He felt snowflakes on his face. It was getting windy, and the cold stung his cheeks. He wished a cop would come along so he could ask for help, but he didn’t see one anywhere. He knew what he was going to do anyway-he would follow the lady to where she lived. He still had the dollar his mother had given him for the man who was playing the violin. He would get change and call his grandmother, and she’d send a cop who would get his mom’s wallet back.

It’s a good plan, he thought to himself. In fact, he was sure of it. He had to get the wallet, and the medal that was inside. He thought of how after Mom had said that the medal wouldn’t do any good, Gran had put it in her hand and said, Please give it to Tom and have faith.

The look on his grandmother’s face had been so calm and so sure that Brian knew she was right. Once he got the medal back and they gave it to his dad, he would get well. Brian knew it.

The woman with the ponytail started to walk faster. He chased after her as she crossed one street and went to the end of another block. Then she turned right.

The street they were on now wasn’t bright with decorated store windows like the one they had just left. Some places were boarded up and there was a lot of writing on the buildings and some of the streetlights were broken. A guy with a beard was sitting on the curb, clutching a bottle. He stretched out his hand to Brian as he passed him.

For the first time, Brian felt scared, but he kept his eyes on the woman. The snow was falling faster now, and the sidewalk was getting slippery. He stumbled once, but managed not to fall. He was out of breath trying to keep up with the lady. How far was she going? he wondered. Four blocks later he had his answer. She stepped into the entranceway to an old building, stuck her key in the lock, and went inside. Brian raced to catch the door before it closed behind her, but he was too late. The door was locked.

Brian didn’t know what to do next, but then through the glass he saw a man coming toward him. As the man opened the door and hurried past him, Brian managed to grab it and to duck inside before it closed again.

The hall was dark and dirty, and the smell of stale food hung in the air. Ahead of him he could hear footsteps going up the stairs. Gulping to swallow his fear, and trying to not make noise, Brian slowly began to climb to the first landing. He would see where the lady went; then he would get out of there and find a telephone. Maybe instead of calling Gran, he would dial 91l, he thought.

His mom had taught him that that was what he should do when he really needed help.

Which so far he didn’t.

“All right, Mrs. Dornan. Describe your son to me,” the police officer said soothingly.

“He’s seven and small for his age,” Catherine said. She could hear the shrillness in her voice. They were sitting in a squad car, parked in front of Saks, near the spot where the violinist had been playing.

She felt Michael’s hand clutch hers reassuringly.

“What color hair?” the officer asked.

Michael answered, “Like mine. Kind of reddish. His eyes are blue. He’s got freckles and one of his front teeth is missing. He has the same kind of pants I’m wearing, and his jacket is like mine ’cept it’s blue and mine is green. He’s skinny.”

The policeman looked approvingly at Michael. “You’re a real help, son. Now, ma’am, you say your wallet is missing? Do you think you might have dropped it, or did anyone brush against you? I mean, could it have been a pickpocket?”

“I don’t know,” Catherine said. “I don’t care about the wallet. But when I gave the boys money for the violinist, I probably didn’t push it down far enough in my purse. It was quite bulky and might have just fallen out.”

“Your son wouldn’t have picked it up and decided to go shopping?”

“No, no, no,” Catherine said with a flash of anger, shaking her head emphatically. “Please don’t waste time even considering that.”

“Where do you live, ma’am? What I mean is, do you want to call anyone?” The policeman looked at the rings on Catherine’s left hand. “Your husband?”

“My husband is in Sloan-Kettering hospital. He’s very ill. He’ll be wondering where we are. In fact, we should be with him soon. He’s expecting us.” Catherine put her hand on the door of the squad car. “I can’t just sit here. I’ve got to look for Brian.”

“Mrs. Dornan, I’m going to get Brian’s description out right now. In three minutes every cop in Manhattan is going to be on the lookout for him. You know, he may have just wandered away and gotten confused. It happens. Do you come downtown often?”

“We used to live in New York, but we live in Nebraska now,” Michael told him. “We visit my grandmother every summer. She lives on Eighty-seventh Street. We came back last week because my dad has leukemia and he needed an operation. He went to medical school with the doctor who operated on him.”

Manuel Ortiz had been a policeman only a year, but already he had come in contact with grief and despair many times. He saw both in the eyes of this young woman. She had a husband who was very sick, now a missing kid. It was obvious to him that she could easily go into shock.

“Dad’s gonna know something’s wrong,” Michael said, worried. “Mom, shouldn’t you go see him?”

“Mrs. Dornan, how about leaving Michael with us? We’ll stay here in case Brian tries to make his way back. We’ll have all our guys looking for him. We’ll fan out and use bullhorns to get him to contact us in case he’s wandering around in the neighborhood somewhere. I’ll get another car to take you up to the hospital and wait for you.”

“You’ll stay right here in case he comes back?”

“Absolutely.”

“Michael, will you keep your eyes peeled for Brian?”

“Sure, Mom. I’ll watch out for the Dork.”

“Don’t call him…” Then Catherine saw the look on her son’s face. He’s trying to get a rise out of me, she thought. He’s trying to convince me that Brian is fine. That he’ll be fine.

She put her arms around Michael and felt his small, gruff embrace in return.

“Hang in there, Mom,” he said.

Jimmy Siddons cursed silently as he walked through the oval near Avenue B in the Stuyvesant Town apartment complex. The uniform he had stripped from the prison guard gave him a respectable look but was much too dangerous to wear on the street. He’d managed to lift a filthy overcoat and knit cap from a homeless guy’s shopping cart. They helped some, but he had to find something else to wear, something decent.

He also needed a car. He needed one that wouldn’t be missed until morning, something parked for the night, the kind of car that one of these middle-class Stuyvesant Town residents would own: medium-sized, brown or black, looking like every other Honda or Toyota or Ford on the road. Nothing fancy.

So far he hadn’t seen the right one. He had watched as some old geezer got out of a Honda and said to his passenger, “Sure’s good to get home,” but he was driving one of those shiny red jobs that screamed for attention.

A kid pulled up in an old heap and parked, but from the sound of the engine, Jimmy wanted no part of it. Just what he’d need, he thought; get on the Thruway and have it break down.

He was cold and getting hungry. Ten hours in the car, he told himself. Then I’ll be in Canada and Paige will meet me there and we’ll disappear again. She was the first real girlfriend he’d ever had, and she’d been a big help to him in Detroit. He knew he never would have been caught last summer if he had cased that gas station in Michigan better. He should have known enough to check the john outside the office instead of letting himself be surprised by an off-duty cop who stepped out of it while he was holding a gun on the attendant.