Linda Fairstein - Hell Gate

“Leave me out of that brainstorm,” I said. “Tell the lieutenant he can raise that errant thought with Battaglia because I sure as hell won’t.”

“Peterson also doesn’t want us to do anything about Donny Baynes unless the feds are part of it. He doesn’t have the manpower to have guys tracking down Ethan Leighton as well as sitting on Moses twenty-four/seven. Everything’s a friggin’ manpower issue in the department.”

“I’ll take the weight for bringing Alex out in the middle of the night,” Mercer said. “That was my idea.”

“Nice. You’re both making it sound like I’m a liability to you guys. Thanks a million. I’m looking forward to being dumped. I’m sure I can get somebody to drive me home.”

“The lieutenant’s bent out of shape ’cause your car got tagged Friday night,” Mike said. “He’s just soft for you.”

“I’m delighted to know I still have one fan.”

“Does he have anybody for us?” Mercer asked.

“The day tour starts in an hour. He says he’ll round up whoever comes in and send three or four guys over here to give us a hand.”

“Excellent.”

“Yeah. Might as well get going on the bridge. And I’d like to get the guys into the mansion to see what’s been going on there.”

The uniformed cop who had gone to the car to get yellow crime-scene tape returned. “Why don’t you start with this roll?” he asked. “If you need more, I’ll call the house and they’ll bring it over.”

“Thanks,” Mike said. “You going down by the riverbed where the body was found?”

“Yeah.”

“Mercer and I will work up on top, at the entrance to the bridge. We’ll tape it off first. And then, we’ll go over the wall and try to position ourselves directly above your spot, where you found the body. See if we can figure out where she dropped from. You mind spotting that with us?”

“Glad to do it,” the cop said.

“Okay if I wait here?” I asked.

“I told you it was comfortable, right?” the cop said.

“That’s the best advice I’ve had in days.”

I watched through the tall paned glass window as the teams separated to stake out the scene. The two cops dropped out of sight as they maneuvered down the steep incline, while Mike and Mercer were visible off in the distance, headed for the gated entrance to the rotting old bridge.

My cell phone vibrated in my pocket. I reached in to remove it but the thick material of my gloves got in the way. As I withdrew it, my fingers fumbled and the cell dropped on the floor and skidded across the room.

When I picked it up, I saw that I had missed the return call from Spindlis. His number had been captured, though, so I flipped the cell open to reply.

“Tim? It’s Alex. I apologize for the hour, but I think we really need to sit down together. It’s rather urgent.”

I could barely make out his answer.

“You’re breaking up,” I said. “Give me a minute.”

I walked a few feet to the north side of the lobby, around the spiraling black staircase, and planted myself against one of the windows. I held the phone to one ear and plugged my finger in the other so I could hear him.

“Of course I’ll tell you everything that’s happened,” I said. My skin crawled just talking to him, as though I didn’t really know him at all, despite ten years as colleagues working for Battaglia. The cheap rumors rattled around my head as I thought about how much to tell him.

“Yes, this is much clearer. We didn’t mean to set you off about Kendall Reid. Mike only wanted to talk to him about our case, not yours. The murder and the-well-possible prostitution ring.”

My normally laid-back and spineless colleague was agitated about our drop-by interview yesterday of his perp. He wanted to unload his annoyance on me and the least I could do was listen.

I stared out the window at the breathtaking view of the Hudson River that stretched for miles to the north.

“We got a lot of good stuff in the last twenty-four hours, Tim. Lieutenant Peterson thinks we should all meet and put our heads together. That we might be able to solve some of this.”

I was so absorbed in the tongue-lashing that Spindlis felt it necessary to deliver that I was oblivious to my surroundings.

“If you don’t want to come up here to the station house today, I understand. We can be in your office first thing tomorrow,” I said. “Yes, Tim. I promise we won’t question Kendall Reid again unless you’re there.”

I flipped the phone closed and smiled to myself. We won’t question Reid unless we find him clearing the dirty linens in the Jumel Mansion. Or sitting in his car alongside the Harlem River, in the Bronx, watching how the cops handle Anita’s tragic fall.

I didn’t know there was anyone else in the water tower until I felt the icy metal rim of a gun bore against the skin behind my right ear.

My body seized with fear as I tried to turn my head to see my attacker, but he gripped the back of my neck firmly with his left hand.

“Stay calm, Alexandra. Stay calm and don’t move a muscle. Don’t even shiver.”

I tried to place the familiar voice but too many terrifying thoughts were racing through my brain.

“Now you’re going to listen to me carefully, ’cause you know what they say, don’t you?”

It was Rowdy Kitts, the detective assigned to bodyguard the mayor. The detective whose perjured testimony had cost my victim her case several years ago. The detective who’d been among the first people on the beach the morning the Golden Voyage hit the rocks.

“Panic kills, Alexandra. First thing they teach you at the academy. Stay really still,” Kitts said to me, whispering in my ear. “Don’t you forget that panic kills.”

“The first thing we’re going to do is lock this door,” Kitts said, pushing me to the entrance of the great tower so that he could secure the bolt from the inside.

“Chapman and Wallace are-”

“Right down at the bridge. I heard that. I was in the basement, just hanging out with the water rats, when you so rudely decided to make yourself at home here. But they’ve got their hands full at the moment, what with the blood, the bits and pieces of brain matter they’re going to find.”

My stomach churned at the thought of what Kitts had done to Anita Paz.

“All we need is a few minutes to get you taken care of so I can be on my way.”

“What do you mean-?”

“Just have to get you up these stairs,” he said, nudging me toward the twisting staircase with his gun. “We’ll create a little diversion. If you’re half as smart as Chapman thinks you are, you won’t get hurt.”

I was replaying the words that Mike had used to explain the deaths of the victims who’d washed ashore. He and Stu Carella were the ones who said that panic kills.

“I’ll walk out of here with you, Rowdy. We’ll walk out together and you can just leave me in Mercer’s car and take off.”

“Damn, I wish it were that easy, Alex. Get you outside and if I put a gag over your mouth, it won’t look quite right to folks we pass along the way in the park. And if I don’t gag you, you might just scream. Then Chapman would jump for you like he always does, like his pants are on fire.”

“I won’t scream. I promise you.”

“Just climb, Alex.”

His strong, lean body pressed against mine as he tried to move me forward. He was dressed in ski clothes, his slicked-back hair revealing his sharp features-steely gray eyes, a pointed nose with a few ridges that made it appear it had been broken once or twice, and thin lips that drew tight into a menacing grimace when I didn’t comply with his orders. He was likely the figure I’d seen running from the Jumel Mansion half an hour ago.