better yet, a moment when there were no more moves at all.
He didn’t have to wait long for a report to come on the radio.
“This is WCBS with breaking news. We’ve got more on the building explosion at West One thirty-fourth Street in Manhattan. Rich Lamb is at the site. Rich?”
“David, the building was a two-story structure, believed to be a private residence. The fire department, NYPD, hazmat crews, and federal authorities are all here, but no one is saying very much. I can tell you this: it looks more like an im plosion than an ex plosion. The place seems to have collapsed in on itself, leaving everything around it untouched.”
“Could this have been a terrorist act, Rich?”
“Investigators will have to consider that possibility. This place could have been either a target or a bomb factory where something went wrong. And, of course, the cause of the explosion could have been something less sinister, like a gas leak. Commissioner Kelly is due to make a statement soon. Until then, we’ll-”
Hall turned off the radio and unmuted his cell. It was time to play the string out.
“Mitch?”
“Yeah?”
“I think Geiger’s place blew up.”
“ What? With Ray in it?”
“It’s on the radio. A building on West One thirty-fourth.” He paused for effect. “Leveled. Nothing left.” Hall fashioned a sigh. “Jesus…” he said.
“Oh man,” said Mitch. “The poor fucker.” He let out a sigh that matched Hall’s. They were kindred spirits, each critiquing their own performance while studying the other’s.
Hall counted off an appropriate pause, then held on to his somber tone. “Anything new on Corley?”
“Just came up,” Mitch replied. “Corley owns a house in Cold Spring. Twenty-nine River Lane. Maybe fifteen minutes away.”
“Satellite it.”
“Already did. It’s outside of town, closest neighbor at least a quarter of a mile away. He’s got a dock on the river.”
“Boat?”
“On the dock. Looks like a rowboat. This is a helluva lot better than an apartment on CPW, huh?”
Hall smiled. The million monkeys were typing away, and one of them seemed to be on the verge of producing something quite extraordinary.
“Yeah,” Hall said. “It’s perfect.”
21
“Geiger…”
Geiger opened his eyes to see Harry staring at him from the driver’s seat. Otherwise the Suburban was empty.
“We’re here,” Harry said.
“Where is here?”
“Corley’s house in Cold Spring.”
Geiger opened his door, leaned out, and spat blood. “I have to get some ice.” He picked up the bag and got out of the car.
Harry met Geiger as he began walking slowly up a flagstone path. He reached out as if to help him, but Geiger shook his head.
“I’m all right.”
“No, you’re not.”
Geiger turned to face him, his eyes brimming with a hard light. “Yes, Harry, I am.”
As Geiger continued on toward the house, Harry looked around. To the west, the grounds stretched in a smooth, downward slope toward the water, untended and wild. Between the meadow and the river stood a dense line of trees; old firs and beeches, their trunks thick and knobby, spread crooked branches that cast long shadows in the fading sunlight. Ahead of Harry, the house-a two-story gray colonial-rested on the highest point of land, its eight-foot first-floor windows and wraparound porch providing a soaring view of the Hudson and the hills on its far side.
Bordered by tall, spike-topped ground lamps, the flagstone path led to the front entrance, and as Geiger and Harry neared the steps, Ezra and Lily appeared in one of the first-floor windows. Standing side by side, they were only dimly visible, the glass’s thick film of dust making phantasms of them, as if they were in the world but not of it.
From inside Geiger’s bag came the ring of his cell phone. Halfway up the steps, he stopped, took out the phone, and answered.
“Ms. Wayland?”
“I’m here-at JFK.”
“Are you using a pay phone?”
“Yes. Let me speak to my son.”
“In a minute, but first you’re going to talk to someone who will give you directions. You need to rent a car. We’re at a house in Cold Spring, New York.”
Geiger handed the phone to Harry.
“Hi,” he said, “this is Harry.” He took Corley’s directions out of his pocket. “Here’s where you’re going. Got a pen?”
Geiger reached the top step and rested for a moment. The front door opened and the boy stood before him, gazing at him with a quizzical expression.
“That’s your mother on the phone, Ezra. Go talk to her.”
Ezra was silent for a moment. “They beat you up trying to get you to tell them where I was, didn’t they?”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t tell them.”
“No.”
“What did they do to you?”
“You don’t need to know that.”
“Okay.” Ezra gave him a last look and then went down the steps.
Geiger entered the house. Beyond the foyer, a long hall ran straight to a back door; off to the right, a stairway led to the second floor. The living room, immediately to the left, had a high unfinished-wood ceiling and was dominated by a hearth of uncut stone that took up half a wall. Lily stood before it, her fingers tracing the crooked lines of fitted rock.
“It’s a great big puzzle,” she said.
Geiger moved into the room and sat down on an overstuffed couch. He had often stared at the photograph of this house in Corley’s office and wondered what its interior looked like. He leaned over, reached past the edge of an old Persian rug, and ran a fingertip across the wide-plank floor. Old pine. The wood needed oil; linseed would be best, with a touch of tung. He sank back in the cushions. He could hear Ezra outside, walking the porch with a fresh step, talking to his mother on the phone.
“No, Mom,” the boy said. “No first name. Just Geiger.”
Harry hobbled in and handed Geiger a glass full of ice cubes, then sat down beside him with a groan. He glanced at Geiger’s pants; the fabric against his thigh glistened.
“Thank you,” said Geiger, and sucked a few cubes into his mouth.
“So who worked you over?”
“Dalton.”
Harry cocked his head. “Dalton?”
