Central Park Guillaume Musso (read along books .TXT) 📖

it by the golden dome formed by the foliage of a giant elm tree. There was something unreal about the light here, as if butterflies with luminous wings were fluttering in the sky. Swept by a gentle breeze, red leaves fluttered through the air. An odor of damp earth and rotting leaves permeated the atmosphere.

In the center of the clearing, a woman was lying on a bench, asleep.

Gabriel carefully approached her. Yes, it was Alice Schafer, curled up in a fetal position, wearing a leather jacket and jeans. A bloodstained blouse was visible below her jacket. Gabriel was alarmed, thinking that she must be injured. After examining the blouse, however, he realized the blood must be that of the hospital security guard, Caleb Dunn. He leaned over until he was almost touching the young woman’s hair, listening to her breathe. He stayed in that position for a moment, watching the thousand shades of gold reflected in her ponytail, looking at her fragile face, her pale skin, and her dry pink lips, feeling the warm air that blew out from between them.

He felt unexpectedly stirred by this. A fire lit up his entire being. This woman’s fragility, the solitude that seemed to emanate from her body, echoed painfully within him. All it took was a few seconds, a single look, and he felt destiny knocking on the door of his life. Seized by some irrational force, he suddenly knew that he would do everything he could to help Alice Schafer.

Time was short. As gently as possible, he searched through the young woman’s jacket pockets and found her wallet, a pair of handcuffs, and Caleb Dunn’s gun. He left the pistol where it was but took the wallet and the handcuffs. Inside the wallet was Schafer’s police ID card, a photograph of a blond, curly-haired man, and an ultrasound image.

So, what now?

His brain buzzed. The glimmers of a crazy scenario began to form inside his mind. The outline had come to him during the taxi ride as he listened to the jazz pianist on the radio, read the articles about Vaughn, the serial killer, and thought over what Thomas had said about Alice’s anterograde amnesia and her denial of the disease: Every morning when she wakes up, her memory resets. She doesn’t know she has Alzheimer’s and she thinks that she was partying on the Champs-Élysées just the night before.

He emptied his own pockets and made an inventory of everything he had with him: his wallet, his cell phone, a shiny ballpoint pen, his Swiss Army knife, the claim ticket for his briefcase.

He had to improvise with that. Time was running out. The pieces of the puzzle came together in his head with stunning speed. Inspired, he put together his plan in only a few seconds.

He checked the number of the Greenwich Hotel on his cell phone, then used his pen to write it on Alice’s palm, praying that she wouldn’t wake up.

Then he left the clearing for a few minutes. About fifty yards north, he found a little pond crossed by a tiny rustic wooden bridge and surrounded by weeping willows and low bushes. To judge from the number of bird feeders attached to tree branches, this place—calm and silent at this time of day—must be a sort of observation point created by the park’s bird-watchers.

Gabriel took off his trench coat and cut a long, thin band from the lining that looked like a pale-colored strip of gauze. He removed his jacket, rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, and, with the blade of his knife, carved six numbers into his forearm: 141197, the combination for the lock on his briefcase. He grimaced with pain as he felt the blade dig into his skin. If a park ranger were to come upon him now, he would struggle to explain what he was doing.

He wrapped up his bleeding arm with the makeshift bandage, then lowered his shirtsleeve, put his jacket back on, and bundled up his and Alice’s wallets, his Swiss army knife, his watch, and his pen in his raincoat.

Then he decided to call Thomas.

“Tell me you’ve found her and she’s alive!” his friend pleaded.

“Yeah, she’s asleep on a bench in the middle of the woods here.”

“Have you tried waking her?”

“Not yet. But I need to do it before someone shows up.”

“Have you taken Dunn’s gun off her?”

“Not yet.”

“What are you waiting for?”

“Listen, I’m going to try to bring her back to the clinic, but I want to do it my way.”

“Okay, whatever you think is best,” Krieg said.

Frowning, Gabriel scratched the back of his head. “Who do you think she’ll try to call when she wakes up?”

“Probably Seymour Lombart. He’s her best friend and her colleague. He was the one who recommended our clinic to her and paid for her treatment.”

“You have to call that guy. Whatever she says to him, ask him not to mention her disease. Tell him to play for time and follow her instructions as she gives them.”

“Are you sure about this? Because—”

“I’m not sure of anything. But if you don’t like it, you can always come here and get her yourself.”

Krieg simply sighed.

“One other thing. Is Agatha in New York yet?” Gabriel asked.

“She called me two minutes ago. She just landed at JFK.”

“Tell her to come to Central Park right away. To the north of the Ramble, she’ll find a little pond surrounded by azaleas. There’s a wooden bridge and some trees with bird feeders in the branches. I’m going to leave all my things along with Schafer’s personal belongings in the biggest of those bird feeders. Ask Agatha to pick them up before anyone else finds them. And tell her to be ready to help me if I call her.”

“I’ll do that right now,” Krieg replied. “When will you call again?”

“Whenever I can. There’s no point trying to reach me on my cell phone, because I need to get rid of it.”

“All right. Well, good luck.”

“One last question: Does Alice Schafer have a boyfriend?”

“Not