Terminal City

TWENTY-EIGHT

It was almost eleven o’clock when I heard banging and scraping against the metal door. It was Pug McBride’s voice calling for Mike that first penetrated the space.

“You inside there, Chapman?”

Mercer was still beside the door. “We all are. Open up.”

I helped Don Ledger to his feet, and we waited as the objects wedged under the doorknob to prevent it from moving-which turned out to be lengths of old steel railroad ties-were dragged aside and one of the workmen with a skeleton key unlocked the door.

As hot and steamy as the tunnel area surrounding the staircase was, it was refreshing after the stillness of M42.

“Everybody okay?” Pug asked.

“Get a bus to take Mr. Ledger to the ER, will you?” I asked. There were EMTs and firemen who worked inside the terminal who could carry him up the winding staircase and load him into an ambulance. He needed to be checked out. “He needs water as soon as possible, and I think we all do.”

“Good work, Pug,” Mike said, patting McBride on the back. “I keep telling Rocco you’re going to find a real perp one day, if you keep looking hard enough.”

“You were easy. I just followed the scent of your vodka through the station.”

“Odorless, Pug. That’s why I drink the stuff.”

“And that’s why I’m such a brilliant detective. Caught the teeniest whiff of it and dogged it through the entire terminal.”

“Thanks, Pug,” I said. “Another hour and I would have melted.”

“You already look like you did,” he said, giving me the once-over.

“How’d you find us?” Mercer asked.

“One of the summer interns overheard Ledger talking. Said he was taking some cops down to M42. I got kind of antsy when we got a hit on the dead girl’s ID at about nine this morning. Didn’t get an answer from Mike when I called his cell to let him know, and then Rocco couldn’t bring up any of you on your phones, so he sent us here to look.”

“Lydia Tsarlev,” Mike said.

Pug’s entire face screwed up in puzzlement. “You got a TV set in there but no cell service? You know her name already?”

Mike took the girl’s ID out of his pocket and held it up to Pug McBride’s face. “I just told you her name, didn’t I? Now let me out of here. Whoever was using this as his crib has at least a two-hour jump on us.”

Mike started up the spiral staircase, but Pug was pulling at his shirt.

“You sat on this information since last night?”

“Don’t be a jerk, Pug. I just found it inside this basement,” Mike said, taking the steps two at a time. “Scully’s got to saturate the terminal with uniforms. Get Crime Scene in here to dust for prints and pick up the blanket for trace. Meet you in Ledger’s office.”

“I’ll stay put till the guys come for Ledger,” I said.

Mike called down over the railing. “This entire area-M42 and whatever abuts it-has to be secured, Pug. Nobody gets access unless they’re cops. And nobody touches nothing.”

“I’m taking orders from you, Chapman?”

“For now you are. And keep your eye on the blonde. She’s as fragile as an old rotary converter.”

“Yeah, she looks like she got hit by a bus,” Pug said.

It was only minutes until four men from the Grand Central fire station clambered down the staircase. Don Ledger tried to insist that he walk up under his own steam, but two of them managed to lock hands and carry him, despite the steepness of the steps and the great height. A wheelchair was waiting for him at the elevator landing, and by the time we emerged on the lower concourse, the ambulance crew had taken him out.

Mercer and I were on our way to regroup with Mike in Ledger’s office.

“Give me five minutes,” I said.

“Not alone.”

“Then come along.”

He followed me up a ramp, past Posman bookstore and a doughnut shop, to a small Banana Republic in the retail area of the terminal. I bought a shirt for each of us to replace the ones we’d been wearing, which were soaked with perspiration.

“You think I smell bad?” Mercer asked when I handed my money to the cashier.

“I know you do. And I can’t stand myself this way. There’s a bathroom in the stationmaster’s suite. You can either shower or just clean up a bit.”

We walked back to Ledger’s office, where Mike had taken over the man’s desk and mouthed to us that he was on the phone with Rocco Correlli. I took the shirts out of the bag and he gave me a thumbs-up before slamming down the receiver.

“Here’s the deal,” he said. “Scully’s calling in every unit he can get. NYPD, Metro-North, National Guard, US Army, feds, state troopers. You name ’em, we’ll have ’em.”

“When?” Mercer asked.

“He can’t control that, but he said we’d be seeing a flood of cops. He’ll divert a lot of details from the four-to-twelve shift, and then more at midnight.”

“I thought Grand Central closes its doors at two A.M.,” I said.

“It does. The plan is to get as much law enforcement in here as a presence as soon as possible. Uniforms and guns everywhere.”

“That won’t catch the killer,” Mercer said, “but it will comfort the commuters.”

“Exactly. The only reason the terminal shuts down between two and five thirty A.M. is that it prevents the place from becoming a homeless shelter again. Gets everybody to clear out. So that gives us an opportunity to have investigators from any or all of the agencies go through here with a fine-tooth comb.”

“If we haven’t put our hands on the killer by midnight, they can penetrate every crevice of the terminal and the tunnels.”

“From what we’ve seen,” I said, “that doesn’t even seem remotely possible. Each level leads to another level beneath or above it, or a tunnel that leads to another part of Terminal City or a wheelhouse or a room that isn’t on the blueprints.”

“Losing heart, sunshine?” Mike asked. “It doesn’t sound like you.”

“Whoever this guy is, he’s done his homework. Wherever we go, he’s been there first. Yes, I’m demoralized by it.”

“And you’re sweaty, and maybe a tad hungover?”

“All of the above,” I said.

“So the manpower is the first order of business. Next is Lydia Tsarlev.”

“They’ve found her family?” I asked.

“No. It’s several of her classmates who called in. She’s an exchange student, here on some kind of visa. The lieutenant has a team going to White Plains to search her apartment. He needs to contact her parents, check her computer if there is one. Routine stuff.”

“How about Corinne Thatcher’s parents? Or her brother? I can get Ryan to work on that with your squad.”

“He’s on it, kid. Looking for any connection between the two vics. Where have you been all morning? In a black hole?”

“Very black. I’m about to clean up.”

“Before you hear the DNA results?”

“The lab got a match?” Somehow the adrenaline was pumping again.

“Not a perp, Coop. Not yet. Just case to case.”

“So the speck of blood on the curtain at the Waldorf wasn’t Corinne Thatcher’s after all?”

“All cred to Dr. Azeem and his fancy camera,” Mike said. “The killer must have cut himself.”

“And it matches some of the blood in the Big Timber train car?”

“Yeah. Case to case. Confirms the killer of both women is the same guy.”

“If you didn’t know any other way.” I crossed fingers on both hands. “Now tell me he’s in the data bank.”

“Weren’t you listening? There’s no profile for him in either the city or the state banks.”

“But they haven’t tried NDIS yet?” I asked. I was referring to the National DNA Identification System maintained by the FBI.

“Going in as we speak. Should have results later today.”

“It’s like Pug said when we were first at the Waldorf.” I was removing the tags from my shirt with renewed spirit and energy. “Nobody comes out of nowhere. Not with a killing style like this.”

“I’m with you, Alex,” Mercer said. “This bastard has killed before. He’s got to be high profile in somebody’s data bank.”