Entombed

26

I had never read "A Descent into the Maelstrom," but a scan of the ten pages in one of Zeldin's leather-bound first editions revealed a scene eerily similar to Dr. Ichiko's last minutes on earth. It seemed characteristically Poe to describe "how magnificent a thing it was to die in such a manner," and then have the narrator watch his own brother disappear into the vast funnel and gyrations of the whirling water below.

At exactly 6P.M., a housekeeper in a gray uniform knocked on the library door. She announced to Zeldin that his physical therapist had arrived and was awaiting him in the exercise room. He looked at us and asked what we wanted him to do.

"Most people I know start their drinking after they work out," Mike said, with his usual skepticism.

"I've got a degenerative nerve condition, Detective. It actually relaxes me to sip on some wine before we go do the therapy."

"May we continue this conversation tomorrow?" I asked.

"Of course, Ms. Cooper. In the meantime I shall inquire about the release of the list of society members' names. And you three should brush up on your Poe."

"Here, at nine o'clock?"

"Actually, I had planned to spend the day at my office tomorrow," he said, as the attendant wheeled him to the door of the spacious room. "You'll find that quite interesting, in light of the death of Dr. Ichiko."

"Why's that?" Mike asked.

"For years until I retired I was the head librarian in the rare books department at the Botanical Gardens," Zeldin said.

Mike was on his way to the door to put the brakes on the wheelchair. "You were at the gardens and yet you didn't know anything about Ichiko's death until you read it in the newspaper?"

"Mr. Chapman, I was in the Mertz Library at an acquisitions meeting all afternoon. By the time my driver came to take me home at four o'clock in the afternoon, according to the published accounts, the poor man's body hadn't even been discovered. The first I knew of it was the morning papers. Julia, please-let's show these people out and get on with my session."

"And this morning," I asked, thinking of our near-miss at the Hall of Fame, "were you in the Bronx again today?"

"Alone here with my books all day. Julia will be only too happy to confirm that."

The housekeeper nodded as she held the door open for us.

"Nine o'clock?" I repeated.

"At the library, inside the Mosholu Parkway gate and turn left."

Once again we were out on a stoop in the cold. "I'm hungry," Mike said, "and everything aches. My tailbone, my pride, my stomach. I need a good steak."

We split up in two cars and met a few blocks away, on Forty-sixth Street, to have dinner at Patroon. This mecca for power business diners and elegant parties had long been a favorite. The waiting area was packed and the hostess was alarmed that we had no reservation.

"Hey, Mike, c'mon upstairs for a drink." The owner, Ken Aretsky, was waving to us from the staircase. We squeezed in through the crowd and walked one flight up to the lounge, past the stunning collection of elegant black-and-white photographs of Manhattan from the forties and fifties.

No matter how packed with tycoons and traders the restaurant was, Ken always made us feel welcome. Within minutes, we each had a drink and a quiet corner in which to catch up on our thoughts.

"Salut," Mike said, clicking our glasses together. "To a peaceful end of a busy day."

"Now how are we going to figure out how to put all these pieces together?" I asked.

"You're the literature major. What do you know about Poe? There's too strong a connection here among Aurora Tait, Emily Upshaw, and Dr. Ichiko to ignore it."

"I know the obvious-a lot of the poetry, some of the stories. I know he was born in Boston, and that his father's family was from Baltimore-which is where he died and was buried. There's a Poe museum in Richmond, where he was raised, before he went to school in Charlottesville."

"Did you ever know about the New York City connection?" Mercer asked.

Mike answered, "There's the place he once lived on West Eighty-fourth Street that Zeldin mentioned. I handled a burglary on the block. Back in the 1840s it was all a farm belonging to the Brennan family, like he said. I think it's even called Poe Alley."

"It seems to me it's worth letting Zeldin give us as much detail about the man as he can," Mercer said. "Maybe something, some little fact he suggests, will pull things together for us. If it turns out Zeldin himself is in the mix, all it does is give him more time to sink himself. I say we take advantage of the fact that he likes to talk."

"You believe his bullshit?" Mike asked.

"D'you see those crutches in the library? They wouldn't be there if he wasn't capable of getting out of the wheelchair. I want to know if he really can walk and just how well, and what route his driver took home from the Botanical Gardens office yesterday afternoon. The gorge isn't very far from where he worked."

"Man, I'm looking for the exercise routine that starts with marijuana and red wine."

"There are too many links here to ignore," I said. "I agree-let him explain what he can about Poe's life. Keep in mind that lots of great artists have their clubs and cabals-the Baker Street Irregulars, the Wolfe Pack, Poirot's Peers. I'm sure Tolstoy and Trollope, Mozart and Mahler, all have followings."

"They don't necessarily kill each other," Mike said.

"You guys need the television?" Ken asked, coming through to check on us.

"Hey, we skipped it last night. Check Jeopardy! and then we can order," Mike said.

By the time the final category was announced, we had downed our first drinks and paused in front of the large screen in the lounge.

"Scientific Theories," Alex Trebek announced.

Two of the three contestants groaned along with each of us.

"I'll pass," I said. "My weakest link."

"Nothing worse than a coward," Mike said. "Ten each. That won't get us a bottle of water in this joint."

The answer displayed read that the Big Bang theory, accepted in the 1960s, was first described in this prophetic work a century earlier.

"I'll take another Grey Goose," Mike said. "Let's order some grub."

None of us even took a guess as we watched all three players lose their bundles.

"No," Trebek told the anthropology graduate student, who was the only one to venture a guess. "Hubble came along a little later."

"This one surprised me, too, gentlemen. What is 'Eureka'? 'Eureka,' remember that? In a work called 'Eureka,' Edgar Allan Poe insisted that the universe exploded into existence in 'one instantaneous flash' from a single primordial particle." Trebek went on reading from his note cards. "Amazing, folks, that this amateur stargazer-back in 1848-came up with the version of the Big Bang that is still the best guess of contemporary scientists."

"Ever get the feeling that something was meant to be?" Mike asked. "It's frigging creepy to be surrounded by this guy Poe-he's everywhere."

We had a table in the back of the room on the first floor, near the kitchen. I sat by myself while Mercer went to call Vickee to tell her he'd be home late, and Mike tried to find Valerie on the Western ski slopes.

We each ordered New York strip sirloins-the sixteen-ouncers for the guys and the twelve-ounce for me. Mike piled on onion rings and cottage fries, and Ken spoiled us by sending over a superb Bordeaux from his fabulous cellar.

"Who's going to call Sally Brandon and break the news to her that Emily's kid knows that Sally's not her birth mother?" Mercer asked.

"Sounds like woman's work to me."

"I'll do it tomorrow afternoon. When Tormey is cleared medically, we've got to see if Emily really called him, like her letter says," I said, then shifted gears. "What's with Val?"

"She's over-the-top. The family's all up in Canada, doing that heli-skiing stuff."

I laughed. "Guess that's why you got left behind. Do they know her super-macho RoboCop is afraid of flying in choppers?"

"Hey, I did it for you once, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but that's because I didn't ask you to jump out."

"Last year, Val was so sick from the chemo that she couldn't make the trip with the rest of them. That's why her father thought it was such a special gift for her this time. She and her brother are like cowboys-you oughta see their videos."

The fancy dinner was a nice end to a day that had taken such an odd twist. We walked out of the restaurant, the guys agreed to pick me up at eight-thirty as Mercer got in his car, and Mike drove me up Third Avenue to drop me in front of my door shortly before ten o'clock.

I hadn't been asleep long when the telephone rang.

"I know you wouldn't be happy if you heard this on the morning news," Mercer said.

I cocked an eye and looked at the dial on the clock radio. One thirty-fiveA.M.

"I guess you're not calling to tell me you didn't enjoy dinner."

"I'm back in your 'hood. Our Silk Stocking Rapist tried again. East Eighty-first Street, just off York. The girl Maced him, though, and he ran off."

"Good for her. She's okay?"

"Hanging tough. I'm doing the interview now. When he reached up to cover his eyes, he dropped the knife. She picked it up and tried to slash at him."

"Well, so much for fingerprints."

"Everything's a trade-off. She slit open his jacket pocket and a few things fell out."

"Driver's license?" I asked, shifting beneath the warm blanket.

"You wouldn't like it if it came that easy. Nope, no ID. Just a MetroCard."

I smiled, thinking of the interview I did yesterday with the witness whose card had broken her story. "That's a fine place to start, Mr. Wallace. We know what part of the silk stocking district he frequents. Let's see where else he likes to travel."