Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

THE ELEVATOR DOOR opened onto the hospital lobby. At ground level, the police presence was still thick, mixed with doctors and nurses moving around on their wee-hours shifts. Poe walked with Helene across the polished floor and through the revolving door to the sidewalk.

When they stepped outside, Helene nodded across the street to the Cops & Docs bar. “Over there,” she said. They wound their way past idling police cars and entered through the weathered wooden front door.

The place was new to Poe, off the beaten path from his typical drinking establishments in the city. The décor was exactly as the name suggested: walls festooned with vintage photographs of New York police officers and white-coated physicians, and an eclectic collection of memorabilia: nightsticks, badges, wooden crutches, rusted handcuffs, and antique stethoscopes. A large plaque read, SERVING THOSE WHO SERVE SINCE 1885. Poe looked around. Even at this hour the place was doing a solid business. Clearly, building a neighborhood bar around two 24/7 professions was a pretty smart business model, especially when both jobs required a lot of decompression and commiseration.

Poe spotted a booth occupied by a team of uniformed cops and a couple of detectives. Helene steered him toward the bar instead. A plastic candleholder with a fake flame sat in the middle of the bar’s worn wooden surface, marred by tiny scratches and stained with water rings from thousands of glasses.

“Eighteen eighty-five,” said Poe, nodding toward the wall plaque. “Looks like some of this stuff has been here since they opened.”

He was just trying to make conversation. Inside, he was anxious. What is this about? He was worried that he’d offended Helene with one or more of his odd habits. Or maybe she’d found out something about his past. As close as they’d become over the past few months, there were still a lot of things Poe didn’t want her to know. Not yet.

Maybe never.

“Hi. What can I get you?” The black-clad bartender spoke in a monotone that seemed perfectly suited to the hour. It matched her jet-black hair and hollow-eyed expression.

“Bourbon. Neat,” said Poe.

“Ginger ale for me,” said Helene.

The bartender nodded and shuffled off.

“You’re still on duty?” Poe asked Helene.

She nodded, then lowered her eyes. “Funny, right? Just when you need a drink the most, you can’t have one.”

“You can have a sip of mine,” said Poe. “I won’t tell.”

Helene drew a deep breath then and exhaled slowly. She rested a hand on the bar and leaned toward Poe, looking him directly in the eye. “Auguste, I’m pregnant.”

Poe sat up straight on his stool, his heart racing. He blinked. It took a few seconds for the words to register completely. He reached over and grabbed Helene’s hand.

She flicked her eyes around the room and pulled away. “I know this isn’t what you were expecting,” she said softly. “Believe me, neither was I.”

“You’re sure?” asked Poe. Stupid question. Stalling for time.

“I’m a pretty sharp detective,” said Helene. “I think I can tell two lines from one.”

“What are you…? What can I…?” Poe was fumbling for words. Fumbling for thoughts. “I mean, are you… happy… or…?”

“Detective Grey!” A uniformed cop was shouting from the doorway. Helene looked back. The cop took two steps into the room and jerked his thumb toward the hospital. “Duff wants you to get back up there. Now! ”

Helene stared at Poe for a second, then abruptly stood up. She gave him a quick pat on the shoulder. “Stay,” she said.

Poe turned to watch Helene leave, the uniform right behind her. A moment later, the bartender reappeared and set down the drinks, placing the ginger ale in front of Helene’s now-empty seat. She turned and started shuffling back toward the other end of the bar. Poe glanced at his watch and then called after her. “Excuse me!”

“Something wrong with your drink?”

Poe shook his head. “I’m sure it’s fine. I haven’t even started on it. But seeing as you’re busy and it’s getting close to last call, I wanted to let you know that I’ll definitely need another.”