Hell Gate (29 page)
Rowdy Kitts shrugged and held up his hands. “Not my thing, sir. I don’t have any idea.”
“Why don’t you and Dan show them out?” Statler said. “We’ve got to be on our way. There’s an event at Madison Square Garden before we get to City Hall.”
“Mind if we leave by the front door?” Mike asked. “I never get tired of looking. It’s got to be one of the most spectacular views in Manhattan.”
“Help yourself,” Statler said, stepping aside so one of his aides could open the door.
“Gracie didn’t have the same political prominence as his friends, did he?” Mike asked, backing away from the mayor.
“He never held office like the others. Gracie was a merchant, first and foremost,” Statler said. “Built up his great shipping enterprise but then everything collapsed—first his businesses, then giving up this home he loved so dearly—as a result of the War of 1812. Many of his fleet were captured or burned or lost at sea.”
“Interesting that he was so involved with all the great political figures of the day,” Mike said, turning to walk with me.
“By virtue of a gentlemen’s social group, Detective, Gracie dined with Hamilton and the others regularly. Turtle soup and oysters and pomegranates, all from his own lush property, right here.”
“What is it you want to know from us, Mr. Mayor?” Mike asked.
“How fast are you moving on this case?”
“Do you mean Salma’s murder, or the
Golden Voyage
investigation? They’re all part of one big picture, and even as pieces fall into place, none of it will be so quick to resolve,” Mike said. “Why?”
Golden Voyage
investigation? They’re all part of one big picture, and even as pieces fall into place, none of it will be so quick to resolve,” Mike said. “Why?”
“The rumors flying around are outrageous,” Statler said. It was obvious he was trying to keep his temper from flaring. He was used to being the man in control and seemed helpless without his hand on the helm.
“Which ones are you referring to exactly, sir?”
“If they’ve reached City Hall I’m sure they’ve filtered down to the homicide squad. Scandal smells, Detective. It’s got a disgusting, rancid odor that compromises everything around it.”
“Especially when you’ve got your sniffer aimed on higher office, I guess.”
“It’s not just rumors about
me
. Those are hogwash.”
me
. Those are hogwash.”
“Rumors about you?”
“I understand that Commissioner Scully let it leak that I refused to let your team work up here on Thursday, like he asked me to.”
“Right in the same breath when you assured us that Salma was bound to turn up,” Mike said. “My crystal ball wasn’t so optimistic about that as you were.”
Rowdy Kitts took a step in Mike’s direction. “C’mon, Chapman. Take it outside.”
“What would you like to know, Your Honor?” I asked, as Rowdy guided Mike onto the porch.
“These cases—the shipwreck and the mess with Leighton’s girlfriend—exactly how are they related?”
“I don’t mean to be difficult, Your Honor, but we don’t know the answer to that yet. It’s possible that Salma Zunega was originally trafficked into this country from Mexico, like the women on the boat from the Ukraine.”
Vin Statler lowered his head and paced across the patterned floorboards. “Scully and your boss are both treating me like I’ve got leprosy. I’m the goddamn mayor of this city. The whole place seems to be up for sale and I can’t get the attention of the police commissioner or the district attorney.”
“What is it you want to tell them?”
“Nothing you can help with.” The noise Statler made sounded like a snicker. “I didn’t see you getting too far with them the other day.”
“I can usually tweak Battaglia’s ear.” If case law didn’t open that passageway, dicey gossip from high-placed sources often did.
“It’s the rumors about pay-for-play that are so pernicious,” the mayor said. “Ethan Leighton’s father—Moses—and the lieutenant governor—Rod Ralevic—are determined to have an influence on the congressional candidate who’ll run to replace Ethan.”
“So I’ve heard,” I said. “But Ethan hasn’t stepped down yet.”
“He may try to ride this one out a few days like Eliot Spitzer did, but it won’t fly. Even that congressman from Staten Island tried to do that a few years back—you know who I mean?”
“Vito Fossella.” Fossella had shattered a promising political career when his late-night drunk-driving arrest led to his admission about a second family he had sired in D.C.
“Yeah. Fossella. Well, Ethan’s affair, the accident, the drinking, maybe his strong streak of ambition has him believing it will blow over in a week. I don’t think he realizes that Moses Leighton himself has somebody lined up to keep the congressional seat warm. A dead girlfriend? Murdered? People won’t let Ethan Leighton get away with that.”
“Get away with it?” I asked. “You have the facts to convince me that it’s Ethan who killed her?”
Vin Statler squared off and faced me. “What I’m suggesting, Alexandra, is that you focus on why somebody is dragging this crap to
my
doorstep. I don’t know how deep Ethan’s problems run. He set the girl up, he knocked her up—”
my
doorstep. I don’t know how deep Ethan’s problems run. He set the girl up, he knocked her up—”
The mayor paused for a breath. I didn’t want to tell him yet that Salma, in all likelihood, had not actually given birth to a child. “What else, sir?”
“Moses Leighton was his son’s power broker. He’s been living to see that kid fulfill all his own unrealized dreams. Heaven help the person who threatened to undermine that, and if it was the girlfriend, don’t put anything beyond what Moses would be willing to do to get rid of her.”
“You’re just speculating.”
“You don’t know the man. He’s hired thugs to break voting machines on Election Day, he’s paid off the opposition with millions of dollars when they’ve been hungry enough to take it, and he wouldn’t hesitate for a moment to have one of his goons slit this girl’s throat.”
“So that’s what you’d like me to tell the district attorney?”
“Your boss isn’t known for doing stupid things, Alex,” Statler said. “But Thursday night was an exception. Charged in on me with—what’s that guy’s name?”
“Spindlis. Tim Spindlis.”
“Charged in to tell me they absolutely had to announce the City Council indictments then. That moment, that night. The damn grand jury’s been sitting on the case for four months. Why’d he do that?”
“Again, sir, I don’t know.” This wasn’t the time to reveal my own suspicions about Spindlis.
“I’ll tell you why. Kendall Reid is nose-deep in whatever the Leightons are cooking up. He’s dirty, Alex, and for some reason, Battaglia didn’t want to wait to see where that road led him. If there are more bodies, Kendall Reid knows where they’re buried.”
Statler was flailing about. “Your colleague—Mr. Spindlis. You trust him?”
“I do. Of course I do. I’ve worked with him for years.”
“Tell Battaglia to watch his back,” Statler said, getting to his point. “Rod Ralevic is going down, you know. People won’t stand for that pay-to-play approach. He’s out on a limb and I think it’s about to get cut off by the feds. And the story I hear is that your man Spindlis goes down with him.”
THIRTY
“Hold your mouth till we get down the steps,” Mike said.
“Why’d we have to come out this way? The wind is blowing off the river and it’s freezing.” I pulled on my gloves and stiffened the collar of my jacket.
“Just hang out here for a few minutes,” Mike said, walking past the yellow crime-scene tape that enclosed the area of the well and folding his arms as he leaned on the wrought-iron fence. “Don’t tell me the Seine looks any better than this.”
He turned around to talk to me, but I knew he was really checking to see if the mayor or his men were watching us.
“You like the sculpture?” he asked.
Bloomberg had encouraged the Museum of Modern Art to loan the mansion some of its finest pieces. The wide expanse of lawn that rolled down to the river was dotted with impressive works by notable artists—Frank Stella, Isamu Noguchi, Louise Bourgeois.
“I like it all,” I said. “I’d move in tomorrow.”
“He’s nervous.”
“Statler is a no-nonsense guy. He’s pretty miserable with all this stuff swirling around him. It’s killing him that Salma’s body was found here at Gracie Mansion, so he’s taking shots at everyone else.”
“What did you talk about?”
“He’s pointing fingers everywhere. Obviously, tracks this whole thing back to Ethan Leighton. Says what we all know—that Moses Leighton is ruthless and has the money to carry out whatever plans he wants.”
“Who else?”
“Kendall Reid,” I said, while Mike stared back at the tall windows of the library. “Anybody looking?”
“Walk with me, Coop,” he said, leading me to the yellow crime-scene tape that was crisscrossed over the wooden cover of the well. “What does he say about Reid?”
“That he’s the Leightons’ lackey. That he’d pretty much do their bidding. The mayor’s really unhappy with the way Battaglia crashed that indictment Thursday night,” I said.
Mike pushed up the sleeve of his jacket and glanced at his watch.
“Statler thinks Ethan’s going to try to tough this out and hang on to his congressional seat.”
“Lots of luck.”
“Set up a political battle between the Leightons and Ralevic, who’s already put a price tag on the congressional seat.”
“Stoop down for a minute, Coop. Pretend you see something significant in the dirt.”
“Who’s watching?”
“Either Statler or his boys. Very interested in what you’re looking at.”
I bent over, picked up a stone, and handed it to Mike, so that he could continue the charade.
“I can almost hear the curtains rustling,” he said, examining and pocketing the ordinary piece of rock. “I just like toying with their brains.”
Mike looked back at the house and waved, then started to lead me around to the rear. When we reached the driveway, he steered me left, instead of right out to the street.
“Where are you going now?”
“Stay with me, kid.”
“It’s cold, Mike, and I’ve got things to do.”
The wide path ran behind the redbrick wall that separated the mansion from the acres of beautiful park that ran along the river.
“I bet you’ve never seen Negro Point.”
“Mike—”
“I’m not being politically incorrect,” he said.
Several joggers and dog walkers passed us from both directions, but the cold seemed to have kept most of the babies whose mothers and nannies favored this popular children’s park off the stroll.
He was walking toward the wide promenade that bordered the river, below the wrought-iron fence of Gracie Mansion.
“That southern tip of Ward’s Island, see it? For hundreds of years, on every official map ever made, that used to be called Negro Point. Right there.”
I followed him past the benches to the river’s edge. The swift swirling current looked as unwelcoming as the cold slabs at the morgue. “No more?”
“Just a few years ago the parks commissioner complained. Renamed it Scylla Point, and there’s a playground in Astoria called Charybdis. You go through that dangerous passage in a boat? It’s like managing the Straits of Messina. So now it’s named for the monsters of Greek mythology that guard Messina.”
“Okay, Mike. You’re right. I should know these things. Let’s come back in the spring.”
“One more you gotta know about. The
General Slocum.
Eighteen ninety-one. A passenger boat, a steamship that caught fire during a Sunday church excursion. The waters were so rough, more than one thousand people died right within reach of where we’re standing. Some burned to death, the rest drowned.”
General Slocum.
Eighteen ninety-one. A passenger boat, a steamship that caught fire during a Sunday church excursion. The waters were so rough, more than one thousand people died right within reach of where we’re standing. Some burned to death, the rest drowned.”
“I know that story. The city’s greatest loss of life in a single day—until September eleventh,” I said. “I get your point, Detective. This—this death zone is aptly named.”
I was listening to Mike, staring at the rough water in the distance, and was so distracted that I didn’t hear the footsteps behind me until I felt a strong hand on my shoulder. I turned to see Lem Howell.
“Somehow, my dear Counselor, I always thought we’d meet at Hell Gate,” Lem said.
“Tricky of you, Detective Chapman,” I said, barely able to hide my anger at Mike for arranging this meeting. “Tricky, transparent, and probably more treacherous than this current.”
THIRTY-ONE
“What’s the last thing you said to me last night?” Mike asked me in mock surprise. “You’d give your right leg to corner Ethan Leighton to talk to him, but Lem would never allow it now.”
“Stop right there,” I said. “Enough about what I said.”
Lem walked back and sat on one of the long wooden benches. “C’mon, Alex. Mike was right to call me. What reason would I have to stand in your way?”
“Your client. And your client’s father.”
“Holy Moses,” Mike said, trying to make light of this encounter he’d set up. “Now, there’s a guy I wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley.”
“Moses isn’t driving this train, Alex. I promise you that.”
“I don’t want to be rude to either of you, but I’ve got work to do,” I said, taking a few steps away from the river.
Mike grabbed my arm and swung me around to face him. “I tried to arrange something to please you, Coop. To help the case. Now, sit down and listen to Lem.”
“When was the last time you were sucker-punched like I was by Lem when I stepped into his limo? Either one of you? I’ve got an office and working phone lines and still prefer doing business during regular hours. What’s the part of that you two don’t seem to understand? What’s this about?”
Lem patted the spot on the bench next to him and I sat down.
“The developments in this case are moving as fast as these waters. Slow it down with me and smooth it out, okay?”
I fidgeted with my gloves while he talked.
“Ethan Leighton may have acted like a fool on a personal level, but he’s an extremely smart, exceptionally talented young man. You knew that once, didn’t you? You partnered with him on a big case.”
I didn’t speak.
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