Page 23

Twenty-Three

Wednesday, 7.30am

Downstairs was not an option. There was a back door to the apartments, but the only way to get to it was through the lobby. Charlie headed upstairs to the roof. He and Tom been up here once, just for a look. There were a few pots of flowers and a couple of deck chairs next to a sign saying the roof was out of bounds. The top of the lift shaft was there, as well as other odd protuberances whose purposes Charlie guessed were to do with heating and water. The buildings in this area weren’t skyscrapers and Charlie felt the sky all around him. Much too much sky. Noises from the streets below travelled upward, but he had no desire to go and look over the edge. As he’d learned last year, clambering about on high buildings was not his superpower. At least the rain had stopped. Maybe he could just hide. Because everything fucking hurt.

Nice idea. Except if I can see the marble staircase leading upward, so can the FBI .

Maybe hiding would give him the chance to sneak past them while they were busy in his flat. Maybe. His heart was beating overtime in his chest and he could feel the sweat break out under his arms.

The one thing he could do was block the door. He was about to wedge one of the deckchairs under the door handle and trying to control the whimpers that threatened to give away his whereabouts. But someone was pushing against the door from the other side.

“Open the fucking door,” Murphy growled. “I’m on your side.”

Charlie fell back. If Murphy yelled, he could bring the FBI onto the roof in seconds. He wanted to trust Murphy, but not without getting some answers. The door opened and Charlie grabbed Murphy by the collar, pulling him onto the roof and shoving the door closed behind them.

“You kicked me, asshole,” Murphy said when he’d helped Charlie bar the door. Charlie could see him wince when they bent over to wedge the deck chair more securely.

“You abandoned me to Dwyer’s thugs. You know who I am, but all I ever get from you is lies. You pretend to help, then you dob me in. I don’t believe you’re NYPD.”

“No. I’m not. But I am law enforcement. And I’m undercover, so let’s get out of here before the FBI work out where you’ve gone.”

“This is the last time, Murphy.” Murphy seemed to get the sub-text. Betray me again and I’ll do more than kick you in the nuts.

Patsy would climb down the side of the building, he thought, and shuddered. But the building next door did look as if it was connected to this one. He put his coat on and squashed Tom’s jacket into the messenger bag. It wasn’t going to be easy to carry, but he wasn’t leaving it. Charlie didn’t want to run across the roof in case he was directly above the flat and his steps told the FBI exactly where they were. And he’d used up all his running energy getting this far. So, he walked as quietly as he could to where the building next door was — thank all the gods — joined to his. Murphy followed, silently. Charlie felt obscurely better for having him there, but then he had felt better the last time too.

To get on to the next building, they had to climb over a parapet. The building was the length of several football pitches. One more roof the size of this one, and they would be at the end of the street and might escape. Now they could run, and did, despite their injuries. At the end Charlie saw the next building was connected, but after that there was a gap for the cross street. This time the neighbouring roof was at least six feet lower. Only the thought of being imprisoned for God knows how long while trying to prove his innocence made him climb over the parapet and let go. He fell ungracefully, scraping his already sore hands on the wall. But he was down. Murphy followed, landing less awkwardly, but still a long way from the surefooted Patsy. Charlie had a spike of longing for his team, even Eddy, the big lump. He smiled at the thought of Eddy galloping along and complaining all the way.

“What are you grinning at?” Murphy asked.

“I was thinking about a colleague. Someone I trust.” Unlike you.

Murphy didn’t say anything else.

Now he had to find some stairs into the building, and hope he’d come far enough. This running across the rooftops was best kept for movies.

This roof was clearly in constant use. There were clothes lines, a picnic table and chairs, as well lots of pots with green shoots popping out of the soil. There was a door, and it was open, and it led to a set of stairs winding round the lift shaft. There was also a blue New York Yankees baseball cap hanging on the door. Charlie stowed it under his jacket. He ran down the stairs, holding the banister rail as his knees protested. At each of the landings he paused to listen, but there was no one around. Unlike in his own building, these stairs went all the way down to the yard where the bins were kept and Charlie went all the way down with them. He heard Murphy’s steps padding down behind him. If they went out and the door closed behind them, there would be no way back. He had to trust that the bin yard would have a way out to the street away from the eyes of his pursuers.

Luck was on his side. He put the blue cap on, pulling the brim low, risking a quick glance back down the street to his apartment building. There was no sign of any activity, thought there were a couple more black cars than usual double-parked. Time to get some coffee and regroup.

Coffee was the easy part, along with a toasted bagel from a street vendor. He wasn’t letting Murphy out of his sight, so Charlie found a bench on the west side of Central Park for eating and regrouping purposes. It was chilly, though the rain was holding off. Everything ached where he’d been hit, and his face was clearly a disaster zone given the way the vendor had looked at him. Some large sunglasses would probably help with that. He needed access to a phone the FBI didn’t know about, enough cash to get through the next few days and somewhere safe to stay off the radar. If he couldn’t prove his innocence in that time … He would prove his innocence.

The first requirement was cash and a phone. Then he was going to retrace his steps, starting with Sabrina Sully, and then, one way or another, he was going to find out who Brody Murphy really was. His instincts told him that Murphy was one of the good guys, and that he was telling the truth when he claimed to be law enforcement. At the same time, reason said Murphy had told Dwyer where to find Charlie, and possibly told the FBI the same thing. Could he really believe anything Murphy said? That there was a warrant for his arrest had been confirmed by Marion Levine, but the nature of the warrant? That was all Murphy. Murphy was going to have to talk.