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“I just asked you to, didn’t I?” Pulaski now sounded almost amused.
The doctor backed slowly into the hallway and, when he figured it would be safe, ran silently to the nearest station and grabbed a phone from its cradle.
72.
“RON,” CAME THE VOICEfrom the doorway. A tall, uniformed PD officer walked into the room. Her brown hair was gathered into a businesslike bun.
“Hey …”
The officer, Sheri Sloane, turned her long, dark-complected face to Aaron and looked him up and down, then took in the woman.
Aaron snapped, “The hell is going on?”
Natalia said, “You’re suspended! He told us …” Her voice faded with the lapse. “We heard you were suspended.”
Pulaski noted how she’d begun the sentence.
Sloane tugged on blue latex gloves and approached. “Could you stand please?”
“I—”
Pulaski snapped, “Stand.”
Anger filling her face, the woman did as told. Sloane frisked her carefully. Then the policewoman went through her purse.
“Clean.”
Her role and Pulaski’s reversed. She drew her weapon andPulaski holstered his. They had worked together in the past and had the choreography down.
Pulaski pulled on gloves of his own and tugged the patient’s bedclothes up, searching closely. His backpack as well. He too was unarmed.
The woman laughed in astonishment. “You’re trying to intimidate us! Scare us out of suing you! When we get you in court, you’re going to be so fucked …”
Pulaski frowned—an exaggerated expression. “Court? You think that’s really a wise move?”
“You can’t talk to us that way,” Aaron said, sounding like a petulant schoolboy—though in actuality he was a student only in the sense that he hadn’t graduated from high school.
“Shhhhh.” Pulaski waved a palm like pushing away campfire smoke. “Now, let’s get the technical stuff out of the way. Natalia Baskov and Aaron Stahl, you’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit fraud, for subverting police procedure, obstruction of justice—always a good one.”
“The kitchen sink,” Sloane said. “One of my favorites.”
“There’ll be other charges too, but that’s enough for us to get started.”
Aaron muttered, “This is such bullshit.”
Baskov—not a sister, not a relative at all, but the daughter of a Brooklyn mob capo. Aaron was a numbers runner for her father and all-around punk.
The officer ran through the Miranda warning and when they acknowledged understanding it, he said, “Do you wish to waive the right to remain silent? But before you answer that let me just tell you what we’ve found. Might be helpful.”
Aaron began to bluster again. Baskov said, “Shut up.” And turned back to Pulaski. “Go ahead.”
“First, I’ve been reinstated as an officer. Just so you understand.Now, I’ve also been authorized by the New York County District Attorney to discuss your assisting us in an investigation in exchange for possibly—and I saidpossibly—coming to some agreement about charging. I need you to listen. Are you going to listen?”
Aaron tried: “What the—?”
Baskov said, “We’re going to listen.”
“There were a few things that made me curious about the accident and I thought I’d check them out. First, I went to the city hospital records room and got your blood workup from the accident.” He was looking at a suddenly less defiant and considerably more concerned Aaron.
