The Watchmaker’s Hand

Once gloved, she turned to the doctor, who said, “I need the vitals. That monitor there. Call them out. Temperature, pulse, respiration, blood pressure. That’s all I need for now.”

For now? What the hell was coming next?

Another scream, apparently.

Brother, the woman had lungs.

“I want some fucking drugs!”

“You’re doing fine. Push!”

Sachs was calling out numbers.

The patient: “I want—”

At that moment came an explosion, a cannon shell, from outside. The room next to the one they were in disappeared in a blast of glass shards and plastic and metal and Sheetrock.

Sachs glanced through the glass wall.

It was the steel restraining cable the battalion chief had ordered rigged; the thing had snapped and shot into the room, blown the door off the hinges and embedded itself deep in the hallway wall.

Those in the corridor screamed, though it seemed no one had been hit. Had they been, the metal would have sliced through their flesh and bone effortlessly.

Seeing, briefly, bloody rebar rods...

How many more tether cables were there? She believed she’d seen a half dozen.

“Drugs, I want some drugs!”

“Push!” From the doctor.

Another metallic groan from outside. The tower bent closer.

“I want some—!”

Sachs leaned close to the patient. “Shut up and push!”

40

“I went to see him. They wouldn’t let me up.”

The detective sitting across from Ron Pulaski nodded at the patrolman’s words.

“I just wanted to wish him the best. I brought some candy. Who needs flowers? But they wouldn’t let me up.”

“Probably a legal thing. You being the driver of the car that hit him.”

“Just felt so bad about it. Guess I looked pretty miserable. Nurse took pity on me and told me he’ll be all right. Some burns, concussion, but he should be out in a few days.”

The interview Pulaski had been summoned to was being conducted in the office of Internal Affairs detective Ed Garner, which made Pulaski feel more or less comfortable, since it was cluttered, the desk piled high with case files and rows of Redweld folders on the floor. The family pictures revealed that he and his wife had two children about the ages of Pulaski and Jenny’s. The whole family liked to fish, it seemed.

Both men wore dark suits and white shirts, Garner’s collar and cuffs contrasting with his dark skin. Pulaski’s tie was red, Garner’s deep green, and Pulaski thought they both could have walked out of Police Plaza and gone straight to a funeral.

The IA detective had a notebook open in front of him and a digital recorder sitting next to it, the red Recording dot illuminated.

“Now, Officer Pulaski—” Garner was speaking.

“Ron is fine.”

His last name sounded too official. Like he’d already been convicted of negligent operation of a vehicle under the influence and was about to be sentenced to prison by a stern judge.

“Okay, Ron,” he said in a friendly voice. “Good. Let’s go that way — I’m Ed. Now, you’re pretty freaked out. Of course you are. But we’ll get through this as fast as we can. Get you back home. Just some preliminaries we have to get out of the way. Today we’re just taking your statement for an internal review. This is not a criminal investigation. The sole point of my questions’re to see if NYPD administrative and procedural rules were followed in the incident on Parker Street.”

Pulaski was looking at a file folder. His own. It wasn’t thick — a quarter inch. Maybe less.

“Officer? Ron?”

He hadn’t been paying attention. He’d been looking at the folder.

“You understand you have a right to an attorney.”

“I’ve called some. Nobody I talked to was available yet. And I want to get back on the street ASAP.”

Eddie Tarr and his red sedan were out there somewhere.

“So.” He lifted his palms. “Here I am.”

“Our report will go to the accident review board. You’re—”

“Familiar? Yes.”

“The board’ll determine if there’s been a breach of procedure. And if there has been, what action should be taken. Now, I said this wasn’t a criminal case, but there’s the possibility it could become one. Badges from the local house’ve run the scene, canvassing. That’s a separate thing. If the facts warrant, the findings’ll be referred to the DA’s office. So, two investigations. You follow?”

What was there not to? “Yes.”

“Now, you have the right against self-incrimination in the criminal investigation. But since this, here, is administrative, we can compel you to talk to us. If you don’t, you’ll be subject to department discipline. Failure to cooperate.”

“Okay. But what I say here can’t be used in any criminal investigation.”

Garner nodded with a smile. “If there is one. Correct.”

Pulaski noted that Garner hadn’t asked him if it was all right to record. There was probably some fine print in the Patrolman’s Handbook that said when you signed on, you consented to having red-eyed space monsters record your statements.

“Okay, all that crap’s out of the way. In your own words, tell me what happened.” Then the detective gave a half smile. “Though who the hell else’s words’d you use?”