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CHAPTER 19

Hazel’s Dad

JANINE

Emergencies don't take holidays. And in December, the calls change shape.

"There's smoke coming from my neighbor's apartment."

Kitchen fires double because people are cooking things they've never cooked before.

"Third floor. I can smell it through the door."

"Can you see flames?"

"No. Just smoke. A lot of it."

Most likely a grease fire or a pot left on the stove.

"Engine 19, Ladder 20, reported smoke condition, third floor."

"Engine 19 responding."

Carbon monoxide calls spike because every space heater in the city comes out of the closet.

"My detector's been going off for twenty minutes. I've got a headache and my kids are dizzy."

"Get everyone out of the apartment right now. Don't stop for anything. Get outside and stay there."

"Engine 19, Ladder 20, reported carbon monoxide alarm with symptoms."

During the holidays, the welfare checks increase. A son in California asks us to check on his mother because she hasn't answered the phone in two days. A neighbor reports an elderly man who hasn't picked up his newspaper since Tuesday. These calls don't come with sirens. They come with silence, and the silence is where the weight lives.

"I'm sending someone to check on her right now. Can you stay on the line with me?"

And some of the calls aren't emergencies at all. They're someone alone who needs a voice on the other end.

"I know this isn't an emergency." The woman's voice was thin. "I just didn't want to be awake by myself tonight."

"You don't have to be. I'm right here."

At 4:47, another silent call came through. Open line, no voice.

"911, what is your emergency?"

I heard breathing on the other end. I held the line and listened. The background was different from the previous calls. Those had something faint, like a television in another room. This time there was only breathing and what sounded like traffic, or an open window.

"I can hear you. If you need help, you can stay on the line."

The line went dead.

Different number from the ones I'd logged before. I called it back. No answer. Probably another pocket dial, a phone sitting on something, or a button pressed by accident. I logged it and moved on.

Detective Westbrook called Alex on Wednesday. He had an update on Declan and he insisted we hear it before the holidays.

He came to the apartment that evening with a folder and sat at the kitchen table.

"Your ex-boyfriend is connected to a loansharking operation."