The DeadHouse

26

"Shall I wait while you talk to Professor Grenier?"

"I'd prefer to speak with him alone, as we've done with each of you. Perhaps he and I can go down to his office, so I don't inconvenience you any longer. Will you be here at the college during this week?"

"The next two days. In fact, Sylvia and I were discussing the idea of rounding up some of the faculty tomorrow afternoon and having our own meeting about these events."

"I can't tell you how to run your institution, sir, but I hope you don't intend to conduct a private roundtable discussion about Lola Dakota's murder. If that's your plan, the detective and I would like to be present."

Recantati seemed hesitant to challenge any of Sylvia Foote's suggestions. "I, uh, I'll have to check with Sylvia. We were thinking more of housekeeping matters. Making sure that everyone knows we want them to assist you in any way they can." He bowed his head. "I'm so ashamed of the fact that I might have done something to make your job harder. I probably ought to tell them all what I did."

"Please don't, Professor. For the moment, I take it only Grenier is aware of this. Am I right, or have you told anyone else?" "He's the only one."

Grenier and the person who had actually made the telephone call, if there was such a person. "Let's leave it that way. I'd appreciate it if you let me know if you do decide to get a group of the faculty together.

"One other thing. What have you done with the books that were in Professor Dakota's office? Where are they now?"

"Her sister sent someone to pick up most of her personal effects-her papers and photographs, the knickknacks on her desk and the frames on her wall. But she didn't seem interested in Lola's books. Most of those have been packed away in boxes until we get word from the police that they're not needed for the investigation. Those things related to the Blackwells project will be distributed to other members of the faculty who are part of the team, and some of her research volumes will go to the library, of course." "May I look through those cartons while I'm here?" "Is that-? Well…" "Is it legal? Yes, it's fine. I'll make a formal record of anything

I take."

"I'll explain to Grenier where we've stored them, and he can take you there when you and he are finished. It's just down the hall from his room."

Recantati stepped out to the anteroom to give Grenier a few words of instruction, and then I followed the biologist to his office one flight above.

In contrast to the stark decor of Recantati's temporary space, this was garnished with awards and diplomas, a series of lithographs of Edward Jenner vaccinating his experimental population of village folk in England, and a collection of cobalt-blue antique apothecary jars. They were lined up in alphabetical order, with the one labeled "Arsenic" closest to my chair. A large model of the double helix, with its ladderlike strands of DNA in bright primary colors, sat before me on the desk. Grenier expanded and closed it like an accordion while I described my position and the nature of our investigation. I had used the same exhibit in many of my training lectures on the subject of genetic fingerprinting.

"Whatever Lola wants, eh? Lola gets." The biology professor smiled as he spoke the words of the song.

"I don't think she wanted dead, Professor."

"No," he said slowly, stretching out the single syllable. "But how she would have delighted in being the cause of all this intrigue. I think what she would have liked best is the air of suspicion that's been created here and the pointing of fingers at those of us who crossed her. If every one of us whom she disliked could be suspects for even a nanosecond, I think Lola would have left us behind without a second thought."

"Your concern for her is touching."

"Anything else would be pure charade, as you've probably heard. I once made the mistake of singing that song from Damn Yankees to her, the one about whatever Lola wants. I was jabbing at her, mocking her way of wheedling whatever she wanted out of the administration. Unfortunately she countered with the end of the refrain-'and little man, little Lola wants yow.'" He pushed his glasses back against the bridge of his nose and squinted at me. "I hated being called a little man. She knew that. And she delighted in teasing me about not being able to get me. I'm gay, you see. Open, unashamed, perfectly content to take her humor. It was the 'little' business that used to drive me crazy.

"But she had a mean streak a mile long. And when she thought I had tried to deceive Dr. Lavery, she came after me like a man-eating shark."

"Would you tell me what that was all about?" The helix twisted and turned in his hands. "I'm dead tired, Ms. Cooper. The flight in was extremely turbulent and I was awake the entire night. May we do this another time?"

"It would be helpful if I could get started now. The discussion you were just having with Professor Recantati, about the telephone call that was made to his home last week-?"

"I didn't make the damn call. I don't know anything about it. And quite frankly, the idea of that man going through the desk drawers of any one of us is frightening. Sylvia Foote probably cracked her big whip and Paolo jumped through the hoop for her. Just like her to want to know everything that each one of us is up to, and to use the acting president to do her bidding."

"How would you describe your relationship with Lola Dakota?" The yawn he feigned to gain a few seconds to think about his answer was in direct contrast to the lively fidgeting of his bony hands. "Sorry, I'm so tired I can hardly think. Lola?

"We had gotten along just fine, most of the time. I assume that you've done your homework and know about the matter we were working on together?"

"On Roosevelt Island, the Blackwells project? Yes, I've learned a bit about it."

"We both shared a love for a particular building." "The Smallpox Hospital?"

"Yes. Quite the most magnificent structure in New York City, in my view. And for me, of course, this program offered a rather dramatic study of the history of disease, as well as links to the future, like the potential of using these eradicated viruses for germ warfare. I'll have my hands full for years to come." "And Lola's interest?" "It started, appropriately enough, with her discipline-political science and the history of urban institutions. But the old island romanced her, Ms. Cooper."

"Interesting choice of words."

"Well, that ruin is a stunningly romantic building, don't you think?"

"I do, actually. But what do you mean about Lola?"

"For me, it's intellectually valuable to understand how all the infected populations of a large city were isolated in a single location. Typhus, cholera, ship fever. And then this glorious hospital, designed by one of America's greatest architects as though to disguise the fact that it was dedicated to the deadly smallpox.

"The city still has records of who these patients were, how they were treated, and how many-I should say how few-were cured and returned to their homes. I'm interested in documenting that information and using my students to put it together for the first time."

"What about Lola?"

"A lot of our interests overlapped-same records, same patients. For her studies of the culture, it was intriguing that the charity patients-mostly impoverished immigrants-were kept in a ward on the lower floors. The rich who were infected were banished to the same facility, but to private rooms on the upper floor. For my work, that's of no importance. But Lola liked that kind of cultural detail. She constructed entire fantasies about the people who passed through there."

"And Freeland Jennings's diamonds?"

"Hogwash, as far as I'm concerned. Those stories involved the penitentiary, not the hospital. Lola walked in both worlds, but my business was only with the medical aspects of the island."

"And you do have a business interest in the project, then?"

The helix was spinning wildly in Grenier's hands. "You've been listening to Claude Lavery. What we intend to do with this medical knowledge is to let society benefit from it. Hardly an evil motive, is it, Ms. Cooper? There are still places in this world where these diseases have not been wiped out. There still exist strains of these plagues that are resistant to current kinds of medication." The tone of his voice became more strident. "I guess you think I'm just supposed to let someone else profit from this when it's perfectly legal for me to do so myself?"

"But surely, Professor Lavery is also entitled-"

"We're into entitlements now, are we, Madame Prosecutor? Look, everyone's out there on that island digging around for a particular reason. Are you going to be the one to decide someone is more or less selfish than I am, more or less altruistic? Let's not be ridiculous.

"Recantati tells me he's going to get us all together tomorrow to discuss the late lamented Lola Dakota-Lavery, Shreve, Lockhart, Foote. Join us, Ms. Cooper. Come see the seamier side of academia."

"I'm hoping to be there. Professor Grenier, I wonder if you can tell me if there's an office, or a room, that's used as a base for the Blackwells project? Someplace that serves as a central headquarters for the work you've all been doing?" Someplace that needs a key to enter, I thought to myself.

"King's College is small enough, and our offices are close together in this building, so there has not been a need for a dedicated space over here. And for the moment, until something comes of it, we've just got a rented room with a secretary as the sole staffer, which is over on Roosevelt Island, on Main Street. It's just a studio apartment that we're using until we need something larger to store any objects that we might find in the dig."

"Who has keys to that room?"

He yawned again. "We all do. Even a number of the students. No secrets in there, if that's what you're thinking. Just a desk, a phone, a few filing cabinets. You're welcome to go visit it anytime you like. What are you looking for?"

I wish I knew. "Something related to Blackwells that one might keep locked up."

Grenier placed the double helix on the corner of his desk. "One of Lola's little secrets, no doubt. I'll sleep on it, Ms. Cooper. Maybe one of my charming colleagues knows the answer." He rose to his feet. "I understand I'm to show you the packing boxes with her books?"

"That would be helpful." We walked a short distance from his office. The door was unlocked and he flipped on the light switch. Cardboard cartons lined the bare walls.

"Paolo says they've all been moved in here while I was away. Looking for something special?"

"Not really." Not that I need to tell you.

"He says there's an inventory taped to the wall over near the window. See it?"

I looked over the cartons and nodded to him.

"Can you let yourself out?"

"Yes, thanks."

Grenier said good night and I started to browse through the descriptions of the books. It was an eclectic collection, everything from Chernow's brilliant biographies of the titans of business through Wallace's definitive study of Gotham; nineteenth-century geological surveys to reports of the Department of Correction from the early twentieth century; stories of immigrants from every part of the world and tales of urban America. I couldn't imagine disliking anyone who had such a love of books and had preserved so many of them with such care.

My finger ran up and down the pages that were hanging on the wall above the boxes. I found the reference I had been looking for, listed with the items in carton eighteen.

The only noise in the empty corridor was the thud of the book crates as I unstacked and stacked them again to get to the one I wanted. The label on its top flap was marked "Blackwells Project- Penitentiary." I dragged it off to the side and sat on the floor to explore its contents.

The top volumes were years of annual reports from the Board of Health, which supervised those prisoners who served as "nurses" in the other institutions. Below those were records of the Department of Correction, leading up to MacCormick's raid, which closed the penitentiary permanently. I piled up a few copies of each series and jotted down a note about which ones I was taking with me.

Three-quarters of the way down in the package was a set of matching black leather albums, their grainy finish frayed at the edges. The bottom right corner of each bore the stamped gold initials o.l. I opened the cover of the one on top and saw the elegant penmanship of the then-young man who had documented his life with such care.

I lifted the six volumes of Orlyn Lockhart's diaries from the box and added them to my stack of organizational reports. Now I could hear footsteps coming closer and resounding in the darkened corridor outside the small room. I stood to gather my night's reading material and put on my coat to leave.

When I opened the door I stood face-to-face with the night custodian. "Just coming to get you, miss. I'm supposed to lock up the main door at seven o'clock. Heat gets shut way low. The president asked me to be sure you got out okay."

I thanked him and we walked together down the staircase to the front door. The wind came howling off the river behind my back as I turned up to 116th Street and swept me up to Broadway in its wake. The air was heavy with moisture and the sky was an even shade of dark gray, clouds covering the tops of the tall buildings in the distance. It took me almost ten minutes and several blocks of walking south to find a taxi to take me back to Jake's.

"Smells heavenly." I dropped my books on the table in the entryway and walked into the kitchen, where he was putting a salad together.

"Worth the trip?"

"Definitely." I described the conversations and the two meetings.

"Mike called. Said he's got what you sent him for and he'll see you in the morning."

The table was already set and the candles were lighted. I went inside to slip into leggings and a warm sweater when the chef advised me that dinner would be ready in half an hour.

Back in the living room, I picked up the first volume of Lock-hart's diaries. It was dated 1933, when he was still a prosecutor in the Manhattan District Attorney's Office. I read aloud to Jake, amused by the description of the work in those days. I browsed through the opening pages of the next three books, landing on the one that concerned the raid.

Jake had opened a report by the commissioner of correction and was reading selectively from it to me. "'January 11, 1934. The problem of the female offender is growing, due to her emancipation and tendency toward greater sexual freedom.' Are you listening?"

"Sorry. I'm looking for the part about Freeland Jennings." I skimmed quickly through Lockhart's recounting of the raid, and his personal pain when he learned of the death of his friend. There was no mention of diamonds or precious jewels, and I recalled that Lockhart had said those stories didn't surface until much later on.

"Slow down. You can read till your heart's content after dinner."

I came to the description of Jennings's fancy living quarters in the penitentiary. Then the entries stopped for several days. The narrative resumed after the funeral.

I should like to have something of Jennings's to keep for myself, something to remind me both of him and of this daring raid we conducted to weed out the evil on the island. The belonging that most intrigues me is his miniature secret garden, a detailed replica of all of the great buildings of Blackwells constructed in the last century.

It seems that Freeland befriended an indigent prisoner, a stonemason from Italy-same region as Ariana, actually- who was sentenced to the penitentiary because he was a grave robber. Broke into mausoleums and took precious objects that decorated private family crypts. A petty criminal but a gifted artisan nonetheless. He created a meticulous tabletop copy of the island which my own friend kept in his prison room. An exceptional piece of artwork, really. Shows every edifice, every tree, and practically every rock on the whole place. I shall ask Commissioner MacCormick if I may claim the model as my souvenir of our endeavor.

Freeland wrote to me concerning his garden once. Said he would tell me more about it when I came to visit. He said it held the secret to his survival on the island.