“Don’t forget dumbass.”
“I won’t,” she assured him with a grin.
When they arrived, the Hamilton was teeming with people. On one side of the lobby a dozen or so women, surrounding another woman decked out in a pink boa and a plastic crown, were headed toward the bar. On the other side a group of men in business attire were shaking hands and exchanging business cards. And at the front desk a team of college-age athletes stood in a cluster waiting to check in. From the size of them, one would conclude they played rugby or football.
Michael waited until they had made their way through the noise and hubbub and were in the elevator to ask Isabel to explain why she wanted to stay at the hotel.
“The house is already crowded,” Isabel explained. “There won’t be room for me.”
“There’s room.”
“I’m not fit company.”
“Sure you are.”
“I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“Like what?”
She wasn’t sure how to say what was at the top of her list and so she settled on what Michael had called it. “My bad experience.”
“What about it?”
“I want to find out the name of the man I killed. Did he have a family? Did he shoot people for a living? Was that his occupation?”
“You want his résumé?” he asked, trying not to laugh. “You can’t interview him. You killed him.”
Isabel’s whole demeanor withered, and Michael immediately regretted his words.
“I’m sorry, Isabel,” he said. “That wasn’t funny.”
“I’m just saying...”
“That Detective Samuel has the information you’re looking for but won’t share it?”
“Exactly so. Detective Walsh is still in critical condition.”
“How many times did you call to check on him today?”
“Just a couple of times.” In the last two hours, she silently added. In all, she’d pestered the nurses at least six or seven times. “I’d like to go see him.”
He didn’t know what a visit to the hospital would accomplish, but Michael could see how important it was to her, so he didn’t argue. “Okay. I’ll go with you.”
“You will? Thank you. I don’t know anything about Detective Walsh except that he came to Boston from Miami. Why was he here and what was he doing on that street? He had a reason, and by now Detective Samuel should know what it was.”
“You shouldn’t worry about this. You aren’t part of the investigation now. You just happened to be on the street when the gunman tried to kill Walsh. You saved his life, Isabel, and you should be proud of that.”
“I did stroll right into the middle of it, didn’t I?” she asked, and before he could respond she said, “Aren’t you at all curious to know what Detective Walsh was up to?”
“Eventually we’ll find out. After Samuel finishes his investigation, he’ll tell us.”
“You think?”
“Yes.”
“I know Walsh is still unconscious. I just wish I could grab him by his shoulders and shake him until he wakes up.”
“I don’t think it works that way,” he said. Then he asked, “What else is on your mind?”