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  “It’s a private matter, between me and Pat.” Mike didn’t want to explain. It was humiliating enough that he had been arrested in front of his neighbors. He wondered how he’d gone from being a respected doctor to an anger-management case, with a prescription-drug problem and a criminal record. He slid over in the seat, which was black plastic and smelled like Armor All. A plastic window separated him from the front seat.

  “Mr. Scanlon, would you mind if we searched your vehicle?”

  “Go ahead. It’s open.”

  “Thank you. Please remain seated, Mr. Scanlon.” The short cop closed the back door, then jogged to Mike’s car, while Officer Torno opened the front door of the cruiser and climbed into the driver’s seat. He shut the door behind him and eyed Mike in the rearview. “You need a Kleenex for that nose?”

  “No, thanks.” Mike tilted his head back, and the nosebleed was finally slowing.

  “I understand you were bitten by their dog. FYI, its rabies shots are up to date. Is the wound bleeding?”

  “It’s fine.” Mike’s right arm hurt, but it was nothing compared with his stump. He hoped he hadn’t reinjured himself, because the local ER wouldn’t have a doc who could repair a complex upper-limb amputation. “So Pat’s charging me with assault?”

  “You’re referring to the complainant, Patrick MacFarland?”

  “Is complainant a fancy word for jerk?”

  Officer Torno didn’t smile. “He says you hit him in the ear and the chin. Is that correct?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Did he hit you first?”

  “No.” Mike conceded the obvious. “Your basic assault, right?”

  “Yes, sir.” Officer Torno pursed his lips. “He’s claiming you damaged his ear, and his front teeth are loose.”

  Mike looked out the window. So much for do no harm.

  “Are you under the influence of drugs or alcohol, Mr. Scanlon?”

  “A prescription for pain.” Mike doubted he should be answering any questions. “Do I need a lawyer?”

  “You’ll need somebody to bail you out.”

  Mike dreaded calling Bob and he’d wait. It wasn’t an emergency, and he might be in the ER a long time.

  “The complainant says you’re a returning vet, sir. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  Officer Torno glanced at him in the rearview. “Are you under psychiatric treatment?”

  “Of course not,” Mike answered, then realized the cop had no way of knowing that he wasn’t a battle-crazed war vet who went around bashing heads. Or maybe he was, considering that he had one arm and he’d picked a fight with a man almost twice his size and almost half his age, plus a dog as big as a Humvee.

  “Here’s my partner.” Officer Torno watched through the windshield as the short cop jogged back to the cruiser, opened the door, got inside, rubbing his hands together.

  “His car’s clean.”

  “Good, then we’re outta here.” Officer Torno clipped his harness on, steered around the Cherokee, then lurched off. The cruiser rumbled down Foster Road, and Mike watched his house pass by, then the MacFarlands’, feeling a wave of shame. The cruiser turned onto Paoli Pike and accelerated past houses and stores, and Mike realized he wouldn’t be able to meet Sara at three thirty. Now more than ever, he wanted to see her and confirm his suspicions about Pat.

  “Okay if I text somebody I was supposed to meet?” Mike called to Officer Torno.

  “Is it your lawyer?”

  “No. But it’s important, and she’ll be waiting for me.”

  “Make it fast, and then no more. I’m cutting you a break.”

  “Thanks.” Mike slid his cell phone from his pocket, wincing. He thumbed to the text function and scrolled to find Sara’s name. He highlighted her name, pressed it, then typed with his thumb, cant make it today, sorry, will call tonight. He pressed SEND and was about to put the phone back when the text alert chimed. It was a reply from Sara, which read, No worries! Call whenever! Xoxox! He slipped the phone back in his pocket and looked out the window, but he hardly saw anything at all.

  Three hours later, Mike was sitting in the examining room at Wilberg Memorial’s Emergency Department, gingerly putting his jacket on over his new compression bandage, finally ready to go. He’d gotten a tetanus shot for the bite, and his stump didn’t need a flap repair, though he’d gotten a lecture about doing his exercises and elevating his upper body, to prevent edema.

  “Here we go, Dr. Scanlon,” said a young nurse, entering the room with discharge papers. “Will you sign these for me?”

  “Yes, thanks.” Mike took the papers and signed them at the bottom.

  “Don’t you want to read them? It’s directions for wound care.”

  “I’m up to speed.” Mike handed her back the papers, and the nurse handed him a flurry of prescriptions.

  “These are the scripts for antibiotics, steroids, diuretic, a stool softener, and pain.”

  “Great, thanks.” Mike folded them and tucked them in his back pocket, happy to have the refill on Oxy. He’d already taken a capsule, but it hadn’t helped much. He zipped up his jacket just as Officer Torno appeared at the curtain, his eyes a worn blue under his cap.

  “Dr. Scanlon, are you ready to leave?”

  “Yes, thanks.” Mike checked the wall clock, which read 6:45. “Sorry it was such a long wait.”

  “It’s all right. Let’s go.” Officer Torno motioned to him, and the nurse stepped aside.

  “Thanks,” Mike said to the nurse, who smiled back.

  Officer Torno took Mike’s arm and walked him past the doctors’ station, and they passed together through the exit doors, which let in a blast of freezing air. Darkness had fallen outside, and the sky was black ice.

  Mike shuddered against the cold. “So what happens now? We’re going to the world’s prettiest precinct house?”

  “Oh, you’ve been?” Officer Torno led Mike to the cruiser, which idled in a parking spot nearest the door.

  “Yes, last year, when my wife died.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” Officer Torno opened the back door of the cruiser, and the short cop was a silhouette in the front passenger seat. “Please get in, Dr. Scanlon.”

  “Thanks.” Mike slid into the backseat, which was warm. “Okay if I call a lawyer now?”

  “Yes.” Officer Torno shut the door, went to the front seat, and climbed inside. The cruiser steered out of the parking lot while Mike turned on his phone, which came to life with a red star of a Missed Call. He scrolled down and saw it was from Danielle, so he highlighted the number and called back. He realized that the last thing Danielle knew, he was meeting Sara at school and would be on his way home for dinner.

  “Danielle?” Mike said, when she picked up. “How—”

  “Oh Mike! Oh no!” Danielle wailed. “I’ve been calling and calling! I have terrible news!”

  “What is it?” Mike asked, alarmed. “Is Emily okay?”

  “She’s fine, but—” Danielle burst into sobs—“it’s Sara.”

  “What about her?”

  “Mike, Sara’s dead.”

  Chapter Forty-four

  The news hit Mike like a body blow. “What happened?”

  “She was mugged on the way to her car. Stabbed.”

  Mike gasped. “Where? How?”

  “In the parking lot at the Acme. Don called here for you, he didn’t have your cell.”

  Mike felt stunned. “Sara texted me a few hours ago.”

  “Where are you? Are you on your way home?”

  Mike couldn’t speak for a moment, knowing firsthand the agony Don would be feeling, to lose the wife he loved, the mother of his sons, so horribly. Tears came to Mike’s eyes, and his hand throbbed as if it were still there, a phantom pain burning to the end of fingertips that were gone.

  “Mike? Where are you?”

  “I’m on my way to the Wilberg police station. I’m sorry, but I need Bob to bail me out. Is he home yet?”

  “What
?”

  “It’s nothing serious. I’ll explain later.”

  “How could it not be serious? You, in jail? I’ll be right there.”

  “No, you stay home with the baby.” Mike didn’t want Emily dragged into a police station, however picturesque. “Please, I’d rather that Bob came. I need a lawyer.”

  “I’ll call him right back. We just hung up.”

  “Good, thanks, and don’t worry. Bye.” Mike pressed END, working his jaw to stay in control. Sara was such a loving presence, so grounded and constant, the one everybody counted on, even Chloe. He just couldn’t believe she was gone and he wanted to understand how she had died. He shifted forward in the seat, toward the perforated screen. “Officers, did you hear about a stabbing at the Acme, a woman named Sara Hambera?”

  “Yes.” Officer Torno’s gaze shifted to the rearview.

  “So it’s true.” Mike felt sick to his stomach. “I know her. She’s my wife’s best friend. She had three kids. She was a wonderful person, a teacher.”

  “Sorry. It’s a crying shame.”

  “Do you know what happened?”

  “No more than what you said. We don’t have the details.”

  “My sister-in-law said she was mugged.” Mike struggled with his emotions to process the information. “The Acme isn’t in Wilberg, is it?”

  “No. Clifton. It’s on the border.”

  “How often does that happen in Clifton, violent crime like that?”

  “Not a lot, but we’re not immune. A woman was killed last year at the Granite Run Mall.”

  “But this wasn’t at a mall.” Mike couldn’t wrap his mind around it. “It’s not like she’d have packages or valuables. It was at a grocery store.”

  Officer Torno returned his attention to the road, and they hit traffic, a line of red lights. “Did she drive a nice car?”

  “No, she had an old Honda. It’s about seven o’clock now, so somebody had to see something.” Mike checked the full parking lot of a strip mall on the right, which only confirmed his confusion. “Do you know if they caught the guy? Or if they have any suspects?”

  “Don’t know that either.” Officer Torno fed the cruiser some gas when the traffic started moving again, then he steered to the right, onto the road that led to the precinct house. The strip malls gave way to stone houses, covered with snow.

  Mike slid back on the seat, in a sort of numb shock, as the cruiser rumbled past Christmas lights, twinkling in the dark night. He couldn’t believe Sara was gone, when she’d just texted him, and he opened his phone, scrolled to the text function, and reread her text: No worries! Call whenever! Xoxox! The text had come in only hours ago. He flashed on the day Phat Phil and Oldstein died. They’d been there one minute, gone the next. It happened every day in war, but not in the suburbs.

  Mike felt his gut twist. Chloe was gone, and so was her best friend. It would have broken Chloe’s heart to know what had happened to Sara, just as it had broken Sara’s to know what happened to Chloe. There had been so much death, and all of the bodies weighed on his heart. He couldn’t leave any of them behind, nor did he want to.

  He looked out the window, trying to keep it together. He realized that he wouldn’t be able to confirm that Pat MacFarland had been Chloe’s lover, but that didn’t matter right now.

  His left arm hurt like hell.

  Even though it was gone.

  Chapter Forty-five

  Mike paced his cell, a closet-sized room of white tile that contained a stainless steel bench and sink next to an open toilet. The cell had no bars, and a door with a Plexiglas window overlooked a narrow hallway. He’d been here over an hour, trying to process the fact that Sara had been murdered, and his thoughts kept turning to Don, their sons, then Chloe, DeMaria, and Oldstein, as if the losses were linked, on a continuous loop. His stump throbbed mightily, and he could feel the Oxycontin wearing off.

  The sound of talking came from the hallway, and a police officer was unlocking the door to admit Bob, in a rumpled suit and striped tie. “Hi, Mike.”

  “Bob, thanks so much for coming.”

  “No problem,” Bob replied, falling silent until the police officer had left, locking them both inside. “Don’t look so upset. We got this.”

  “It’s about Sara. It’s a shock.”

  “I know, of course, it’s horrible. I feel for Don and the boys.” Bob’s expression was tense, and he had a five o’clock shadow. “But as for you, I met with the assistant district attorney, who might be twelve years old. They sent the B-team. The varsity is in Clifton.”

  “Because of Sara’s murder?”

  “Yes, that’s why the judge is on call tonight. Otherwise you’d have to stew in here until tomorrow.”

  Mike lowered himself onto the steel bench, and his gaze fell to his hand, where fingerprint ink covered his fingerpads. “I can’t believe she’s gone. The two of them, now. Her and Chloe.”

  “I feel the same way, but you need to focus. Your arraignment begins any minute. So what the hell happened? I read the information, but it didn’t have any detail.” Bob leaned against the tile wall, and Mike struggled to switch mental gears.

  “I found out that Chloe had an affair while I was away, and I think it was with Pat MacFarland, so I hit him, or tried to.”

  Bob’s mouth dropped open. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does Danielle know?”

  “Yes.”

  Bob’s eyes flared. “Okay. We’ll discuss that later. To stay on point, were there any witnesses to what happened with you and MacFarland?”

  “Yes, I cold-cocked the guy in front of his father, and I told the cops that I did it. There’s no way for me to weasel out of it, so don’t try.”

  Bob pursed his lips. “The defenses to assault are self-defense, defense of others, and consent, as in an altercation. You sure it wasn’t an altercation?”

  “No, I attacked the guy. I’ll take the punishment they give me, but I can’t believe that they’d put me in prison for my first offense.”

  “No, and it’s only a misdemeanor, though the sentence is two years. They’re agreeing to bail, so that’s good.”

  “How much was it? I’ll reimburse you.”

  “I know you will. Now, in the arraignment, don’t say anything unless the judge asks you a question. Let me do the talking, and when the judge asks, plead not guilty.”

  “Why?” Mike’s stump throbbed. “I did it, Bob. I hit the guy and I’m guilty. Why would I plead not guilty?”

  “We have to make the Commonwealth prove its case. Right now they’re not offering you a deal to reduce your charge, and until they do, we go with not guilty.”

  “I can’t swear that I’m not guilty.”

  “They don’t swear you in at these things.” Bob scoffed. “Can’t you work with me on this? Everybody who’s guilty says he’s not guilty. That’s the system.”

  “It’s still a court. It’s still a judge. It’s still my word.”

  “Mike, please. I don’t have time to fight with you about it. I’m trying to preserve your legal rights down the line.”

  They both looked over as the police officer returned, unlocked the door, and stood in the threshold. “Folks, we’re set up for the arraignment now. Please, come with me.”

  Bob left the room, and Mike followed him, with the officer gripping him by the arm. They walked down a carpeted hallway that had offices on the right side, and the officer opened a door onto a tiny room that was only slightly larger than Mike’s cell. He assumed it was the anteroom to the courtroom, because it held no furniture except a television on a metal stand, with a camera mounted on top. The TV was on, though its screen had no picture, layered with multicolored static.

  The police officer turned to Mike and Bob. “The Assistant District Attorney will be here in a minute, and District Judge Griffiths will appear momentarily.”

  Suddenly, a slight young man with short red hair slipped into the room and nodded to them both
, and at the same time, the TV flickered. Onto its screen popped a female judge in a black robe, and it took Mike a moment to realize that this was the courtroom and the woman was an actual judge. She bore an uncanny resemblance to Judge Judy, though he could have imagined that, since she was on TV.

  “I am District Judge Griffiths and we’re here for the preliminary arraignment of Defendant Michael Scanlon.” Judge Griffiths peered at them over black reading glasses. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

  The Assistant District Attorney stepped forward, in an oversized dark suit with a skinny black tie. “Judge Griffiths, I am Robin Durant, representing the Commonwealth.”

  “Thank you, counsel.” Judge Griffiths turned to Mike. “Dr. Scanlon, you are represented by counsel, is that correct?”

  “Yes,” Mike answered, though it felt strange to be talking to a television, like justice on Skype.

  Bob cleared his throat. “Your Honor, my name is Robert Ridgeway, and I’m here on behalf of Dr. Scanlon.”

  “Fine, thank you.” Judge Griffith’s gaze shifted to the Assistant District Attorney. “Mr. Durant, it is my understanding that the Commonwealth does not oppose bail in this matter.”

  “That is correct, Your Honor.”

  “Fine, thank you.” Judge Griffith took off her glasses and focused on Mike. “Defendant Scanlon, the purpose of a preliminary arraignment is to make sure that you understand the charges against you. Are you currently under the influence of alcohol or drugs?”

  “I’m taking medications for a recent surgery, but they do not affect my answers, if that’s the point of the question.”

  “What are those medications?” Judge Griffith checked some papers on her desk.

  “Antibiotics, steroids, and a prescription painkiller. I’ve come directly from the hospital, Your Honor.”

  “Fine, thank you. Let’s begin. You are charged with a single count of violation of Title 18 of the Pennsylvania Crimes Code, Chapter 27, Section 2701, which defines simple assault as when someone ‘attempts to cause or intentionally, knowingly or recklessly causes bodily injury to another.’ Do you understand the charge?”