“Open up! What go on in there?”
Nora climbed out of the trench, moved to the door. “What’s the problem?” she said, keeping her voice steady. O’Shaughnessy joined her.
“Problem with smell! Open up!”
“There’s no smell in here,” said Nora. “It must be coming from somewhere else.”
“It come from here, up through floor! I smell all night, it much worse now when I come out of apartment. Open up!”
“I’m just cooking, that’s all. I’ve been taking a cooking class, but I guess I’m not very good yet, and—”
“That no cooking smell! Smell like shit! This nice apartment building! I call police!” Another furious volley of pounding.
Nora looked at Pendergast, who lay still, wraith-like, eyes closed. She turned to O’Shaughnessy.
“She wants the police,” he said with a shrug.
“But you’re not in uniform.”
“I’ve got my shield.”
“What are you going to say?”
The pounding continued.
“The truth, of course.” O’Shaughnessy slid toward the door, undid the locks, and let the door fall open.
The squat, heavyset landlady stood in the door. Her eyes darted past O’Shaughnessy, saw the gigantic hole in the living room floor, the piles of dirt and bricks beyond, the exposed upper half of a skeleton. A look of profound horror blossomed across her face.
O’Shaughnessy opened his wallet to display his shield, but the woman seemed not to notice. She was transfixed by the hole in the floor, the skeleton grinning up at her from the bottom.
“Mrs. — Lee, was it? I’m Sergeant O’Shaughessy of the New York Police Department.”
Still the lady stared, slack-jawed.
“There’s been a murder in this apartment,” O’Shaughnessy said matter-of-factly. “The body was buried under the floor. We’re investigating. I know it’s a shock. I’m sorry, Mrs. Lee.”
Finally, the woman seemed to take notice of him. She turned slowly, looking first at his face, then at his badge, then at his gun. “Wha—?”
“A murder, Mrs. Lee. In your apartment.”
She looked back at the huge hole. Within it, the skeleton lay peacefully, wrapped in its mantle of earth. Above, in the bed, Pendergast lay still, arms crossed over his chest, in a similar attitude of repose.
“Now, Mrs. Lee, I’m going to ask you to go back quietly to your apartment. Tell no one about this. Call no one. Lock and bolt your door. Do not let anyone in unless they show you one of these.” O’Shaughnessy shoved the badge closer to her face.
“Do you understand, Mrs. Lee?”
She nodded dumbly, eyes wide.
“Now go on upstairs. We need twenty-four hours of absolute quiet. Then of course there will be a large group of police arriving. Medical examiners, forensic experts — it will be a mess. Then you can talk. But for now—” He lifted a finger to his lips and pantomimed an exaggerated shhhhhh.
Mrs. Lee turned and shuffled up the stairs. Her movements were slow, like a sleepwalker’s. Nora heard the upstairs door open, then close. And then all was quiet once again.
In the silence, Pendergast opened one eye. It swiveled around to O’Shaughnessy, then to Nora.
“Well done, you two,” he said in a weak voice. And the faintest of smiles played about his lips.
SEVEN
AS THE SQUAD CAR carrying Captain Sherwood Custer turned the corner onto Doyers Street, the captain stared through the windshield, tensing at the noisy group of reporters. It was a smallish group, but he could see they were the worst of the lot.
Noyes angled the car into the curb and Custer opened his door, heaving his frame out onto the street. As he approached the brownstone, the reporters began calling to him. And there was the worst of all, that man — Smithbutt, or whatever — arguing with the uniformed officer standing on the front steps. “It isn’t fair!” he was crying in an outraged tone, oversized cowlick jiggling atop his head. “You let him in, so you’ve got to let me in!”
The officer ignored this, stepping aside to let Custer pass the yellow crime scene tape.
“Captain Custer!” the reporter cried, turning to him: “Commissioner Rocker has refused to speak with the press. Will you comment on the case, please?”
Custer did not respond. The commissioner, he thought. The commissioner himself was here. He was going to be chewed out but good. Let this particular sleeping dog lie, the man had said. Custer had not only wakened the dog, but it had bitten him in the ass. Thanks to O’Shaughnessy.
They signed him in at the door and Custer stepped through, Noyes following at his heels. They made their way quickly down to the basement apartment. Outside, the reporter could still be heard, voice raised in protest.
The first thing Custer noticed when he stepped into the apartment was a big hole, lots of dirt. There were the usual photographers, lights, forensics, an ME, the SOC people. And there was the commissioner.
The commissioner glanced up and spotted him. A spasm of displeasure went across his face. “Custer!” he called, nodding him over.
“Yes, sir.” Custer swallowed, gritted his teeth. This was it.
“Congratulations.”
Custer froze. Rocker’s sarcasm was a bad sign. And right in front of everybody, too.
He stiffened. “I’m sorry, sir, this was completely unauthorized from beginning to end, and I’m personally going to—”
He felt the commissioner’s arm snake around his shoulder, pull him closer. Custer could smell stale coffee on his breath. “Custer?”
“Yes sir?”
“Please, just listen,” the commissioner muttered. “Don’t speak. I’m not here to attend to excuses. I’m here to put you in charge of this investigation.”
This was a really bad sign. He’d been victimized by the commissioner’s sarcasm before, but not like this. Never like this.
Custer blinked. “I’m truly sorry, sir—”
“You’re not listening to me, Captain.” Arm still around his shoulder, the commissioner steered Custer away from the press of officials, back into the rear of the narrow apartment. “I understand your man O’Shaughnessy had something to do with uncovering this site.”
“Yes, and I am going to severely reprimand—”
“Captain, will you let me finish?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The mayor has called me twice this morning. He’s delighted.”
“Delighted?” Custer wasn’t sure if this was more sarcasm, or something even worse.
“Delighted. The more attention that gets deflected from the new copycat murders, the happier he is. New murders are very bad for approval ratings. Thanks to this discovery, you’re the cop of the hour. For the mayor, at least.”
Silence. It was clear to Custer that Rocker didn’t fully share the mayor’s good opinion.
“So are we crystal-clear, Captain? This is now officially your case.”
“What case?” Custer was momentarily confused. Were they opening an official investigation into these old killings, too?
“The Surgeon case.” Rocker waved his hand dismissively at the huge hole with their skeletons. “This is nothing. This is archaeology. This is not a case.”
“Right. Thank you, sir,” Custer said.
“Don’t thank me. Thank the mayor. It was his, ah, suggestion that you handle it.”
Rocker let his arm slip from Custer’s shoulder. Then he stood back and looked at the captain: a long, appraising glance. “Feel you can do this, Captain?”