Devil's Bridge

by Linda Fairstein

  There was little chance that Cormac Lonigan could break free.

  It was time to talk to his uncle about Coop.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  I stayed along the very edge of the shoreline, leaning forward on the boulders so that I was angled at almost forty-five degrees.

  I couldn’t see downriver, so it was unlikely that Mercer and the harbor patrol cops knew I was out of the boat. I couldn’t even see the lighthouse, which was blocked from my view by the base of the two bridge towers, so I doubted that if anyone was there he or she could see me.

  Slowly and carefully I worked my way around the perimeter of Jeffrey’s Hook. The smaller stones hurt the soles of my feet, and the dampness of the large rocks added to my chill.

  When I reached the corner of the cement foundation that grounded one of the bridge towers, I stood up beside it. It more than concealed my body from any occupants of the lighthouse, which was not very far away.

  I looked up at the massive girders that held the cables and beams that supported the bridge. If there were cops in place—and they should have been by now—they were undoubtedly dressed like ninjas and impossible for me to see amid the hundreds of thousands of pieces of steel and wire.

  I opened my phone and clicked on Mercer’s number.

  “Hey,” he said. “You still good?”

  “Except for lying to you,” I said, whispering into the device, “I’m fine.”

  “Like there was a chance you wouldn’t lie to me?” Mercer said. “You know about the fingerprint, right?”

  “Vickee called me. Told me they were checking.” Every cop, every prosecutor who took a law enforcement job with the city, had to be printed.

  “It’s Alex. Whoever dropped the note has Alex. That’s a confirm.”

  “Still no demand?”

  “Scully’s waiting on that.”

  “But going public?”

  “Yes. Yes, he is.”

  “Can you see the lighthouse?” I asked. “Can you make it out from where you are?”

  “Yes, Mike. We’re staying south, but I can see it pretty well with binoculars.”

  “There’s a glassed-in cupola on top. The lantern room,” I said. “And then a circular balcony around it and steps that wind down. Can you spot anyone at all?”

  “Not even a fly.”

  “Are the ESU guys in place?”

  “The first team is on location. More men are on the way.”

  “Are they communicating with you?” I asked.

  “We’ve got a line open to the sergeant who’s with them.”

  “Just let them know that I’m the guy at the base of the bridge,” I said. “I’m barefoot and exhausted and half out of my mind with worry about Coop, but I’m one of them.”

  “Will do.”

  “I’ve got an idea to see if Emmet Renner is in there,” I said.

  “Please tell me it doesn’t involve your gun. There’s nobody on site who wants to use a weapon till we know where Alex is.”

  “That was my rule to you, remember?”

  “Yeah. So what’s your plan?”

  “I’m going to set off one of Kanye’s Roman candles.”

  “You’re what?” Mercer said. “You could kill yourself, Mike. Don’t do it.”

  “It’s going to go off from the top of a boulder. Perfectly safe,” I said. “You just tell Emergency Services and the bridge police that it’s not a bomb or anything. I don’t want them freaking out when they see the blasts. It’s just a couple of pieces of fireworks—just a sound and light display. We’ll watch whether anyone comes out to explore. The ESU team needs to stay in place and not even think about shooting.”

  “Nobody’s shooting,” Mercer said. “They’re just looking for a butterfly net to drop over your head.”

  “Keep your eyes on the lighthouse, Mercer,” I said.

  I ended the call.

  I took the Roman candles out of my pocket. The label said they were eight-shot Thunder Shocks, with maximum loud report. I’d been to enough Fourth of July parties at Breezy Point, the Irish Riviera, to know how to set these off without incident.

  I planted the bottom of them in a crevice in a rock near the water, aiming their tops away from the bridge, in the direction of the lighthouse.

  I took matches from my pocket and lit the ignition charges. I moved back behind the cover of the base of the bridge.

  I waited patiently as the flame worked down to the top pyrotechnic star and the fire spread within each of the candles, which were bound to have a greater impact going off together than each alone.

  Boats motored by on the river, but these weren’t pointed their way.

  Finally, the lift charges were ignited and the candles exploded into the black space of the sky directly south of the lighthouse.

  The bright yellow and purple stars burst out of the seam in the rock and kept coming: five, six, seven, eight of them—sixteen in all. The noise of the blast made the train whistle of a northbound express seem like a distant rumble.

  I stepped back behind the cement foundation to wait and to watch.

  It took less than one minute. The door to the lighthouse opened slowly. A man appeared in the doorway, and backlit as he was, I could see it wasn’t Emmet Renner.

  He stood there for a few seconds, as though waiting for something else to happen. Then he started to walk down the slope toward the river, toward the source of the fireworks launch.

  I could tell that he was younger than Renner. Probably in his twenties, like Cormac Lonigan. I could also see that when he put his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, in his right one he was clutching something heavy, like a gun.

  FORTY-NINE

  The young man who was approaching the far side of the base of the tower didn’t seem terribly concerned. The purple and yellow shooting stars and their loud soundtrack had been meant to grab the attention of anyone around, but the fireworks would not have been confused with incoming artillery.

  He was dressed for the cool of an early-fall evening, and his sneakers gripped the boulder more readily than my bare feet.

  He came down to the water’s edge, crouched to pick up some pebbles, and looked around to see if he had any company.

  I watched as he tried to skip the stones on the river, still crouching. But the surface was way too busy for skipping them.

  Both his hands were engaged in culling stones and tossing them. For at least this moment I had the upper hand.

  I stepped from behind the tower’s base and onto the top of the slanted boulder. Before the young man heard me, I raced down on my bare feet and pushed him forward so that his face and chest pounded against the rock. His head was almost in the water.

  I straddled his back, covering his mouth with my left hand as I grabbed his gun—an old-fashioned revolver—from his pocket.

  I held the barrel of the gun against his ear.

  “I’m Chingachgook,” I said, “last of the Mohicans.”

  James Fenimore Cooper had stoked my childhood fantasies of Hudson River Valley Indians when I played on these rocks decades ago.

  “Say one word and if your gun is loaded, you’ll be a dead man. If it’s not loaded, I’ve got my own.”

  There was neither sound nor movement from the watchman.

  “I’m going to stand up, and you’re coming with me.”

  He followed orders and got to his feet.

  I retraced my route toward the Intrepid, one step behind my new prisoner and the gun tight against his head.

  We passed Cormac Lonigan, but I didn’t stop to eyeball him, and my companion didn’t think of doing anything except looking straight ahead.

  When we reached the side of the boat, I had to nudge the guy in his backside to get him to step on board. Once again, I had an occupant for the lone seat on the boat’s toilet.

  He climbed down the three narrow steps and followed my orders to sit down.

  “Take off your shoes and socks and pass them to me,” I said.

  I was
fresh out of handcuffs, but the good thing about boats was that there was always some kind of line around that would come in handy. I kicked the pile of life preservers aside and there was a blue-and-white nylon rope beneath it.

  Once I had tied the man’s hands together and shoved one of his own socks deep into his mouth so that he couldn’t dislodge it, I speed-dialed Mercer again.

  “I got one man out of the lighthouse,” I said.

  “What does he say?” Mercer asked. “Who’s in there?”

  “Cut me a break, dude. Tell me I did good for a change, will you? I had to get him back to the boat before I could talk to him. But he did have a gun and I took it away,” I said. “I’m going to put the phone down, on speaker, so you can hear what he has to say.”

  “You have an extra set of cuffs, Mike?”

  “Nope.”

  “A second guy on the boat with you?” Mercer asked. “Where’s Lonigan?”

  “Chillin’. Situation under control.”

  I rested the phone on the edge of the seat behind me.

  “I’m patting him down first,” I said, running my hand over the man’s clothes and into his pockets. “Nothing here. Not even ID.”

  I picked up his handgun and checked. Six bullets, locked and loaded.

  I held it against his cheek with my right hand as I removed the sock with my left.

  “Very softly now, you tell me your name.”

  “Paddy,” he said.

  “I should have guessed. Paddy what?”

  “Paddy Duffy.”

  “The luck of the Irish is with me,” I said. “It’s a slight bit of brogue I hear, am I right?”

  I thought of what the cop, Officer Stern, had told us that morning, about the redheaded man in the backseat of the SUV with a sleeping woman. That the man had a brogue.

  “Yeah. That’s right.”

  “Where’s Emmet Renner?” I asked.

  Paddy flinched. Which was all the answer I needed.

  “He’s in the lighthouse, I’d say. And counting on you to be looking out for him.”

  Paddy Duffy nodded.

  “There’s a woman there, too, isn’t there?”

  It seemed like an hour between the time I asked the question and his answer.

  “Yes. He’s got a girl in there.”

  “She’s alive?”

  My breathing was more rapid than his. He knew what to be afraid of, but at this point I wasn’t quite sure what I was facing.

  “Yeah. She’s alive.”

  I holstered the gun in my waistband and covered my face with my hands. I didn’t speak again until I could compose myself.

  FIFTY

  “Mike? Mike?” Mercer said. “Are you still there?”

  “Hanging by a thread.”

  “That’s great news, Mike. Now, turn it over to us.”

  I resumed my conversation with Paddy Duffy.

  “Hold off,” I said to Mercer. And then to my prisoner, “How many people are in the lighthouse with Emmet Renner?”

  “Two. Was just me and another guy, and then the girl.”

  “Is she hurt?”

  “Not so’s I can tell. Emmet’s waiting for the cops to show up,” Duffy said. “He’s got a beef to settle. I wouldn’t give a nickel for her chances after that.”

  “About the same as yours,” I said. “Guns?”

  “You got mine.”

  “The other guy?”

  “There’s a few guns inside.”

  “The woman,” I said, “did you have her on Liberty Island?”

  Duffy cocked his head and looked at me. “Not saying.”

  “You don’t have to. Cormac Lonigan already gave you up.”

  “Cormac had nothing to do with this,” Duffy said.

  “You’re all singing the same song,” I said. “I guess Ms. Cooper just kidnapped herself.”

  “You’re wasting your energy on me.”

  “Do you know Cormac?”

  “Yeah. You could say that,” Duffy said.

  “Come all the way from the other side to hook up with a Renner, did you?” I said. “Westies redux.”

  “I just work with him. Simple as that.” Duffy picked up his head to look at me.

  “Don’t even think about spitting,” I said. “It’s already been done.”

  I put the sock in Duffy’s mouth, stepped up, and slammed the lid of the bench.

  I picked up my phone. “Got all that, Mercer?”

  “Yes, sir, Detective Chapman. There should be a sniper team in place shortly. Let’s ride this one out,” Mercer said. “Duffy says Coop’s okay.”

  “You can’t do it with guns.”

  “What’s that about?”

  “You can’t pick Emmet Renner off with a gun, okay? We’ve got to see Coop first.”

  “I understand that part of it. But the choice of weapons isn’t up to you.”

  I had the phone in one hand and was swapping positions of Paddy Duffy’s gun and my own. I knew my weapon and how it handled. I wanted his for backup, but my own in first place.

  “Mike?”

  “Almost there,” I said.

  “You believe because your father shot Charlie Renner all those many years ago that we shouldn’t take this maniac out with a gun? Is that your thinking? That it will change the past?”

  “I want to see Coop.” Because if Renner had done anything to hurt her, a bullet to the head would be too easy a death for him.

  “So do we all,” Mercer said. “So do we all. What’s next?”

  I was as ready as I could get to take on Emmet Renner. As soon as Scully made the public announcement of Coop’s kidnapping and the rescue teams were fully staged, there would be choppers flying overhead—police and press—and anything that could float on the river hovering around this desolate point.

  “I have one idea, Mercer. A hostage exchange,” I said. “If I screw it up, then Renner’s all yours.”

  “Let me in on the—”

  I wasn’t looking for approval. Nobody was in a position to do better than I was.

  I ended the call and climbed onto the giant boulder of Ceder Point. I stayed low and began to circle the rocks on Jeffrey’s Hook.

  When I passed Cormac Lonigan this time, the swirling current of the river had brought the water well over his knees. I avoided looking at his face. I assumed panic had set in long before now.

  I paused when I reached the foundation of the northern tower of the bridge. I had a clear view of the lighthouse, stuck out alone in the Hudson on the very tip of Jeffrey’s Hook.

  Still no sound from within it. No movement.

  I ran to the rear of the bridge foundation and then moved into the space between the towers, staying tight against the twenty-foot-high concrete wall supporting the south tower. The long shadows cast by the bridge lighting on the beams and cables made walking on the rough surface trickier than I had thought it would be. This was as close as I could get to the lighthouse without being seen.

  The lantern room on top of the stubby red structure still seemed to be unoccupied. The lighthouse door at its base, the one from which Paddy Duffy had exited, faced the river. There was no way for me to see it from my position.

  I thought Emmet Renner would grow impatient when Duffy failed to return. I held as still as I could for several more minutes.

  And then there was the sound of footsteps. A hefty man emerged from the lighthouse. I hadn’t been able to see the door open, but he was walking around the building, his hand on the wrought iron railing that enclosed it.

  “Duff?” He called out with his hand cupped over his mouth. “Duff, c’mon back.”

  I had been prepared by the lieutenant’s statement to me about Emmet Renner’s plastic surgery. I wouldn’t make him, in all likelihood, when we came face-to-face. But this man was no more than my age—probably in his late thirties—while Emmet was over fifty by now.

  I let him walk to both sides of the lighthouse and call out for his compatriot. There was no noise
except for the waves stirred up by current, lapping against the rocks.

  The man was farther away from me now, seeming to be calling Duffy’s name a bit more frantically.

  I yelled back at him from my position in the shadows behind the bridge tower foundation.

  “There’s been an accident,” I said. “Duff’s not coming back.”

  The man started and flattened his back against the lighthouse wall.

  Then a glimmer of light as the door of the building opened and closed again. It must have been Emmet Renner who threw his voice out into the dark. “You’re early, Chapman,” he said. “I was expecting you’d come looking for her tonight, but you’re early.”

  FIFTY-ONE

  I could barely stand still once I saw part of the silhouette of Emmet Renner on the edge of the lighthouse walkway. I suppose a sniper in the right position on the water could have picked him off, but half his body—and maybe the hand holding a gun—was inside, where I expected Coop to be.

  He was totally out of range of the Emergency Services team positioned somewhere above me on the steel girders.

  “I’ve waited a lifetime for the chance to do this, Chapman.”

  “Take your best shot, Renner,” I said. “I’ll step out to meet you if you let Alex Cooper walk out that door.”

  “She can’t walk right now, I’m afraid.”

  “It’s about me,” I said. “Not her.”

  “Seems like I’ve got both of you, Chapman.”

  “Not likely. Not likely at all.”

  “Then I’ll take the bird I’ve got in my hand,” he said, stepping inside the door.

  “Renner!” I screamed as loud as I could. Again, “Renner!”

  He waited a minute or two before coming back outside. Still, his second hadn’t budged from his place on the side of the lighthouse.

  “I can get you back to Arizona, Renner. No questions asked. One-way ticket.” I was talking too fast and I knew it. “You’ve picked the wrong lure.”