Death's Savage Passion by Jane Haddam Read Free Book Online

coming.”
    “She was that close to the edge?” I said. “She was so close you looked behind her and saw the train coming?”
    “I didn’t see anything,” Phoebe said. “I looked to see. I’m short. I spend a lot of time trying to look around other people to see what’s going on. I was looking past her back and nobody put a hand on her back.”
    “It’s a question of physics,” Jerry O’Reilly said in exasperation. “Maybe her knees buckled and she fell backward, but if she pitched forward after that, somebody had to be pushing her.”
    “Maybe she swayed,” I suggested.
    “She didn’t sway,” Phoebe said. “She fell, and her knees sort of collapsed. She almost fell into whoever was behind her, I don’t remember who. And nobody put a hand on her back and pushed her.”
    “You stand up and try it,” Jerry O’Reilly said. “You just stand right up and try it.”
    Phoebe ignored him. “We went into the subway station and we were a little nervous,” she said. “We were standing in a knot, sort of, huddled up for protection. We were talking about muggers and spooking ourselves and we kept getting closer to each other just in case. I wasn’t just standing next to her, I was almost leaning against her.”
    “He says you can talk some sense into her,” Jerry O’Reilly said, shooting his head to the side so that it pointed at Nick’s nose. “What about it?”
    I contemplated my cigarette. I contemplated my nose. I contemplated what Nick was going to say when he heard what I had to say. Then I told the truth.
    “If Phoebe says that’s what she saw,” I said, “that’s what she saw. If Phoebe says that’s what she saw, that’s probably what happened.”
    “Jesus Christ,” Nick said.
    “I told you,” Phoebe said.
    “Make it murder,” Jerry O’Reilly said. “I’ll listen to a murder. I won’t listen to a suspension of the laws of gravity.”
    “I’ll explain it again from the beginning,” Phoebe said.
    Jerry O’Reilly wasn’t having any. “Go home,” he said. “Levitate. Do whatever it is you do when you’re alone. I don’t care.”
    “I’m just trying,” Phoebe started.
    “I’m trying to take statements from witnesses who make sense,” Jerry O’Reilly said. “Someone will type this crap up for you. You can come down tomorrow and sign it. Get out of here.”
    Phoebe shrugged and started gathering up her string bag and evening wrap. Romance writers are the only women in America who still buy real 1950s-style date-dress evening wraps. O’Reilly shouted “Dooley” over our heads. Phoebe looked at him and frowned.
    “I’m really not trying to be obstructionist,” she said. “I just saw what I saw.”
    “That’s all right.” I patted her head. Everyone ends up patting Phoebe’s head. She’s so small and compact. “You go home,” I told her. “I’ll sit around and wait for Sarah.”
    “I’ll sit around and wait for Sarah,” Nick said—generously, in this case, because he wasn’t very pleased with either of us. “I have to stay here for Amelia and Caroline anyway. I’ll bring Sarah home when she’s made her statement.”
    “I might as well stick around,” I said. “I’m not going to get any sleep.”
    “Cancel your appointments,” Nick said. He looked worried. It is his contention that I do not eat, sleep, or relax anywhere near enough to keep me healthy.
    I made a vague gesture at the wall clock. “It’s quarter after seven and I’m due for a session at Images in less than two hours.”
    “PR?” Phoebe asked sympathetically.
    “Last time I was on television, I looked fuzzy,” I said. “According to my lady at Doubleday anyway.” I yawned.
    Caroline Dooley’s voice floated up from the far side of the room, squeaky and nervous.
    “The thing is, Officer, if I had to reconstruct the scene as I saw it, you see, I think I’d have to agree with Miss Damereaux about the sequence and—”
    Sarah was waiting for us at the rail. Her eyes were