“But-”
“I’m just going up and down the aisles to see what’s around. I’m not expecting anything lethal,” Mike said, holding on to my elbow as though to steady me. “Look, I know you’re claustrophobic, and I wish-”
“I feel like I’ve been sealed into one of the pyramids,” I said, trying to make light of the situation.
“You picked a place that might actually hold all of your worldly goods, babe. Smart move. You can stack all your boxes of shoes over in that corner. And if you play your cards right, you could go across the River Styx after a three-way with Mercer and me.”
“My dream come true, Detective Chapman. Till then what do we do?”
“You’re doing it. Keep Ledger preoccupied,” Mike said, turning away from me, “and see whether Mercer needs anything.”
I started back toward the door. Mercer was pounding his large fist against it from time to time and yelling at the top of his lungs every minute or so. I didn’t think there would be anyone or anything out there to hear him, except for a passing track rabbit.
I took my position again next to Don Ledger. I started to tell him stories about adventures that Mercer, Mike, and I had been through together-lighter ones than murder-and how they had always managed to get me out in one piece.
Almost ten minutes elapsed before Mike shouted to me from the farthest corner of the room.
“Hold your calls, ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner.”
“I’ll be right back, Mr. Ledger. Mike must have found something.”
I sprinted in the direction of Mike’s voice and saw him kneeling at the end of the first row of antique converters. As I got closer to him, I noticed a dark blanket spread out on the floor. Mike pulled a pair of vinyl gloves out of his pocket and put them on.
“Looks like we’ve got a nester,” he said.
The blanket was doubled over to create a makeshift sleeping bag.
“I can’t imagine anyone getting in here.”
“We have a Houdini on our hands, Coop,” Mike said, lifting a corner of the blanket with two fingers. “He got a steamer trunk packed to the gills with a body in and out of the Waldorf, probably knows these tunnels better than the rats, worked his way onto a private varnish to murder another vic, and knows as much about M42 as Nazi saboteurs. That should limit the cast of characters.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“What?”
“The piece of paper under the edge of the blanket, Mike. See it sticking out from underneath?”
He reached for the small gray card that almost blended in with the concrete flooring. He flipped it over and we could both see the photograph of the dead girl on Big Timber.
“Shit,” Mike said. “Lydia Tsarlev. Nineteen years old. Student ID from Westchester Community College.”
It was becoming harder to breathe by the minute.
“These assholes really like their souvenirs, don’t they?” He got to his feet and put his arm around my shoulder, staring at the picture as we headed back to Mercer. “They really like their trophies from a kill.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
It was almost eleven o’clock when I heard banging and scraping against the metal door. It was Pug McBride’s voice calling for Mike that first penetrated the space.
“You inside there, Chapman?”
Mercer was still beside the door. “We all are. Open up.”
I helped Don Ledger to his feet, and we waited as the objects wedged under the doorknob to prevent it from moving-which turned out to be lengths of old steel railroad ties-were dragged aside and one of the workmen with a skeleton key unlocked the door.
As hot and steamy as the tunnel area surrounding the staircase was, it was refreshing after the stillness of M42.
“Everybody okay?” Pug asked.
“Get a bus to take Mr. Ledger to the ER, will you?” I asked. There were EMTs and firemen who worked inside the terminal who could carry him up the winding staircase and load him into an ambulance. He needed to be checked out. “He needs water as soon as possible, and I think we all do.”
“Good work, Pug,” Mike said, patting McBride on the back. “I keep telling Rocco you’re going to find a real perp one day, if you keep looking hard enough.”
“You were easy. I just followed the scent of your vodka through the station.”
“Odorless, Pug. That’s why I drink the stuff.”
“And that’s why I’m such a brilliant detective. Caught the teeniest whiff of it and dogged it through the entire terminal.”
“Thanks, Pug,” I said. “Another hour and I would have melted.”
“You already look like you did,” he said, giving me the once-over.
“How’d you find us?” Mercer asked.
“One of the summer interns overheard Ledger talking. Said he was taking some cops down to M42. I got kind of antsy when we got a hit on the dead girl’s ID at about nine this morning. Didn’t get an answer from Mike when I called his cell to let him know, and then Rocco couldn’t bring up any of you on your phones, so he sent us here to look.”
“Lydia Tsarlev,” Mike said.
Pug’s entire face screwed up in puzzlement. “You got a TV set in there but no cell service? You know her name already?”
Mike took the girl’s ID out of his pocket and held it up to Pug McBride’s face. “I just told you her name, didn’t I? Now let me out of here. Whoever was using this as his crib has at least a two-hour jump on us.”
Mike started up the spiral staircase, but Pug was pulling at his shirt.
“You sat on this information since last night?”
“Don’t be a jerk, Pug. I just found it inside this basement,” Mike said, taking the steps two at a time. “Scully’s got to saturate the terminal with uniforms. Get Crime Scene in here to dust for prints and pick up the blanket for trace. Meet you in Ledger’s office.”
“I’ll stay put till the guys come for Ledger,” I said.
Mike called down over the railing. “This entire area-M42 and whatever abuts it-has to be secured, Pug. Nobody gets access unless they’re cops. And nobody touches nothing.”
“I’m taking orders from you, Chapman?”
“For now you are. And keep your eye on the blonde. She’s as fragile as an old rotary converter.”
“Yeah, she looks like she got hit by a bus,” Pug said.
It was only minutes until four men from the Grand Central fire station clambered down the staircase. Don Ledger tried to insist that he walk up under his own steam, but two of them managed to lock hands and carry him, despite the steepness of the steps and the great height. A wheelchair was waiting for him at the elevator landing, and by the time we emerged on the lower concourse, the ambulance crew had taken him out.
Mercer and I were on our way to regroup with Mike in Ledger’s office.
“Give me five minutes,” I said.
“Not alone.”
“Then come along.”
He followed me up a ramp, past Posman bookstore and a doughnut shop, to a small Banana Republic in the retail area of the terminal. I bought a shirt for each of us to replace the ones we’d been wearing, which were soaked with perspiration.
“You think I smell bad?” Mercer asked when I handed my money to the cashier.
“I know you do. And I can’t stand myself this way. There’s a bathroom in the stationmaster’s suite. You can either shower or just clean up a bit.”
We walked back to Ledger’s office, where Mike had taken over the man’s desk and mouthed to us that he was on the phone with Rocco Correlli. I took the shirts out of the bag and he gave me a thumbs-up before slamming down the receiver.
“Here’s the deal,” he said. “Scully’s calling in every unit he can get. NYPD, Metro-North, National Guard, US Army, feds, state troopers. You name ’em, we’ll have ’em.”
“When?” Mercer asked.
“He can’t control that, but he said we’d be seeing a flood of cops. He’ll divert a lot of details from the four-to-twelve shift, and then more at midnight.”