Cold Vengeance - Lincoln Child [36]
Pendergast fell silent a minute or two. When he began again, his voice was a little stronger. “Judson and I had hunted here before, a decade ago. On that trip, I made the acquaintance of a local doctor named Roscommon. We had some similar interests. His practice was in the village of Inverkirkton, about three miles away. It happened to be the closest point as the crow flies from where I was shot.”
“How did you do it?” D’Agosta asked after a moment. “Reach him without leaving any tracks?”
“The improvised dressing stopped my leaving any blood spoor,” Pendergast said. “I moved with great care. The rain took care of the rest.”
“You traveled three miles in the rain, with a sucking chest wound, to the doctor’s house?”
Pendergast fixed him with his gaze. “Yes.”
“Jesus Christ, how…?”
“I suddenly had something to live for.”
D’Agosta shook his head.
“Roscommon is an unusually intelligent and subtle man. He quickly understood my situation. Two things were in my favor: the bullet had missed my subclavian artery by a hair, and it had passed all the way through, so an operation wasn’t necessary to extract it. Roscommon re-inflated the lung and managed to control the hemorrhaging. Under cover of darkness, he brought me out to this cottage. And his aunt has looked after me ever since.”
“His aunt?”
Pendergast nodded. “Looking after her well-being is the only thing that keeps him in this part of Scotland, rather than in a lucrative Harley Street practice. He knew I would be safe with her.”
“And you’ve been here for the past month.”
“And I’ll be here a little longer still—until I’m sufficiently recovered to finish the job.”
“You need me,” said D’Agosta.
“No,” Pendergast said with great vehemence. “No. The sooner you go home, the better. For God’s sakes, Vincent, you may already have led the wolf to the door with this ill-timed discovery.”
D’Agosta fell silent.
“Your mere presence imperils me. Judson is undoubtedly still around. He’s in high panic. He doesn’t know if I’m alive or dead. But if he sees you, particularly in the vicinity of this cottage…”
“I can help you in other ways.”
“Absolutely not. I almost got you killed once. Captain Hayward would never forgive me if I let it happen again. The best thing you can do for me, the only thing, is to return to New York, go back to your job, and not breathe a word of this to anyone. What I must do, I must do alone. Say nothing to no one, not Proctor, not Constance, not Hayward. Do you understand? I need to recover my strength before I can get Judson. And I will get him. If he doesn’t get me first.”
D’Agosta felt the sting of this last comment. He stared at Pendergast, lying in the cot, so weak in body, so fierce in mind. Once again, he was struck by the fanatical obsession lurking in those eyes. God, he must have loved that woman.
“All right,” he said with huge reluctance. “I’ll do what you say. Except that I’ve got to tell Laura. I swore I’d never deceive her again.”
“Very well. Who knows of your efforts to find me here?”
“The inspector, Balfour. Quite a few others. I’ve been asking around.”
“Then Esterhazy knows. We can turn this to our advantage. Tell everyone your search was fruitless, that you’re now convinced I’m dead. Go home, show all the outward signs of mourning.”
“If that’s really what you want.”
Pendergast’s eyes slid toward him. “It’s what I insist.”
CHAPTER 19
New York City
DR. JOHN FELDER WALKED DOWN THE ECHOING hallway of Mount Mercy Hospital, a slim folder under one arm and the physician in charge, Dr. Ostrom, at his side.
“Thank you for allowing this visitation, Dr. Ostrom,” Felder said.
“Not at all. I take it your interest in her will be ongoing?”
“Yes. Her condition is… unique.”
“Many things involving the Pendergast family are unique.” Ostrom started to say more and then fell silent, as if he’d already said too much on the matter.