Death Angel

THIRTY-SEVEN

“Let’s walk up to the West Drive,” Mike said, referring to the vehicular roadway, closed to automobiles on weekends, that coursed through the Park and ran right across the Glen Span Arch. “I’ve got no cell reception down here.”

“Who are you calling?”

“The ranger in charge. He can find someone in uniform to pick this up and voucher it. Let’s get it to the lab and see if this stain is human blood. See if they can get any prints off it.”

“I’m thinking Raymond Tanner.”

“I know you are. And I’m thinking Angel, with her head bashed in. Good find, Coop.”

The pipe looked absolutely lethal. The idea of swinging the sturdy piece of metal against a human head made me shudder.

We reached the top of the incline, and Mercer pulled on a pair of gloves while Mike gave our location to the park ranger. “Let me see those papers you picked up, Alex.”

I handed him the wad that was in my pocket, and he squatted down to separate them and spread them out on the slats of a wooden bench.

“Food wrappers,” Mercer said. “Empty chip bags and cellophane from cookie packages. And this scrap of lined paper.”

I leaned in over him. It looked as though the ink had been soaked in water at some point and had run. “Can you make anything out?”

“It’s pretty blurry,” he said, passing it to me.

“Reads like part of a description of the Park,” I said. “How the Ravine is- Maybe the word is ‘fluid’? A fluid line. But the Ramble is a scrabbled- Scratch that. A scrambled maze. Some words just washed out completely, but I can make out ‘remote’ and ‘no one will find me.’ Something about a brother- No, no, it’s ‘not bother me,’ I think.”

“A journal.”

“And Jo told us that Angel,” I said, thinking of the dead girl whose real name we didn’t know, “kept a journal with her that might unfold her life to us.”

I flipped the torn piece of paper over, but there was nothing on the other side. The writing was an even script, where it hadn’t bled onto the page, and appeared quite feminine.

Mike hung up, and I showed him the fragment. “See if you can get the cops who come for the pipe to take another look in that cave. We need to find the rest of this book, okay? It may be the key to what happened to your girl.”

“Whatever you say, Coop. I think we’re looking at our own manpower, though. The ranger just told me there’s a commotion in the Sheep Meadow. I’ve got to hold on to the pipe till they clear it.”

“What’s that about?” Mercer asked.

Before Mike could finish saying that he didn’t know, an RMP with lights flashing and siren blaring came speeding up to us where the roadway intersected with the 102nd Street Cross Drive.

Mike was grinning as he walked toward the patrol car to greet the uniformed sergeant who let himself out on the passenger side. He was holding the pipe out in front of him. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? You got here pretty fast.”

“You’re Chapman, right?”

“Yeah. Mike Chapman.”

“You want to get in the car with us?”

The driver made a U-turn and was ready to head back east.

“Nah. Just voucher this pipe for me. Got a manila envelope in the trunk?”

“Shove the pipe, Chapman. Get in the car. We got a situation right in the middle of the fucking meadow, which is covered with naked bodies like a love-in’s about to happen, and then appears this-”

“What kind of situation?” Mike asked.

Mercer stepped closer to the car.

“An EDP,” the overweight sergeant said, huffing from the exertion of getting out of the car. He was trying to tell us about an emotionally disturbed person who had picked one of the most populated parts of the Park in which to implode.

“Who told you to get me?” Mike asked. “Grab a uniform up in the North Woods, Sarge. I don’t do-”

I thought of the three unstable men we were trying to track-Eddie Wicks, Vergil Humphrey, and Raymond Tanner. “Maybe you should go, Mike.”

We all seemed to be talking over one another. Mike sighed with annoyance and gave me a backhanded wave to stay out of it.

“It’s not a job for a rookie is what I’m hearing from headquarters. You’ll do this one yourself is what they tell me, Chapman,” he said, turning back to the car. “It’s a good-looking broad with a pistol, threatening to blow her brains out in the middle of the meadow unless the commissioner comes to the Park to listen to her demands.”

Mike covered his eyes with his hand and dropped his head.

“The deputy commish said to forget about Scully, but that you’d be somewhere around here today and to bring you to the scene stat. So get your ass in the car.”

Mike turned his back to the sergeant to face me. He put his hand over his heart when he started to speak. “I am so very sorry to drag this mess into your orbit, Coop. I’m-”

“This isn’t about me, Mike. You’ve got to get this done before Pell hurts herself or anyone else out there.”

Mercer stepped between Mike and the patrol car. “I’m going with you, Sarge. He’s the wrong guy to deal with this. You’ve got to trust me on that.”

“Don’t, Mercer. It’s all my doing.”

“You’re a lightning rod for her, Mike,” Mercer said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You go? She gets exactly what she wants. A public humiliation of you, no matter what happens to her. The broad’s crazy, and we all know it. I’m more likely to be able to talk her down than you.”

The sergeant had maneuvered himself back into the RMP. “One of youse. I don’t care who, but I’m not looking for a bloodbath on my watch, guys.”

Mike shook free of Mercer and pulled on the rear passenger door of the car.

“Mercer’s right,” I said. “He’s a hostage negotiator because he has the patience and calm and grace to talk people down off ledges and out of danger. Sorry, Mike, but you don’t have any of those traits.”

“Don’t let Jessica Pell make it personal today,” Mercer said. “She wants a shot at you, pal. She wants to aim that gun and pull the trigger. No doubt in my mind.”

“And you think you can stop her?”

“Go off in the woods with Coop and get lost for a while,” Mercer said as Mike stepped aside so he could get into the police car. “I can do this so much better than you.”

I jumped back as the sergeant turned on the sirens at full force again.

Mike slammed the door. “You watch yourself, man.”

“Go find yourself a killer,” Mercer said. “Let me get this monkey off your back.”