Blood Oath

by Linda Fairstein

  “We’ll manage just fine proving this belonged to Josie. And we know where she is,” Mike said. “Some of the crew from Emergency Services went into the tunnel the same way you did.”

  “Did they find her right where I left her?” I said. “At the end of the tunnel, needle in her neck and hands tied?”

  “Bound up just like a Christmas present, kid,” Mike said, “and ranting about some kind of monkeypox you infected her with.”

  “Aren’t you the same guy who told me my bluffs didn’t work?”

  “This was one of your better ones,” Mike said. “Josie’s kind of freaked out, so they’re examining her at Rockefeller Hospital, just to be sure.”

  “Is Lucy okay?” I asked as we walked around the campus wall to get back to York Avenue.

  “She’s doing just fine,” Mike said. “Billy Feathers is her new hero.”

  “He’s amazing, isn’t he?”

  “Mercer came in to be with her, and with Francie’s case a provable homicide, we probably don’t have to expose Lucy to a trial,” Mike said. “Mercer and Vickee will take her home with them for a few days, till we straighten things out with her aunt. I think we’ve put Lucy’s enemies out of business.”

  I burrowed my head in his shoulder, letting him wrap me in an embrace. Then he picked up my hands and put them to his lips.

  “Sweet taste,” he said. “The combination of blood and—what? A hint of rust, isn’t it?”

  “Throw in a serious dose of dust,” I said. “Nothing that a shower and a strong drink won’t wipe out.”

  “Let’s walk another block to the Cornell ER,” he said. “I don’t want you in the same place as Josie Breed, but you need a tetanus shot for these bloody hands.”

  I nodded my head.

  “How’s Zach?” I said. “How’d he react to being confronted?”

  “Still arrogant,” Mike said. “Still claiming that his relationships were all consensual.”

  “A fourteen-year-old girl can’t consent,” I said.

  “Don’t argue your case to me, kid,” Mike said. “Zach’s a serial scumbag and I think your first two victims are just the tip of the iceberg.”

  “That was Josie in the Baxter Street video, wasn’t it?” I asked. “What could she have possibly been saying to Francie?”

  “All we can do is guess, unless she tells us,” Mike said. “Maybe she was just making sure Francie got the bottle of perfume that she left on the desk—making sure she had used some of it.”

  “She probably lurked around till Francie collapsed, a few minutes later,” I said.

  “No doubt.”

  “What kind of hold could Zach possibly have on Josie?” I asked. “Why would she kill for him?”

  “It turns out that Josie is Zach’s half sister,” Mike said.

  “What?”

  “Yeah, his father had an affair—resulting in an illegitimate kid—and that’s Josie. Zach got her into the FBI when he learned about it,” Mike said. “He’s protected her all through her adult life, once he knew. She had some issues in the agency, which is why she was out so young, but he’s always kept her cover and gotten her work, and she worships the ground he walks on.”

  I was shaking my head as we approached the ER entrance. “Accepting the fact that he raped young girls?” I said. “Willing to kill for him?”

  “Must be a weak link in the DNA,” Mike said. “There’s a bit of sociopathic genetic material in both of them.”

  “And Bud Corliss is the father of Francie’s baby,” I said. “I guess DNA will confirm that tomorrow.”

  “That’ll be the end of his very unhappy marriage, too,” Mike said. “Catherine asked me to tell you that was bound to happen.”

  “Was it just yesterday afternoon that she met with Janet Corliss?”

  “Catherine’s on top of it,” Mike said. “There’s no doubt the judge put his hands on his wife’s throat. She’s completely credible. It looks like you cleared the bench of another once-powerful jurist.”

  “He was so verbally abusive to so many of my young lawyers,” I said. “I can’t imagine what it was like to be on the receiving end of his domestic rage.”

  The triage nurse had been told to expect me. One of the young RNs took me to a restroom to let me clean up before the doctor examined me.

  I came out dressed in a hospital gown, scrapes and cuts on my arms and legs.

  “I’m a mess,” I said to Mike, holding out my hands for him to inspect, and then sitting on the edge of the gurney to wait for the doc.

  “You’re right about that,” he said.

  “You really called it when you said, ‘Cherchez la femme,’” I said.

  “Yeah, but you’re the one who figured out it was a woman under the hoodie. I just tried to woo you with my French.”

  “They might be the only three words you know,” I said, reaching my toe out to poke him in the side.

  “Do you have any idea where that phrase is from?” Mike asked.

  “Cherchez la femme? It must be as old as time,” I said. “Frenchmen chasing after women.”

  “Not even close,” he said. “The phrase comes from a lousy crime novel that Alexandre Dumas wrote.”

  “You can’t be serious,” I said. I knew Mike was just chatting me up to get my blood pressure down before the doctor appeared. “Dumas? A crime novel? What do you know about Dumas?”

  “First of all, how could I not love the guy who wrote The Three Musketeers?” Mike said.

  “I’ll give you that.”

  “And his old man was the commander in chief of the Army of the Western Pyrenees, too. Then later, chief of the Army of the Alps.”

  “A military connection, of course. I should have known,” I said, leaning back and resting my head on the pillow. “That’s why you read his books. But I didn’t know he’d ever written a crime novel.”

  “The Mohicans of Paris,” Mike said. “Detective Jackal suspects a woman was the criminal, so he tells his guys, ‘Cherchez la femme.’”

  “And I’ve always thought it was a line grounded in romance, not in a cop’s directive.” I laughed. “Look for the woman.”

  “I did exactly that for years, Coop,” Mike said, bending over to kiss me, “and I wasn’t going to lose you in a dead-end subterranean tunnel tonight.”

  “There goes my blood pressure again,” I said, sitting straight up. “Just get me out of this place, will you?”

  “I promise, kid,” Mike said. “Not a blood oath, just my word of honor.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  When my great friend—and for twenty-five years my fantabulous literary agent at ICM Partners—Esther Newberg set out to sell the first ninety-six pages of my debut crime novel, Final Jeopardy, one of the bidding editors asked whether I thought I could write a second book, to start a series. I told Esther I thought I could write ten. I have always loved serial thrillers, waiting for my favorite sleuths to reappear in tale after tale. So it is astounding to me—and such a distinct honor—to be publishing my twentieth Alexandra Cooper novel, Blood Oath.

  I got to this point in my career because of loyal readers, knowledgeable librarians, and the best booksellers in the country—like Barbara Peters of the Poisoned Pen Press, who has believed in me since reading the galley of my first novel.

  Esther has been my North Star, guiding me wisely and with great good humor through the pleasures and perils of the publishing world. I ran out of words to thank her long ago.

  Dutton has been my happiest literary home, with true believers at the helm—Christine Ball, especially, and John Parsley, too. Stephanie Kelly is my editor, and it is a dream to put a manuscript in her hands, knowing she will help make it a better book. Emily Canders sends me out into the world and is my lifeline to the mother ship. I’ve also got Carrie Swetonic, Elina Vaysbeyn, Lee Ann Pemberton, and a li
neup of Dutton heavy hitters at my back. Thanks, too, to illustrator David Cain for the map in the beginning of the book, and to the good people at Little Brown UK, who cover me abroad.

  Laura Rossi Totten is the most amazing social media guru and genius, and it is her boundless creativity that spreads the word about Coop and her sidekicks.

  Every now and then, one gets extremely lucky. Two years ago, I had the great pleasure of sitting next to Jesse Ausubel at a dinner party. Not only did I have a marvelous evening, but I was captivated by his accessible brilliance and infectious excitement about his work.

  Jesse invited me through the elegant gates of the Rockefeller University and, in ways that he never expected, gave me this book. I spent hours with Dr. Sarah Schlesinger, who introduced me to the history and significance of this unique institution. Michael Murphy and Jim Rogers, who are both former NYPD supervisors, guard the gates and secrets of Rock U. Mike also led me through the underground tunnels, knowing the way to the heart of a crime writer.

  In every book, I acknowledge my real-life heroes—the women and men of the New York County District Attorney’s Office and their courageous counterparts in the NYPD.

  It was Justin Feldman who introduced me to his beloved friend Esther Newberg. Bones Fairstein, whose DNA passed on to me his love for reading this genre, and Bobbie Fairstein, who believed in everything I wanted to try to do. I carry them all with me, along with Karen Cooper—whose husband’s name I stole to create my protagonist.

  Jordan Goldberg gets major thanks for gifting his father with a bottle of small-batch Bourbon called Blood Oath.

  Michael Goldberg is my rock, my first reader, my most gentle critic, and the man who makes me laugh every day. Laughter and love—a magical combination he has given me for which I am forever grateful.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Linda Fairstein was chief of the Sex Crimes Unit of the district attorney’s office in Manhattan for more than two decades and is America’s foremost legal expert on sexual assault and domestic violence. She is a regular contributor on criminal justice issues to magazines, journals, and online publications like The Daily Beast, and does on-air commentary for all the major television network and cable news shows. Her Alexandra Cooper novels are international and New York Times bestsellers and have been translated into more than a dozen languages. She lives in Manhattan and on Martha’s Vineyard.

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