wondered briefly how long she had been there.
‘Mrs De Witt? Wake up! Oh, God … wake up!’
I ran around the apartment, looking for the phone. It was in the hallway, situated on a table that also housed several phone books. I rang 911 and explained what I had found.
‘There’s a team on its way, ma’am,’ came the voice. ‘Can you stay with the patient and let them in?’
‘Yes, yes, yes. But she’s really old and frail and she looks like she’s out cold. Please come quickly.’ I ran and fetched a quilt from her bedroom and placed it over her, trying to remember what Sam had told me about treating the elderly who had taken a fall. One of the biggest risks was their growing chilled from lying undiscovered for hours. And she felt so cold, even with the full blast of the building’s central heating. I sat on the floor beside her and took her icy hand in mine, stroking it gently, trying to let her know somebody was there. A sudden thought crossed my mind: if she died, would they blame me? Mr Gopnik would testify that I was a criminal, after all. I wondered briefly about whether to run, but I couldn’t leave her.
It was during this tortured train of thought that she opened an eye.
‘Mrs De Witt?’
She blinked at me, as if trying to work out what had happened.
‘It’s Louisa. From across the corridor. Are you in pain?’
‘I don’t know … My … my wrist …’ she said weakly.
‘The ambulance is coming. You’re going to be okay. It’s all going to be okay.’
She looked blankly at me, as if trying to piece together who I was, whether what I was saying made any sense. And then her brow furrowed. ‘Where is he? Dean Martin? Where’s my dog?’
I scanned the room. Over in the corner the little dog was parked on his backside, noisily investigating his genitals. He looked up when he heard his name and adjusted himself back into a standing position. ‘He’s right here. He’s okay.’
She closed her eyes again, relieved. ‘Will you look after him? If I have to go to the hospital? I am going to the hospital, aren’t I?’
‘Yes. And of course.’
‘There’s a folder in my bedroom that you need to give them. On my bedside table.’
‘No problem. I’ll do that.’
I closed my hands around hers, and while Dean Martin eyed me warily from the doorway – well, me and the fireplace – we waited in silence for the paramedics to come.
I travelled to the hospital with Mrs De Witt, leaving Dean Martin in the apartment as he wasn’t allowed in the ambulance. Once her paperwork was done and she was settled, I headed for the Lavery, reassuring her that I would look after the dog. I would be back in the morning to let her know how he was doing. Her tiny blue eyes filled with tears as she issued croaking instructions as to his food, his walks, his various likes and dislikes, until the paramedic shushed her, insisting that she needed to rest.
I caught the subway back to Fifth Avenue, simultaneously bone-weary and buzzing with adrenalin. I let myself in, using the key Mrs De Witt had given me. Dean Martin was waiting in the hallway, standing four-square in the middle of the floor, his compact body radiating suspicion.
‘Good evening, young man! Would you like some supper?’ I said, as if I were his old friend and not someone vaguely expecting to lose a chunk out of one of my lower legs. I walked past him with simulated confidence to the kitchen, where I tried to decipher the instructions as to the correct amount of cooked chicken and kibble that I had scribbled on the back of my hand.
I placed the food in his dish and pushed it towards him with my foot.
‘There you go! Enjoy!’
He stared at me, his bulbous eyes sullen and mutinous, forehead rippling with wrinkles of concern.
‘Food! Yum!’
Still he stared.
‘Not hungry yet, huh?’ I said. I edged my way out of the kitchen. I needed to work out where I was going to sleep.
Mrs De Witt’s apartment was approximately half the square footage of the Gopniks’, but that wasn’t to say it was small. It comprised a vast living room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park, its interior decorated in bronze and smoked glass, as if it had last been done some time around the days of Studio 54. There was a more traditional dining room,