"It's okay," I whisper. "Just keep breathing and you'll be all right."
"Mr. Vitale?" Andrews chimes in. "If you don't mind, we still have a few questions for your, uh… wife."
"Does she look like she's in any condition to answer your questions?"
Karissa pushes away from me, and I loosen my hold, setting her on her feet.
"It's okay," she says, her voice strained as she tries to pull herself together. She wipes her tears away with the back of her hand, grimacing as it tugs on the bandage. "It's fine. I just… I don't know what else I can tell you. I was in the cab, I was taking it home from school, and I wasn't really paying attention… next thing I know, we're going the wrong direction, and a car is following us. He came here; I don't know why… to hide, maybe? But there they were, and here we are, and there he is, and here I am."
I glance over toward the building, seeing the yellow cab, windows busted out with blood surrounding it. A body lays on the ground beside it, covered in a sheet, the crisp white material soaked with red.
"And the other deceased gentleman?" Andrews asks. "Where did he come from?"
"Other guy?" I chime in. "What other guy?"
"The cab driver is still in the car," Andrews offers. "The second was found deceased beside the cab when we arrived."
Karissa's eyes dart my way nervously. "He was one of them… one of the guys following us. There were five of them, maybe six. I'm not sure. He pulled me out of the back of the cab, and he had a gun to me, and I thought he was going to shoot me." She lets out a cry, but holds her hands up to stop me when I try to pull her into my arms again. "No, it's okay, I'm okay… he had me and then he said something to another guy, something about it not being a problem, it being easy, and then the guy shot him. He just shot him!"
"So his own friend shot him," Andrews says, jotting that down. "Why would he do that?"
"How's she supposed to know?" I ask. "She's not psychic."
"How about you let her answer, Vitale."
I step toward him. "How about you stop interrogating her while she's distraught."
"And how about you don't tell me how to do my job."
"Your job is to get justice, not traumatize women… unless, of course, you get off on that sort of thing."
He doesn't like that. His cheek twitches, eyes glazing over with anger. "You want to talk to me about traumatizing people? Let's talk about the things you've done! In fact, it wouldn't surprise me a bit if you were involved in this!"
"Me?" I glare at him, raising my voice. "You think I'd do this? That I'd hurt my own wife? I'd never."
"How am I supposed to know?" he asks, throwing my words right back at me. "Not a psychic."
I almost swing.
I almost hit him.
If Karissa weren't standing between us, I would.
"Guys, guys... can't we all just get along here?" Jameson asks, coming around the side of the building, approaching the ambulance.
Andrews mutters something, something I can't make out.
"What was that?" I ask him. "Couldn't quite hear you."
"I said we'll get along when your ass is finally behind bars." He closes his notebook, shoving it in his coat pocket. "Your wife, too, if she's withholding evidence."
"Relax," Jameson says, slapping his partner on the back. "I'm sure she has told us everything she knows. Isn't that right, Mrs. Vitale?"
"Yes," Karissa says quietly. "There's nothing else I can say."
"So is she free to go?" I ask, "or is your partner going to hound her some more?"
"She actually needs to be transferred to the hospital," Jameson says. "Tried to send her earlier, but she was insistent we wait for you."
"The hospital?" I look her over. "Are you feeling all right?"
"Yeah, I, ugh..." She makes a face, motioning to herself. "Body fluids all over me. They need to collect them. Evidence or whatever."
Ah.
"Which you're contaminating," Andrews says.
"Also," Jameson interjects, "it's always better to be safe than sorry. They'll want to run some tests, maybe give her some booster shots, just to be safe."
I appreciate Jameson trying to keep the peace.
Appreciate him cutting in.
Because if his partner keeps running his mouth, Karissa won't be the only one visiting the hospital.
"Can I take her," I ask, "or do you have to?"
"You can take her in," Jameson says. "Lower Manhattan... I'll meet you there."
Andrews starts to object. "But—"
"Like you said, it's already been contaminated," Jameson says. "She'll be more comfortable going in with him."
I don't waste any time getting her out of there. I don't want to risk Jameson changing his mind and deciding to be a dick.
"You okay to walk?" I ask quietly, taking Karissa's hand.
"Sure," she says, even though she doesn't sound sure, but I'm going to take her at her word. I lead her around the side of the building, and she almost keeps in step with me as we approach my car, still parked on the curb. "Um, Naz?"
"Yeah, sweetheart?"
"What happened to your shoes?"
I glance down at my feet... at my black socks. "I wasn't wearing any when they called."
"So you just came in your bare feet?"
"I'm wearing socks."
"Uh... okay. I've just... never really seen you without shoes like this before."
I pause beside my car, opening the passenger door for her. "Yeah, well, when I get a call from a homicide detective wanting to notify me about something happening to my wife, shoes aren't really what's on my mind."
The color drains from her face.
Whatever color she had left, anyway.
"I didn't think," she says. "I didn't want you to think..."
"But I did," I tell her, "and you could've been. Jesus Christ, Karissa... how many times have I told you not to take a cab from the city? How many times? Too many. But you didn't listen. Why couldn't you have just listened?"
"I did." Her voice cracks as tears fill her eyes. I shouldn't be yelling at her, not now, not here, but fuck, this is serious. She could've died. "I called for a car but they were too busy, and the cab was there, so I didn't think it was a problem. I thought you were just being paranoid."