"We wouldn't have a shot at this without you," I said, trying to pick up speed across the sand. It made sense that Nelly Kallin had been so interested in every detail of this prisoner's life.
"I had no idea you had any connection to one of his victims. "No one does, Alex. I've never told anyone."
"Easter. Fourth of July. Labor Day," I said, thinking that we were just days away from that holiday weekend. "Thanksgiving. Christmas. Was there a time the Rasheed family did anything functional together?"
"I can barely hear you."
"Those holidays, can you think of any significance to any of them?"
Nelly Kallin sounded dejected. "I don't know where they went. I hate to disappoint you. Thanksgiving was Troy's favorite holiday. They went away every year, but I just don't know where. He talked about it in therapy because it's the place he had his first sexual experience-a consensual one, he claims."
"The family traveled?" I asked, ducking beneath the rotors to follow Mercer up the steps of the sleek-looking helicopter.
"Not far from home. They used to go to one of the bases in the area for Thanksgiving weekend. They were able to stay for free because the base had a motel that Mr. Rasheed's company built for military families. I don't know if it was the turkey or the sex," Nelly Kallin said, "but the place made quite an impression on Troy."
A base with a motel. Didn't we see an old abandoned one on Governors Island? I was trying to remember what Mike had said about it.
"The name of it, Ms. Kallin. Do you remember the name of the motel?"
"What did Detective Chapman say about tattoos being the new postcards? Like I told you, Troy identified it with some kind of sexual experience, a pleasurable one. He's got the number eight tattooed in the small of his back. It was a Super 8 Motel.
FORTY-SEVEN
Joe Galiano was poised to take off the moment Mercer closed the door and belted up
We've got to go to Governors Island, Joe. We've got to search there."
"Have you lost it, Coop?"
"Call Peterson, Mike. Tell him to get a crew over as fast as humanly possible. Tell him to call the Park Service and- Lightning sliced the sky ahead of us and thunder boomed over the sound of the chopper's engines.
"Pay no attention to her, Joe. Let's get this buggy home."
"That was Nelly Kallin I called. Forget Kiernan Dylan. Troy Rasheed has taken that girl to Governors Island. Don't fight me on this one, Mike. That's where they went on Sunday. That's where she is," I said, not speaking the words dead or alive.
Mercer had flipped open his cell to make the call. "She's right. And I bet we find that jeep parked in a lot not far from the Battery Maritime Building, if Troy hasn't skipped town."
The chopper rocked from side to side as the winds pounded it.
"What's the verdict, gentlemen? We pass right over the island on our way home," Galiano said.
Mike was clutching the edge of his seat as he argued with Mercer. "You said they were checking everyone going on and off the island on Sunday."
"And Pam Lear had Park Service ID. She had a uniform, too. According to the timeline that Lydia just gave us, they wouldn't have arrived till late in the day, when all the feebs were monitoring departures. I doubt she and Troy had any problem getting on the island, blending into the crowd. She would have looked more like she belonged there than anyone else. It's good, Mike."
"You know the island, Joe?" Mike's fear of flying was justified in the storm. "I guess if the Wright Brothers could take off and land there, you'll figure it out."
"We once had a mayor named La Guardia," Galiano said. "He wanted to make the place the city's first airport. Been there dozens of times for training exercises. There's a nice flat spot in the middle of Colonels' Row."
The chopper bounced its way back across Brooklyn as we sat riveted in our seats, contemplating Pam Lear's fate.
"Hang on," Galiano said, clearing the rooftops of the old buildings as he aimed for a level space in the middle of the lawn.
The chopper's struts slammed into the ground and we rocked into place. The thunder rolled over us, louder and closer than it had been just minutes ago.
I picked my head up to look over Mercer's shoulder, and as I did, the entire Manhattan skyline faded to black.
FORTY-EIGHT
The freak storm ripping through the city had sparked a massive power outage, a blackout that left Manhattan in late-morning darkness
So much for backup," Mike said.
"Doesn't change what we've got to do," Mercer said, opening the chopper door and climbing down. "What was that guy's name-the one from the Park Service who took us around?"
"Leamer," Mike said. "Russell Leamer."
"Let's make a dash for the ferry terminal. That's where his office is. Joe?"
"I've got to stay with my machine, guys. Double back if you need me."
Cell phones didn't work on Governors Island. I remembered that the ferry captain told us that. No wonder Pam Lear couldn't make good on her promise to call Lydia when she reached her destination.
I followed Mike and Mercer as they jogged the cobblestone path past Castle Williams to the office that bordered the ferry dock.
We saw no workers or rangers on our run, just the empty old barracks and the fortress that stood sentinel over the angry seas of the harbor.
By the time we reached Leamer's office, scattered lights began to dot the cityscape. Buildings with their own generators came to life- police headquarters, huge medical centers that fronted the East River- and several office towers glowed again beneath the ominous clouds.
Leamer hadn't seen the helicopter land. He was seated at a desk, on a landline phone, when the three of us surprised him by walking in, soaked to the bone despite our windbreakers and jackets.
Mercer took the lead in explaining why we had come back to the island.
Leamer got to his feet, gesturing wildly with the receiver still in his hand. "There can't be anyone hiding here, damn it. The feds searched everywhere."
"They searched on Sunday," Mercer said, knowing that they had finished their effort before Pam Lear decided to leave Fort Tilden. "They started early in the morning and were done by midday, before this girl even disappeared."
"How many men have you got working with you today?" Mike asked.
"I'm alone."
"Where are the others?"
"They went back to Manhattan an hour ago, with the last ferry."
"The last ferry?"
Leamer pointed out the window. "The surge from the harbor breached the seawall next to the dock. The tide is so high that the ramp has been lifted too steeply to meet the ferry. They can't make any trips until this passes, and there's no telling how much flooding there'll be."
The sight was terrifying. The low-lying walkway that led away from the dock was full of water, and the river had risen almost as high as the landing slip.
"We need the phone," Mercer said.
"I need it, too, Detective," Leamer said, becoming more frantic with the news that we were looking for our fourth victim. "I've got a disaster to manage here."
Mercer calmed the man and took over the phone, calling the lieutenant and asking him to send men to the Battery Maritime Building, to get them to Governors Island the moment the storm blew through. The expression on his face changed at the end of the call-tightened- with some piece of news Peterson had told him, something he didn't want to hear. "I understand, Loo."
"Aren't there a couple of firemen posted here? How do you reach them?" Mike asked Leamer.
"They were evacuated with the ranger staff. The entire power grid for the metropolitan area was knocked out, Detective. Lightning hit one of the main transformer stations."
"Shit," Mike said, ready to tear the place apart to look for Pam Lear. "Are you armed?"