He reflected on what'd happened. Part of it was bad luck but he was also at fault. For one thing, he'd decided against hiring local backup because the vic wasn't being minded by the marshals or anybody else. So there was just Zane and him for both surveillance and shooting. Which had worked fine for the St. Louis hit. But here he should've known that some innocents might show up. New York was a big fucking city. More people, more bystanders.
Then, he decided, he'd sent Zane down the alley too early. He just wasn't thinking. So they hadn't had any warning about whoever that girl was who showed up and rang the buzzer, which happened just as Haarte was about to shoot. The vic had risen from his chair and seen Haarte. Haarte had shot him. The old guy had fallen on the remote control and the sound on the TV had gone way up. So Haarte had shot the TV set out too. Which made another loud noise and filled the apartment with a gassy, smoky smell.
Then the girl called on the intercom again. She sounded concerned. And a moment later there was a call from another woman.
Grand Central Station, Jesus ...
He knew they were suspicious and that they'd be coming upstairs to check on the vic at any minute.
So Haarte decided to split up. He'd told Zane to get back to Haarte's apartment. He'd go by surface transportation. It wasn't a moment too soon. As he climbed out the fire escape window on the east side of the building he'd heard the scream. Then Zane took off and Haarte jumped into the alley and disappeared.
When they'd talked ten minutes later Zane, to his dismay, told him there were witnesses. Two women. One of them had been hit by the Pontiac but the other jumped out of the way in time.
"ID you?" Haarte asked.
"Couldn't tell. I already changed the tags but I think we oughta get the fuck out of town for a while."
Haarte considered this. The broker in St. Louis wouldn't pay without some confirmation of the vic's death. And Haarte hadn't had time to take a Polaroid. He also didn't want to leave the witnesses alive.
"No," he'd told Zane. "We stay. Listen, we need that backup now. Find out who's in town."
"What kind of backup?" Zane asked.
"Somebody who can shoot."
"Hi, there."
Rune, leaning on the fence in front of Robert Kelly's building, turned. The woman she'd met in the entryway, the woman with the bag of cans, was standing unsteadily on the stoop, arms crossed, tears running down her face.
They'd just brought the old man's body out. Rune had started to leave, after Manelli returned to the apartment, but then she'd decided to stay. She wasn't sure why.
"Your name's Amanda?"
The woman wiped her face with a paper towel and nodded. "That's right. How you know?"
"The cops mentioned it. I'm Rune."
"Rune ..." She spoke absently.
Other tenants had come downstairs, gossiped about the shooting, then returned to their rooms or headed up the street.
The two detectives left. Manelli said, "Good-bye." The captain hadn't even glanced at her.
Amanda cried some more.
Unable to stop herself, Rune cried too. Wiped her face with the tail of the shirt again.
"How you know him?" Amanda had an accent, Rune decided, that sounded like a female Bob Marley's. Low and sexy.
"From the video store. Washington Square Video. Where he rented movies."
Amanda looked at her like a VCR and renting movies were a luxury she couldn't even imagine.
Rune asked, "How'd you know him?"
"Neighbors. Met him when he move in, a month ago. But we got close real fast. What it was, about Robert, he talk to you. Nobody else here talk to you. He always ask about my kids, ask where I came from. You know ... So hard to find somebody who just likes to listen."
Amen, Rune thought.