At some point, paramedics arrived with a stretcher and a medical kit.They knelt beside David Hartley, who was still on the floor, cradling his broken arm.His screaming had diminished to a steady whimper punctuated by sharp gasps whenever someone touched him.One of the paramedics was trying to assess the damage while the other prepared a splint.
"We need to stabilize this before we move him," the first paramedic said."Compound fracture, looks like the radius and possibly the ulna.He needs surgery."
Hartley moaned as they began working on his arm.An NYPD officer stood nearby with handcuffs ready, waiting for the medical team to finish before taking custody.
Miles watched it all from his position beside the statue.And when he'd heard the medic's report on Hartley, he did feel the smallest little flicker of guilt.His hands had stopped shaking, but he could still feel the adrenaline working its way out of his system.Every muscle in his body ached.The rental tuxedo felt like it weighed a hundred pounds, and Good Lord, he couldn't wait to take the damn thing off.
Vic stood beside him, her expression unreadable.She hadn't said much since pulling him away from Hartley.Miles wondered what she was thinking, whether she was already composing the report she would have to file about his use of excessive force.
Detective Linhart appeared through the crowd, with a man in a museum security uniform beside her.She looked tired but satisfied.When she reached Miles and Vic, she gestured toward the paramedics loading Hartley onto the stretcher.
"They're taking him to Mount Sinai," Linhart said."He'll be kept under guard, and as soon as he's stable enough, he'll be transferred to a holding cell."
"What about the victim?"Vic asked.
"Alive, thanks to you,” Linhart said.“Paramedics got to her before the paralytic could cause any respiratory issues.She's being transported now as a precaution, but they think she'll make a full recovery."
Miles felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders.At least that much had gone right.He knew he had to focus on the positives in a situation like this but it was so hard to do.Already, his mind was on the fact that there were more disciples out there.
The man in the security uniform cleared his throat.He was in his fifties with gray hair and the bearing of someone used to handling crises.His name tag read "Director of Security."
"Agent Sterling, Agent Stone," he said."I wanted to introduce myself.Robert Childress, director of security for the museum.I've been coordinating with Detective Linhart.But I also wanted to let you know who the intended victim was.Her name is Victoria Ashford-Walters.She's a major patron of the museum and a significant figure in Manhattan philanthropic circles."
The name registered immediately.Miles exchanged a glance with Vic.
"Ashford?"Vic said.
"Yes," Linhart confirmed."She's the cousin of Claudia Ashford.She married into the Walters family about fifteen years ago.Old money, very connected.She serves on the boards of at least six major charities."
Miles felt something cold settle in his stomach.Another Ashford.The connection was impossible to ignore, even if it was distant.He wondered if Hartley had gone after her for the family connection, or if it was just a terrible coincidence.
"She was wearing a platinum necklace tonight," Vic added."I noticed it when I was in the restroom with her.”
“I noticed, too,” Linhart said.“I’m pretty sure it was a custom piece, probably worth close to two hundred thousand dollars.That's what drew the killer's attention, I assume."
"Almost certainly," Vic said.
Around them, the chaos continued.The paramedics were wheeling Hartley toward the exit now, the stretcher rattling slightly over the marble floor.Guests parted to let them through, their phones still recording every moment.Someone was crying somewhere, probably overwhelmed by the violence that had erupted in the middle of their elegant evening.
As Miles and Vic made their way outside, Miles noted that news crews were already setting up, their satellite trucks angling for the best view of the museum.The story would be everywhere by morning: federal agents had stopped a killer at Manhattan's most exclusive gala—a killer who was tied to the Elementalist case, which had been making national headlines as of late.Miles could already imagine the headlines, the interviews, the questions about how the FBI had known to be there.
"If you need anything from us tonight, let me know," Childress said."Otherwise, I'll make sure we have all the security footage ready for your review tomorrow."
"Thank you," Miles said.
Childress nodded and moved away to deal with the growing crowd of onlookers.Linhart lingered a moment longer, studying Miles with an expression that suggested she had noticed more than he would have liked.
"You did well tonight," she said quietly."Both of you.That woman would be dead if you hadn't been here."
"You spotted Hartley from your car with the security cameras," Vic pointed out.“Miles and I were simply doing our jobs.”
"Well, your job saved a life tonight.Try to remember that when you're filling out the paperwork."Linhart gave them a small smile and headed back toward the other officers.“That bastard got away with just a broken arm.He got off lucky if you ask me.Bye for now, agents.”
As soon as she turned away and headed for a nearby patrol car, Miles looked back to the entrance.“Stone, excuse me for a second, would you?I need the little boys’ room.”
"Miles..."
"I just need a minute.I'll be right back."
