“What Indian?”
Mike moved behind me again, encircling me with his arms and guiding the binoculars. “Can you find the entrance to the building? That big wide space on 72nd Street.”
“Yes.”
“Okay, go up higher, right under the tip of the roof.”
His body was against my own now. As I lifted my head back with the glasses, my ear brushed against Mike’s cheek. My heart was racing, and I knew it wasn’t because of the architecture of the grand old building.
“See it?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“It’s a Dakota Indian. Bet you never knew that.”
“I didn’t,” I said softly. I wasn’t thinking about the unusual façade.
“You’re looking for Lavinia Dalton,” Mike said. “That’s why you’re so quiet. Long past her bedtime, Coop.”
I nodded my head.
“Let me see,” he said, taking the binoculars from me and standing next to me to study the behemoth structure. “You know what’s really interesting?”
“What?” The night was warm, a precursor to summer just days away, but I had goose bumps on my bare arms and neck.
“Did you see the great big windows in all the apartments?”
“Um,” I mumbled.
“Then look up at the row of tiny ones-the windows hidden just under the ledge of the roof.”
“Eyelids.”
“What do you mean?” Mike asked.
“Turn around and look at the buildings that line the Fifth Avenue side,” I said. If I thought I had briefly engaged Mike’s attention, I had lost it for the moment. “See? Small windows on the highest floors, like slits of eyelids rather than eyes wide open.”
“Yeah.”
“Everywhere you can see, those top-floor apartments were used by the servants of the rich tenants down below.”
“But why would they take the best views-the most prime real estate on the highest floors-and use it on servants’ quarters?”
“It wouldn’t happen again today,” I said. “But before penthouses became fashionable, back one hundred years ago when these buildings were put up, rich people were reluctant to live closest to the chimneys that puffed out black soot and rooftops where maids hung laundry. That’s where they housed their workers.”
“Wait a minute,” Mike said. He had scoped the prestigious addresses of Fifth Avenue and gone back to the Dakota. “So think about Lavinia Dalton’s apartment. Her building looks out directly over the Lake, over the Angel of the Waters, right?”
“Yes.”
“I mean, they’re both a bit north of 72nd Street,” he said. “If you were in the Dalton apartment, or even a flight up in the dormers, you’d be at a perfect height and ideal vantage point to see what was going on at the Lake.”
“And at a lot of other places in the Park.”
“You’re shivering, Coop.” Mike put the glasses down and reached for his jacket, wrapping it around my shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me you were cold?”
“I’m not cold, really,” I said. “Something just-I don’t know-just chilled me.”
“It makes no sense that the Dalton apartment and the pieces of silver have anything to do with the dead girl, does it?”
“Don’t know.” I was beginning to fade, a combination of exhaustion and feeling emotionally spent. My back was to the stone wall, while Mike faced out at Central Park West.
“When we get into the Dakota, we should ask to check out the servants’ quarters.”
“Sure. But you’re getting ahead of yourself,” I said, pulling the jacket tighter around me. “Have you studied the Panoscan photographs yet?”
He put the binoculars down on top of the wall and looked at me.
“No, but I get where you’re going.”
The Crime Scene team had used the new equipment to do a 360-degree shot from the point at Bow Bridge where Angel’s body had been found. “I imagine, in addition to everything else it shows, that it will point you directly back to the Dakota.”
“Course it will. Good thinking, Coop.”
“Am I off duty now?”
“Is that what you want to be?”
“Totally. And I think you can take me home, too. If Jessica Pell hasn’t given up on confronting me by now, the doormen will have to run interference. I’m really tired, Mike.”
“Let’s not go yet. It’s kind of-I don’t know-kind of magical up here.”
“But it’s so late, and we have a lot to do tomorrow.”
“You’re right, Coop. It’s so late, and I still haven’t apologized to you properly. And you’re cold.”
“I told you I’m not cold. I’m-I’m nervous, I think. That’s why I’m trembling.”
I was looking around everywhere, at everything, except into Mike’s eyes. He touched my face with his right hand and aligned it with his own. We had flirted with this moment more times than I could remember clearly.
“There’s something I want to do, Coop. And I’m nervous about it, too.”
“Then we’re even.”
Mike smiled again, and I closed my eyes for a second.
“YOLO,” I said, smiling as I channeled Vickee’s heart-to-heart with me.
You only live once.
Mike Chapman grinned with all his dazzle and brought his lips to meet mine. He kissed me. His touch was tender and warm as he lifted my chin and pressed his lips against mine, holding us in that position for several seconds, although it seemed like an hour.
Then he took his hand away and stepped back, running his fingers through his hair. “Are you okay with this?” he asked.
I let the tuxedo jacket fall to the ground. “Very okay.”
He came toward me again. “Do you mind?”
“Mind what?”
“The pins. The ones holding your-style?-whatever it is-in place. I have no idea what they’re called, but could you take them out of your hair?”
I was breathing fast, fumbling a bit as I reached up and started pulling out the pins that held my formally arranged twist in place.
“It’s just not you,” Mike said, taking them from my hand and putting them in his pants pocket. Then he tousled my hair so that it fell to my shoulders, loose and long, curling softly around my face.
“Now is it me?” I asked, smiling back at him.
“I’ll tell you in a minute.”
We kissed again, and this time we embraced and caressed each other till I needed to stop for air. “This is crazy, isn’t it?” I said. “Good crazy, but crazy.”
“You still want to go home, Coop?”
“I’m not sure about anything. But if we’re going to-if you’re going to-well, can you stop calling me ‘Coop’? It’s not the most-well, feminine name for me.”
“I can’t do Alexandra or Alex. Those names are for everyone else to use. ‘Coop’ is my own. I’m not the least bit confused about your gender identity.”
I wanted the night to last forever. We were alone together in our own aerie, apart from everyone in the world, in the middle of the most beautiful park in the most exciting city-visible to any of the ritzy neighbors who wanted to look out their windows from high above but unidentifiable to all.
We kissed several more times, laughing and whispering to each other, as comfortable as I would expect to be in the arms of my best friend.
“Taking it slow, right?” Mike said when I pushed away and turned around, inhaling the fresh night air, trying to comprehend what was happening to us.
“Slow would be good. It would be smart.”
“You don’t always have to be smart, you know?”
“Yes, I know. But don’t you think we have to talk about some-?”
“Shh shh shh shh shh. Plenty of time for talk, Coop. Will you stay here with me for a few hours? Watch the sun break through?” He was behind me, kissing the top of my head and stroking my arms. “I’ve got a blanket in with my supplies. We can just sit down and lean back, use my jacket for a pillow. Just sit and hold on to each other.”
“I’d like to do that. Fall asleep with your arms around me.”
There was no street noise, no sirens or garbage trucks, no one to burst into this night’s fantasy. We spread the blanket and stretched out. It was as though we were all alone on the island of Manhattan.