Sunday's
Nightly News.
We found
some background information that puts a whole new spin on the
assassination, and so far, it's an exclusive. How about you?"
"Wish I could say we were that far along. No spin, no leads. This is
going to be a slow one. The administration closed down the school early
for the holidays, so we're just treading water. Mercer's having a bunch
of us over for a party tonight."
"Then you can hold out for a few more days till I get home?"
I was stretched out on the bed, phone to my ear, patting the empty
space next to me. "Pretty lonely on your side of the mattress. Don't
think I have any choice in the matter, do I? See if you can nab the
assignment to do local traffic up here. Something unexciting that keeps
you in my neighborhood all the time, okay?"
After we hung up, I called a few of my friends to say hello, wrapped
some of the gifts I planned to take to the office on Monday, and
dressed for the evening.
When Mike and I arrived at Mercer's house in Queens, the door was
open and there were fifteen or twenty people clustered around the bar
in his den. The first person to greet us was Vickee Eaton, a
second-grade detective who worked at One Police Plaza, in the office of
the deputy commissioner for public information.
Mike and Vickee were the same age and had gone through the academy
together. He had introduced her to Mercer when the latter's brief
marriage to a girl he'd grown up with had ended. Vickee and Mercer
dated for almost five years, and were married for less than two when
she walked out on him without any reason that he could articulate to
us. When I saw her once thereafter, at a press event the commissioner
held at headquarters to which Battaglia and I had been invited, she
told me she just couldn't deal with the kind of danger Mercer was
exposed to in the field. Vickee's father had been a cop, and had been
killed on the job when she was fifteen. He was the reason she had gone
into the department, and even more, the reason she feared how being a
cop could be a death warrant as well.
I thought I had masked my surprise at seeing Vickee, but she read me
clearly. "You haven't heard?"
I looked at Mike, who shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't go to visit
Mercer in the hospital—too many of you guys around for me to get down
on my knees and apologize for how stupid I'd been." She was talking
about the shooting in August, when the three of us had been
investigating the murder of an art dealer, and Mercer had almost been
killed as a result. "But I went over to Spencer's house immediately and
kind of sat vigil with him that whole first week."
"That old dog really kept it under his vest." Mike and I had been in
constant contact with Mercer's widowed father, Spencer Wallace, who
lived for his only son. He never told us Vickee had reentered their
lives.
Mercer had seen us come in and was making his way across the room
with two glasses of champagne in his hands. He gave one to each of us,
and Mike turned to pass his off to Vickee. She waved a finger at him
and picked up a soft drink she'd been working on when we came in. "No
alcohol for me. Not quite my third month yet."
Mike grabbed her in a bear hug, champagne sloshing from the flute
and covering his lapel. "You mean that doctor got Mercer's plumbing
back in order? Damn, you
are
my idol, m'man. Here I'm
thinking you need all this bed rest and you're going to get out on
three-quarters 'cause some asshole disabled you, and if you can ever be
lucky enough to shoot at all again you'd be shooting blanks. While the
whole time you're just practicing on Vickee, making love—"
I hadn't seen Mercer this happy in more than a year. He was trying
to talk over Mike and explain that he and Vickee had decided to get
married. "It's just going to be my dad, and her mother and two sisters
this time. And both of you. New Year's Day, in Judge Carter's chambers.
Will you be there?"
"Sure, we'll be there. Long as you don't do it during any of the
bowl games,
Nightly News.
We found
some background information that puts a whole new spin on the
assassination, and so far, it's an exclusive. How about you?"
"Wish I could say we were that far along. No spin, no leads. This is
going to be a slow one. The administration closed down the school early
for the holidays, so we're just treading water. Mercer's having a bunch
of us over for a party tonight."
"Then you can hold out for a few more days till I get home?"
I was stretched out on the bed, phone to my ear, patting the empty
space next to me. "Pretty lonely on your side of the mattress. Don't
think I have any choice in the matter, do I? See if you can nab the
assignment to do local traffic up here. Something unexciting that keeps
you in my neighborhood all the time, okay?"
After we hung up, I called a few of my friends to say hello, wrapped
some of the gifts I planned to take to the office on Monday, and
dressed for the evening.
When Mike and I arrived at Mercer's house in Queens, the door was
open and there were fifteen or twenty people clustered around the bar
in his den. The first person to greet us was Vickee Eaton, a
second-grade detective who worked at One Police Plaza, in the office of
the deputy commissioner for public information.
Mike and Vickee were the same age and had gone through the academy
together. He had introduced her to Mercer when the latter's brief
marriage to a girl he'd grown up with had ended. Vickee and Mercer
dated for almost five years, and were married for less than two when
she walked out on him without any reason that he could articulate to
us. When I saw her once thereafter, at a press event the commissioner
held at headquarters to which Battaglia and I had been invited, she
told me she just couldn't deal with the kind of danger Mercer was
exposed to in the field. Vickee's father had been a cop, and had been
killed on the job when she was fifteen. He was the reason she had gone
into the department, and even more, the reason she feared how being a
cop could be a death warrant as well.
I thought I had masked my surprise at seeing Vickee, but she read me
clearly. "You haven't heard?"
I looked at Mike, who shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't go to visit
Mercer in the hospital—too many of you guys around for me to get down
on my knees and apologize for how stupid I'd been." She was talking
about the shooting in August, when the three of us had been
investigating the murder of an art dealer, and Mercer had almost been
killed as a result. "But I went over to Spencer's house immediately and
kind of sat vigil with him that whole first week."
"That old dog really kept it under his vest." Mike and I had been in
constant contact with Mercer's widowed father, Spencer Wallace, who
lived for his only son. He never told us Vickee had reentered their
lives.
Mercer had seen us come in and was making his way across the room
with two glasses of champagne in his hands. He gave one to each of us,
and Mike turned to pass his off to Vickee. She waved a finger at him
and picked up a soft drink she'd been working on when we came in. "No
alcohol for me. Not quite my third month yet."
Mike grabbed her in a bear hug, champagne sloshing from the flute
and covering his lapel. "You mean that doctor got Mercer's plumbing
back in order? Damn, you
are
my idol, m'man. Here I'm
thinking you need all this bed rest and you're going to get out on
three-quarters 'cause some asshole disabled you, and if you can ever be
lucky enough to shoot at all again you'd be shooting blanks. While the
whole time you're just practicing on Vickee, making love—"
I hadn't seen Mercer this happy in more than a year. He was trying
to talk over Mike and explain that he and Vickee had decided to get
married. "It's just going to be my dad, and her mother and two sisters
this time. And both of you. New Year's Day, in Judge Carter's chambers.
Will you be there?"
"Sure, we'll be there. Long as you don't do it during any of the
bowl games,
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