Hell Gate

FIFTEEN

Mercer had just arrived at my office as Nan and I were moving our papers back in after Lem stormed out of the conference room.

“You opened the grand jury investigation, right?” I asked Nan, double-checking what she had told me she would do when I left her earlier to go to Battaglia’s office.

“We’re legal.” It was the grand jury-not prosecutors-that had the power to issue subpoenas for the production of evidence.

“Laura’s getting records from the phone company for Salma’s landline and cell,” I said to Mercer. “Better add the number of that woman you spoke with who claimed to be her sister. Lem Howell just hit us with the bombshell that she doesn’t have one.”

Mercer didn’t rattle easily, but the thought that he had been misled about the possible endangerment of a child’s life clearly upset him.

He checked his cell for the number he called yesterday to confirm what Salma had told him, then directed Laura to ready another subpoena to the phone company. “I’ll get my man over there to expedite these records. You’re going to fax the requests to him right away, okay? We’ll have what we need before the end of the day.”

Then he dialed the number and waited through ten rings that went unanswered.

“It’s ringing dead. I’ll call the lieutenant and put him onto Scully, Alex. You’d better tell Battaglia. We’ll have to do an AMBER Alert on the kid. There’s no luxury of waiting for Crime Scene to finish the search of her apartment.”

The rules were different for infants and children than for adults. The news bulletins and neon highway signs would broadcast the description and images of the child the minute we reported that we didn’t know her whereabouts. Whatever Ethan Leighton and Salma Zunega thought they had left of their private lives when they fought less than forty-eight hours ago would now be blasted all over the media.

“I don’t even know the baby’s name. There were no photos of her in the apartment last night,” I said. “Call the guys who are processing the place and get me the details before I go see Battaglia.”

Mercer reached Hal Sherman, who was supervising the Crime Scene Unit in 10A.

He told Hal what he needed and we waited for the callback.

“What did you do with the cell phone we recovered last night in her kitchen?” I asked.

“It’s at the lab.”

“Maybe she took photos of the kid,” I said.

“I’ll check that,” Nan said, stepping around to my phone.

Hal was back to Mercer in less than three minutes. He listened to the information and then passed it along to me. “Ana. She goes by Ana Zunega. Nineteen months old. So far, not a photograph in the apartment.”

“How can that be?”

“Hal got a scrip from the doorman. Baby’s Caucasian, like her mother. Hispanic, very white skin. Wavy dark brown hair. Brown eyes. Says she left yesterday with a woman who resembles Salma and seemed perfectly happy.”

“Brown hair, brown eyes, and no photograph. You can’t send out an AMBER Alert like that.”

“Start with Battaglia.”

“Would you please tell Rose I’m on the way over?” I said to Laura.

I walked across the hall slowly, sliding past Tim Spindlis’s office. It was just after noon and I would be lucky to catch him before he left for lunch. Rose motioned me right in, and I was pleased that he was alone.

“What now?”

“There’s been a terrible development in the Zunega matter, Paul. Lem Howell did one of his drop-ins this morning. He’s blaming me for making Salma vanish. I didn’t want to tell him what we discovered at her apartment last night before Scully’s ready to go public with something, but he-”

“Did he mention Tim?”

“Actually, no. Tim’s name never came up in the conversation.”

Battaglia looked up from whatever memo he was reading and squinted at me. “You’re sure? How about mine?”

“Nothing, Boss. It’s about the child. We’ve got a bigger problem than Tim’s appointment.”

His nose was back in the memo. “Bigger than my reputation, Alex? Keep your eye on that ball.”

“Ethan Leighton’s girlfriend doesn’t have a sister, according to Lem. We don’t know who the woman is who took the child from her apartment yesterday. Scully’s going to have to issue an AMBER Alert before anyone’s ready to answer all the questions about the case that the press will ask.”

He picked his head up again. “Find the damn woman, then, will you? Get them cracking on getting the kid back.”

I walked the quiet corridor that led away from Battaglia’s office. It was lined with photographs of the grave and distinguished elected district attorneys-all men-who had held the position throughout the last two centuries. Until the 1970s, only six women had served on the staff of several hundred lawyers who labored for the political powerhouse. There were days like this when I wondered what was so desirable about butting up against the glass ceiling that traditionally capped the criminal court.

Laura was standing at the door to her cubicle as I crossed the hallway. “You’ve got Mike on line one.”

“Give him to Mercer,” I said. “I’m whipped.”

“Mercer ducked out to pick up sandwiches for you, and Nan’s back at her desk.”

I took the receiver from Laura’s hand. “I’ve had a miserable morning, Mike. I think I’d rather be at the morgue.”

“I haven’t exactly been picnicking, either, Coop. Listen, I’ve got-”

“Battaglia’s all over me. He wants to know why you can’t find Salma.”

“Be careful what you wish for, kid. She’s not missing anymore,” Mike said. “And she’s very dead.”

I sat in Laura’s chair and rubbed my eyes with my free hand. “Where is she?”

“At the bottom of a well, twelve feet down. Headfirst.”

“And the baby?”

“No, no, Coop. No sign of the little girl.”

“Thank God,” I said, beginning to process what he had just told me about Salma. “Hey, Mike? How far out of town did they find her? I mean, where’s the well?”

“Right here. Right close to home.”

“We’ve got wells in Manhattan?”

“It’s the first one I’ve seen. All dried up now, but it’s a well.”

My mind was racing visually up the streets and avenues of the city, lined cheek-to-jowl with brownstones, tenements, high-rise buildings, and housing projects.

“You’ve lost me, Mike. What kind of house had a well?”

“I guess if you owned a mansion, you had a well, Ms. Cooper. This one just happens to be at the mayor’s house,” Mike said. “I’d like to see Battaglia’s face when you tell him the body was found at Gracie Mansion.”