Linda Fairstein - Entombed

"How could they know? Why would they-"

"Trust me, Coop," Mike said. "It ain't nothin' they picked up spending time at the local library reading short stories. Ms. Bailey says that root cellar is just an empty little room that's been an attractive local nuisance for ages. It's too damp to keep any of their supplies in, it's got no security, except when the entire park is locked at night. All those floorboards are loose-it's not like they were nailed down or anything. Hoodlums break in all the time to sit there and smoke dope. These kids just picked up a few planks and dropped you in to scare you to death."

"And that part of it worked just fine. Tell them for me when you find them. What was I gagged with? And tied?"

"The gag was a sock," Mike said.

"Just like Aurora Tait," I said, thinking of our skeleton in the basement.

"Your scarf was around your hands. Really loose."

"Loose to you, maybe. I'm telling you I couldn't move a muscle. Somebody put me in there to kill me."

Mike looked at Mercer again.

"Don't treat me like a psycho, like I'm exaggerating this. Have they ever found anything under the floorboards there before?"

"Yeah. Dead animals. Half-eaten sandwiches. Weapons. It's a natural. It's like the local haunted house."

"And you're going to tell me no one saw anybody lurking around the cottage before this happened, or running away from it afterwards?"

Mercer hesitated. "We've got a 'scrip, actually. Two kids, probably part of the same gang that worked over the teenager."

"Well, what's the description?"

"What's the difference if you never got a look at them?" Mike asked. "You're not the one who's going to make an ID. The docs tell us even if you'd seen someone or heard them coming right before you got whacked on the head, the blow would have wiped out the short-term memory. You'd never call it up."

"Who's the witness?" I asked.

"You know the rules."

"Well, I can only hope it's not you," I said to Mike. "After today I would hate to have to rely on you for anything. And just for the record, I want the police reports to say that whoever stored me in that-that hole in the ground-was either leaving me there to die-"

"Yeah, right. With visiting hours just about to begin."

"Or planning to come back and get me after dark and then take me somewhere to finish me off."

"These kids wanted you to wiggle loose and pop out of your box right in the middle of some school tour and give the third-graders from the suburbs an urban legend to take home with them," Mike said.

The phone rang. I stared at it and inched farther down in the bed. "Who knows I'm here? I don't want to talk to anyone."

"That's gonna be Sarah," Mercer said. "She's been concerned about you all day. I told her to wait until they got you into a room this evening before she called."

I took the receiver after he answered for me. "Do I still have a job?"

My loyal deputy had held down the fort for me through protracted trials, complicated investigations, and personal turmoil-or mental health days, as we liked to call them.

"How's the head?" It was good to hear the normalcy of Sarah's voice. "You know I wouldn't get to throw my weight around at all if you were here at your desk every day. I'd written you off for the course of the Upshaw matter anyway. The boss wants you to stay out for another week, and I'm just adding my vote to his."

We chatted for a few minutes, while Sarah assured me she was on top of everything that was pending. I thanked her for her friendship and hung up the phone.

By the time my doctor arrived, he had studied the test results and confirmed that I had neither fractures nor a concussion. If I was stable throughout the night, he would sign the release forms on his morning rounds.

Mercer called out for my soup while he and Mike were eating their pizza. We were waiting for the delivery when Mike turned the television on to catch the end of Jeopardy!

Trebek told us the final category was Famous Names.

"Level playing field," Mike said. "Twenty each?"

Mercer agreed.

"I'm not interested," I said. Then I thought of my handbag. "Did they get my pocketbook?"

"You left it locked in the car when we went into the cottage. Don't you remember?"

"Not really. I feel a little disoriented."

"It's still there. How do you think I paid for dinner?" Mike asked.

"Great cartographer, born Gerhard Kremer in 1512, who coined the word 'atlas'-after the mythical Titan he idolized-for his collection of world maps, renamed himself this," Trebek said.

"Help yourself to another twenty. I'm out," I said.

The three contestants drew the same blank I did.

"I guess Rand and McNally weren't born in 1512," Mike said.

"Baby needs new shoes," Mercer said, holding out his hand to Mike. "Who was Mercator? Gerardus Mercator."

"Sometimes you surprise me," Mike said. "The old man?"

Mercer's father had been a mechanic for Delta Airlines. "He used to bring home maps all the time, so I could study the pilot's routes. Don't you guys remember Mercator's projections, with those rectilinear rhumb lines?"

"Sorry, Mercer. I'm fading on you."

"I have one little present I've been saving," Mercer said. "Transit's got the MetroCard decoded-the one from the pocket of the Silk Stocking Rapist. They faxed it up to the office this afternoon. You'll have it tomorrow."

"Any surprises?"

"Lexington Avenue subway. Seventy-seventh Street mostly. Just where we figured he was living or working. You can grid it out yourself when you get home. See if it tells you anything."

By nine o'clock, I could barely hold my eyes open. The guys were playing gin at my bedside.

"Give in to it, Coop. You're whipped," Mike said. He put down his hand and walked out to ask the nurse for my medications.

I was fighting sleep because I was terrified of my dreams. The pain had subsided but the feeling of being entombed infused every one of my senses. I ached to shut down my body and brain, but dreaded the nightmares to come.

The nurse came in with the white paper cup and dumped some pills into my hand. I didn't even ask what they were before I swallowed them.

Mercer stood up to pull the chain that turned off the light over my pillow.

"Leave it on, please," I said.

He kissed the tip of my nose. "I'll keep the one next to my chair on all night. I'm not going anywhere, Alex."

I turned on my side and tried to get comfortable. Think wonderful thoughts, happy thoughts, my mother used to tell me as a child, when I awakened during the night. Then I would close my eyes and imagine myself walking on the beach with my father, holding his hand while he told me stories about his youth and his romance with my mother, or think of my last trip to my grand-mother's farm, and how she indulged me whenever I visited there. Now I called up memories of the happiest events I could conjure, but they were interrupted by dark visions of the day barely over.

I remember opening my eyes, seeing Mike and Mercer engrossed in their card game, and closing them again. I felt the pills start to do their magic. I fell asleep.

It must have been seven o'clock when I awakened. The morning routine in a hospital never allows sleeping in. Nurses and aides changing shifts, meal trolleys carting forty trays down the hall, and janitors mopping floors overcame the strongest sleeping potions.

I stirred and looked up. Mercer and Mike were gone, but the deck of cards was on the table next to my water pitcher.

I sat up and outside the door of my room saw the back of a cop's uniform. The officer seemed to be dozing in his chair, his head hanging forward. I pushed down the bed railing and started toward him. He must have heard the noise and stood up immediately, walking into the room.