done.”
Dyer blinked through his confusion. “But she was here this morning when I went to work, she didn’t say anything. Nothing.”
“That was days ago, Ben. You’ve been in the hospital.”
Dyer rubbed at his temples a minute, then looked up. “When did it happen, the murder?”
“Monday. Mob hit. Amy was afraid if she told you, you’d try to talk her out of leaving. Or that you’d wanna go with her. And she didn’t want you to throw your career away. She knew you’d wanna go. But I convinced her to tell you. She came by the hospital before the marshals took her away.”
“When? I don’t remember—”
“Yesterday, you were still sedated. The doc tried waking you, but—”
“No.” He bowed his head and grabbed two fistfuls of hair. “Loo, this can’t be happening. Amy, I mean, we were gonna get married. How could she leave?”
Russo drew a thick hand across his damp brow. “Look, Ben, it is what it is, okay? She had to go. She loved you, you know that. Believe me, if I thought there was another way, you know I woulda talked them into it. But her life was at stake. It was the right call, and, well, it’s a done deal.”
“Just tell me where she went, I’ll leave the department, be with her.”
“This is real bad, I know. It’s gonna hurt for a while. But we've had bad shit happen before, and you and me, we always get through it, don't we?”
Dyer rose from the seat and hobbled to the dining room. The melamine buffet table was empty, slight outlines left in the dust where personal effects had once been. “She took her stuff. The glass salt and pepper shakers she bought in Hawaii. Amy loves those.”
“They only let her take things that couldn’t be traced back to her, or to you. No family photos, shit like that.”
Dyer looked over at Russo. “She really left?”
He studied Dyer’s face a moment, and then added, “US Attorney was real clear. Don’t go lookin’ for her, could put her life at risk. You hear me? They got rules, to keep her safe.”
Dyer stood at the counter a long moment, and then spun around. “Which fucking family?”
Russo shook his head, and then made his way over to Dyer. “All I know. She was at a supermarket in Queens and this guy walks in, puts a canon against another guy’s head and blows it into fucking meatloaf. Amy was the only one who saw it. You know Amy, Miss Good Samaritan. She dropped the dime and they picked the guy up a couple hours later. He was a known hit man for the family. Next day, someone took a shot at her. A cop from the one-fifteenth was with her. She freaked, the uni called me, I called the marshals, and because of the people involved, they pushed it through real fast. Two days later, they came for her.”
“Who’s the guy—the trigger?”
“Can’t tell you. Bad shit only thing’d come from that. Trust me, we’re takin’ care a this guy. And if we don't get to him first, the Fibbies are hot on him too.” He chuckled. “He’s either gonna disappear like Jimmy Hoffa or he'll be sweatin’ out his last days on death row.”
“I can find out, Loo. All it takes is a call—”
“And I’m tellin’ you not to do that. Cause trouble for you—and for me. This point in my career, I don’t need that shit.”
Dyer bit his bottom lip, then shook his head slowly. “Why the hell couldn’t she wait? Till I woke up? This happened when?”
Russo placed a hand on Dyer’s shoulder. “You were in Dallas, that counterterrorism workshop. You got home and had to get ready for surgery in the morning. I told her not to tell you, I didn’t want you freakin’ right before goin’ under the knife. It was tough on her, the whole thing had her pretty worked up. All she wanted to do was the right thing, and it ended up tearing her life apart.” Russo stared off at the wall, lost in thought.
Dyer eased himself onto the sofa, opposite the coffee table.
“Best thing, Ben, is to just forget about her.” He waved a hand in surrender.
Dyer blinked through his confusion. “But she was here this morning when I went to work, she didn’t say anything. Nothing.”
“That was days ago, Ben. You’ve been in the hospital.”
Dyer rubbed at his temples a minute, then looked up. “When did it happen, the murder?”
“Monday. Mob hit. Amy was afraid if she told you, you’d try to talk her out of leaving. Or that you’d wanna go with her. And she didn’t want you to throw your career away. She knew you’d wanna go. But I convinced her to tell you. She came by the hospital before the marshals took her away.”
“When? I don’t remember—”
“Yesterday, you were still sedated. The doc tried waking you, but—”
“No.” He bowed his head and grabbed two fistfuls of hair. “Loo, this can’t be happening. Amy, I mean, we were gonna get married. How could she leave?”
Russo drew a thick hand across his damp brow. “Look, Ben, it is what it is, okay? She had to go. She loved you, you know that. Believe me, if I thought there was another way, you know I woulda talked them into it. But her life was at stake. It was the right call, and, well, it’s a done deal.”
“Just tell me where she went, I’ll leave the department, be with her.”
“This is real bad, I know. It’s gonna hurt for a while. But we've had bad shit happen before, and you and me, we always get through it, don't we?”
Dyer rose from the seat and hobbled to the dining room. The melamine buffet table was empty, slight outlines left in the dust where personal effects had once been. “She took her stuff. The glass salt and pepper shakers she bought in Hawaii. Amy loves those.”
“They only let her take things that couldn’t be traced back to her, or to you. No family photos, shit like that.”
Dyer looked over at Russo. “She really left?”
He studied Dyer’s face a moment, and then added, “US Attorney was real clear. Don’t go lookin’ for her, could put her life at risk. You hear me? They got rules, to keep her safe.”
Dyer stood at the counter a long moment, and then spun around. “Which fucking family?”
Russo shook his head, and then made his way over to Dyer. “All I know. She was at a supermarket in Queens and this guy walks in, puts a canon against another guy’s head and blows it into fucking meatloaf. Amy was the only one who saw it. You know Amy, Miss Good Samaritan. She dropped the dime and they picked the guy up a couple hours later. He was a known hit man for the family. Next day, someone took a shot at her. A cop from the one-fifteenth was with her. She freaked, the uni called me, I called the marshals, and because of the people involved, they pushed it through real fast. Two days later, they came for her.”
“Who’s the guy—the trigger?”
“Can’t tell you. Bad shit only thing’d come from that. Trust me, we’re takin’ care a this guy. And if we don't get to him first, the Fibbies are hot on him too.” He chuckled. “He’s either gonna disappear like Jimmy Hoffa or he'll be sweatin’ out his last days on death row.”
“I can find out, Loo. All it takes is a call—”
“And I’m tellin’ you not to do that. Cause trouble for you—and for me. This point in my career, I don’t need that shit.”
Dyer bit his bottom lip, then shook his head slowly. “Why the hell couldn’t she wait? Till I woke up? This happened when?”
Russo placed a hand on Dyer’s shoulder. “You were in Dallas, that counterterrorism workshop. You got home and had to get ready for surgery in the morning. I told her not to tell you, I didn’t want you freakin’ right before goin’ under the knife. It was tough on her, the whole thing had her pretty worked up. All she wanted to do was the right thing, and it ended up tearing her life apart.” Russo stared off at the wall, lost in thought.
Dyer eased himself onto the sofa, opposite the coffee table.
“Best thing, Ben, is to just forget about her.” He waved a hand in surrender.
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