“Did anyone hold out hope that Lucy was alive?” I had seen those stories countless times in the newspapers-of children taken from a parent by an angry former spouse, from a hospital crib by a psychotic visitor, from a deserted bus stop by a child molester who raised his victim in the basement of a home, sometimes in chains for years.
“Only Lavinia,” Mia said. “She has never allowed anything in the nursery or playrooms to be touched. It’s quite disturbing to see, actually, but the staff continues to honor her wishes. She told me she would wait the rest of her life for that child to return home, although the police made it clear to her that they believed Lucy had been killed. None of the attempts to demand ransom for Lucy led to any plan to bring her back to Lavinia. All hoaxes, she suspects.”
The story had killed my appetite. Mia told us she was going back to her guests and would send Gordon Davis to join us. “I’ll get in touch with you tomorrow,” she said. “I’m curious to know how those two silver pieces got out of Lavinia’s home, and if the rest of the collection is intact.”
“So am I,” Mike said.
“Thanks for coming tonight. Please enjoy the rest of the evening.”
“That’s all we need,” Mike said. “A connection between the Baby Lucy case and our Angel. It’ll give the press the feeding frenzy they thrive on.”
“Last week you told me there were other cold cases from the Park, Mike.”
“No three-year-olds. Nothing like that.”
I leaned back with my wineglass and tried to make small talk with the commissioner. He, too, knew the Dalton kidnapping case well, but had not been in charge when the silver exhibition was on display so had not known about the fabulous Park pieces.
We spent the rest of the evening being introduced to Conservancy members, reassuring them about the quality of the investigation, as we listened to clever speeches and appeals for support.
At eleven o’clock, as the gala appeared to be breaking up, we said our good nights and followed the crowd through the tent and up the staircase to Fifth Avenue. Mike had parked nearby, and we walked to the car.
We cruised down Fifth and Mike made the turn onto my street in the low 70s. The Drifters were singing “Up on the Roof” and my eyes were closed as I sang along. As we approached the driveway, I was jolted forward when Mike suddenly applied the brakes, then sped up and drove straight ahead past my entrance toward the traffic light to turn downtown.
I reached up to rub my neck. “I think they call that whiplash. What’s your problem, Mike?”
“It looks like your problem tonight. The black Lexus parked in your driveway?”
“I didn’t see it. Wasn’t paying attention, I guess.”
“The license plate read ‘JSC 421,’” he said.
“Justice of the Supreme Court of the State of New York.”
“Looks like Jessica Pell is on your doorstep.”
EIGHTEEN
“Of course she can find out where you live,” Mike said. “All the judges get that handbook with the bureau chiefs’ contact information in it.”
“And I suppose it’s obvious she knows where you live, too. Why the hell can’t she just be your stalker and leave me out of this?”
“We can’t go to my place either. If she gives up waiting for you, she’s likely to show up ringing my bell.”
I sat up straight and swiveled to look at Mike. “Don’t tell me. Pell’s actually been to the coffin?”
Mike’s studio apartment, just ten blocks from mine in a walk-up building that had fallen into disrepair ages ago, was so small and dark that he had given it a grim nickname. It was rare for him to let anyone into this little bit of personal space that he called home.
He blushed and took one hand off the wheel to comb it through his hair. “Did I tell you how pushy she is?”
“That’s it. I’m going to call her tomorrow. Or go up to her courtroom and blow this thing open. It’s insane.”
“Don’t go off the reservation, Coop.”
“According to her threats, you’ve got two days left before she uncorks it. Pell doesn’t get to call the shots, as far as I’m concerned.”
Mike made another turn and was heading west again.
“Where are you going?” I asked. “We’re a little overdressed, but I didn’t eat any dinner. We could split a sandwich at PJ Bernstein’s.”
The classic New York deli-a dying breed-was one of my favorite neighborhood retreats.
“Better than that. I’ve got a room with a view,” Mike said. “Trust me.”
“I’m actually thinking you didn’t just say those last two words.”
Mike looked over to make sure I was smiling. “This is business.”
He parked on East 63rd Street, in front of a consulate near the corner of Fifth.
“The Park?” I asked.
“The Arsenal.”
I was more than puzzled but followed Mike down the steps from the sidewalk and up another flight to the front door of the old building. He dialed a number on his cell and someone answered.
“It’s Mike Chapman. Yeah, Detective Chapman. I’m at the front door with my partner.”
Six minutes later-while we talked about everything except Mike’s purpose in bringing me here-a night watchman opened the three locks and let us in the lobby.
“Thanks a lot. This is my partner, Alex Cooper.”
The startled guard was surveying my outfit but not looking me in the eye.
“I’ve got all my stuff upstairs. Okay if we go on?”
“No problem if you know the way. But-but her shoes…?”
“Undercover. Coop works undercover. Vice squad. Like a hooker, you know? She’ll take them off. Not to worry.”
The sleepy-eyed man just shrugged and pointed to the elevator.
There were five stories in the building, but the elevator only went as high as the fourth. When we exited, Mike led me into a stairwell. “I’m taking you to the best-kept secret in the city.”
“Should I be flattered,” I said, hiking up my skirt so that I could follow Mike up to the landing on the fifth floor, “or is this just totally weird? And why do you have things here?”
“’Cause I spent most of last night in the same place.”
“Up on the roof?”
“Just like the Drifters. Hearing that song is what made me think of bringing you here.”
Mike pushed against the door, which led to a terrace that was landscaped like a patio on a Fifth Avenue penthouse. There were flowers and plants surrounding the entire space, and a small greenhouse on the far corner.
I stepped out into the middle and slowly made a 360-degree turn. The entire skyline of the city was around and above me, landmark buildings easy to distinguish with twinkling lights that set off structures against the dark sky. When I looked down, it was across the green treetops of the Park that stretched all the way uptown.
“This is amazing,” I said. “How did you know it was here?”
“Commissioner Davis told the lieutenant that on the north and south ends of the Arsenal the rooftops had just been restored, and that this one provides a great vantage point to look over the southern end of the Park. They rent it out for cocktail parties, if you’re interested. Peterson sent me up here yesterday for a few hours with night vision goggles, just to see if anyone was running around in the woods,” Mike said. “I pretty much stayed till morning.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“Wish I could have seen as far as the Huddlestone Arch.”
“Impossible, obviously. Did you find anything interesting?”
“I had really good equipment. Best I could do was about a couple of hundred feet away. Lots of warm bodies, though, all through the night. Some couples, some alone, some walking around, and some just curled up sleeping, even though the Park’s officially ‘closed’ from one to six A.M.,” Mike said. “Another flight, Coop. C’mon.”