Humpty Dumpty: The killer wants us to put him back together again (Book 1 of the Nursery Rhyme Murders Series) by Carolyn McCray, Ben Hopkin Page B

that felt like it carried his soul with it.
    “She reminded me of someone.”
    There was pain and suffering there of which he wasn’t even scratching the surface. It showed in the slumping of his shoulders, the set of his mouth, the clenching of his hands. Here were the buttons she needed to push to get him to go with her. She knew it. And yet, now that it had come to the moment, she couldn’t force herself to do it.
    “Must’ve been someone pretty spectacular.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Wife?”
    “Daughter,” he replied, then broke down sobbing.
    Sariah sat there, not sure what to do. She had pushed the buttons without intending to. He cried like a young child, holding nothing back. No attempt to stem the tide of tears, no sniffing to keep the snot from running down his face, no turning away to keep other eyes from seeing. It was an ugly cry, un-masculine and un-adult.
    It might have been one of the most beautiful things Sariah had ever seen.
    The sobs continued unabated for quite a while, investigators from the police team passing by, sending inquiring looks in Sariah’s direction. Need any help? Can I do something? She shook her head, sending each of them on about their business. Joshua had created a private space that deserved to be kept private.
    After several minutes, his shaking form began to quiet itself. He lifted his head and turned to look at her, his eyes red from his outpouring of grief.
    “Thank you.”
    Surprised, Sariah sat back. “For what?”
    He shrugged, his face creasing itself into a hundred lines of pain. “For not trying to help. For just sitting there.”
    “I’d love to claim some kind of wisdom here, but I had no idea what to do.”
    “No one does. Most of them try anyway.” He looked around at the scurrying figures surrounding them at the crime scene. “Trust me, I’ve experienced it all firsthand. It’s part of what drove me to New York.”
    “And to the bottle?”
    “Yeah. That too.” Joshua let loose one more sob, almost like an aftershock. He shook his head. “She could have died.”
    It wasn’t in Sariah to sugarcoat. It might’ve been the nice thing to do, but she wasn’t sure that nice was what he needed right now.
    “It’s not a sure thing that she won’t.”
    “I know.”
    Sariah took the measure of the man beside her. Here was someone who had suffered the grief of multiple lifetimes and had been left a hollow shell. If there were ever anyone who deserved to be able to wallow, to receive unending comfort, this was the one.
    Too bad he was stuck with her.
    “What you’re doing doesn’t just affect you, Joshua.”
    “I get that.”
    “Do you?” Sariah probed, catching his gaze and holding it. “Do you really get it? Because it’s not redemption I’m bringing you.”
    Joshua met her gaze head on. “Then what?”
    “I’m bringing you the names of the dead. The ones you could have saved but didn’t.”
    Pushing himself back up to standing, Joshua hobbled away from her, weaving a bit and clutching at his head. He peered up at the one light bulb that had served as the only illumination in this alley, before all the flashing lights had shown up. The gleam from the lit globe brightened his face, giving him an almost angelic glow for a moment. He turned back to her.
    “That…” He paused, then grimaced. It almost seemed like a smile. “That kinda works for me.”
    “I thought it might.” Sariah gestured for him to follow. “And now let’s get you to the hospital. You’re looking like you might be concussed.”
    Joshua’s squawking didn’t die down for quite a while after that.
    * * *
    The New York Hospital, Queens, looked like some kid had been playing with his Erector set and decided to quit and walk away. It was a gray, jagged set of interconnected boxes that did nothing but depress anyone who looked at it.
    And right now, it was Joshua Wright who was looking at it. At least the front entrance was a tiny bit more welcoming, with its maroon brick