Linda Fairstein - Killer Heat

"The ferry. Of course the ferry."

"On Sunday?"

"Yes. Yes, he convinced me to leave my job early. It was my last day, and nobody from the intern program was around. He told me there was this event going on, this Civil War reenactment. I'd heard about them. And it was a Park Service program, so I didn't think it would be a bad thing to do."

Mike caught my attention and rolled his eyes. He wanted to fastforward the story so we could make decisions about what to do next.

"When he tied you up-Wilson, this man," I said. "Did he say anything about where he was going?"

"Did I tell you he was in the army?" she asked. "That he was a veteran, back less than a year from Iraq? I mean, that's another reason I trusted him. I really respected all his years of service."

"You don't need to justify anything, Pam," I said.

Mike was on his feet again. I didn't need him to tell her that her abductor was a veteran of a different kind of system. She would blame herself for another error in judgment-an almost fatal one-when she learned that news.

I held a finger up in Mike's direction, warning him to hold his tongue.

"What did Wilson say, Pam? What did he say when he left you downstairs? Did he say he'd be back?"

"He left me several times. He came and he went-I don't know. I don't know what he did when he wasn't here."

Mike was pacing like a caged tiger. "Pam, did he say anything about what he was going to do to you?"

"There was nothing left for him to do, Detective," she said, hanging her head. "He was going to kill me."

"Did he say that? Did he ever say those words?"

"When he was-was raping me-I don't know-the second time, maybe the third time," she said, trying not to break down again.

So much for the short-lived effectiveness of chemical castration. I couldn't begin to imagine what had happened during her ordeal. After her medical treatment, the rest of her day-and mine-would be spent in an excruciating retelling of these events.

"He kept asking me how I wanted to die. That's what he said to me. 'How do you want to die?' Then he took his knife and ran it all over my body," she said in her hoarse whisper, dragging out each of the words, as I suspected Troy Rasheed had done. " 'I could stab you in the heart. I could carve you in pieces. I could tie the rope around your neck. Or maybe you'd like to starve to death?' Then, when the storm started getting really bad-was that last night? He said he could just leave me here to drown. I figured that's what he had done."

How would Pam Lear ever sleep again? How would she get these memories, these images, out of her mind's eye?

"The island, Pam," Mike said. "Did he say anything at all about how he was going to leave the island? The storm's letting up. I've got to go meet up with my partner at the ferry office, to look for Wilson, figure out if he got off here before the boat stopped running. We need to lock him up so this never happens again."

Fear overtook the girl's exhaustion. She grasped Mike's hand. "What do you mean he isn't locked up yet? How did you find me? He must have told you I was here," she said. I didn't think she had enough fluid in her body to form more tears, but they were running down her cheeks. "I can't believe he's gotten away."

"We'll get him," Mike said. "That's what I'm here for."

He tried to pull away but her small hand, with rope burns creasing her wrist, dug tightly into him. She was trembling from head to toe as she pleaded.

"I beg you not to leave me here. I don't want to die. I don't want him to come back and kill me.

I'll go for Mercer," I said.

"Not happening, kid."

I started to walk to the door, after tucking the drapes around Pam's body. It wasn't a conversation I wanted to have in her presence. I lowered my voice. "Something's holding Mercer up. The only phone is in Russell Leamer's office and-"

Mike followed after me. "Don't do this."

"If Rasheed were still around, we'd all be locked in that dungeon by now. He had his moment. And he doesn't carry a gun."

"How do you know?" asked Mike.

"Because he didn't threaten to shoot Pam, did he?"

Mike glanced over his shoulder at her.

"And I run faster than you can, so you do some hand-holding for a change," I said.

"I'm going to stand right here in this doorway."

"And what do I do, fire the cannon when I reach the office, just to give you a heads-up?"

"I can see you most of the way there," he said. "Get going, Blondie."

I was off the porch and jogging down the rain-soaked path that bordered Nolan Park. In less than three minutes I reached the side of the rangers' office and turned the corner to get to the door. Governor's House was out of sight at this point. The river was still churning, but the flooding seemed to have crested. The little ferry was nested below the terminal on the Manhattan side, and I guessed it would be some time before boats made the passage again. I went up the steps and pushed open the door.

I could see Russell Leamer's back. He was leaning over the desk, his Smokey Bear hat and oversized slicker outlined against the cloudy harbor. The door slammed closed behind me.

"Ranger Leamer," I said. "Mercer never got to the Governor's House. Where did you send him? Is it possible he went to the wrong building?" He stood up straight and turned around, pointing a gun at my chest.

It was Troy Rasheed, wearing Leamer's outfit. He smirked as he studied the NYPD hostage squad logo embroidered on my jacket, taking a step in my direction. With his left hand, he stroked the long thick scar that ran down that side of his neck.

"Well, well, Detective, why don't you talk to me ? I have to say I really like your uniform."

Irecognized Mercer's gun. "Where's Mercer? The man whose gun that is."

"What's that old saying about the bigger they are and how hard they drop?"

I needed to stay calm. I was no use to any of us if I let this monster outsmart me. I needed a way for Mike to know that Mercer was down and that Rasheed was now armed with a semiautomatic weapon. I needed to keep her attacker away from Pam Lear

Mercer!" I screamed out. Maybe one of the cloudbursts I thought was thunder had been gunshots. I took a deep breath.

"Now that's a stupid thing to do, Detective."

I didn't think Rasheed would shoot me so quickly. He would torture me first, like he had the others, if time and the elements favored him. That scared me far worse than the thought of a single bullet.

"I'm not alone. There are other officers here," I said.

"That's a pity, isn't it? You all get shipwrecked or something?" He laughed at what he must have figured was his own joke. "The whole island seems pretty damn quiet to me. Your friends hiding? You think they'd like to watch?"

I glared back at him, willing myself not to tremble like Pam Lear.

"Now where is it you keep your gun? You got no hips, girl."

"I-I-uh-I didn't have my gun with me last night. I do U/C work. No guns. They pulled me off a detail to come out in the middle of the tour." This was hardly the moment to deny that I was a cop. He was going by the clothes I had on, and I knew he'd understand the lingo.

"An undercover police lady. Undercover what?"

"Narcotics."

"Not in Harlem you haven't been no undercover. Nobody stupid enough to sell horse to you," he said.

"Cocaine's my thing. Coke and Ecstasy. Upper West Side. Yuppies."

"You bring any along?" Rasheed asked, still stroking his scar. From under the cuff of the jacket, I could see the letters tattooed on his left hand, the initials of one of his victims. "What's your name, girl? Just hold on to your jeans with one hand, right there on the thigh. Pull on it and let me see what you've got."