Linda Fairstein: The Bone Vault

“One? Only one?”

“All I could see was one dark figure moving from one side of an enclosed space to another.”

Mike turned to a bright-eyed young cop who was standing behind him. “Want a gold shield? Go downstairs. First find Mercer Wallace. Detective, SVU. Big guy, blackest man you ever saw. Think Shaft. Tell him we got the perp up here. Then look for the highest-ranking boss you can lay your hands on. I want Emergency Services, hostage squad, medics. Everybody else stays downstairs. And one boss. Only one. Tell ‘em I said that. Come back. You’re gonna be my lackey for the rest of the night.”

He told Socarides to get down to Mamdouba’s office and remain there.

Taking me by the hand, a finger held up over his mouth telling me to keep quiet, Mike moved in the direction I had suggested, the third tier of storage rooms. He waved the men closest to that area away and settled us back into an alcove between cabinets to wait for Mercer.

We were face-to-face, inches apart, in the narrow space that separated two glass-fronted cabinets that were filled with shrunken heads, pulled from display decades ago. I put my hands on Mike’s chest, reaching up to whisper to him.

“What do you think you’re going to do?”

“You got any bright ideas? I don’t think. I’m saving my brain to donate to the museum. Thinking’s what they pay the bosses to do. That’s why I need Mercer here. Me? I’d just shoot the guy’s friggin‘ balls off, Clem or no Clem.”

“But if she’s alive-”

“That’s why I’m being so well-behaved. Let it quiet down until the hostage guys get here. Let him think I called off the dogs and he’s safe for the night.”

“Safe? Safe to do what?”

“Maybe he’ll try to use Clem as leverage to get out of there. Face it, Coop. The flip side is that maybe he’s already killed her. If he thinks we’re all in the dark and we’re figuring Clem was already sprung from the museum, or that just like Mamdouba thought, she was playing a game with us and disappeared on her own, he could walk out of here-leaving her body-and just stroll across the park to his office. Depends how delusional he is, what he thinks he pulled off.”

I bowed my head and pressed it against Mike’s shoulder.

“Cheer up, blondie. If she’s in there, we’ll get her out.” He sniffed a couple of times and I looked up. “It’s midnight and you still smell good. How come?” We were squeezed into tight quarters and he was trying to lighten me up.

“Eau de formaldehyde. Stuffed moose musk. Cartilage number five. Beetle juice. You’ve got a good nose.” I looked up at Mike. “Erik Poste?”

“That’s my best guess, too. Knows the museum inside out. Has his old man’s stash of bones here. Access to guns. Works with arsenic. Knew what Katrina and Clem were up to. Now all we have to figure out is why.”

The cops had stopped turning everything upside down and inside out. A calm was settling over the great, grim hall.

“You know what theJeopardy! question was tonight?”

We had missed it this evening, and Mike was offering me a distraction until Mercer got here.

“Category: ‘World-Class Thieves.’ I would have bet a thousand. You?”

“Double or nothing.” I gave him a wan smile. The storeroom was still now. Maybe I had been mistaken once again tonight.

“The answer is: ‘Jack Roland Murphy.’”

I shook my head.

Mike’s mouth was against my ear. “You gonna pay up? Look at that skylight, Coop. See it?”

He tilted my chin up toward the eaves. “Nineteen sixty-four. Miami Beach boy Murph the Surf climbed up the ledge of this old granite building and lowered himself right through that very hole in the roof to steal the Star of India-J. P. Morgan’s sapphire. It was the size of a golf ball, kid. Warm night, the alarm system was disarmed and the window was wide open. Just whacked the glass case with a claw hammer and the guards never even knew he was there. Probably the same guys who are working tonight. My pop worked the caper. You owe me two grand-”

I heard footsteps pounding far down the hallway. Mike stepped out of our alcove and held out his arm, commanding Mercer and the woman with him to stop. I recognized Kerry Schrager, from the DA’s squad, who had been trained recently for the hostage team.

“Don’t move a hair. I’ll explain.”

As soon as Mike walked away, I was convinced I heard scuffling in the small room. I listened for voices but heard none.

Within minutes, Mike, Mercer, and Kerry walked back to our staging area.

“Here’s how we work it, okay?” Mercer said. “Nice and easy. Kerry and I-”

Mike was itching to get started. “Tina Turner. ‘Proud Mary.’ I don’t do nothing nice and easy. I vote for rough. Where are the snipers?”

“On the roof.”

“Snipers?” I looked up again. “But we don’t know where Clem-”

“Exactly. They’re just sitting tight. We don’t know what kind of guns your man has in there. Case he gets crazy, we got firepower. We got Emergency Services at the top of the staircases on every side of the room, a medic with ‘em, and a boss in each corner. Kerry and I do the drill. We’re in charge. You two know more of the facts, so you stand by in case I need info.”

The first rule in hostage negotiation was establishing a perimeter. Sending one man or team in to work with the hostage taker, but having everyone else backed up at the ready.

“We think our pal in there is Erik Poste. D’you find anything in the basement to help connect this to him?” Mike asked Mercer.

“Arsenic?” I asked, fearing he may have used it again on Clem.

“Eve Drexler thinks she found the answer to that. Thibodaux did, actually,” Mercer said. “Looks like every time Bellinger submitted an order for arsenic for his work at the Cloisters, Erik Poste requisitioned a bit more of it for the restorations in his department at the Met.”

“He probably never even touched the stuff they’ve got in taxidermy over here, but he wanted it to look like someone fromthis museum could have been responsible for the poisoning,” Mike said. “So if he wasn’t expecting to see Clem tonight when he headed over here, he probably didn’t bring any of his private supply along with him.”

“We’re gonna give it a shot. Our method,” Mercer said, talking to Mike. “You gotta be patient and stay out of my way. We’ve never lost a life, and I’m not planning to start tonight.”

Mike kneeled on the floor and sketched out the exact location of the storeroom in which we thought Erik Poste was holed up. Mercer stood and turned away from us, and Kerry followed him down the narrow alleyway between compartments. The outlines of their bodies were swallowed up in the murky darkness, and all that stood out was the sharp scarlet lettering on the back of Kerry’s jacket:TALK TO ME.

The pair positioned themselves adjacent to the enclosed space, but not in front of it. “Mr. Poste,” I heard next, Mercer’s deep bass voice speaking softly and gently. “Erik? This is Mercer Wallace.”

No reply, no sound at all. The negotiator never refers to himself as a cop, never mentions rank. Never reveals the fact that there’s an arsenal backing him up.

But now there was movement behind us. I turned to look, and two men dressed in jet-black jumpsuits were climbing onto the catwalk. High-powered rifles were slung over their shoulders, and they kept walking-with far more confidence than I had evidenced-out over the spaces on either side of Mercer’s position. Snipers were inside the museum as well as above it.

Mercer squatted a bit closer to the storage area. “Erik. I want you to listen to me.” He needed to find a way to engage his target in a dialogue without striking the wrong nerve. It was a delicate task at best, and this one, with so many unknowns, was like sitting on a powder keg.