The Deadhouse (49 page)

"Another grave robber?" How fortunate for him to find two such
thieves.

"No. A murderer. A man who had killed a prostitute down at the Five
Points," Shreve said, referring to a once notorious area of the city
where our courthouse now stood. "Freeland talks about him in the
letters, a much too solicitous concern for the man who was dying of
syphilis. One last charitable thing that Granddad could do for him, so
that his family would have enough money for a proper burial. And so
that he would take Freeland's secret with him, well rewarded for his
trouble."

"So three men knew about the diamonds and where they were buried."

"And all three died on the rock, as it were. My grandfather's death
in the raid could not possibly have been anticipated. He never had time
to retrieve his fortune. That's why I'd like the map, Ms. Cooper. The
map and the model of the island." Shreve sat in the frame of the
window, hands on his knees, and stared me in the eye.

"And Lola had them?"

"And Lola's dead."

"But if you hadn't killed her—"

His gloved hands slapped against his thighs as his temper flared.
"Why would I have killed her without getting what I needed from her?
It's Claude Lavery's fault that she's dead."

How could I evaluate what he was telling me? Maybe Chapman and I had
given him an opportunity to blame Lavery telling the group of
professors that Lavery had been seen going into Lola's building with
her the day she died. Maybe Shreve hadn't known that until we gave the
fact away. And now he was just using it to make me think he wasn't the
killer. Or perhaps both of them were involved, and they were both
responsible her death. How could I know?

I was more tentative now, talking softly to Shreve, aware he might
keep me alive as long as he thought I could give him he wanted.

What had I done with the map before Mike and I had dashed out of the
office on the way to King's College? Is it possible I had been less
than twenty-four hours since all that had happened? I bit my lip and
took myself back one day. I had given my paralegal the map to copy,
telling her to lock the original in one of the file cabinets until Mike
could voucher it. And I had given one of the copies to him, then folded
the other to slip in the pocket gray slacks, to examine later that
night when I got home. Shreve overheard Mike ask me, in Sylvia Foote's
office, whether I had secured Jennings's blueprint of the island?

I looked down at my pants leg to make certain that I was still
wearing that same suit. My pocketbook and case folder were either in
Shreve's van or his apartment. Perhaps he had gone through them in
search of the map or any references to it, but if he hadn't thought to
search my clothing, he would not have found the map.

The adrenaline pumped again and I swallowed hard. ] knew that what
Shreve wanted was here under his nose, and if he found the small slip
of paper, there would be no reason to maintain our dialogue. I would be
as good as dead.

"But Lola was telling you all these things while she at Lily's
house, doing the research. What did you two have to fight about the day
she was killed?"

"I didn't go to see her to argue about anything. I was excited,
thrilled that she might have solved the puzzle about my grandfather's
fortune. I wanted to see the map for myself."

"Did she have it?"

"She was mad that I had come to her apartment. She stalled and tried
to put me off. Told me she didn't have it with her. Told me the
prosecutor from New Jersey was going to be arriving shortly and that
she'd call me the next day. Of course, I didn't know at the time that
she wasn't kidding about the prosecutor. He actually was coming over."
Shreve sneered. "Not for Lola, but for his money."

"What money?"

"Apparently the guy had all kinds of financial problems. Lola was
doling out cash to him to keep him afloat. Probably to keep him coming
back to bed with her, which wasn't necessarily a pleasant place to be."

"How do you know that? I mean, about the cash?"

"After she died, Claude Lavery told me. That's what drove the two of
them apart. Lola knew that Claude took an unorthodox view of his grant
money. She pleaded with him to let her borrow some of it, claiming she
needed it for the Blackwells project. Claude called me last week and
asked me to return the money. I had to tell him she hadn't used a
nickel of it for the dig. Then I remembered what she'd told me about
the prosecutor and his financial problems. The money must have all been
going to the deadbeat boyfriend."

Lola's shoe boxes full of cash. She had put the squeeze on Lavery to
share some of his stash, pretending it was for her professional needs,
but she was using it to solve Bart Frankel's personal problems.

I leaned forward and tried to look sincere when I asked the next
question. I didn't believe what I was saying, but I wanted Shreve to
think I did. "So why did Claude kill Lola? Was it about the money?"

He took too long to answer. I shivered again and put my hand to my
side, trying to feel the piece of paper through the layers of clothing.
Was it there? I could not be sure.

"She had called me earlier in the week to tell me she would be home
that afternoon. Not to worry about the news stories Ivan's attempt on
her life, if I should hear them. I stopped by the building—I was on the
way to the college, actually. I tried her and she was home. Had just
gotten there. She let me come was anxious to get rid of me."

"And Professor Lavery?"

A slight hesitation. Shreve wanted to tell a story that weave Lavery
into the murder, but he was not doing it convincingly. "Lola wouldn't
let me in the door. Kept me in the hallway. Lavery was inside, although
I didn't know it was him at the time. Lola told me that she was going
over to the island."

"Then? Right then?"

"The next day. I wanted to go with her. She had no right to my
grandfather's possessions."

The wind seemed less ferocious now, and my tone had lowered as well.
"She had figured out about Charlotte, Mr. Shreve. Hadn’t she? She was
threatening to expose your—your accident." not to choke on the last
word. "She let you know that she told Lavery that she'd figured out
where Charlotte Voight was.”

I remembered Lavery saying that to Mike and me, but had interpreted
Lola's words to mean that Charlotte was still alive. Shreve, on the
other hand, must have panicked about Charlotte's body being found just
as he was about to locate his grandfather's fortune.

"Lola wanted something in exchange for the map, didn’t she?”

"She had no right to any of those diamonds, Ms. Cooper. She was
trying to blackmail me, just like she had coaxed Claude Lavery out of
his grant money."

Shreve was standing now, poised in the doorway of the small room.
"Lola slammed the door on me, but I wouldn't leave. She came out later,
maybe five, maybe ten minutes. I asked where she was going but she
wouldn't answer me. I knew she was going to the island. To Strecker, to
find Charlotte. I tried to stop her but she pushed past me and got on
the elevator."

"Just the two of you?"

"Claude. That's when Claude came out of her apartment. I was shocked
to see him there. The elevator lurched and I grabbed at Lola to pull
her off. All I got was her scarf, her long woolen scarf.

"But the doors closed and caught the ends of the scarf as the cab
started to move. I yelled at Claude to push the buttons and I pried the
sides apart with my hands. There was Lola, completely blue in the face,
flailing her arms and trying to fight for air or to catch her breath to
scream. She thought I had done it on purpose."

Perhaps that part was true. He had painted such a vivid picture of
Lola, almost hanged to death by a piece of clothing caught in the
elevator doors. A soft piece of woolen material, on top of the thick
fabric of a winter coat collar, that would not even leave ligature
marks.

"But she was still alive then?"

"Oh, yes. She couldn't speak, she couldn't loosen the scarf. 'It was
an
accident,''
I said to her. I reached for the coat to undo
it and she recoiled.

"That's when she started to scream."

I imagined that she did, also having figured that Shreve had somehow
been responsible for Charlotte Voight's disappearance. I would have
been shouting what I wanted to say to his face right at that moment.
Murderer!

He stumbled now, stuttering instead of delivering a clear narrative.
"It was Claude who did it. He wanted her to stop screaming, to make her
be quiet."

It made no sense to me for Claude to want to kill Lola. But I had
given Shreve the opening to insert an accomplice into his recreation of
the events.

"Claude grabbed at the scarf and pulled it tighter. He dragged her
off the elevator and onto the floor of the hallway. He was calling her
names, he was—"

It's not a fast death, strangulation. Not like a gunshot wound to
the head or a knife in the chest. No doubt it had been hastened in this
instance by the fact that she was almost hanged by the jaws of the
elevator door. She was already weakened and had a compromised airway,
so it would not have taken much effort to finish her off.

Shreve searched for words and actions to attribute to Lave but I
knew better now.

"She, she didn't scream very loud. I, uh, I tried to pull Claude
back but he wouldn't let go. He was so mad at her." He lowered his head
and tried to add convincing facts. "That's when he told me that Lola
had been blackmailing him for cash from his grant money."

"And Lola's body?"

"I wanted to call the police. I know you won't believe that because
of—" He broke off midsentence and nodded his head the side, in the
direction of the Strecker building. Toward Charlotte Voight's body.
"This time it was Claude who refused. He was
about to be
indicted by the federal authorities for fraud. He, uh, he told me to
leave. That he would handle this himself. And I did, assuming he would
take care of things in an appropriate way.

"I never imagined that he'd roll her body into the elevator shaft. I
mean, Claude's the one who lives there. I wasn't even
aware
anything was wrong in the building, that the elevator sometimes stopped
between floors. How could I have possibly known that?"

He had me for a moment. It made sense for Lavery to know that fact.
But any fool who had visited the old building and been on the elevator
when it malfunctioned could have known it, too. It happened with the
three elevators in our office building every day of the week.

"You put that map in my hands, Ms. Cooper, and when you prosecute
Professor Lavery, I'll come back from Paris and testify at the trial.
Now, who has the map? In what safe place did you leave it this morning?"

37

"You
do
know the piece of paper I mean?"

I tried to force myself to focus. Once he knew how to get his hands
on the map, there was no need to keep me alive. I thought of the paper
in my pocket and my hand unconsciously moved stroke my throat, thinking
of Lola's fate and imagining the many uses of the thick length of rope
Shreve had brought back with him. There were two other copies, and I
had to make him think was indispensable in getting them into his
possession.

"I didn't know about the significance of the map when I came across
it, of course. I never knew the story of your grandfather's diamonds
until just the other day. But I do know how get it for you."

He was calm now, and talking to me as he squatted next to the chair.

"Look, Ms. Cooper. I'm a French citizen. You get me this map, and
I'll find Freeland's ransom, go back to my home abroad, and donate half
the money to the college or any cause you name."

I listened. Surely he would know we could extradite him from France.
Or was he that certain that he could talk his way out of a murder
charge?

"We're talking about millions of dollars." My head dropped to avoid
his gaze. "Ah, ever the earnest prosecutor. Once you help convince all
the authorities how Charlotte died, I'll be home free. And you'll still
have Claude to blame for Lola Dakota's death."

"You'll need me to get the map, Mr. Shreve. The original is in the
safe in Paul Battaglia's office."

"Your team is too efficient not to have made some copies. I took the
liberty of looking through your file—the one that was in my car—but no
map."

"One copy." I sucked in some frigid air and prayed that what I was
about to say would not put Mike in harm's way. "Detective Chapman has
that copy. And I can help you get it from him."

"How can you do that?"

I would have to think of something specific by daybreak, less than
an hour or so away. "Because he'll do whatever I ask him to do."

"No wonder you've got some problems with your boyfriend. Rather
confident of that, aren't you?"

"Chapman's a very intelligent man, Mr. Shreve. If you let me call
him and arrange for him to meet us, you can tell him exactly what
you've told me about Charlotte Voight and Lola Dakota."

"Surrender?"

"If Charlotte's death was accidental, and Lavery killed Lola, then
you've got nothing to worry about."

I needed to talk myself out of this black abyss and into the open
areas outside the building where someone might actually be able to see
us once the morning came.

"I'd rather get back home to the Sixth Arrondissement and let
you
break the news to the NYPD. Where's the Blackwells Island
miniature that my grandfather had Bennino make, Ms. Cooper? Do you know
that, too?"

I moved my head up and down, slowly trying to think of a possible
answer.

"Was that a'yes'?"

"Yes, I do." Shreve himself had given me the idea when he had talked
about Lola's weeks in hiding. "It's at Lily's house, Lola's sister."
Why hadn't I thought of that possibility in all the days since the
murder? Lola must have taken a lot of things with her to occupy her
during the weeks in New Jersey. She was too much of a workhorse not to
have done so. If that's where she was when she figured out Jennings's
deadhouse scheme, that's probably where the model was concealed.