The wide beam of a flashlight shot across the ice, moved up my body and hit me full in the face.
“POLICE! Stay where you are.”
Someone in the neighborhood had heard the shots and called the cops. They didn’t let me go with Beth to the hospital, especially not after the tally was taken: one dead cop, one dead security chief and a gunshot victim who was rapidly going into shock.
Soon, I was back at the Harlem station house, facing interrogation. They did let me change into dry clothes: a prisoner’s uniform. I never thought I’d be glad to don those particular glad rags, but they were more than acceptable that night. The uniform was dry and warm, something that couldn’t be said of my clothes.
But there the feeling of warmth ended.
I had a lot of explaining to do.
With all those pale faces staring at me, I knew I couldn’t go it alone and I was suddenly tired of being strong all on my own. I asked to make a phone call.
Sam answered on the first ring.
Those were a long two hours we spent at the station. If it weren’t for Sam, and input from Blackie, they wouldn’t have allowed me to go home. Sam brought me to my door.
“You need me to stay, Lanie?”
I nearly said no, but caught myself.
He set off to run a bath of hot water. I went to my bedroom and undressed, dropping the clothes in a heap on the floor. I took a good look at myself in the mirror and grimaced at the sight. My forehead and cheeks were scratched and bandaged. My jaw was bruised and swollen. There was a knock at the door. I slipped into my bathrobe.
“Come in.”
Sam entered. “Your bath’s ready.”
We were both aware of my nudity under the bathrobe. I put a hand up to cover my battered face. He reached out and took it away. Lacing his fingers with mine, he led me down the hall to the bathroom. He’d lit candles and set them on the floor around the tub. The light was soft and warm. He gave me a kiss, gentle and protective. “I’ll be downstairs,” he said, then went out and closed the door.
I slipped out of my robe and eased down into the water. It felt good. I leaned back, closed my eyes and tried to expunge all thoughts of the struggle on the ice. But I couldn’t forget Sutton’s dark eyes, windows into a soul condemned, just before he let go of my hand.
I shuddered. The water’s warmth—welcome as it was—couldn’t lessen my inner chill and failed to ease my sense of guilt.
What could I say to Ruth? That I now knew why Esther had disappeared, but didn’t know what had been done to her or where she was? I felt deeply saddened and couldn’t relax, so I reached for my towel and got out.
Sam put me to bed. He tucked me in as though I were a child. He started to leave, but I asked him to hold me. He stretched out next to me and wrapped his arms around me.
“You’ve got to get some sleep,” he whispered.
“I can’t. I keep seeing Sutton’s face right before he went under.”
“First time you’ve seen a man die?”
I nodded. “It was horrible, but…” I rubbed my forehead, “that’s not all of it. I failed. I didn’t find out where Esther is. Ruth and her mother still don’t have her back. I wanted to do that for them, Sam.”
He drew a deep breath. “Lanie, you tried—”
“That’s not good enough. I went in like a bull in a china shop. Now’s everything’s broken.”
He was thoughtful. “You know … from everything you’ve told me, the answer’s there, among those pieces.”
“If it is, I can’t see it. I’ve wracked my brains for something, anything. I went over my notes. Came up with the Powell angle, but…” I sighed.
“You did well, real well. Now, get some rest.”
I nodded and closed my eyes. He started to get up.
“Don’t go,” I whispered.
“Are you sure?”
I knew I could trust him. “Yes, very sure.”
That was not the night for discovering each other. We fell into an exhausted sleep, but not for long. I woke up in the dark. Sam, still fully clothed, was sleeping with his arm flung across my waist. I listened to his regular breathing. It was nice to have him there. I hadn’t let any other man get this close—emotionally or physically—since Hamp died. It was nowhere near as frightening as I’d thought it would be. Instead of feeling threatened, I felt protected. I felt Sam’s goodness and strength and warmth. I wanted to reach out and wake him, to touch him and get even closer, but one thought stopped me.
One worry I couldn’t put aside.
Easing out from under his arm and the blanket, I got out of bed and threw on my robe. Sam slept on. I blew him a kiss and went out, softly closing the door behind me.
Downstairs, in the living room, I took out my notes and sat down to study them. Twenty minutes later, I sensed another presence and looked up. Sam stood in the doorway.
“Lanie, you should be sleeping.”
“I’ve found something.”
He sat down next to me and we put our heads together. He’d been right. The answer had been in front of me all the time. It was right there, in the notes from Bellamy’s interview.
“He might’ve been one of the ones who sat across from us and talked about what a wonderful person she was … all the time knowing he was the sick fuck who took her, and maybe even still had her, buried in his basement...”
We called the Harlem station house and left a message for Blackie.
“There’s nothing more we can do now,” Sam said. He glanced at his watch. “It’s nearly three. Try to get some sleep.”
I didn’t think I could, but I must’ve. Next thing I knew, the telephone was ringing and Sam was gently nudging me. I’d fallen asleep, curled up next to him on the sofa. He handed me the phone.
Blackie listened intently. After a short exchange, we hung up. I told Sam: “Time to get going.”
I put on work clothes—an old pair of pants, a large man’s shirt—and grabbed some heavy gloves. Then we set out for Bayside—Bellamy’s place.
Blackie and two patrolmen were already there. He’d just ordered his men to go to work on the front door. One officer stepped forward with an axe. Sam raised his hand.
“Whoa. You don’t have to destroy it. Let me have a go at it.”
“Be my guest,” Blackie said.
Sam pulled out a small set of tools, selected one—a thin metal rod-like tool—and inserted it into the keyhole. A few sensitive twists to the left and right and the door popped open.
“I didn’t know you could do that,” I said.
“Where’d you learn it?” Blackie wanted to know.
“Just one of my many talents,” Sam said. He pushed the door open and made a sweeping gesture toward the inside. “Shall we?”
We all trooped inside.
“You’re thinking the basement?” Blackie asked and I nodded.
We found her buried behind a wall. Her body was wedged into a narrow space between the stone foundation wall and a newer brick one. He had wrapped her in red carpet and propped her up in a standing position.
“Bring her out,” Blackie said. “But be gentle about it.”
The men used pick axes to remove more of the wall encasing her, and then slowly, painstakingly, set her free. They laid her on the ground and unwrapped her, then stepped back, struck with surprise, horror and dismay.
“God, she’s like a mummy,” said one. “Like one of them people they talk about finding in an Egyptian tomb or something.”
Her face was sunken, the skin stretched over her skull, but her features were still recognizable. One could see the rippling scar. The corner of a dark and rotted cloth protruded from her mouth. Her killer had bound her wrists with an electrical cord. There were no signs of apparent injury.
“I wonder what killed her,” said the second patrolman.
Blackie knelt beside her. With infinite care, he gave the cloth a little tug. It didn’t come out. “It’s wedged fast.”
He reached for it again, but then stopped. “It’s better if the coroner does it. I’m guessing he’ll say she choked to death. That the guy stuffed this rag down her throat to keep her quiet and stuffed it too far.”
“This wasn’t an accident,” I said. “From what Sutton told me, I’d say it was planned from the beginning.”
“But you said Bellamy wasn’t in on it at first. That he came later.”
“Maybe they moved her body here later. Maybe agreeing to keep her was Bellamy’s way of proving that he’d keep his mouth shut.”
“Or of making sure Sutton didn’t betray him,” Sam said.
“Either way …” Bellamy said. “It would’ve been kinder if they’d just put a bullet in her head. Dying like this, and in the dark,” he shook his head. “It must’ve felt like forever.”