“Very close by. We’ll be working that area, too. Seems pretty clear he met Carl somewhere around the Northwest Passage—above or below the streets. And that he used Carl to do errands for him—probably like stealing the trunk from in front of the Yale Club.”
“So Carl became Blunt’s runner-boy, too.”
“Seems that way. When he got too nosy or too greedy, it must have been easier for Nik Blunt to silence him. Use Carl as part of the tease to get us agitated about the train terminal.”
“Carl was disposable,” I said.
Mercer came into the room. “Nan Toth just dropped off some dry clothes for you. She was watching on the late news, Alex. She said as much as you like shopping, she didn’t think you’d find anything open at this hour.”
“Thanks. It’ll feel good to change.”
“She also wants you to know that Evan went back to the judge on your cannibal cop case. Told him about the Raymond Tanner connection and what Tanner’s been up to.”
“He didn’t need to do that,” I said, massaging my temple with my fingers.
“Good thing he did. The judge was pretty outraged. He’s got your cannibal wearing an ankle bracelet from now till the case goes to trial, restricted from leaving home and lots of other tightened-up rules,” Mercer said. “And the judge signed a subpoena to dump Dominguez’s cell phone to try to track down Tanner.”
I picked my head up and smiled. “Not that I don’t like your hospitality, Mercer, but it would be awfully nice if they nailed Tanner before I hit retirement age.”
“I’ve got some pull with the commissioner,” Mercer said, pointing a finger at Keith Scully. “He might free up some manpower now to get your man.”
“Count on it,” Scully said. “You’ll be in charge, Detective Wallace. Pick your own team and get it done.”
“There’s still so much to figure out about Nik Blunt,” I said. “Look at the resources you had to marshal to solve these crimes. Not to mention the follow-up everyone will be doing.”
Scully patted me on the back as he stood up to leave the room. “These crazies are self-radicalizing, Alex. But we’ve got to spend just as much time running down every one of them as we do a terrorist threat. Mike’ll tell you more about that, I’m sure.”
I looked up at Mike, sad that I had been so distrustful. “Sorry, Detective. I didn’t mean to doubt you.”
“As long as you didn’t doubt that I was trying to get a crew up to the top of the terminal to bring you and Zoya down.”
“Well, I did wonder a bit,” I said, drawing the blanket tightly around my shoulders. “You just wouldn’t let go of the loudspeaker, would you?”
Mike cocked his head and looked at me, to see whether I was serious. “I thought you’d like the sound of my voice, wherever you were. And I’m impressed you figured out my mythological clues. Jeez, kid—any rookie can run up all those flights of stairs. I wanted to save my strength for you.”
“I did like hearing your voice, Mike. Just not so far away.”
“Blunt had actually booby-trapped some of the stairwells, Coop. NorthStar tricks, I guess. I had every faith in you till the troops got there.”
Mercer was still holding the clothes that Nan had sent over to me. “These are for you, Alex. Mike will take you out to shower and change. There’s a special train set up by gate 100. Let’s get you warm and dry before we take you home. Your teeth are chattering.”
“A special train? I’m too tired for a pajama party, even on steel wheels. Just take me home, guys. I’ll stop shivering if you let me go home.”
“The president insists, Coop.”
“The president of the United States?” I said, mustering a laugh. “Really? I’m way too stressed out for your sense of humor. Unless there’s a bar car on this special train.”
“There’s all the bells and whistles you can handle. POTUS wants to thank you for making the terminal safe for his arrival.”
FIFTY
“Why is this train here?” I asked. I had showered and was warming up, sitting in a gleaming silver railroad car that was parked next to the track, adjacent to the terminal, where Big Timber had been.
“Consider it like Air Force Two, Coop. The president’s been whistle-stopping on his main machine, which consists of four cars for his entourage and staff. This is the fifth piece, which is actually brought into Manhattan whenever POTUS stays at the Waldorf. It backs up to Roosevelt’s armored car, in case there has to be an emergency evacuation from the city.”
“And tonight?”
“The head of the Secret Service saw Mercer and the guys bringing you down from the roof. Scully told them who you are. They thought you needed some TLC.”
I was dressed in a white robe with the presidential seal on the pocket, part of the guest accoutrements of this elegant private varnish. There was a complete setup of personal items in the lavish bathroom, where I had showered and washed my hair.
A waiter had served me a Dewar’s and offered a sandwich. I curled my feet up beneath me and settled on the sofa next to Mike.
“Is the president going ahead with his plan to ride into Grand Central tomorrow evening?”
“Apparently with more purpose than before. He’ll meet the families of the cops who were killed. The Thatchers and the Tsarlevs, who are being flown in from Russia, too. He’ll make a speech about the need for vigilance on the part of every citizen and express his gratitude for the work of law enforcement and first responders.”
“That’s such a good thing for him to do. Pay respect to those who lost their lives this week and restore confidence in the use of this great terminal.”
“You feeling any better?”
I nodded. “It’s crazy to be so chilled in the middle of this heat spell.”
“It’s your emotional thermostat that’s out of whack. Getting drenched—and frightened near to death—while you were on the run from a maniac just topped it off.”
“Thank you, Dr. Chapman. And who do you think has been fiddling with my thermostat this last month?” I asked. “Please don’t tell me I have to spend another week with Vickee and Mercer till somebody puts the cuffs on Raymond Tanner.”
“Nope. You’re no longer banished to Queens.”
“How’d you take care of that?”
Mike took a slug of his martini and then grinned at me. “I’m taking you home tonight. I’m staying with you until—”
“You’re what?” I was flushed with embarrassment, or perhaps excitement.
“I said I’m—”
“I mean, after all the horrors of this week,” I said, playing with strands of my wet hair, “and the way things have been between us lately, it doesn’t seem the best moment to try to put this together.”
“I need to fix that, Coop. I need to start working on that as soon as possible.”
“But tonight?” I picked up my Scotch, my hand shaking, and tried to move it to my mouth.
“Tonight you’re going to sleep,” Mike said. “End of story. I’m just going to watch over you, kid. Make sure the night terrors stay out of your head.”
The train started to move and I lurched forward. Mike reached out to grab my arm so I didn’t tumble off the sofa.
“Where’s this thing headed?” I asked.
“Put your clothes on. Come out on the observation deck with me while you finish your drink. Then I’m taking you home.”
“But how are we getting home if we’ve left the station?”
“Hey, don’t you know about Freud and railroad trains and tunnels? I need to get you out of this tunnel before I get an irresistible impulse.”
I looked at Mike and laughed. “I’d say ‘take your best shot,’ but I’m way too tired and wobbly to be much of a challenge. And where are we going, anyway?”
“I figure you’ll only get to ride on the presidential train once in a lifetime, right?”
“And the tunnel doesn’t end till we hit 97th Street,” I said. I stood up to take my clothes inside to change. Mi
ke lifted the drink from my hand and rested it on the side table, standing to embrace me.
“Mercer will meet us at 125th Street and drive us to your place. I’ll let you get some rest, I promise. It’s just important for me to be there.”
“I’m going to study up on my Freud,” I said, leaning my head against Mike’s chest. “I kind of like it here in the tunnel with you.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
“Is it not cruel to let our city die by degrees, stripped of all her proud monuments, until there will be nothing left of all her history and beauty to inspire our children? If they are not inspired by the past of our city, where will they find the strength to fight for her future?”
Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis wrote those words to the mayor of New York City in 1975, when she learned of plans to demolish the majestic Grand Central Terminal. Her handwritten plea in support of the Municipal Art Society’s valiant efforts to save the iconic Manhattan building helped turn the tide. And now, in the second century of its storied life, Grand Central is the thriving centerpiece of the city.
Some of my most vivid childhood memories involve train trips to Manhattan. I remember arriving on the lower concourse, walking up the ramps with a tight grip on my mother’s hand. We would always stop to take in the enormity of the great space, look up at the magical celestial ceiling, watch the images on the massive Kodak Colorama screen, amuse ourselves for a moment in the Whispering Gallery, and marvel at the masses of people at the beginning or end of a day’s journey.
I love Grand Central Terminal. And I was pleased to find how many others—New Yorkers and citizens of the world—share my passion for its design, its purpose, and its intrigue.
The brilliant architects who revitalized and restored Grand Central Terminal in the 1990s were with the firm Beyer Blinder Belle. It was through the eyes of one of their visionaries, Frank Prial Jr., that I got to see the building from top to bottom, learn riveting details that could make up an entire book, come to understand the meticulous care that went into the project, and walk the glass catwalks. It was one of the most thrilling days of my professional life.
Then I was fortunate enough to be introduced to Daniel Brucker, who included me in a most unusual tour. Danny started working at Metro-North in 1987 as a press secretary and is the terminal’s best ambassador to this day. Tracks, tunnels, presidential private trains, hidden staircases—they all come alive because of his passion for the history, and mystery, of GCT.
The Municipal Art Society, in conjunction with Metro-North and the MTA, offers tours by docents every day. I walked them frequently and learned something new on every visit.
Sam Roberts is a great journalist and the author of many fine books. He is also a longtime friend. His 2013 book—Grand Central: How a Train Station Transformed America—is not only a fantastic read but was my go-to source for facts, stories, photographs, and inspiration.
Other interesting works I relied on for research include Grand Central: Gateway to a Million Lives by John Belle and Maxinne R. Leighton, Grand Central Terminal: 100 Years of a New York Landmark by the New York Transit Museum and Anthony W. Robins, and Grand Central Terminal: Railroads, Engineering, and Architecture in New York City by Kurt C. Schlichting.
One of the most fascinating books I read in preparation for writing was The Mole People by Jennifer Toth, a compassionate and frank look at life underground.
As always, I endlessly clip good news stories from my favorite papers. The New York Times is a wonderful source for metropolitan life pieces, especially Corey Kilgannon’s story on the ratters, this time out. And the Boston Globe staff piece titled “The Fall of the House of Tsarnaev” was informative and compelling. To all those who survived the marathon bombing—Boston Strong—my boundless respect.
I don’t know the federal prosecutors who tried the actual cannibal cop case, but I have great admiration for their work and words. To assistant United States attorneys Randall Jackson and Hadassa Waxman—my gratitude.
My real-life heroes remain the prosecutors and police officers who work on the side of the angels every day, especially in the Manhattan District Attorney’s Office and NYPD. Melissa Mourges and Martha Bashford—you two keep my forensics honest.
My team at Dutton is extraordinary—and patient. It all starts at the very top with Brian Tart and most especially buoys me up under the leadership of my superb editor, Ben Sevier. My thanks always to Christine Ball, Jamie McDonald, Jessica Renheim, Stephanie Kelly, Carrie Swetonic, and Andrea Santoro. To David Shelley and my Little, Brown UK family, cheers always.
Esther Newberg is first and foremost my friend. That she is a formidable force in my corner at ICM Partners is an added starter.
As always, my family and my friends are my greatest joy. There are several muses who hover over me whenever I sit down to write—Justin Feldman, Bobbie and Bones Fairstein, Karen Cooper. Stay close.
And this one is for Michael, whose friendship of forty-five years is a gift beyond imagining.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Linda Fairstein is America’s foremost legal expert on crimes of sexual assault and domestic violence. She led the Sex Crimes Unit of the District Attorney’s Office in Manhattan for twenty-six years. Her fifteen previous Alexandra Cooper novels have been critically acclaimed international bestsellers, translated into more than a dozen languages. She lives in Manhattan and on Martha’s Vineyard.
In 1864, E. P. Dutton & Co. bought the famous Old Corner Bookstore and its publishing division from Ticknor and Fields and began their storied publishing career. Mr. Edward Payson Dutton and his partner, Mr. Lemuel Ide, had started the company in Boston, Massachusetts, as a bookseller in 1852. Dutton expanded to New York City, and in 1869 opened both a bookstore and publishing house at 713 Broadway. In 2014, Dutton celebrates 150 years of publishing excellence. We have redesigned our longtime logotype to reflect the simple design of those earliest published books. For more information on the history of Dutton and its books and authors, please visit www.penguin.com/dutton.
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