The Stars Shine Down

The Stars Shine Down Page 30

BOOK FOUR

Chapter Thirty

Lara received the news about Philip in Reno.

Marian Bell was on the phone, near hysteria.

"Is he badly hurt?" Lara demanded.

"We don't have any details yet. He's at Roosevelt Hospital in the emergency room."

"I'll come back immediately."

When Lara arrived at the hospital six hours later, Howard Keller was waiting there for her. He looked shaken.

"What happened?" Lara asked.

"Apparently, Philip was mugged after he left Carnegie Hall. They found him in the street, unconscious."

"How bad is it?"

"His wrist was slashed. He's heavily sedated, but he's conscious."

They went into the hospital room. Philip was lying on a bed with IV tubes feeding liquid into his body.

"Philip...Philip." It was Lara's voice calling to him from a long way off. He opened his eyes. Lara and Howard Keller were there. There seemed to be two of each. His mouth was dry, and he felt groggy.

"What happened?" Philip mumbled.

"You were hurt," Lara said. "But you're going to be all right."

Philip looked down and saw that his left wrist was heavily bandaged. Memory came flooding back. "I was...how bad is it?"

"I don't know, darling," Lara said. "I'm sure it will be fine. The doctor is coming in to see you."

Keller said reassuringly, "Doctors can do anything these days."

Philip was drifting back to sleep. "I told him to take what he wanted. He shouldn't have hurt my wrist," he mumbled. "He shouldn't have hurt my wrist..."

Two hours later Dr. Dennis Stanton walked into Philip's room, and the moment Philip saw the expression on his face he knew what he was going to say.

Philip took a deep breath. "Tell me."

Dr. Stanton sighed. "I'm afraid I don't have very good news for you, Mr. Adler."

"How bad is it?"

"The flexor tendons have been severed, so you'll have no motion in your hand, and there will be a permanent numbness. In addition to that, there's median and ulnar nerve damage." He illustrated on his hand. "The median nerve affects the thumb and first three fingers. The ulnar nerve goes to all the fingers."

Philip closed his eyes tightly against the wave of sudden despair that engulfed him. After a moment he spoke. "Are you saying that I'll...I'll never have the use of my left hand again?"

"That's right. The fact is that you're lucky to be alive. Whoever did this cut the artery. It's a wonder you didn't bleed to death. It took sixty stitches to sew your wrist together again."

Philip said in desperation, "My God, isn't there anything you can do?"

"Yes. We could put in an implant in your left hand so you would have some motion, but it would be very limited."

He might as well have killed me, Philip thought despairingly.

"As your hand starts to heal, there's going to be a great deal of pain. We'll give you medication to control it, but I can assure you that in time the pain will go away."

Not the real pain, Philip thought. Not the real pain. He was caught up in a nightmare. And there was no escape.

A detective came to see Philip at the hospital. He stood by the side of Philip's bed. He was one of the old breed, in his sixties and tired, with eyes that had already seen it all twice.

"I'm Lieutenant Mancini. I'm sorry about what happened, Mr. Adler," he said. "It's too bad they couldn't have broken your leg instead. I mean...if it had to happen..."

"I know what you mean," Philip said curtly.

Howard Keller came into the room. "I was looking for Lara." He saw the stranger. "Oh, sorry."

"She's around here somewhere," Philip said. "This is Lieutenant Mancini. Howard Keller."

Mancini was staring at him. "You look familiar. Have we met before?"

"I don't think so."

Mancini's face lit up. "Keller! My God, you used to play baseball in Chicago."

"That's right. How do you...?"

"I was a scout for the Cubs one summer. I still remember your sliders and your change-ups. You could have had a big career."

"Yeah. Well, if you'll excuse me..." He looked at Philip. "I'll wait for Lara outside." He left.

Mancini turned to Philip. "Did you get a look at the man who attacked you?"

"He was a male Caucasian. A large man. About six foot two. Maybe fifty or so."

"Could you identify him if you saw him again?"

"Yes." It was a face he would never forget.

"Mr. Adler, I could ask you to look through a lot of mug shots, but frankly, I think it would be a waste of your time. I mean, this isn't exactly a high-tech crime. There are hundreds of muggers all over the city. Unless someone nabs them on the spot, they usually get away with it." He took out his notebook. "What was taken from you?"

"My wallet and my wristwatch."

"What kind of watch was it?"

"A Piaget."

"Was there anything distinctive about it? Did it have an inscription, for example?"

It was the watch Lara had given him. "Yes. On the back of the case, it read 'To Philip with Love from Lara.' "

He made a note. "Mr. Adler...I have to ask you this. Had you ever seen this man before?"

Philip looked up at him in surprise. "Seen him before? No. Why?"

"I just wondered." Mancini put the notebook away. "Well, we'll see what we can do. You're a lucky man, Mr. Adler."

"Really?" Philip's voice was filled with bitterness.

"Yeah. We have thousands of muggings a year in this city, and we can't afford to spend much time on them, but our captain happens to be a fan of yours. He collects all your records. He's going to do everything he can to catch the SOB who did this to you. We'll send out a description of your watch to pawnshops around the country."

"If you catch him, do you think he can give me my hand back?" Philip asked bitterly.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You'll be hearing from us. Have a nice day."

Lara and Keller were waiting in the corridor for the detective.

"You said you wanted to see me?" Lara asked.

"Yes. I'd like to ask you a couple of questions," Lieutenant Mancini said. "Mrs. Adler, does your husband have any enemies that you know of?"

Lara frowned. "Enemies? No. Why?"

"No one who might be jealous of him? Another musician maybe? Someone who wants to hurt him?"

"What are you getting at? It was a simple street mugging, wasn't it?"

"To be perfectly frank, this doesn't fit the pattern of an ordinary mugging. He slashed your husband's wrist after he took his wallet and watch."

"I don't see what difference..."

"That was a pretty senseless thing to do, unless it was deliberate. Your husband didn't put up any resistance. Now, a kid on dope might do a thing like that, but..." He shrugged. "I'll be in touch."

They watched him walk away.

"Jesus!" Keller said. "He thinks it was a setup."

Lara had turned pale.

Keller looked at her and said slowly, "My God! One of Paul Martin's hoods! But why would he do this?"

Lara found it difficult to speak. "He...he might have thought he was doing it for me. Philip has...has been away a lot, and Paul kept saying that it...it wasn't right, that someone should have a talk with him. Oh, Howard!" She buried her head in his shoulder, fighting back the tears.

"That son of a bitch! I warned you to stay away from that man."

Lara took a deep breath. "Philip is going to be all right. He has to be."

Three days later Lara brought Philip home from the hospital. He looked pale and shaken. Marian Bell was at the door, waiting for them. She had gone to the hospital every day to see Philip and to bring him his messages. There had been an outpouring of sympathy from all around the world - cards and letters and telephone calls from distraught fans. The newspapers had played the story up, condemning the violence on the streets of New York.

Lara was in the library when the telephone rang.

"It's for you," Marian Bell said. "A Mr. Paul Martin."

"I...I can't talk to him," Lara told her. And she stood there, fighting to keep her body from trembling.