Cross Current - Kling Christine (бесплатные книги полный формат TXT) 📗
“Okay. I’ll ask him.”
I turned from Collazo and watched Rusty leaning casually against the wall, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, drawing the fabric tight across his backside, while Wonder Woman leaned in to him, talking with her hands more than her mouth. He had a little half-smile on his face that made him look like he was enjoying every motion she made. I was glad to interrupt them.
X
Collazo wasn’t present while a female officer took my official statement. He’d heard the story already and, for once, he wasn’t accusing me of holding anything back. When it had been transcribed and I’d signed it, the woman called in an artist, and we ended with an okay likeness of the man I’d seen at the hospital. I was amazed at how little I really remembered of his face beyond the mustache and beard. When it came to the shape of eyes, nose, and ears, I just hadn’t paid enough attention.
I went upstairs to Collazo’s desk in the back of the room full of detectives’ desks. He sat with his jacket draped over the back of his chair, his head bent over a mound of paperwork.
I sat in the chair opposite him. “Hey, does the Fort Lauderdale PD have a Haitian officer?”
He shook his head without looking up.
“You’re kidding,” I said. “How many people work here?”
“Something like five hundred. The translator I brought with me is a civilian, an outside contractor.”
“You mean you don’t have anyone who speaks Creole working for Fort Lauderdale PD? Man, you guys need to open your eyes. Look around at this city.”
For just a second, he flicked his eyes up at me. “They don’t consult me on their hiring decisions.”
“Collazo, you are a piece of work.” It was kind of nice not to be adversaries, to be cooperating with the detective. He stopped writing and looked up at me. He held his gold pen in front of his face, his hands clasped around it. He seemed to be deciding something.
“You need to get this girl to talk to me,” he said.
This was a moment to remember. Collazo needed my help. I could be nasty and rub his nose in it, but I decided it would be smarter to use the moment.
“You got any kids, Collazo?”
“No,” he grunted, and went back to his paperwork.
“Me neither,” I said.
“Just get her to talk to me.”
I leaned across his desk. “There’s something about this kid. She gets to me. I’ve never even liked kids before. But this one... it’s something about how she looks at me, I think. She totally believes that I can help her. Do you think that’s what it’s like to be a parent? I don’t know. It scares me.”
He looked up from his paperwork. “Miss Sullivan, we are through here.”
“You just want to get to Solange before Miss FBI does, huh?”
He shot me a look that was supposed to deny my accusation but had the opposite effect.
“I might be able to help you, but I need something from you as well. Can you give me the name of your Creole translator?”
He pulled a yellow Post-it pad to him and wrote down a name and number. “She works for a radio station out in Davie—they do Caribbean shows, reggae, that kind of music. You can usually find her there or leave a message.” He tore off the note and handed it to me.
“Okay, the kid has been talking to me. I don’t know what’s wrong with her right now, but as soon as she comes out of it, I’ll call you.”
He nodded and bowed his head over his paperwork again.
“So, anyway, nice talking to you. And thanks,” I said, standing up and holding out the Post-it note. “This is weird, us working together all nice like this. You haven’t even accused me of anything yet. I hardly recognize you.” I smiled at the top of his head and turned toward the door.
“We’re not working together, Sullivan,” he said to my back. “You’re not working anything. Go back to your little tugboat.”
I turned back at the door. “Ah, there you are, the Detective Collazo we all know and love.” I waved my fingers at him. “Bye.”
It was after four o’clock by the time the officer dropped me off at the entrance to Broward General. Rusty was gone, Jeannie had returned, and Solange was unchanged. Jeannie motioned me over to the far side of the room. I brought her up-to-date on what had happened. We spoke in whispered tones because of the cop outside the door. Solange seemed more unconscious than asleep.
“There are two ways we can do this,” Jeannie said. “I could go out and get the paperwork done legally and get myself appointed as her temporary guardian. That might take several days and then any yahoo who is out looking for her would be able to trace her to me. Or we could snatch her. Personally, since I don’t really want any machete-wielding Haitians showing up at my house tonight, I vote for number two.”
“Wouldn’t that be like kidnapping or something? I’m not up for doing something that might get me sent to jail.”
“Nah, not to worry. We’ll let Mr. Greenjeans know we’ve got her, and he agreed to her staying with me. I don’t see it as a problem. We just don’t want to leave a forwarding address here at the hospital.”
“Okay, what do we do?”
Jeannie outlined her plan, which involved me getting Solange to the side door, where Jeannie would be waiting with her van. Out in the hallway, I set about stealing a wheelchair. I headed for Mrs. Johnson’s room first and got lucky.
Jeannie had already pulled out the IV and was sticking a Band-Aid on the girl’s arm when I wheeled the empty chair into the room. She gave me a brown bag with clothing in it. “We’ll dress her and then put the hospital gown back on over her street clothes.”
It was like dressing a doll. Her head rolled around as we lifted her frail body, pushing her feet into the legs of the shorts and her arms into the T-shirt sleeves. We slipped yellow Big Bird slippers on her feet. “I know these aren’t exactly inconspicuous, but they’re the only kid slippers I’ve got. Andrew loved Big Bird, had to have everything Big Bird for a while there.”
“Jeannie, are you sure she’s okay? Maybe she needs to stay here in the hospital.”
“Some kids are like this, Sey. They sleep the sleep of the dead. You could set a bomb off next to my boys and it wouldn’t wake them. She’s going to be fine.”
“How are we going to get her past him?” I pointed to the doorway.
“There’s another set of elevators if you go left and follow the yellow line down the corridor and around to the right. Take the hospital gown off her just before you get into the elevator, in a room if you have to, and then carry her like she’s just a sleeping child visiting someone. When you exit the elevators, go right and find the east parking lot exit. I’ll be out there in the van. Don’t leave the room until you hear me calling for the police.”
She took her car keys and then handed me her purse. “I’m about to get mugged,” she said.
Solange was propped up in the wheelchair, the basket of toys on her lap helping to keep her upright. I was afraid that some nurse or orderly would show up at any minute to take her blood pressure, change her IV, or bring her another hospital meal. I saw Jeannie get on the elevator and disappear behind the closed doors. It seemed to be taking forever. Every time the elevator doors opened, I strained my ears, listening for some indication of Jeannie’s distraction. When it came, I realized there was no way I could have missed it.
“Help! Police!” she bellowed. I heard the chair in front of the door scrape across the linoleum as the officer leapt to his feet. “Help! My purse! He took my purse!”
When I wheeled Solange out the door, all the women in the nursing station were leaning over the counter, staring at the floor of the open elevator. The policeman was bent over, his hand on the back of his neck in a gesture of misery as he contemplated what I assumed was Jeannie flat on her back. It would take some time to get her upright. We scooted down the hall, and no one paid us the slightest attention. Good thing, too, since hanging from my shoulder was the very purse Jeannie was claiming had been stolen.
