Hell Gate

FORTY-SIX

“Lock it up and set the alarm, will you?” Mike asked the cop as he let us out.

We walked down the front steps as Mercer pulled in and parked behind the Jaguar.

“You want Crime Scene to take the sheets for DNA?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’ll send somebody over to voucher them tomorrow,” Mike said. “Process the room for prints.”

Mercer rolled down his window. “Hope you did better than I did. Came up empty.”

“Any sign of the guy who ran out of here?”

“I don’t think so. Everything’s shadows and branches blowing in the wind. My eyes were playing tricks on me. How about the house?”

“Well, if this is where Anita spent her evening with a gentleman, there was a very light dinner served. But the bed saw some action.”

“Guess she’s up to her old tricks,” Mercer said.

“You didn’t happen to see the congressman on the prowl?”

“Leighton?”

“Yeah. The uniformed guys tell us he got bored waiting on his wheels. Walked off into the night. Keep an eye out for him. I think he’s getting desperate.”

“He probably knows more about where Anita might be than he told us. And stupid enough to be trying to find her.”

“I think Coop’s right. It kills me to go through Tim Spindlis on this,” Mike said, “but we need to understand those phantom funds Kendall Reid set up.”

The sky was beginning to lighten as dawn eased into the city.

“What are you thinking?” Mercer asked.

“There are only three Federal Period mansions still standing in Manhattan-this one, Gracie, and the Hamilton Grange. Reid’s phony operation was snagging cash for the Grange, right?”

“And they’re the places that were used when Moses Leighton staged his private dinners,” Mercer said. “The Tontine Association.”

The uniformed cop nearing the end of his night shift loped down the front steps of the old house.

“But that association was retired,” Mercer said. “Too many boys with bad behavior.”

“Let’s talk it out over bacon and eggs,” Mike said. “I’m thinking, what if Kendall Reid took a page out of Leighton’s book. I mean, the old guy was his mentor. Taught him everything.”

“Like he re-created the gentlemen’s club?” I asked.

“Maybe they look like gents but they’re scoundrels instead. Sub rosa-the secrecy symbol of medieval councils.”

“And Reid’s in the council,” Mercer said. “It’s got possibilities.”

“Every one of these fabulous houses stands empty. Even Gracie Mansion,” Mike said. “The mayor doesn’t sleep there. No mayor has been in residence there since long before Bloomberg took office.”

“So you’re saying forget the dinner, and rent out the bedroom to the highest bidder. Pay for play.”

“Like a tontine, with scads of cash being raised from its members, going to import these young women from wherever the cargo is most readily available. Mexico, Asia, Eastern Europe.”

“History, politics, sexual intrigue,” Mercer said. “It’s a heady mix.”

The cop in the RMP was calling out to his partner. He started the engine and turned on the red emergency light.

The second officer picked up speed and hurried to get into the car.

“Where’s the fire?” Mike asked. “What’s your hurry?”

“High Bridge Park. Sector Charlie just called in. There’s a woman down.”

“What happened? Have they ID’d her?”

“Not yet. A couple of dog walkers found her beneath the bridge. Looks like she screwed up a suicide attempt. The bus is on the way to take her to the hospital.”

“She’s alive?” Mike asked.

“Barely. She’s still breathing,” the cop said. “Likely to die.”