Festival of Deaths(92)
He looked over at John Jackman and asked, “What are you thinking about?”
“Carmencita Boaz,” Jackman replied.
Gregor felt the elevator car bounce to a stop and sighed. “Of course you are,” he said. “Of course you are.”
4
UP ON THE FIFTH floor, everyone was thinking about Carmencita Boaz. Nurses went back and forth, in nun’s habits and traditional uniforms and less traditional but still blindingly white trousers and tops. Doctors popped in and out of the room at the center of the corridor where all the action was. Police officers milled around, looking useless.
“I’m going to have to break some of this up,” John Jackman said. “They can’t just stand around and sightsee. You got something to occupy yourself with for the next ten or fifteen minutes?”
“I’ve got somebody I want to talk to.”
“Good. See you later.”
John Jackman took off, rounding up cops as he went.
Gregor moved closer to the door where everyone was congregating. DeAnna Kroll was there, looking frustrated and giving orders to Prescott Holloway. Gregor wasn’t surprised that she was looking frustrated. She was a woman used to being able to get things done, and now she was being forced to wait without doing anything at all.
“Go out and get Lotte and bring her back here,” she was saying. “And when you get back I want you to come right up and find me because I’m going to have something else for you to do—”
“I can’t go out and get Dr. Goldman,” Prescott was saying patiently. “The police just took the car.”
“Well, she’s got to get out here.”
“Well, she can call a taxi. I can’t get her if I don’t have a car.”
“Excuse me,” Gregor said, moving up between them. “Could you tell me—”
DeAnna Kroll’s fingernails were long and red and clawlike. She waved them in the air in front of Gregor’s face, as if she were trying to dispel a mist, as if she couldn’t quite remember who he was. Then she seemed to come to.
“Oh,” she said. “It’s you. You want to know about Carmencita.”
“Carmencita is coming along very well,” Prescott Holloway said. “At least, that’s what we’ve been hearing.”
“Her cheekbone is cracked, but it isn’t really caved in. That’s what they told us. And if her cheekbone isn’t caved in then—”
“There’s less chance that a bone fragment will get into her bloodstream,” Prescott said.
DeAnna Kroll looked relieved. “I knew it was something like that. I’m sorry, Mr. Demarkian, we’re all in a mess here, nobody knows what’s going on and Lotte is going crazy out there at David’s house, trying to get in and see for herself and this idiot—”
“It’s not my fault,” Prescott Holloway said.
“How is Itzaak?” Gregor asked. “Have you seen him around?”
“Itzaak? Oh, Itzaak. He’s around somewhere. He’s—”
“Over there,” Prescott Holloway said solemnly.
Prescott Holloway was pointing not toward the door, but away from it, at the nurse’s station with its counter and its small row of black vinyl-covered chairs for visitors. Itzaak was slumped in one of those chairs, his head in his hands. He was wearing a beautiful yarmulke, pushed far to the back of his head. It was made of raw silk and bordered with embroidery so fine, Gregor could practically see the perfection of every individual stitch. Gregor wondered where the nuns had found it.
“Excuse me,” he said to Prescott Holloway and DeAnna Kroll.
He crossed to the row of chairs and sat down next to Itzaak. Itzaak raised his head and then lowered it again. For the moment, Itzaak was only interested in talking to doctors.
“Mr. Blechmann,” Gregor said gently, “I know you are very upset at this time—”
“Not so upset,” Itzaak said. “Not so upset as I was. She is not dead.”
“No,” Gregor agreed. “She is not dead.”
“The doctor says to me there will always be something different now about her face. I mind for her because she will mind, but I do not mind for myself. She will always be beautiful to me.”
“That’s very wise, Mr. Blechmann,” Gregor said, wondering what he meant by that. Itzaak didn’t challenge him, but Itzaak wasn’t listening to individual words. “I know your mind is with Ms. Boaz for the moment—”
“Miss,” Itzaak said. “She never liked that other thing. Ms. She is from Guatemala. It is a conservative country.”
“Yes. I know. Mr. Blechmann, we do have to talk, you and me. We have to get a few things straightened out. Because if we don’t, Mr. Blechmann, the person who did this to Carmencita is going to go free.”