you sit down." She sat on the edge of the chair opposite him. "I've had so many people here, so many strangers asking questions, that I've begun to think everyone knows his way around here . . . including you."
"I can imagine it's been a difficult time for you, Mrs. Hill."
She stared at him for a moment, then stared down at her feet. "I thought I'd been through tough times before. I was divorced last year and I wondered how I got through it all. That was nothing compared to this." She remembered the old complaint that talking to an American for five minutes elicited everything there was to be known about him. But, hell, Corelli was in her home. And she'd damn well tell him what she wanted. Besides, he looked kind, like the type of man who just might understand and sympathize. "I've been in New York for eight years and I've always known as well as anyone what might happen to anyone in this city if they were unlucky. I just never thought it would happen to me."
Corelli studied her as she spoke. She had a way of speaking off into the distance, as if she were alone, or reciting lines. But when she finished and lifted her eyes to his, Corelli felt more the center of her attention than if she had spoken to nun directly. Louise Hill was talking from her heart, not through the layers of defense erected to protect New Yorkers from the very dangers that had so suddenly broken through to her. The defenses hadn't worked. She was totally exposed, and Corelli's heart went out to her.
"Now, Sergeant," she pushed on, "what exactly would you like to know?"
"Just tell me what happened--exactly."
Louise took in a deep breath and, as best she could, recounted the fragmented details of Lisa's disappearance. She had already recited the narrative so many times since yesterday that as the words spilled out by rote, her mind drifted slightly. She now remembered how angry she'd been with Lisa for disobeying her, for walking down the platform alone. And she remembered her promise to herself that if anything happened to the child, that would be just fine; she deserved to be taught a lesson. God, why had it taken this horrible tragedy to make her realize that her world began and ended with Lisa? Teach her a lesson? The lesson was Louise's, and she was beginning to crumble from its severity.
"When you reached the upper level of the Seventy-second Street platform, did you see anything unusual?" Corelli interrupted her thoughts.
"There were a few people waiting for the uptown train; nothing else."
"Then it didn't appear they'd just witnessed something out of the ordinary?" The question, while avoiding the word "kidnapping," was academic--if Lisa Hill had been abducted against her will and forced out of the station, she would have put up one hell of a fight. And that would have attracted attention.
"The only thing out of the ordinary they saw was me," Louise said ironically. "They looked at me like
I was crazy. I guess I really can't blame them; I was screaming or something. The police have statements: they all said that until I came, upstairs they saw no one, nothing strange."
"Is that why you went back downstairs instead of running out into the street? Because they were so calm?" That wasn't the real reason, though even Mrs. Hill probably didn't know it. Corelli guessed that subconsciously she knew Lisa was still underground.
"I guess that's why I went back down." She'd been asked and had answered that question a hundred times. That was the reason, unless...
"Mrs. Hill?" Corelli asked, sensing she might be remembering something.
"I had this feeling . . . No, it's insane." She shook her head.
Corelli leaned forward. Not only was Louise Hill beautiful, she was sensitive, too, a cut above the usual witness to a crime; that could be useful. "Mrs. Hill, think. What kind of feeling did you have?"
"That Lisa was still down in the subway, that she was close, but I just couldn't see her."
Bingo! But now was not the time to tip his hand. Corelli
"I can imagine it's been a difficult time for you, Mrs. Hill."
She stared at him for a moment, then stared down at her feet. "I thought I'd been through tough times before. I was divorced last year and I wondered how I got through it all. That was nothing compared to this." She remembered the old complaint that talking to an American for five minutes elicited everything there was to be known about him. But, hell, Corelli was in her home. And she'd damn well tell him what she wanted. Besides, he looked kind, like the type of man who just might understand and sympathize. "I've been in New York for eight years and I've always known as well as anyone what might happen to anyone in this city if they were unlucky. I just never thought it would happen to me."
Corelli studied her as she spoke. She had a way of speaking off into the distance, as if she were alone, or reciting lines. But when she finished and lifted her eyes to his, Corelli felt more the center of her attention than if she had spoken to nun directly. Louise Hill was talking from her heart, not through the layers of defense erected to protect New Yorkers from the very dangers that had so suddenly broken through to her. The defenses hadn't worked. She was totally exposed, and Corelli's heart went out to her.
"Now, Sergeant," she pushed on, "what exactly would you like to know?"
"Just tell me what happened--exactly."
Louise took in a deep breath and, as best she could, recounted the fragmented details of Lisa's disappearance. She had already recited the narrative so many times since yesterday that as the words spilled out by rote, her mind drifted slightly. She now remembered how angry she'd been with Lisa for disobeying her, for walking down the platform alone. And she remembered her promise to herself that if anything happened to the child, that would be just fine; she deserved to be taught a lesson. God, why had it taken this horrible tragedy to make her realize that her world began and ended with Lisa? Teach her a lesson? The lesson was Louise's, and she was beginning to crumble from its severity.
"When you reached the upper level of the Seventy-second Street platform, did you see anything unusual?" Corelli interrupted her thoughts.
"There were a few people waiting for the uptown train; nothing else."
"Then it didn't appear they'd just witnessed something out of the ordinary?" The question, while avoiding the word "kidnapping," was academic--if Lisa Hill had been abducted against her will and forced out of the station, she would have put up one hell of a fight. And that would have attracted attention.
"The only thing out of the ordinary they saw was me," Louise said ironically. "They looked at me like
I was crazy. I guess I really can't blame them; I was screaming or something. The police have statements: they all said that until I came, upstairs they saw no one, nothing strange."
"Is that why you went back downstairs instead of running out into the street? Because they were so calm?" That wasn't the real reason, though even Mrs. Hill probably didn't know it. Corelli guessed that subconsciously she knew Lisa was still underground.
"I guess that's why I went back down." She'd been asked and had answered that question a hundred times. That was the reason, unless...
"Mrs. Hill?" Corelli asked, sensing she might be remembering something.
"I had this feeling . . . No, it's insane." She shook her head.
Corelli leaned forward. Not only was Louise Hill beautiful, she was sensitive, too, a cut above the usual witness to a crime; that could be useful. "Mrs. Hill, think. What kind of feeling did you have?"
"That Lisa was still down in the subway, that she was close, but I just couldn't see her."
Bingo! But now was not the time to tip his hand. Corelli
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