Dance Of Death

Smithback smoothed down an unruly cowlick, which popped back up as soon as his hand was gone. "That's the best part of the story-if only I could write it."

"Why can't you?"

Smithback turned toward her and smiled a little grimly. "Because I was the one who walked the diamond out of the building."

"You?" Nora stared at him, incredulous.

Smithback nodded.

"Oh, Bill!"

"Nora, I had to. It was the only way. And don't worry-it'll never be traced back to me. The diamond is back where it belongs. It was truly a brilliant plan."

"Tell me about it."

"You sure you want to know? That makes you an accessory after the fact."

"I'm your wife, silly. Of course I want to know."

Smithback sighed. "Pendergast worked it all out. He knew they'd seal the building and search everyone on their way out. So he posed as a technician ma

"But if security was as tight as you say, wouldn't they X-ray the security technicians, too? I mean, when they left the building?"

"Pendergast figured that out, too. After sending me through the X-ray machine, he pointed me toward the building exit. That's when he slipped the diamond into my pocket. I walked it right out of the building."

Nora could hardly believe it. "If you'd been caught, they would have put you away for twenty years."

"Don't think that wasn't on my mind." Smithback shrugged. "But a life depended on it. And I have faith in Pendergast-sometimes I feel like I'm the only one left in the world who does."

At this, he rose, walked to the window, and stared out restlessly, hands on his hips.

"It's not over, Nora," he muttered. "Not by a long shot."

He turned swiftly, eyes flashing with anger. "It's a travesty of justice. An i

"Bill-for God's sake, don't go after Diogenes."

"What about Margo? Are we going to let her killer go free? With Pendergast in jail and D'Agosta on modified duty or worse, there's no one left who can do it but me."

"Don't. Please don't. This is just another one of your impulsive- and stupid-decisions."

He turned back to the window. "I concede that it's impulsive. Maybe even stupid. So be it."

Nora rose from her chair, feeling a surge of anger herself. "What about us? Our future? If you go after Diogenes, he'll kill you. You're no match for him!"

Smithback looked out the window, not answering immediately. Then he stirred. "Pendergast saved my life," he said quietly. He turned again and looked at Nora. "Yours, too."

She wheeled away, exasperated.

He came over and took her in his arms. "I won't do it… if you tell me not to."

"And that's the one thing I'm not going to tell you. It's your decision."

Smithback stepped back, knotted his tie, drew on his jacket. "I'd better get to work."

He kissed her. "I love you, Nora."

She shook her head. "Be very, very careful."

"I will, I promise. Have faith in me."

And he vanished out the door.

SEVENTY-ONE

One day later, and fifty miles to the north, the sun shone dimly through the shuttered window of a small room in the intensive-care unit of a private clinic. A single patient lay under a sheet, hooked up to several large machines that beeped softly, almost comfortingly. Her eyes were closed.

A nurse came in, checked the machines, jotted down some of the vitals, and then paused to look at the patient.

"Good morning, Theresa," she said brightly.

The patient's eyes remained closed, and she did not answer. They'd removed the feeding tube, and she was out of immediate danger, but she was still one very sick woman.

"It's a beautiful morning," the nurse went on, opening the shutters and allowing a ray of sun to fall across the covers. Outside the window of the rambling Queen A

The woman's pale face lay against the pillow, her short brown hair spreading slightly across the cotton fabric.

The nurse continued to work, changing the IV bag, smoothing the covers. Finally, she leaned over the girl and brushed a strand of hair out of her face.

The girl's eyes slowly opened.

The nurse paused, then took her hand. "Good morning," she said again, holding the hand lightly.

The eyes flicked to the left and right. The lips moved, but no sound came.

"Don't you try to talk just yet," the nurse said, moving to the intercom. "Everything will be all right. You've had a tough time of it, but now everything's fine."

She pressed the intercom lever and leaned toward it, speaking in a low voice.

"The patient in ICU-6 is waking up," she murmured. "Get word to Dr. Winokur."

She went and sat by the bed, taking the woman's hand again.

"Where…?"

"You're at the Feversham Clinic, Theresa dear. A few miles north of Cold Spring. It's January 31, and you've been unconscious for six days, but we've got you on the mend. Everything's just fine. You're a strong, healthy woman and you're going to get better."

The eyes widened slightly. "What…?" the weak voice managed to say.

"What happened? Never you mind about that now. You had a very close call, but it's all over and done with. You're safe here."

The figure in the bed struggled to speak, her lips moving.

"Don't try to talk just yet. Save your strength for the doctor."

"… tried to kill…" The phrase came out disco

"Like I said, never you mind. You concentrate on getting better."

"…awful…"

The nurse stroked her hand kindly. "I'm sure it was, but let's not dwell on that now. Dr. Winokur will be here at any moment and he might have some questions for you. You should rest, dear."

"Tired… Tired…"

"Certainly, you are. You're very tired. But you can't go back to sleep quite yet, Theresa. Stay awake for me and the doctor. Just for now. Okay? That's a good girl."

"I'm not… Theresa."

The nurse smiled indulgently, patting her hand. "Don't worry about a thing. A little confusion on awakening is perfectly normal. While waiting for the doctor, let's look out the window. Isn't it a lovely day?"

SEVENTY-TWO

Hayward had never before visited the legendary high-security lockup within Bellevue Hospital, and she walked toward the unit with a rising sense of curiosity. The long, brightly lit hallways stank of rubbing alcohol and bleach, and along the way they passed through almost half a dozen locked doors: Adult Emergency Services, Psychiatric Emergency, Psychiatric Inpatient, finally ending up at the most intimidating door of all: a windowless double set of dented stainless steel, flanked by two orderlies in white suits and an NYPD police sergeant sitting at a desk. The door sported a small, scratched label: Secure Area.

Hayward flashed her badge. "Captain Laura Hayward and guest. We're expected in D-11."

"Morning, Captain," said the sergeant in a leisurely tone, who took her shield, jotted down some information on the sign-in sheet, and handed it to her to sign.