“When I got here I was drugged. But I remember one of them at least forced himself on me, the young one for sure. Maybe all of them.”
Burim reacted the way Pia had hoped. He looked at her for a beat, with his face empurpling, then leaped up and threw open the door.
“Mr. Buda! I need to talk to you.”
Buda could see Burim was spoiling for a fight, flashing angry looks at Neri. The girl must have told him what had happened in the house. Everyone in the room stood and the tension was immediate. Buda took Burim by the arm into the kitchen. The packages of takeout sat unopened on the stovetop. Burim spoke quietly but with suppressed fury.
“She is indeed my daughter. And she says she was raped. By the youngest one for certain, maybe more of them. Did you know about this?”
“Listen, I was told that one man did lose control of himself briefly but there was no sex—”
“But—”
“I understand this is shocking to you, all of this, but there was so little chance she was your daughter—”
“That is no excuse. Perhaps it is better if she was killed rather than be shamed like this. I gave my handshake, but perhaps I have to take it back.”
Buda looked Burim in the eye. Was he serious or was he just shaking him down for more money? Ten minutes ago the guy didn’t even know he had a daughter, and now he was concerned about her honor? Some of these guys really were peasants.
“I will punish the men, you can be assured of that.”
Burim shook his head and pulled back his jacket, exposing his shoulder holster.
“It can only be put right if I get to do the punishing. Do you want me to call Berti?”
“No, of course not. The reason I called you was to avoid this kind of situation. A killing will only lead to more killing—that is always the way. Punishment, yes. Killing, no. I will apologize to her myself.”
“I doubt she is going to accept any apology. That’s how I knew it was her, she has the same temper as her mother.”
“Listen, I will apologize. I will pay money to her and to you, money I will take from the three men in there. But I will not have a blood feud over this. It shouldn’t have happened. I regret the situation. Ultimately, I am to blame. But I need you, Burim, to live up to your handshake and for her to give up her investigation.”
Burim paused to think. Buda wouldn’t allow a man from another crew to punish his own men. A blood feud was in no one’s best interests, and he didn’t want to be the cause of a dispute between Aleksander Buda and Berti Ristani.
“Okay. Let me talk to her.”
Burim went back to the bedroom. Pia knew she had to accept Burim’s help, however distasteful it was to her. Now she wanted more than anything to get out of there, to go and find George. Burim closed the door and relayed what Buda had said. Would she be willing to forgo the revenge she was entitled to? Pia knew justice was being twice denied—she was being prevented from implicating Rothman’s killers and also from seeing some street retribution brought down on the person who attacked her.
“If that’s the way it has to be, I want to talk to those men outside,” Pia said.
“Okay,” Burim said. “But I want to shake on our agreement: an Albanian shake.”
Burim thrust out his hand. Pia eyed it. She didn’t care. She shook hands, and her skin crawled when she touched his.
They walked into the living room where everyone was still standing, although in slightly more relaxed poses.
“I am going to accept the offer,” she said to Buda. “I will do what you ask and drop the investigation. But I have a couple of things to say.” Pia walked over to Neri and stood right in front of him. Neri started to shake, looking first at Prek, then at Buda, then at Burim.
“You are a piece of trash.”
“I swear I didn’t do anything. I can’t, it’s impossible—”
Pia jabbed Neri hard in the sternum with her forefinger.
“You’re not so tough when the girl is awake, are you, huh? You know what my father is going to do with you? He’s going to cut off your tiny little prick and shove it up your ass.”
“No, no, I didn’t—”
“I’m sorry?” Pia jabbed Neri again. He was crying now, great shuddering torrents of tears pouring out of his eyes. He held his hands together, pleading with Pia.
“You see how much stronger than you I am? You’re a pathetic little boy.” Pia poked him once more, and Neri collapsed backward onto the couch where he sat whimpering.
“And you,” Pia addressed Drilon. “You will never speak to me or ever come near me again.”
Drilon looked at Burim and raised his hands as if to say, “I don’t understand.” Quickly Pia went on.
“Now I have a question for you.” Pia looked at Buda, who raised his eyebrows.
“Me?”
“Some men paid you money to frighten me?”
“Yes.”
“Some men paid you money to kill me?”
“Yes.”
“Are these the same men who asked you to kill Dr. Rothman and Dr. Yamamoto?”
Buda paused.
“Yes.”
“Why did they do it? When I realized the deaths weren’t accidental, I couldn’t figure out why anyone would want to go to such lengths to kill two medical researchers. The work they were doing—they were about to change the world.”
Buda looked at Burim. Was it possible to control this woman at all?
“Some people had investments that were threatened by the research.”
“Investments? You mean they did this for money?”
“I guess,” Buda said. Why does anyone do anything? he thought.
Pia was incredulous. She thought back to her heart-to-heart talk with Rothman and how it had seemed to be the start of something meaningful in her life: the father she never had. She recalled Yamamoto’s kindnesses, small and large. And Will, his life snuffed out too. Then she remembered standing in the blue-lit room looking at the pulsating baths of artificial organs and the enormous excitement she had felt. And the even greater joy she experienced at the awe-inspiring sight of the artificial pancreas. Now, it was very likely those two rooms were being closed up and put in mothballs. The research would continue, but not at Columbia and not with her. Pia felt empty and bereft.
It was likely that Rothman and Yamamoto’s killers were in this room. Pia couldn’t touch them, she knew that; her life depended on their getting away with murder. But she wasn’t completely powerless.
“In that case, there’s something I want you to do. And then I promise I will stay off the trail and hold my tongue.”
Pia told the men her idea. Buda liked it—this job had far too many loose ends. Burim agreed that it would satisfy his daughter’s honor. The men shook hands again, and then each in turn shook hands with Pia.
Buda was happy with the resolution, although he was left with more work to do and he’d have to decide what to do with his men, especially Neri, who seemed to have fallen to pieces completely. Prek and Genti were eating the lukewarm takeout, but Neri was still cowering on the couch.
Buda found an old pair of his wife’s sneakers, which were too large for Pia but would work for now. He took them into the bedroom where she was resting.
“What will you do now?”
“You think I’m going to tell you?” she said.
“Listen, I’m sorry it happened this way.”
“It’s a bit late for that. Please, leave me alone.”
When Pia came back into the room, it was filled with cigarette smoke. The men were standing around talking and a couple of them were laughing. Pia went over to Buda.
“Where’s my cell phone?”
Buda looked at Prek, who shrugged.
“May as well let her have it. Just don’t turn it on till we’re done here.”
“I won’t.”
Prek took Pia’s cell phone, student ID, and wallet she used for her credit card and cash out of his jacket and gave them back to her.
r /> “I’ll be outside,” Pia said. “It stinks in here.” Without another word, she went outside, slamming the door behind her hard enough to shake the house.
Burim shook his head. “She is her mother, exactly.”
“We should go out there—she might call someone,” Prek said.
“She won’t,” Buda said. “She’s Albanian, she promised.”
“She’s half Albanian,” Burim said. “And half Italian. I better go.”
The men laughed.
Standing on the other side of the van, Pia had turned on the phone and it flooded with messages and e-mails and texts. She saw there was a text from Lesley Wong.
“God bless you,” it read. “Praying for Will’s recovery.”
“Pia?”
It was Burim. She shut off the phone and emerged from behind the van.
“We’re leaving,” Burim said.
Pia had but one thought. Recovery? Could Will possibly be alive?
62.
GREEN POND, NEW JERSEY
MARCH 26, 2011, 12:03 A.M.
Buda gave his men their marching orders. He would drive back to the Bronx with Prek and Genti, while Neri would remain at the house and clean it and the van thoroughly to erase all traces of Pia’s stay. Buda was quite specific about what products Neri would use and how long he should spend on each part of the task. Buda emphasized what a good job he wanted Neri to do and that it would take him the entire weekend to complete. That would give Buda time to figure out what to do with Neri. Before he left the house, he put the van’s keys in his pocket. Fatos had to drive Drilon back to the parking lot at the restaurant to pick up his car because Pia flatly refused to get into a car with Drilon. She wasn’t about to explain why.
Pia sat in the front seat of Burim’s vehicle and stared straight ahead as the men said their goodbyes in the driveway. Burim and Pia set off, heading for Weehawken. Burim turned up the heat for Pia’s benefit.
“What’s your problem with Drilon?”
“I’m not going to talk about it,” Pia said.
“I hope you will later. So, tonight we’ll go to my house.”
Is he kidding? thought Pia. She was desperate to get away from this man.
“No, I want to go back to the hospital.”
“I can’t let you do that,” Burim said.
“Sure you can,” Pia said. “I promised not to meddle any more and I’m not going to. You’ll have to trust me. It’s the same tonight as it will be in a week, in a month. I have to check on something.”
“The place will be swarming with cops.”
“I’ll have to talk to them eventually. Or do you think I’ll move in with you and live in New Jersey and play happy family? Because that’s not happening. You can’t just walk back into my life, don’t you understand that? We have an arrangement, that’s all. You have to trust me, I have to trust you. We shook hands, remember?”
“You can’t tell the cops anything, obviously, you know that. Anything about Buda or his men or about seeing me and Drilon.”
“Don’t worry, it won’t be difficult to forget you.”
Burim ignored the barb.
“So we have to come up with a story for what happened to you,” he said.
“The police will know as much as I do, about the polonium. But I don’t know who did the killing, I just know the why.”
“The less I know the better too.”
“They’ll find my system was full of drugs, I imagine,” Pia said. “So I’ll say I was drugged, then I was held in a house outside the city, but I escaped.”
“So how did you get back to New York?”
“Okay, I woke up in New York, and I don’t know where I’ve been.”
“Where did you get the clothes?”
“I don’t remember where I got the clothes and that’s the truth.”
“So it’s this: You were out of it, drugged. Some guys drove you around, but you never saw their faces. Then they stopped in a house somewhere, and you were given different clothes. Then they drove again and let you off in Manhattan. I can’t drive to the hospital myself, I can’t risk being seen. You better get in the back, stay out of sight of the cameras on the bridge. I’ll drop you at the top of Manhattan, on Broadway somewhere. You can take a cab from there.”
“All right.” Pia climbed into the backseat and curled up. She was exhausted and still shivering.
“Pia, we have to stay in touch. What’s your cell phone number?”
Pia figured he could find out if he wanted to so she told him, and Burim said he would remember it. He didn’t bother telling Pia his number.
Burim continued to talk, telling her little anecdotes about times he remembered from when Pia was a child. Burim convinced himself that his memory was correct, that these things had happened the way he remembered them. He concentrated on the road, and he knew Pia probably wasn’t listening. He would try to reach out to her, but he wasn’t confident she’d respond. After a while he stopped talking, and they rode in silence.
After forty minutes, Burim reached Broadway at the very tip of Manhattan. In the middle of a quiet block, he slowed down and Pia hopped out of the car without saying a word and didn’t look back. Burim stopped the car and watched as Pia walked to an intersection and held out her hand to hail a taxi. A gypsy cab pulled over, and Pia leaned toward the window and told the driver something. Before she got in the car, Burim thought she looked small and vulnerable in her crazy mismatched outfit. But he had a feeling she’d be okay.
63.
COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY MEDICAL CENTER
NEW YORK CITY
MARCH 26, 2011, 1:00 A.M.
Pia asked the car to drop her off as close as he could get to her dorm building on Haven Avenue. There was still a police presence with artificial lighting at this location of the abduction and shooting. The fare was $12, and she gave the driver the twenty Burim had given her and didn’t stop for change. On the ride down, Pia had concentrated her thoughts on Will, ignoring her father, who was jabbering away in the front seat. She tried not to think about her ordeal; at least she was safe now. Pia had no thought about whether or not she was going to try to establish a connection with her father, but she did know she’d have nothing at all to do with Drilon. The few things she remembered about him were all painful.
Pia focused. She wasn’t worried about talking to the police—after all, it wouldn’t be the first time. She’d build a wall around what happened at the house and not recount any of it; in all other aspects, she could be truthful. And there were some truths she was still determined that everyone know. There would be no possibility of a cover-up.
Pia walked up to the front desk in the dorm. There were two uniformed cops by the elevator, but Pia hoped that her strange garb and the fact that she’d bunched her hair up under a baseball cap would throw off a casual onlooker. Despite the late hour, students were coming in from studying at the Health Science Center or from a night out. A few others were on their way out, having been called to the hospital for emergencies.
Pia knew the person staffing the front desk and asked him about Will McKinley.
“Pia, is that you?” the young man said. “Cops are looking for you. They said you got kidnapped or something crazy.”
“No, I’m fine. Will—tell me about Will.” Pia gestured with her index finger over her lips to silence the man from calling attention to her presence.
“Oh, man, I heard he got shot in the head, but he survived. He was taken over to the Neurological Institute, and he had surgery. One of the other fourth-years said he’s in Intensive Care.”
Without another word, Pia turned and walked away from the desk and made her way over to Neurosurgical Intensive Care. She saw plenty of cops and security guards, but they were on the lookout for a woman with long black hair, not someone wearing a New York Jets sweatshirt to mid-thigh, soccer socks, and a baseball cap. She looked like a cheerleader.
At the doors of Intensive Care, there were more police. Pia was stopped by
the nurses, who eyed her less than appropriate clothes and the bruise on her jawline. Pia explained she was a medical student and flashed her student identification with her finger over her name. She hoped that everyone there had been on duty the whole night and hadn’t seen or heard the news. The head nurse said she wouldn’t let Pia into the intensive care unit, but she paged the resident.
When the resident arrived he looked quizzically at Pia. Still, he was considerate after hearing that she was a medical student interested in the case. He assumed she was a girlfriend of the young man.
“Mr. McKinley is being maintained in an induced coma post-surgery,” the resident, Dr. Hill, said. “He received a gunshot to the head, but the bullet made a complete transit through the frontal lobe. It’s an injury that people have recovered from in the past. But I would emphasize that anyone suffering this kind of injury may not be exactly the same person he was before being shot and having brain surgery.”
“He’s a friend of mine,” Pia said. “I was there when he was shot.”
“So it’s very important that you understand he will be different even if there is a seemingly complete recovery.”
“Different how?”
“It would take too long to go into now. Look up the case of Phineas Gage, from 1848, which involved much more severe trauma to the frontal lobe. It was the first recorded case about how penetrating head trauma can affect personality.”
“Can I see him?”
“I don’t see why not. His family is on the way. You have to wear a gown and so on.”
“Of course.”
Pia went off to don her protective garb.
Only then did Dr. Hill remember something about being on the lookout for a young woman.
In Will McKinley’s room, Pia found George standing by Will’s bed.
“Pia, my God!” George said, and grasped her in an embrace. “Are you okay? What happened to you?”
“I’m fine. I’ll tell you later. Will . . . how is he doing?”
“No one knows. I have to go back and talk to some more cops, but I wanted to see him. I saw the whole thing. I saw him get shot and you taken. I can’t believe he’s alive. And you too. Thank God. What happened?”