Linda Fairstein - Lethal Legacy

Minerva Hunt had played right into their hands, trusting Travis Forbes to help her search for the missing panels of the great map. She’d fallen prey to the same double cross that had proven lethal to Tina Barr.

“In fact, Detective, why don’t you come over here?” Herrick said, pushing me faster, understanding the urgency with which he had to escape before more police arrived. “There’s a vacancy. Several of them, to be honest.”

Mike wasn’t giving up his gun, and Herrick seemed confident he wouldn’t find a way to use it, with both Minerva and me serving as human shields.

“Drag her, if you can’t pick her up,” Herrick shouted to Forbes. “If he kills her, just run. Let’s get out of here with what we have.”

Herrick was ready to sacrifice Minerva Hunt, confident perhaps that she had nothing more of value to give to him.

“Minerva is your sister, ” I screamed as loud as I could. “Let her be, dammit. She’s your blood sister.”

Alger Herrick froze at my words, reflexively tightening his grip on my arm. I winced at the pain, but knew I had shocked him.

“ Her father is your father,” I said, listening as he took deep breaths, startled by the information. His chest heaved against my back. “You’re a Hunt, too. We’ve got the DNA to prove it.”

Mike steadied his gun with both hands, aiming at the spot where Forbes was moving with Minerva. “You’re entitled to the damn map. You didn’t have to kill to get it.”

This was no time to correct Mike on the fine points of the law. I didn’t think Alger Herrick would expect to go to court now to collect on the Hunt fortune.

“I never murdered anyone, you fool,” Herrick said. “ He did. He’s your killer.”

Herrick pulled at me again, moving me farther into the darkness, farther away from Mike.

Now I could hear pounding from the direction of the entrance shaft. Mercer and the backup team must be trying to get to us, but Herrick had found a way to secure the hatch from within.

“I’ll give you three seconds to let Minerva go,” Mike said, moving in toward Travis Forbes and his hostage. “Kill her, and you die, too.”

Alger Herrick heard the commotion. “Drop her, Forbes. Run as fast as you can go to the other end. There’s a staircase just like the one we came in. Beat them out of here with the book-they’ll think you’re an officer, too. You’ll walk right through them.”

Forbes’s fake-or stolen-uniform might serve him well in the confusing mix of cops responding to a call for help. I didn’t care if it did. I didn’t care about the missing panels of the rare map and whether they were lost forever. I wanted to get out of this hellhole, with Mike, alive.

Travis Forbes was beginning to fidget like a caged animal. Herrick would give him up as Tina and Karla’s killer, claiming not to have known his young accomplice was going to use violence. It would make no difference to a jury, but Herrick must have thought it would save his neck.

Mike was gaining on him. “You wanna cut somebody? Cut yourself, Forbes. Slice your own throat.”

Over my shoulder, I thought I saw a sliver of light in the farthest remove of the room. I looked again down the dirt corridor of death, but all was darkness.

Had there been movement, or was my mind frozen with fright? It was getting harder to breathe in the dank, airless space. I knew there was a chance that none of us would make it out alive.

Suddenly, I heard a loud grunt from Travis Forbes. He lifted Minerva Hunt off the ground and threw her at Mike. She couldn’t even brace herself for the fall, her hands still bound behind her.

It looked like Mike’s gun-the glint of silver flashing against the black backdrop-fell to the ground as he tried unsuccessfully to catch Minerva. He was knocked backward by the impact of her body against his own.

Forbes was running in the direction Herrick had sent him, un-burdened by his captive. And Alger Herrick was moving faster, too, pulling me with him, while Mike tried to extricate himself from beneath Minerva Hunt.

I was coughing now as dust particles from the ground scuffed up by the skirmish seemed to choke my airway. My own sense of panic made it harder for me to regain control.

“Forbes,” Herrick yelled out. “Are you there?”

I could still hear his footsteps running away from us. I reached in my pocket for a handkerchief to cover my mouth.

The first thing I touched was the heavy piece of cotton cloth, the one that had been doused with chloroform to knock out the cemetery guide.

“Stop!” I said, pleading with Alger Herrick. “I can’t breathe.”

His good hand, the right one, smacked the side of my head so hard that I saw stars. “I need you with me. Just keep moving.”

“I’ll be back for you. You’ll do fine,” I heard Mike say to Minerva.

He must have gotten to his feet and retrieved his gun. He’d be coming after us.

Just then I heard a thud from the direction in which Travis Forbes had run.

“Forbes?” Herrick shouted again. “Have you found the steps, man?”

There was no answer.

Herrick seemed distracted by the silence. I thought-and maybe he did, too-that Forbes had reached the exit and dropped the lid on us after he escaped.

I pulled my arm from Herrick’s viselike grip, but he yanked me back, face-to-face. I swung my free hand up from my side, covering his nose with the chloroform-soaked cloth, using my height to my advantage.

The silver hook released its hold as Herrick tried to swat me away. I pressed the rag to him again, not knowing whether there was enough of the gas on it to overwhelm him.

He swiped at my neck with the hook, and I stepped back. He must have scored a cut. I felt a trickle of blood seeping behind my ear.

“Get down, Coop,” Mike said, rushing out of the dark.

Before Mike could reach me, Alger Herrick fell to his knees.

I didn’t know if chloroform had done its job, or if he was brought down by Shalik Samson, who cracked him on the back of his legs with a baseball bat.

The night watchman at the Provenzano funeral home had opened it up for the chief of detectives while he was waiting for us to be led out of the cavernous burial ground.

Mercer brought me inside the large parlor, decorated for old-fashioned comfort-sofas and armchairs of burgundy silk, with antimacassars-meant to soothe grieving relatives. It wasn’t where I wanted to be right now, but I had no choice in the matter.

Detectives and uniformed cops, huddling in small groups to gossip about the case now that the emergency had passed, moved out of the way as I walked through the room.

I lowered myself onto one of the sofas and rested my head against the pillow.

The watchman was telling some of the officers about the old cemetery. “I bet you didn’t even know it was here, did you? We get asked about it all the time,” he said. “It was because of the terrible contagion in Manhattan back then-yellow fever, tuberculosis, scarlet fever. The city banned aboveground graves, so these rich guys decided to excavate this block and build marble vaults ten feet under. Regular plague pits, they must have been.”

I shivered, wrapping a blanket around myself as I waited for Lieutenant Peterson to clear the room.

I saw a couple of the guys who were leaving make way for Shalik Samson. Mercer brought him over to me to say good night.

“You saved us, you know,” I said to him, mustering a smile.

“You gonna say that to the judge?”

“Of course I will, if you tell me how you did it.”

“Mercer was helping that sick man, you know? He made me go wake up the chauffeur ’cause the amb’lance took so long. Carmine-that guy? He had a baseball bat in the car. Guess he thought I was gonna rob him. Mercer was like gonna shoot him if he didn’t drop the damn thing.”