The Deadhouse (50 page)

I went on weaving my tale, which seemed to interest Winston Shreve.
"There's a key to a trunk that's in Lily's garage. It's where Lola left
the miniature when she came back to the city. Chapman has that key. I'm
supposed to meet him at nine o'clock this morning to go with him to
pick up the model."

"And all that charade about old man Lockhart and going up to listen
to his story?"

"To try to determine who else knew about the map and the diamonds.
If you let me call Chapman now, on your cell phone, know he'll agree to
meet with us." And I know he'll get the tech unit to trace the call
immediately. They could do amazing thing with satellite systems, even
pinpointing the location of the caller in a matter of seconds.

"I wouldn't want to alarm him in the middle of the night. He might
be busy."

Shreve was right. Mike might be much too involved with Valerie to be
giving me a second thought.

I didn't want to end my life in this godforsaken ruin like one more
of the outcasts sent here and left to die. Slowly, I raised my head to
meet his eyes. "I've studied your grandfather's map, Mr. Shreve. I
believe I could recognize the shapes of some of the areas, the pieces
of land where the wooden sheds once stood, if I saw them. If you want
to walk outside with me, I can try to help you find the rocks that
correspond with the locations noted on the map."

"That's a good way to start, Ms. Cooper." He turned to look out the
hollowed window frame. It was still dark, and the storm had subsided.
The precipitation had stopped and large wet flakes of snow blew lazily
upward from the ground instead of falling in sheets. "The positions on
the map, were they numbered?"

"Yes, yes, they were numbered." The first time I said that word
aloud I recalled another set of numbers. In the pocket of the black
sweater that we'd found in Lola Dakota's apartment just hours after her
murder was the slip of paper that we had removed. The paper that bore
the words
the deadhouse,
followed
by a list of numbers. They meant nothing to us at the time, and now I
realized they must have been the key to the map that Lola had
deciphered while holed up at her sister's home.

Lola had come back from New Jersey wearing that sweater, but removed
it at some point before she walked out of her apartment for the last
time. Shreve had gone to intercept her, looking for the map and the
numbers that might correspond to it and lead him to the diamonds.

"The numbers, Ms. Cooper. Tell me how they were ordered." "I
honestly can't remember that. I know that the lower numbers started at
the southern tip of the island. I, uh, I could probably show you where
some of the areas that were highlighted on the map are, if I could
actually see the terrain."

"Nice try, Ms. Cooper. That's hardly the way it was half a century
ago."

"But some of it is exactly the same. I, I—when I saw the map, I
didn't even realize what the outline of the Strecker building
represented. But I know there were areas to the east of the seawall,
that were starred by Professor Dakota on her map." After Shreve's
explanation this morning, it didn't take much else to figure out where
the wooden sheds had been built, close to the morgue and out of view of
patients arriving from Manhattan.

He was too smart to trust me entirely.

"You've got nothing to lose." I tried to say it casually, not to
reveal how anxious I was to get out of this hellhole. "I can't get very
far." Surrounded as we were on three sides by water that was so cold it
would kill the strongest swimmer within minutes of submersion, even
before the current could carry one away, and bounded on the fourth side
by a razor-wire fence, Shreve could hardly disagree.

He picked up one of his neckties and rewound it around m hands,
binding them in front of me—rather than behind—so could move more
easily. He carried the long piece of rope in his left hand, while
lifting me to my feet with his right. "I'll call your bluff, Ms.
Cooper. You've got a bit of time to see if you can find me a gem or
two."

It took me several seconds on my feet before I was able to walk a
few steps. The cold air had numbed them, and I was fearful frostbite.
That was a good thing, I reminded myself. It at le meant that I thought
I was going to survive this ordeal if I was worried about losing a few
toes.

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.

"It's the map, Mr. Shreve. I lied when I told you I had time to make
copies. This is the original. It arrived in yesterday's mail just
before we went up to the meeting in Sylvia's office. This is what you
want, Professor. It's the only one there is."

The wind whipped at the paper and tried to snatch it from hands and
carry it away. I crammed it into the pocket of my parka and continued
on my hazardous journey.

It was
my
turn to be confident now. If I could navigate
the seven or eight stones to get across to the large boulder, I would
be safe. Shreve would not dare to follow me. The more than eighty
pounds that separated what I guessed our weights to be would fracture
the ice, should he attempt to step on it. And I could cling to the
beacon, waiting out the sunrise, sure that the police were on their way
to find me.

If I didn't make it, and I was keenly aware of that possibility, it
would be an awful death. But faster, I assured myself, than anything
Winston Shreve had in mind.

I hadn't counted on how badly he wanted to get his hands on the map.

I was on the fourth stone in the icy archipelago, straining to keep
my feet from slipping, hindered by my inability to stretch out my arms
and stabilize myself against the wind above and the slick surface
below. Behind me, I heard the crackling noise of breaking ice.

I ignored the voice in my head that had been telling me not to look
back. Shreve had followed my path and was on the first stone. He had
stepped off to the second one, but his feet were longer than mine and
the rocky incline could not hold his thick boots. His left leg had slid
down and landed on the crust of ice, breaking it apart and allowing the
black water to bubble through.