I could see a patrol car parked on the sidewalk at the exit of the driveway, and when I turned to look into the glass-fronted lobby of my building, I noticed a pair of uniformed cops.
Mercer opened the car door just as the lights went on in my brain.
“Now I know what you meant when you asked Mercer if everything was in place,” I said to Mike, my eyes flashing fire. “The cool dinner at Rao’s was just a distraction till you could set this up. I guess Scully’s put a bodyguard on me.”
“We convinced him that Mercer and I have got you covered all day,” Mike said. “It’s just at night; he doesn’t want you alone as long as Raymond Tanner’s out there with KILL COOP etched into his skin.”
Mercer put his hands in his pants pockets and walked away to explain the situation to Oscar and Vinny, the two doormen-my good friends-who were on duty.
“What about last night, Mike? What was the point of that? The Arsenal, the rooftop, the-the rest of it?” I slammed the door shut behind me. “Was that just a diversion to keep me out of harm’s way?”
“Look, Coop, last night had nothing to do with Scully’s decision. He called the lieutenant today and ordered this detail put in place.”
“My babysitters are waiting for me, Mike,” I said, walking toward the revolving door.
“I’ll call you later to check in.”
“Don’t bother. I haven’t got anything at all to say to you tonight. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve just checked out.”
TWENTY-FIVE
I made the two rookies as comfortable as I could in my den. I went into the bedroom suite, took a steaming-hot bath, and then slept fitfully till 6:30 A.M., when I awakened and dressed for the office.
By the time I emerged from my bedroom, one of the cops had brewed a pot of coffee. They tried to divert me by telling stories of the more bizarre cases they’d handled recently.
Mercer had texted that he would pick me up at 7:30 and that the officers would be relieved then.
When the doorman called to say that Mercer was in the driveway, my bodyguards brought me downstairs and delivered me to my next keeper.
“Good morning, Alexandra.”
“Morning.”
“We didn’t mean to sandbag you last night. The commissioner’s plan makes sense.”
“I understand it all. I just wasn’t expecting such an abrupt end to my day. It’s so impersonal to have two armed strangers keeping watch in my home.”
“But safer than not.”
“Thank you.”
“And it looks like Raymond Tanner has a bad case of recidivist rage, Alex.”
“What now?” As Mercer drove to the southbound entrance of the FDR, I picked up the day’s papers, which were between us on the front seat.
“Too late for the news. Tanner raped a young woman at two A.M.”
“I can’t believe it. Where did it happen?”
“This time in Brooklyn. In Prospect Park, just off the Midwood Trail.”
“Dear God. This is our worst nightmare,” I said. “Is she going to be all right?”
“Yeah. I went to the hospital to see her. Twenty-one years old.”
“Homeless?”
“Out of work. Her parents, way out on Long Island, gave her a hard time. They didn’t want her staying there unless she could contribute to the rent because they’re struggling. So she’s been living in Prospect Park.”
Prospect Park was also designed by Olmsted and Vaux, using many of the same elements as they had created in Manhattan, on an even larger chunk of land. I’d jogged the Midwood Trail many times with my friend Nan Toth. Like the Ramble, it was a woodland area with the last remaining natural forest in Brooklyn.
“Are you sure it’s Tanner?”
“No doubt, Alex. Same exact language, same order of the sexual acts. He threatened to split her head open with a lead pipe, and she felt the cold steel of the weapon when he pressed it against her ear every time she squirmed.”
“And the tattoo?”
“It was too dark for the girl to read it. All she could say was that there were letters inked on his hand-two words, she thought. And the forensic exam yielded seminal fluid, so we’ll have DNA.”
“Good, ’cause Tanner’s in the data bank,” I said. “But how ironic that he moved to Prospect Park.”
“Why?”
“In so many respects it’s like a double for Central Park. The combination of great natural beauty, like the Midwood Trail, along with man-made lakes and waterfalls. Tanner seems to know both of them pretty well.”
Many people don’t realize that in the 1850s and 1860s, when Central Park and then Prospect Park were designed, Brooklyn was a separate city from New York, and the two were only connected by ferry service. It was not until 1898 that New York-then comprised of only the island of Manhattan and a small piece of the Bronx-joined forces across the river with Brooklyn, at that time the third-largest city in America.
“They’ll be looking at him hard for Angel’s killing. The Midwood’s so much like the Ramble, and both girls were homeless, white, and about the same age.”
“Impossible to know-with no ID for our vic-whether there’s any connection between them. Did she tell you where she was living?” I asked.
“Do you know Elephant Hill?”
“Yes.” The name referred to one of the highest points on the Midwood Trail, where a century ago there had been a menagerie that housed elephants and bears. Now there were towering trees that covered the landscape along the interweaving paths.
“She was camping out there, in sort of a shelter.”
“A cave?” I remembered the story Flo had told about the small grotto behind the waterfall in the Ravine, and that Mia Schneider had promised to find out for Mike and me the location of the original caves that were part of the Park design.
“No. This one was made of logs,” Mercer said. “Apparently it’s a thing in Prospect Park, according to what the rangers told the cops, that when trees fall and begin to decay, they’re left in place unless they block a path. This way the fungi and molds return nutrients to the soil.”
“You’re serious? She was living in a stack of moldy logs?”
“The first team in showed me the photos. They’re all over the Park.”
“How can we not take better care of the people in this city?” I said. “It rips me up to think of how vulnerable these kids are.”
“I hate to tell you that today marks one week since Angel was found in the Lake. This Brooklyn rape will give Scully exactly what he needs to withdraw a task force from Central Park and beef up the patrols in Prospect.”
“But suppose Tanner’s playing a game? He’s fully capable of switching up his location and then doubling back.”
“Course he is. So don’t be stubborn about letting us stay close to you.”
“No comment, Mercer. I think he’s moved on from thinking about me.”
It was easy for Mercer to find a parking spot on Hogan Place so early in the morning. We picked up coffee and Danish at the corner cart and went upstairs to settle in the conference room with all the case reports. With every twist, like Tanner’s new attack, and every bit of information about the evidence, like Vergil Humphrey’s claim about the black angel statuette, we had to reevaluate each assumption we’d made earlier.
I left a voice mail for my counterpart in the Brooklyn DA’s office-the chief of the Special Victims Unit-telling her that I would be happy to exchange details with her on our Raymond Tanner cases, and give her all the background on both his criminal and psych history. Then Mercer and I began digging into piles of police reports, talking over the significance of the developments of the last twenty-four hours.
It was just after 9:30 when Laura came down to look for me.
“It’s the district attorney, Alex. He called on your hotline, so I picked it up. He wants you in his office right away.”
“Tanner, you think?” Mercer asked.