“And you were going to leave Markov to Crane?”

“No. Not completely. Sure, he was Crane’s client, but I was going to be involved. I had no problem with turning on the charm to keep Markov happy.”

“So what went wrong? Why did Crane get so crazy?”

“Because he got wind of what we were planning before Milstein could pitch him. Crane heard what Milstein and me were up to and he went nuts.”

“Meaning the attack. The yelling and screaming, threatening to kill you. Breaking your hand.”

Olivia stopped. She sensed something. She watched Beck looking at her. She knew. Maybe she had known from the moment Beck started going over it all again. She looked down, than back up at Beck. She spoke slowly and softly. “It didn’t happen exactly that way.”

Beck sat back in Nydia’s chair. “What way did it happen?”

She couldn’t look at Beck. She stared past him, gazing at the glow of the city lights coming in through the transparent inner drape drawn over the window.

“Everything I told you is true. Crane came in. Yelling, screaming, threatening. Pounding the desk. He really got to me. I really believed my life was at risk. I realized I may have underestimated the whole thing. Crane truly sounded like he actually could have me killed.

“I hadn’t really thought about who Markov was until that moment. What he might be capable of doing. When Crane threatened to kill me, I was terrified. Then I suddenly got paranoid. Maybe Milstein had set the whole thing up knowing Crane would do this. Maybe he tipped off Crane. Was he using me as a stalking horse to see what Crane would do? Did he blow up everything so I would go to Manny?

“My head was reeling.” Now she turned her gaze to Beck. “I never experienced anything like that.”

“Go on.”

“I was numb. I kept thinking, what the hell have I done? I left the office in a daze. I usually get the train on Fifty-ninth, but I couldn’t. I needed to move. I decided to walk to Grand Central. It was cold out, but there were still a lot of people on the streets. People heading home. I was kind of like walking at my own pace, you know. Dazed, not like all the people walking past me.

“It was dark, I wasn’t paying attention. I don’t even know exactly how it happened. Or where. I was in the middle of a crosswalk. Maybe there was a little ice, a manhole, and uneven part, I don’t know. I just slipped. Fell sort of to the side. Landed on my hand.”

She lifted her left hand, wrapped in the cast as if it were an exhibit. Remembering how it had actually happened. She closed her eyes. The tears were coming, silently moving down her cheeks as if something separate and apart from her.

Beck watched her. Picturing it. Listening for the truth in her words.

“I don’t think anything ever hurt me as much as that did. I didn’t even have gloves on. It was horrible. Horrible. I swear it seemed to be all part of what Crane had done to me. He put me in that state. He drove me out of there. It was as if he’d done it to me. Made it happen.”

She took a slow deep breath, shook her head, distancing herself from the memory. Beck sat unmoving, watching her, listening closely.

“Anyhow, I just cradled my hand in the crook of my arm. I knew the little finger was broken. It was jutting out at a crazy angle. I was crying. People helped me up, asked me if I was okay. I couldn’t talk. Somebody told me to get to a hospital. Somebody hailed a cab for me. Next thing I was in the emergency room at Lenox Hill.

“They gave me a shot. The pain started to ebb. I just went with it. Whatever they said, I did. Sit here. Go there. I was drained. The time didn’t matter. It took a while to get everything done, but once the X-rays came back and the surgeon set my fingers, it felt more normal. The pain shots kept it all numb. He was a very confident guy. He told me I might not need surgery.

“About the time they started to put the cast on and the pain settled, I began thinking about what had happened. I started to get furious. That fucking Alan Crane. The years I put in. His arrogance. His stupidity. His … his recklessness. And the fucking nerve to threaten me like that.”

She paused to look at Beck. He sat motionless, no expression, listening. She had to get through it now. Get the rest of it out.

“Fuck.” She shook her head. “I was still afraid. From what Crane did. But I started wondering if Milstein had turned against me. If he had tipped off Crane. I was sure Crane meant what he said. The hate in him.

“I called Milstein from the hospital. I left a message on his voice mail. I figured for sure he’d call me back. He never did.”

Olivia paused, remembering it. She looked directly at Beck. “That’s when I decided to fight back. Sitting in that emergency room. I called the police. I started to build a case. I knew Crane would deny it. I didn’t care. I was going on the offensive. They weren’t going to get away with it. I waited for the police to come to the hospital. And waited. After a while I just couldn’t wait any longer and I went home.

“On the cab ride home, that’s when I decided to go to Manny. I think I would have gone to him whether I’d broken my hand or not. I was convinced I had to have some protection. The accident just made everything more real. Like a slap in the face to wake me up and show me where I was at.”

Olivia shrugged. Held up her hand again.

“It cost me enough pain. I figured I had every right to use it.” She paused. “I guess I didn’t think the whole thing through with Manny. I knew about you in a very vague way. Manny never talked to me about his life. When I told him a man at work had attacked me, had broken my hand, it seemed totally real to me. I swear I didn’t know it was going to get this far. I was just determined to fight back. To survive.”

She paused, wiped away the tears as if they were annoying her.

“That’s the truth. That’s what I did.” She stopped. Beck waited. “It’s my fault Manny is involved. That you’re involved. I never … I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

Olivia leaned back against the headboard. Relieved. Drained. Showing a terrible vulnerability that actually made Beck want to comfort her.

Finally, Beck said, “I believe you.”

“Thank you.”

Beck nodded.

Olivia got up and walked to the foot of the bed. She sat on the bed, close enough to Beck so that she could reach out and touch his knee.

“What can I do? What should I do? How do I make this right?”

36

After he finished talking to Stepanovich, Markov began working every angle. He pestered Milstein until he received an e-mail with most of the information he demanded on Olivia.

Next, he reached out to Kolenka.

Markov had to leave messages and wait nearly a half hour for the old gangster to call him back. When he answered his phone he heard Kolenka’s raspy voice growl out one word.

“Yes?”

“Ivan, I need your help.”

Kolenka muttered one word. “Beck.”

“Yes.”

“I warned you.”

“You did. And now I’m taking steps. I want someone kidnapped.”

“Who?”

“The woman who started all these problems.”

“You have people, why call me?”

“Because your people are better.”

Markov heard Kolenka cough, the phlegm-filled hack of an inveterate chain-smoker. He pictured Kolenka hunched over, sipping strong Turkish coffee, smoking an unending chain of unfiltered Lucky Strikes in one of the shabby, barely furnished apartments that Kolenka used randomly.

Markov pushed. “Ivan, are you thinking of refusing me?”

“You want to take the woman because you think that will draw out Beck.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe. You understand this man is someone you must be careful with.”

“Maybe I can persuade her to call him off.”

“He won’t listen.”

“Then I will make sure they are both dead.”

“There are people who will try to avenge Beck.”