Linda Fairstein - Lethal Legacy

“She was very curious about the other books we’d gotten as kids. Were any of them quite as big as this one? But they weren’t,” Eliot said, scratching her head as she recalled the conversation. “She wanted to know if I’d told anyone else about Edith’s gift. That’s what she was most interested in.”

“And have you?” Mercer asked.

“Certainly, but years ago. No one’s listened to me in ages. There was a time, after Jasper Hunt was gone, and my mother, too, that I made a few speeches at the library, to the trustees. They always seemed to enjoy stories of what we did there as kids. It kind of brought the great institution to life.”

“Did you mention the map?” he said.

“No. It never really made an impression on me as a child, Mercer. I saw it so briefly, and now I can’t really see at all. At those meetings, I described how we lived, the significance of the books that were given to us, particular books-like Alice in Wonderland -that sort of thing.”

“Did that satisfy Minerva?” I asked.

“A touch of sibling rivalry, I guess,” Jane Eliot said with a chuckle. “She was more concerned about whether her brother knew about the map. I can’t pull up his name at the moment, but she wanted to be very sure I hadn’t sent a letter to him before she’d responded to me.”

“You hadn’t?”

“No, no. Young people would call it sexist, but I thought that lovely book should go to a girl. I was hoping maybe Minerva had children, but she told me she doesn’t.”

“In your correspondence with Eddy Forbes, Miss Eliot,” Mercer said, “did you mention the map that was inside your copy of Alice in Wonderland ?”

“I certainly did. I remembered what Jasper Hunt had told Mother about its value.”

“And you’ve never heard from Forbes himself?”

“Thank goodness, no. And the FBI wasn’t interested at all. They only wanted to know if I’d done any other business with Forbes. They didn’t even come to see me.”

There was no reason for the feds, at that time, to have thought there was any significance to Jane Eliot’s attempt to reach Eddy Forbes.

“Was there anything else Minerva mentioned?”

“No, Alex. Not that I can think of. She hugged me quite warmly before she left. I figured I’d made a new friend. She seemed so concerned about my health, too. Just lovely.”

“But you haven’t heard from her since?”

“Actually, I haven’t. It sounds as though you think my old copy of Alice had something to do with this attack on me. Am I right?”

“We’ll let you know as soon as we figure it out, Miss Eliot. I promise you that,” I said. “Can we do anything to make you more comfortable here before we leave?”

“Take me with you,” she said, chuckling again.

“You’ll go home in grand style when you’re released. The sergeant will get you there in a blue and white chariot. We’ll have your place all straightened up.”

I knew she’d be shocked to see her home turned upside down, and to know there was fingerprint powder on most of her furniture. Someone from Witness Aid would be on top of helping with her homecoming.

Pridgen walked us to the elevator as Mercer speed-dialed Lieutenant Peterson. “Loo? Don’t worry-I’ve got Alex covered for the day. She’s going to be with me. This Jane Eliot push-in is definitely a piece of our case-Tina Barr and Karla Vastasi. You need a uniformed cop posted at her hospital door, 24/7, in case this creep decides to come back at her.”

Mercer listened to Peterson’s reply and gave me a thumbs-up.

“And I’m about to call Chapman. Seems his heartthrob, Minerva Hunt, has been keeping secrets from him. Looks like she’s lied to us from the start. I think it’s time to round her up and hold her fancy pedicured toes to the fire.”

“So everybody’s keeping secrets from me, huh?” Mike said, combing his fingers through his hair. “First Minerva Hunt and then you. All of a sudden I find out you’re so worried about my temper, you won’t even call me when one of the Griggs takes you for a ride. Do you honestly think I’d do something stupid to compromise Kayesha Avon’s case after eight long years?”

The three of us were standing in front of Tina Barr’s building. Mike had been on his way to the apartment when Mercer reached him as we left the hospital room.

“I apologize,” I said. “It just seemed smarter at the time to let someone else in the squad handle last night’s episode.”

“It would have seemed smarter to me at the time not to get in the frigging cab with Anton Griggs. He’s got a rap sheet longer than the Holland Tunnel.”

“You didn’t mention that when you testified at the hearing.”

“Don’t give me attitude, Coop. Anton doesn’t bother with his birth name too often. He’s got a different alias for just about every arrest. Most of the collars are in Jersey, so I missed it first time around, okay?”

“What’s the plan, Mike?” Mercer asked, ever the peacemaker. “I told Alex not to call you. Let her be.”

“Falling on your sword for her again, huh? Do it too often and there’ll be permanent puncture wounds in your heart,” Mike said, tapping his fingers on his chest. “Don’t say anything, Blondie. It’s only a joke.”

I felt a pang of guilt and looked away.

“Bea Dutton is on the subway, on her way to meet me here. She wants to show me the historical footprint of these buildings.”

While we waited, Mercer told Mike the details of our interview with Jane Eliot.

He had barely finished the story when Mike pulled out his cell phone.

“Slow it down,” Mercer said. “Who are you calling?”

“Carmine Rizzali. If I find that useless thug who she pays to protect her, we’ll know where Minerva Hunt is.”

I could see Bea walking from Lexington Avenue, waving as she saw us standing on the steps of the brownstone.

Mike slapped the phone shut. “Doesn’t even go to voice mail. Guess he’s catching on,” he said. “Yo, Bea. What have you got for me?”

“Can we go inside, so I can spread out my maps?”

“Sure,” Mike said, leading us down to the basement apartment-the scene of Tina’s assault and Karla’s murder. Crime scene tape was still draped across the doorway, but Mike had brought a key with him.

When we reached the kitchen table, Bea unzipped her bag. “What do you know about these buildings?” she asked.

“Only that there’s lousy karma in this basement lately.”

“It didn’t start out that way,” she said. “You know something about the Hunts, I take it?”

“Nothing good,” Mike said. “Educate me.”

“Jasper Hunt and John Jacob Astor became partners in the real estate business. What Manhattan properties Astor didn’t buy, Hunt did.”

Bea Dutton spread out one of her maps on the table.

“Here’s where we’re standing,” she said, pointing at East Ninety-third Street on a copy of a fairly primitive map of the city. “This row of brownstones was built in 1885. Pretty swell digs at the time.”

Mike squinted and looked at the writing. “Now, how can you tell when it was built?”

“I did the vertical search for you,” Bea said, knowing she had captured Mike’s interest. “The 1884 maps don’t show any of the structures. The next year, here they are.”

“Why were these maps created annually?”

“Did you ever hear of the Great Fire of 1835?”

Mercer and I were shaking our heads, but Mike answered, “Yes. It destroyed hundreds of buildings in lower Manhattan.”

“That’s right,” Bea said. “Everything that was in today’s Wall Street area. These are called Sanborn maps, made by a company right after that fire. They were done for insurance purposes, for claims. Sanborn had the idea for these very detailed maps, showing every structure on the island. Can you see?”