Mike was grinning as he walked toward the patrol car to greet the uniformed sergeant who let himself out on the passenger side. He was holding the pipe out in front of him. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? You got here pretty fast.”
“You’re Chapman, right?”
“Yeah. Mike Chapman.”
“You want to get in the car with us?”
The driver made a U-turn and was ready to head back east.
“Nah. Just voucher this pipe for me. Got a manila envelope in the trunk?”
“Shove the pipe, Chapman. Get in the car. We got a situation right in the middle of the fucking meadow, which is covered with naked bodies like a love-in’s about to happen, and then appears this-”
“What kind of situation?” Mike asked.
Mercer stepped closer to the car.
“An EDP,” the overweight sergeant said, huffing from the exertion of getting out of the car. He was trying to tell us about an emotionally disturbed person who had picked one of the most populated parts of the Park in which to implode.
“Who told you to get me?” Mike asked. “Grab a uniform up in the North Woods, Sarge. I don’t do-”
I thought of the three unstable men we were trying to track-Eddie Wicks, Vergil Humphrey, and Raymond Tanner. “Maybe you should go, Mike.”
We all seemed to be talking over one another. Mike sighed with annoyance and gave me a backhanded wave to stay out of it.
“It’s not a job for a rookie is what I’m hearing from headquarters. You’ll do this one yourself is what they tell me, Chapman,” he said, turning back to the car. “It’s a good-looking broad with a pistol, threatening to blow her brains out in the middle of the meadow unless the commissioner comes to the Park to listen to her demands.”
Mike covered his eyes with his hand and dropped his head.
“The deputy commish said to forget about Scully, but that you’d be somewhere around here today and to bring you to the scene stat. So get your ass in the car.”
Mike turned his back to the sergeant to face me. He put his hand over his heart when he started to speak. “I am so very sorry to drag this mess into your orbit, Coop. I’m-”
“This isn’t about me, Mike. You’ve got to get this done before Pell hurts herself or anyone else out there.”
Mercer stepped between Mike and the patrol car. “I’m going with you, Sarge. He’s the wrong guy to deal with this. You’ve got to trust me on that.”
“Don’t, Mercer. It’s all my doing.”
“You’re a lightning rod for her, Mike,” Mercer said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You go? She gets exactly what she wants. A public humiliation of you, no matter what happens to her. The broad’s crazy, and we all know it. I’m more likely to be able to talk her down than you.”
The sergeant had maneuvered himself back into the RMP. “One of youse. I don’t care who, but I’m not looking for a bloodbath on my watch, guys.”
Mike shook free of Mercer and pulled on the rear passenger door of the car.
“Mercer’s right,” I said. “He’s a hostage negotiator because he has the patience and calm and grace to talk people down off ledges and out of danger. Sorry, Mike, but you don’t have any of those traits.”
“Don’t let Jessica Pell make it personal today,” Mercer said. “She wants a shot at you, pal. She wants to aim that gun and pull the trigger. No doubt in my mind.”
“And you think you can stop her?”
“Go off in the woods with Coop and get lost for a while,” Mercer said as Mike stepped aside so he could get into the police car. “I can do this so much better than you.”
I jumped back as the sergeant turned on the sirens at full force again.
Mike slammed the door. “You watch yourself, man.”
“Go find yourself a killer,” Mercer said. “Let me get this monkey off your back.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
Mike seemed shattered and totally distracted. We walked down the steep incline from the roadway to the secluded path at the foot of the arch.
“It’ll be noon by the time we retrace our steps to your car,” I said. “We can take a break.”
“Why?”
“Because your head isn’t in this.”
“I just let Mercer go off to clean up my mess. What else would you expect?”
“You want to walk to the North Woods?” I asked. “See whether the guys are turning up anything?”
“They know how to find me if they do. Just follow the trail.”
I tried to keep up with Mike, but it was impossible. The path was narrow, with branches and rocks in the way, but we made better time going back than on our exploratory trip through the Ravine, and it was clear to me that he didn’t want our trek to become an intimate walk in the woodlands.
Mike locked the lead pipe in the trunk. Before we got into his car, knowing we had cell service out of the woods in the parking lot, he phoned the squad. The lieutenant had the day off, but Manny Chirico was working. From Mike’s end of the conversation I could tell that Manny knew exactly what the situation was at the Sheep Meadow.
“What’s with Pell?” I asked.
“Still ranting. They’ve cleared the area and given Mercer a vest, and he’s going to work. She’s agreed to talk to him.”
“She likes an audience,” I said. “Where to?”
“Back to the Ramble.”
“Okay. But why?”
“’Cause the powers that be have given up on it. But Raymond Tanner likes it, and Verge knows it well, and Eddie Wicks-well, he’s a crapshoot,” Mike said. “And they tell me it’s got caves, or used to have them. Caves were built into that whole area before they were covered up with boulders.”
“And because it’s so close to the Sheep Meadow, you can get there-to Mercer’s side-in a flash if need be.”
“That, too.”
Mike reversed the car to back out of the parking area and make the long loop west and south around the Park, to reach the lot behind the boathouse at the Lake, where we had entered the Ramble early in the week.
“Feel like talking?” I asked.
“I’m just trying to breathe, Coop.”
“I understand.” After he let me get so close to him on Wednesday night, it didn’t seem possible that the week’s events had conspired to put this much distance between us. But Mike didn’t have a better friend than Mercer Wallace, and I appreciated his deep concern for this dreadful set of circumstances that he had put in motion.
We made the ten-minute ride in silence, the police radio crackling with reports of responses to a variety of locations around the borough. Mike parked the car and we got out, the bright sunlight directly overhead.
I pointed at one of the vendors whose cart was near the entrance to the trail. “Want some lunch?”
“Not hungry.”
I walked over and bought us each a bottle of water, handing one of them to Mike. I drank half of mine as we started up the hill together, leaving the paved path for the rocky road that wound through the Ramble.
As we began our ascent, I noticed that the area was far more populated than the Ravine. There were lots of couples behind us, many of the men shirtless on this early summer day. Young women wore bikini tops or halters. Birders and dog walkers were intent on their missions. Each and every one who passed us by seemed to have a destination as he or she branched off at the forks that appeared at every turn of the way.
“You’re walking with purpose, Detective Chapman,” I said.
“There’s a lot of territory to cover.”
When we reached the top of the hill, Mike turned left, moving south to the Point, which overlooked the Lake and was directly opposite the statue of the Angel of the Waters. This was one of the most remote sections of the Ramble, beloved by birders, and where the Austin sisters had encountered Raymond Tanner.