get it," he said, and there was a change in his voice that made her uncomfortable, an undercurrent of anger. "It's okay." He turned away, swinging himself up onto the chest-high parapet.
Anna sucked in her breath, took two steps toward him, thinking for an instant he meant to jump.
He settled himself, legs dangling, and fished the foil packet with its Gauloises from his shirt pocket. "You're thinking of that little girl. I've about thought of nothing else." He seemed himself again. His anger was at the child's death; nothing to do with Anna. Prickling subsided from the back of her neck and she walked over to lean on the wall, close enough to be companionable but not so close she could be grabbed had she mis-guessed
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