The wind whipped at the paper and tried to snatch it from hands and carry it away. I crammed it into the pocket of my parka and continued on my hazardous journey.
It was my turn to be confident now. If I could navigate the seven or eight stones to get across to the large boulder, I would be safe. Shreve would not dare to follow me. The more than eighty pounds that separated what I guessed our weights to be would fracture the ice, should he attempt to step on it. And I could cling to the beacon, waiting out the sunrise, sure that the police were on their way to find me.
If I didn't make it, and I was keenly aware of that possibility, it would be an awful death. But faster, I assured myself, than anything Winston Shreve had in mind.
I hadn't counted on how badly he wanted to get his hands on the map.
I was on the fourth stone in the icy archipelago, straining to keep my feet from slipping, hindered by my inability to stretch out my arms and stabilize myself against the wind above and the slick surface below. Behind me, I heard the crackling noise of breaking ice.
I ignored the voice in my head that had been telling me not to look back. Shreve had followed my path and was on the first stone. He had stepped off to the second one, but his feet were longer than mine and the rocky incline could not hold his thick boots. His left leg had slid down and landed on the crust of ice, breaking it apart and allowing the black water to bubble through.
"Give me the goddamn map," he screamed at me. He had frozen in place, it seemed, now aware of the dangerous trail he had undertaken. "Give me the paper!"
The wind played with him, too, and his words were lost somewhere over the roiling water.
My next two obstacles were relatively flat and elongated. I moved across them easily and counted only three more on my course to the big rock.
A glance back and it was clear that Shreve was consumed by his desire to get to the map. He had made the decision to come after me. His feet held on the third step, and he paused there to figure how to make it safely onto the next one.
The great buildings of the United Nations were directly across to my right now. Lights were going on in some of the offices as the sky began to brighten. The city was coming to life. Someone would find me.
My foot reached out to anchor itself on the next rock, but it was peaked and ragged, with no flat area on which to step, I leaned forward and grabbed its crest with my clasped hands stretching out the toe of my right foot to find a hold on the slippery cover. It seemed secure, and so I pulled myself forward, balancing my one hundred fifteen pounds on either side of the crest. As fast as I could free my hands and move again, I teetered forward to the adjacent perch, almost at my goal.
As I stood on the next-to-the-last rock, I was ready to launch myself to safety. I grabbed at the naked shrub that was poised on the ledge in front of me and tried to pull myself onto the slick boulder. But the ice beneath my left foot ruptured sharply and my entire leg was submerged in the frigid water. I clung desperately to the small gray stubble of the branch that was supporting me and kicked my quickly benumbed leg furiously to get it out of the icy river.
Slowly and agonizingly, I hoisted myself onto solid ground Shreve's scream pierced the air and the wind slammed its sound against my head.
I opened my eyes and saw him grasping for my leg, which was dangling over the side of the great boulder. He was trying to get me to save him, I thought, not to hurt me, although it hardly mattered at that point. As he had reached out for me, he slid off the peaked rock and collapsed through the slim coating of ice. "The rope!" I yelled at him. "Throw me the rope." But the wicked current tugged at him and swept him away from the rocks. I pulled myself up to a standing position using the sturdiest branch of the small bush, but with my hands still tied I was unable to extend my reach near the drowning man.
Shreve screamed once more as he struggled to keep his head above the waves. The turbulent inky water had claimed him, and he was dragged downriver at ferocious speed. He shouted something again, gurgling insensibly as he was pulled down by the paralyzing force of the raging flow.
I lowered myself onto the ground, wet and frozen. I rested my head against a low stump and gave up waiting for salvation. The Pepsi-Cola sign flashed and there seemed to be early morning traffic racing along the FDR Drive.
The little red snub-nosed tugboat of the New York City Fire Department seemed to be making a beeline for my deserted boulder. I tried to tell myself its crew would see me here, with dawn breaking through the night sky. As it neared me, on its prow I thought I could make out the figures of Mike Chapman and Mercer Wallace, standing beside two uniformed firemen. Mercer must have repeated the story I fed to Shreve about the Blackwell Jeopardy! clue, and Mike had made the connection.
Cold, exhaustion, and hunger overwhelmed me.
I closed my eyes.
"When I came to, the first thing I saw was the pure white counterpane on my hospital bed. I felt warm and comforted for the first time in days. Looped around the upper rim of the metal railing was an intravenous tube. The IV pole was next to my headboard, and I could see that the glucose solution was almost empty. I must have been badly dehydrated.
I looked at the clock on the bedside table and it said 11:42. The shades were drawn three-quarters of the way down, open enough to reveal that it was night.
I rolled from my side onto my back, wiggling my toes as I did so. I lifted each foot, one at a time, to reach my hands, and counted to make sure I had all my toes.
When I moved onto my other side, my cheek scraped against something hard. There, pinned against the corner of the pillow, was Jake's glittering little bird atop a rock.
Through the glass windows that separated my room from the nurses' station, I could see five people standing together. Jake Tyler and Mercer Wallace were leaning against the counter watching Mike Chapman and laughing at him. He was gesturing with great animation, regaling two nurses with his war stories and adventures.
I knew it wouldn't take long for Mike and Mercer to coax me back to Blackwells, with the old map, to dig for diamonds with them. They would find my stalker, too. I was sure of that.
Outside the door to my room was another IV stand. Attached to it, hanging upside down, was a bottle of champagne. Tommorow would begin a happier new year.
I smiled and closed my eyes.
Acknowledgments
I never asked permission of Alex Cooper-the real one-when I purloined his name for my heroine several years ago. He and Karen have been dearest friends, perfect traveling companions, great readers, and part of the family since Justin and I first met. I treasure their friendship.
A very special credit is due to Judy Berdy, who shares my passion for Renwick's stunning skeleton, and who helped enormously with my research about Blackwells Island. To Judy and the Roosevelt Island Historical Society, I am enormously grateful.
I was fortunate to find a wealth of material, in the form of old institutional records and reports, at the superb library of the New-York Historical Society. My thanks to Betsy Gotbaum, and the librarians who take such fine care of the antique documents.
The archives of The New York Times and the microfiche files of the New York Herald Tribune were also invaluable. And two books, Gotham by Edwin Burrows and Mike Wallace and The Other Islands of New York City by Sharon Seitz and Stuart Miller, provided wonderful vignettes of the crime scene.
Several characters take their names from real individuals. That is because a number of very generous people contributed to a variety of charitable causes and public service auctions in exchange for the opportunity to have a figure named for them in an Alexandra Cooper novel. Some are good guys, some are suspects, some are perps-that's the chance they take. They all have my thanks for their good cheer and benevolence.