Subway Slayings by Poe C. S

Author:Poe, C. S. [Poe, C. S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: thriller, Mystery, Fiction, Romance, Suspense, Crime, Contemporary
ISBN: 9781952133404
Goodreads: 60532459
Publisher: Emporium Press
Published: 2022-10-28T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It was 4:42 p.m. and Larkin stood outside Megan’s hospital room, watching through the window in the door as Doyle sat in the vinyl chair Larkin had previously occupied, the overbed table’s height adjusted and situated in front of him, as he worked on a composite sketch of Creepy Dicky. Larkin placed his cell to his ear, watching Megan swing her legs back and forth over the side of the bed while gesturing animatedly with her descriptions. Larkin put in a call to the Major Cases Squad at 1PP and filled the responding detective in on Megan’s kidnapping, subsequent rescue as it related to Cold Cases, and relayed her current location in hopes of promptly passing responsibility for her to a more qualified unit in the department. He answered a few questions, confirmed her age, suggested that due to the circumstances of the kidnapping, it wasn’t a matter for SVU, but he’d leave that for Major Cases to decide, then hung up.

Larkin asked the uniformed cop, who was still keeping watch, where Gary Reynold was being kept, and the officer said his partner had reported that Reynold was out of surgery and she was on guard in room 512. Larkin took a final look through the window, watched Doyle’s progress on the characteristics stage—shaping the face and hair style, defining the linework, turning an unremarkable mess of shapes into a piece of art—and headed for the bank of elevators. Upon reaching the fifth floor, Larkin made a second phone call, this one to MTA Station Manager, Tanisha Crowley.

“Detective Larkin,” she said, her voice rich and resonating like the Mother of Blues, Ma Rainey. “How can I help you?”

“My apologies, Ms. Crowley. I wish I had been able to inform you earlier that we will be unable to meet this afternoon.”

“I know that.”

“You do?” Larkin countered, a rise in his pitch.

“Your partner called me. Almost two hours ago. He said there was an incident and you were delayed at the hospital. I hope it’s nothing pertaining to you, specifically?”

Larkin automatically put a hand to his chest, feeling the bandages under his dress shirt. He stopped walking, closed his eyes, clung to the vestiges of the all-but-exhausted Xanax high.

—Noah slid a silver band over Larkin’s finger, the air heavy with the perfume of summer flowers, sun dancing across the water—

Larkin shook his head and pressed his thumb against his left eye until it hurt.

—Noah slid a silver band over Larkin’s finger, the venue of St. Jude’s Church an oppressing and unhappy concession to Larkin’s frosty in-laws, and even his willingness to marry in a religious setting, when he himself was not a religious man, had done nothing to garner their respect—

“No, nothing pertaining to me,” Larkin answered.

“Your partner suggested tomorrow. I’m free after twelve.”

“Yes, that works. How is three o’clock.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

“Goodbye, Ms. Crowley.” Larkin ended the call, opened his calendar, and amended the date and time of his MTA appointment.

Larkin found room 512, knocked, and entered without waiting for a response.

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