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“New Year’s Eve is our quietest night of the year.”
    Picking up the phone, he dialed the hospital and asked for the chief duty nurse. After a few moments’ wait a feminine voice said, “Mrs. Forshay speaking.”
    â€œHi, Edna,” he said. “This is Ted Saxon. I have a Buffalo police officer at headquarters who thinks he may have a hot appendix. Who’s on standby duty?”
    â€œDr. Harmon.”
    â€œBetter give him a ring and have him meet the patient in the emergency room. I’m sending him over in a squad car. The name’s Sergeant Harry Morrison.”
    â€œWill do,” Edna Forshay said cheerily. “Happy New Year.”
    â€œSame to you, Edna.”
    Five minutes later the squad car reported in and took Morrison away. Three minutes after that, George Chaney’s voice came over the radio to announce their arrival at the hospital and report the car out of service until further notice.
    At eleven-thirty Sergeant Morrison phoned from the hospital. “False alarm, Chief,” he said. “The doc diagnosed it as indigestion. He was a little sore about being pulled away from his merrymaking.”
    â€œWell, I’m glad it was nothing more serious. You’ll be going on tonight, then?”
    â€œUh-huh. But do you mind if I goof off for another half hour? The nurses on this ward are having a quiet little New Year’s Eve party. No drinks, just coffee and cake. They’ve asked me and your two boys to help them bring in the new year.”
    â€œSure,” Saxon said. “Let me speak to either Chaney or Ross.”
    It was Chaney who came to the phone. Saxon said, “What extension are you going to be near, in case of emergency?”
    â€œOne eleven, Chief.”
    â€œOkay,” Saxon said, marking it down. “Happy New Year.”
    â€œSame to you,” Chaney said.
    If one eleven had been the extension of Emily’s ward, he would have asked to speak to her, because by now she was on duty; but it wasn’t. He contemplated phoning to wish her a Happy New Year, then decided against it. If she wasn’t tied up with a patient at midnight, she would probably phone him.
    At midnight the fire whistle emitted the prolonged blast with which it annually signaled the start of a new year. A dozen church bells began to toll an accompaniment to it. Saxon went to the door and opened it a crack to listen for the horns and noisemakers of any celebrants who happened to be on the street.
    There weren’t any, because it was now snowing heavily. When he had come on duty, the streets and sidewalks had been dry, although a foot-deep residue of old snow lay on the ground. But now there was an inch-deep blanket of white on the street.
    He closed the door and went back to the cell block, suddenly impelled to have at least some kind of human contact at the moment all the rest of the town was celebrating.
    Pausing before the first cell, he said, “Happy New Year, Coombs.”
    The man gazed at him for a moment before saying sardonically, “Happy New Year to you, Chief.”
    Walking on to the last cell, he found the blonde seated on her bunk. She had removed her fur coat and it lay folded alongside of her. She was wearing a green dress of expensive cut, but of not very good fit, for it hung too loosely on her.
    She must have lost weight since she fled Buffalo a month ago, he thought. He wondered if it had been deliberate, in an attempt at disguise, or if worry over being hunted had sloughed off the poundage.
    â€œHappy New Year, Miss Emmet,” he said.
    She glared at him. “Are you kidding?”
    Saxon returned to the desk and reseated himself. Emily must have been too busy to call, he thought, for the phone didn’t ring.
    At five after twelve George Chaney’s voice came from the radio speaker. “Car Two to Control. We are back in service. Will drop Sergeant Morrison off at headquarters before resuming