Linda Fairstein - The DeadHouse

Shreve led me through the shell of the building and out the rear door, the same way we had come in hours before. It was the only side of the structure that was not lit by floodlights, and so he knew he could guide me out to the shoreline without detection, in the event anyone had even thought to look for me in this unlikely place.

The city nightscape was more visible to me now. The grey-black sky had cleared to cobalt blue, in the final hour of predawn darkness on the last day of the year. Off in the distance on the Manhattan side, the Art Deco crown beneath the spire of the Chrysler Building was bathed in the red and green lights of the holiday season. Closer to me, in Queens, the Citicorp tower dominated the skyline, standing behind the Domino Sugar, Silvercup, and Daily News signs that stood atop the company plants that fronted the river.

Below the neon lights and factory smokestacks, on the streets and piers, I could not make out a single human being across the water.

Holding my elbow, Shreve walked me to the edge of the river. Rats the size of piglets scampered up and over the boulders that edged the seawall. There were boat docks farther north, on the populated part of the island, but no vessel could come close to this granite border without smashing its hull against the rocks.

I turned back to look at the two ghostlike structures. On my left, parallel with the front wall of the old hospital, was a giant elm tree, bare of her leaves and coated with icicles.

"That tree is one of the markers on the map. Behind us"-I swiveled and pointed with my bound forefingers locked together- "is where the island widens and curves north."

Shreve looked at the shape of the wall, following my direction. I went on, "That had to be the strip on which the deadhouses were built. It's close to the morgue, but still out of sight." That much was logical. I tried to sound just as convincing as I continued to speak. "The map had foundations of four old wooden buildings. The first one was a bit north of that bend in the seawall, if I remember it correctly."

He moved away from me and took a few steps to the edge of the wall, taking care not to slip on the icy boulders. He braced himself with one leg on a piece of granite closest to the water, and I saw it wobble beneath his foot. It must have given him a scare, because I heard him curse beneath his breath and back away from the edge. He decided to explore the loose boulder and got down onto his knees. The rock lifted easily and although it was dark where we were standing, there did not appear to be any treasure hidden beneath it. He scraped a gloved hand against the frozen ground, but the dirt wouldn't yield to such a soft probe. I assumed that years of neglect had caused the seawall to decay, too.

"I don't think any of the rocks that close to the edge were marked on the map," I cautioned. I wriggled my hands in the direction of a paved area that seemed to be composed of crumbling material. "This patch would have been under the base of one of the buildings," I suggested.

Again, Shreve dropped to his knees and began to dig his fingers into the crevices, moving anything loose out of his way but coming up empty. No long-buried treasure was going to be that close to the petrified surface of the land.

He was getting short with me now, figuring that I was leading him on a wild-goose chase to save my own neck. He pushed himself back to a standing position and picked up the rope from the ground beside him.

"It makes more sense if you just wait for me inside." Shreve took a step toward me and it was clear that he was ready to use the thick cable to restrain me. I knew he had less than an hour to decide whether it was safe to tie me up and leave me alive beside Charlotte Voight while he returned to Manhattan for the day, or it was better to dispose of me in the icy current just ten feet away.

I slid my feet backward, one at a time, away from his outstretched arms. "Come on, Ms. Cooper," he said, extending the rope with one hand and trying to grab my wrists with the other "I'll go over to the college and see what progress the police a making with your disappearance. Don't worry, I'll be here in the afternoon with something for you to eat, and another chance for you to cooperate."

I glided back in the direction of the footpath and Shreve tried to keep up with me, both of us slipping and sliding on the frosted rocks' glassy surface. I was not going back inside the morgue, to be a companion to the decomposed remains of Charlotte Voight.

"Don't be stupid, young lady. You've got nowhere to go."

"Take me with you," I pleaded, skating sideways as he fell on one knee and struggled to keep his balance.

As Shreve scrambled to get back on his feet, I could see over the top of his head that three police cars, red bubble lights flashing, were coming over the small bridge from Long Island City to the northern end, near Roosevelt Island's Main Street. My heartbeat quickened. Perhaps Mercer had given Mike the Jeopardy! message after all. Perhaps the motorcade was looking for me.

They were still miles away from this isolated strip of earth, and I needed to stall for as long as possible until they might find me.

I turned south, away from the ruins of Strecker, and headed for the southernmost tip of the island, the only point that could be seen from both Manhattan and Queens. It was treacherous going, and Shreve tried to overtake me as I balanced every tread on the slippery path. He was moving carefully, not racing, since it was as obvious to him as it was to me that I had no way to escape him.

When I was just several feet from the narrow end, I stopped and looked back at my pursuer. In the air, to my left, one of the giant red cabs of the tram had lumbered into view and was cruising down into its station. It was still too early for the system to be operating, and I prayed the movement meant that the police had pressed it into service. Shreve was bearing down on me and had not noticed the police cars or the tram that was traveling behind his back.

"I lied to you," I screamed out at him, my words blown off over the water by the fierce wind.

"What?" he answered, yelling back as he was still trying to make his way to me.

Off the very point of the island was a spit of rock, a huge boulder that was connected to the land by a series of smaller stones. Sometimes barely visible throughout the year, the stones now protruded through the water's surface because of the heavy buildup of snow and frost. Between and around them were patches of ice, thin coatings that endured defiantly during this cold spell again; the constant pounding of the swift current.

Only a ten-foot-high beacon stood on the barren rock, useful in fog to guide ships around the island into the channels on either side.

"What did you say?" he shouted at me again as I scanned the horizon, hoping to see patrol cars careering onto the roadway that led to my lonely outpost.

He was not more than an arm's length away, and he paused catch his breath, winding and twisting the rope like a rodeo rid about to snare a calf. He was confident, and I was terrified, trying to buy time as he closed in on me.

"I said I lied to you before."

He laughed aloud at me. "And exactly which part was a lie?'

I checked over my shoulder and back to the very edge of the seawall. As I stood on top of an ancient fragment of granite pushed my jacket aside and poked my bound hands around t edges of my pants pockets.

Shreve's face screwed into a puzzled expression as he watched me fumble.

I strained to hear beyond the howl of the wind but could 1 make out the noise of any sirens. Where could the cops be? What was taking them so long to find us?

I stepped one foot down onto a flat rock that jutted out of black water and was the first link to the boulder less than ten feet away. When I was standing securely with two legs in place, I glanced back at Shreve and pulled the paper from my pocket.