Killer Heat (32 page)

“Seventy-four miles per hour makes it an actual hurricane. I'll
get you home before that happens.”

“If Coop moves her ass,” Mike said, starting off behind
Galiano.

“Mercer, she'll listen to you.”

“Who you calling?”

“Nelly Kallin,” I said. “On her cell.”

Mercer tugged at my arm. I plugged one finger in my ear and held
the phone to my other ear.

“Ms. Kallin? It's Alex Cooper. Are you okay?”

“I'm fine, thanks.”

“Still with your sister?”

“Yes, yes, I am. And I heard the news about Wilson Rasheed this
morning.”

“I'm sorry we didn't call you about that. I don't mean to be
rude, but I have to make this short, Ms. Kallin, because there's
another girl who's been abducted.”

I heard a noise competing with the sound of the wind and waves
and turned to see that Galiano had started the rotors of the
chopper.

Behind him, the city lights glittered as though it were
midnight, powered up because of the darkness that had descended
with the storm. "It's got to be Troy, Ms. Kallin. It's another old
military facility where the victim worked, and he was probably
driving his father's jeep.

She was a park ranger, wearing a uniform."

“Oh, God.”

“You were right about his m.o., too. It wasn't a blitz attack.
He somehow managed to convince her-convince Pam-to go with him.”
Mercer took my arm and started to walk me toward the door frame of
the old building entrance.

“Those therapists taught him well,” she said.

"We didn't get through all your files yet. And you know so much
more about him than anyone else. The man who kidnapped Pam told her
he wanted to show her where his family went for the holidays.

Does that mean anything to you? Did Troy talk about that at
all?"

“What holiday?”

“I don't know which one. That's why I'm calling you. We may
break up, Ms. Kallin. Call me back if you have any ideas. You seem
to know things it will take us days to figure out.”

“I have good reason to, Alex,” Nelly Kallin said. “If you look
at those photos I gave you, you'll see a small set of initials
tattooed on Troy's right arm, up near his shoulder. PW, for the
name of one of the young women he savaged, who couldn't identify
him”

I was moving from the cover of the officers' club out into the
rain.

"She's the daughter of my best friend. She never got her day in
court, and she never really recovered from the trauma of the
attack. I made it my business to try to see that Troy Rasheed never
got a chance to hurt anyone else again. I've failed miserably.

“We wouldn't have a shot at this without you,” I said, trying to
pick up speed across the sand. It made sense that Nelly Kallin had
been so interested in every detail of this prisoner's life.

“I had no idea you had any connection to one of his victims. ”No
one does, Alex. I've never told anyone."

“Easter. Fourth of July. Labor Day,” I said, thinking that we
were just days away from that holiday weekend. “Thanksgiving.
Christmas. Was there a time the Rasheed family did anything
functional together?”

“I can barely hear you.”

“Those holidays, can you think of any significance to any of
them?”

Nelly Kallin sounded dejected. “I don't know where they went. I
hate to disappoint you. Thanksgiving was Troy's favorite holiday.
They went away every year, but I just don't know where. He talked
about it in therapy because it's the place he had his first sexual
experience-a consensual one, he claims.”

“The family traveled?” I asked, ducking beneath the rotors to
follow Mercer up the steps of the sleek-looking helicopter.

“Not far from home. They used to go to one of the bases in the
area for Thanksgiving weekend. They were able to stay for free
because the base had a motel that Mr. Rasheed's company built for
military families. I don't know if it was the turkey or the sex,”
Nelly Kallin said, “but the place made quite an impression on
Troy.”

A base with a motel. Didn't we see an old abandoned one on
Governors Island? I was trying to remember what Mike had said about
it.

“The name of it, Ms. Kallin. Do you remember the name of the
motel?”

"What did Detective Chapman say about tattoos being the new
postcards? Like I told you, Troy identified it with some kind of
sexual experience, a pleasurable one. He's got the number eight
tattooed in the small of his back. It was a Super 8 Motel.

FORTY-SEVEN

Joe Galiano was poised to take off the moment Mercer closed the
door and belted up

We've got to go to Governors Island, Joe. We've got to search
there."

“Have you lost it, Coop?”

"Call Peterson, Mike. Tell him to get a crew over as fast as
humanly possible. Tell him to call the Park Service and- Lightning
sliced the sky ahead of us and thunder boomed over the sound of the
chopper's engines.

“Pay no attention to her, Joe. Let's get this buggy home.”

“That was Nelly Kallin I called. Forget Kiernan Dylan. Troy
Rasheed has taken that girl to Governors Island. Don't fight me on
this one, Mike. That's where they went on Sunday. That's where she
is,” I said, not speaking the words dead or alive.

Mercer had flipped open his cell to make the call. “She's right.
And I bet we find that jeep parked in a lot not far from the
Battery Maritime Building, if Troy hasn't skipped town.”

The chopper rocked from side to side as the winds pounded
it.

“What's the verdict, gentlemen? We pass right over the island on
our way home,” Galiano said.

Mike was clutching the edge of his seat as he argued with
Mercer. “You said they were checking everyone going on and off the
island on Sunday.”

“And Pam Lear had Park Service ID. She had a uniform, too.
According to the timeline that Lydia just gave us, they wouldn't
have arrived till late in the day, when all the feebs were
monitoring departures. I doubt she and Troy had any problem getting on the island, blending into the crowd. She would have
looked more like she belonged there than anyone else. It's good,
Mike.”

“You know the island, Joe?” Mike's fear of flying was justified
in the storm. “I guess if the Wright Brothers could take off and
land there, you'll figure it out.”

“We once had a mayor named La Guardia,” Galiano said. “He wanted
to make the place the city's first airport. Been there dozens of
times for training exercises. There's a nice flat spot in the
middle of Colonels' Row.”

The chopper bounced its way back across Brooklyn as we sat
riveted in our seats, contemplating Pam Lear's fate.

“Hang on,” Galiano said, clearing the rooftops of the old
buildings as he aimed for a level space in the middle of the
lawn.

The chopper's struts slammed into the ground and we rocked into
place. The thunder rolled over us, louder and closer than it had
been just minutes ago.

I picked my head up to look over Mercer's shoulder, and as I
did, the entire Manhattan skyline faded to black.

FORTY-EIGHT

The freak storm ripping through the city had sparked a massive
power outage, a blackout that left Manhattan in late-morning
darkness

So much for backup," Mike said.

“Doesn't change what we've got to do,” Mercer said, opening the
chopper door and climbing down. “What was that guy's name-the one
from the Park Service who took us around?”

“Leamer,” Mike said. “Russell Leamer.”

“Let's make a dash for the ferry terminal. That's where his
office is. Joe?”

“I've got to stay with my machine, guys. Double back if you need
me.”

Cell phones didn't work on Governors Island. I remembered that
the ferry captain told us that. No wonder Pam Lear couldn't make
good on her promise to call Lydia when she reached her
destination.

I followed Mike and Mercer as they jogged the cobblestone path
past Castle Williams to the office that bordered the ferry
dock.

We saw no workers or rangers on our run, just the empty old
barracks and the fortress that stood sentinel over the angry seas
of the harbor.

By the time we reached Leamer's office, scattered lights began
to dot the cityscape. Buildings with their own generators came to
life- police headquarters, huge medical centers that fronted the
East River- and several office towers glowed again beneath the
ominous clouds.

Leamer hadn't seen the helicopter land. He was seated at a desk,
on a landline phone, when the three of us surprised him by walking
in, soaked to the bone despite our windbreakers and jackets.

Mercer took the lead in explaining why we had come back to the
island.

Leamer got to his feet, gesturing wildly with the receiver still
in his hand. “There can't be anyone hiding here, damn it. The feds
searched everywhere.”

“They searched on Sunday,” Mercer said, knowing that they had
finished their effort before Pam Lear decided to leave Fort Tilden.
“They started early in the morning and were done by midday, before
this girl even disappeared.”

“How many men have you got working with you today?” Mike
asked.

“I'm alone.”

“Where are the others?”

“They went back to Manhattan an hour ago, with the last
ferry.”

“The last ferry?”

Leamer pointed out the window. “The surge from the harbor
breached the seawall next to the dock. The tide is so high that the
ramp has been lifted too steeply to meet the ferry. They can't make
any trips until this passes, and there's no telling how much
flooding there'll be.”

The sight was terrifying. The low-lying walkway that led away
from the dock was full of water, and the river had risen almost as
high as the landing slip.

“We need the phone,” Mercer said.

“I need it, too, Detective,” Leamer said, becoming more frantic
with the news that we were looking for our fourth victim. “I've got
a disaster to manage here.”

Mercer calmed the man and took over the phone, calling the
lieutenant and asking him to send men to the Battery Maritime
Building, to get them to Governors Island the moment the storm blew
through. The expression on his face changed at the end of the
call-tightened- with some piece of news Peterson had told him,
something he didn't want to hear. “I understand, Loo.”

“Aren't there a couple of firemen posted here? How do you reach
them?” Mike asked Leamer.

“They were evacuated with the ranger staff. The entire power
grid for the metropolitan area was knocked out, Detective.
Lightning hit one of the main transformer stations.”

“Shit,” Mike said, ready to tear the place apart to look for Pam
Lear. “Are you armed?”

“No, sir.”

“Lock this door and don't open it until you see us again,
okay?”

“But the water-I've got to get up to higher ground. There are
government documents I've got to save and-”

“Documents? We're looking for a human being. We're hoping to
find her alive, okay? You wait right here by the phone until the
last possible moment-unless you're going to help with this. And if
anybody from the police department calls in with information for
us, you stand up by that cannon out there and scream your lungs out
till one of us gets back to you.”

Leamer's jaw dropped as we walked out the door.

More thunder boomed overhead, like giant bowling balls banging
against each other, as we ran from Leamer's tiny office, across the
roadway, onto the porch of one of the barracks that lined the
waterfront.

Then a loud noise jolted me, coming even closer to us, as Joe
Galiano's chopper rose into the sky over the surging river, heading
away from the island.

FORTY-NINE

Galiano going for a joy ride?" Mike asked. He was tense and
wired. I could read it in the way he tapped his foot and played
with the zipper on his jacket.

“Apparently his communication system was still working on board
the bird-a little more high-tech than the rest of this place,”
Mercer said. “Commissioner Scully ordered him back. Wants to be
able to get a SWAT team in here, in the event we find anything, the
moment he can assemble them. That's what Peterson said. ”

“You know this place,” I said to Mike. "Where do we start?

He squatted beside me, drawing lines in the rain that covered
the gray floor paint. "Here's where we are, right next to the ferry
slip. This is the route we took the other day, remember? Gotta go
with Nelly's instinct and start at the Super 8.

“Does the time frame fit with the dates Rasheed might have been
here?” I asked.

“Yeah, the motel was built in the early eighties, along with a
bowling alley and theater, when the coast guard had charge of the
island.”

Mike pointed in the opposite direction from which we'd come.
“It's off that way. You need a break, want to stop, we just pull in
on the porch of any of those houses in Nolan Park.”

There was a slight grade in the road as we doubled back past the
enormous British cannon at the top of the ferry landing and ran up
the roadway. The handsome row of yellow houses, once fancy homes to
the generals, looked like the empty set of a horror movie. The
tree-lined park that had been lush with foliage just days ago had
been stripped bare of its leaves in the last few hours. Old screen
doors torn off their hinges by the wind flapped against the hollow
buildings, and broken glass from fragile windows lay scattered
about on porches and steps.

At the end of the park, Mike hooked a turn. The Super 8 stood
out from the rest of the elegant architecture like a dreadful
anachronism.

Mike got to the office door first and opened it. The room was
bare except for the original counter, where I imagined Wilson
Rasheed once stood to register his odd little family.

“Check out over there,” Mike said to Mercer, pointing to the
twostory wing on the far side of the office.