Rob pulls up as far as he can to The Harmony Hotel. Which isn’t very close considering the three blue and white Cohoes Police cruisers pulled up not against the curb, but up on the sidewalk. There’s also an EMT van backed up to the front door and several on-the-spot breaking news vans representing some of the local news outlets.
A bunch of the permanent residents are standing outside the hotel. I spot the one I’m looking for. Uncle Pat. He’s seated on a picnic bench that’s set beside three other identical picnic benches in the empty lot next door.
“I won’t be long, fellas,” I say. “Wait here for me.”
“Maybe there’s a gin mill close by,” Edge says.
“Just wait,” I say, slipping out of the Jeep. “It’ll do your liver some good.”
I take it double-time past the scattering of cops, past the
