They looked blankly at each other. The first cop said, "Stay here," and he walked across the street to another cop car where a man in a suit was talking to a small group. They whispered, then the first cop and the man in the suit walked back to the sidewalk where Darby waited. The man in the suit said, "I'm Lieutenant Olson, New Orleans PD. Did you know the man in the car?" He pointed to the parking lot.
The knees went weak, and she bit her lip. She nodded.
"What's his name?"
"Thomas Callahan."
Olson looked at the first cop. "That's what the computer said. Now, who's this Rupert?"
Darby screamed, "He said he was a cop!"
Olson looked sympathetic. "I'm sorry. There's no cop named Rupert."
She was sobbing loudly. Olson helped her to the hood of Rupert's car, and held her shoulders while the crying subsided and she fought to regain control.
"Check the plates," Olson told the second cop, who quickly scribbled down the tag number from Rupert's car and called it in.
Olson gently held both her shoulders with his hands and looked at her eyes. "Were you with Callahan?"
She nodded, still crying but much quieter. Olson glanced at the first cop.
"How did you get in this car?" Olson asked slowly and softly.
She wiped her eyes with her finger and stared at Olson. "This guy Rupert, who said he was a cop, came and got me from over there, and brought me over here. He put me in the car, and this other cop with cowboy boots starting asking questions. Another cop car pulled up, and they left. Then I guess I passed out. I don't know. I would like to see a doctor."
"Get my car," Olson said to the first cop.
"The second cop was back with a puzzled look.The computer has no record of this tag number. Must be fake tags."
Olson took her arm and led her to his car. He spoke quickly to the two cops. "I'm taking her to Charity. Wrap this up and meet me there. Impound the car. We'll check it later."
She sat in Olson's car listening to the radio squawk and staring at the parking lot. Four cars had burned. The Porsche was upside down in the center, nothing but a crumpled frame. A handful of firemen and other emergency types milled about. A cop was stringing yellow crime-scene tape around the lot.
She touched the knot on the back of her head. No blood. Tears dripped off her chin.
Olson slammed his door, and they eased through the parked cars and headed for St. Charles. He had the blue lights on, but no sirens.
"Do you feel like talking?" he asked.
They were on St. Charles. "I guess," she said.He's dead, isn't he?"
"Yes, Darby. I'm sorry. I take it he was the only one in the car."
"Yes."
"How'd you get hurt?"
He gave her a handkerchief, and she wiped her eyes. "I fell or something. There were two explosions, and I think the second one knocked me down. I don't remember everything. Please, tell me who Rupert is."
"I have no idea. I don't know a cop named Rupert, and there was no cop here with cowboy boots."
She thought about this for a block and a half.
"What did Callahan do for a living?"
"A law professor at Tulane. I'm a student there."
"Who would want to kill him?"
She stared at the traffic lights and shook her head. "You're certain it was intentional?"
"No doubt about it. It was a very powerful explosive. We found a piece of a foot stuck in a chain-link fence eighty feet away. I'm sorry, okay. He was murdered."
"Maybe someone got the wrong car."
"That's always possible. We'll check out everything. I take it you were supposed to be in the car with him."
She tried to speak, but could not hold the tears. She buried her face in the handkerchief.
He parked between two ambulances near the emergency entrance at Charity, and left the blue lights on. He helped her quickly inside to a dirty room where fifty people sat in various degrees of pain and discomfort. She found a seat by the water fountain. Olson talked to the lady behind the window, and he raised his voice but Darby couldn't understand him. A small boy with a bloody towel around his foot cried in his mother's lap. A young black girl was about to give birth. There was not a doctor or nurse in sight. No one was in a hurry.
Olson crouched in front of her. "It'll be a few minutes. Sit tight. I'm gonna move the car, and I'll be back in a minute. Do you feel like talking?"
"Yeah, sure."
He was gone. She checked again for blood, and found none. The double doors opened wide, and two angry nurses came after the girl in labor. They sort of dragged her away, back through the doors and down the hall.
Darby waited, then followed. With the red eyes and handkerchief, she looked like some child's mother. The hall was a zoo with nurses and orderlies and the wounded yelling and moving about. She turned a corner and saw an EXIT sign. Through the door, into another hall, much quieter, another door, and she was on a loading dock. There were lights in the alley. Don't run. Be strong. It's okay. No one's watching. She was on the street, walking briskly. The cool air cleared her eyes. She refused to cry.
