Killer Heat

'When the British took New Amsterdam from the Dutch,' Mike said, 'they used the island as a retreat for the royal governors. Should have stayed in school, Guido.'

'You did a search over there, didn't you?'

Mike frowned and brushed his hair off his forehead. 'Did I? Like personally?'

'Yes, you-Mike Chapman. The homicide squad. Somebody the commissioner can rely on.'

'Bristol's body was found on this side of the water, Guido. Detectives from Night Watch went over to the island to check it out. The killer never got her there, trust me. The fire department took them all around the place.'

'Scully won't like that,' Guido said.

The schism between New York's Bravest, the NYFD, and New York's Finest, the NYPD, had widened after their heroic actions on 9/11. The tension between the two commissioners had intensified in the aftermath, as operative responses were more carefully defined for each of the services.

'The frigging place hasn't been inhabited since the coast guard gave it up in '96. Even an amateur would know if someone had been on the island. People work there during the day-groundskeepers and the ferry crew. But the only two guys who live on the island-I mean overnight-are firemen, for the protection of the historic buildings.'

'This is going to be ugly,' Guido said.

'What now?' I asked.

'You know who owns Governors Island?'

I shook my head from side to side.

'The city and the state. They've both got jurisdiction. The governor will have the place swarming with troopers by morning, and the mayor'll get to announce that the NYPD hasn't really investigated there yet,' Guido said.

Mike started pacing behind my seat. 'Just to add to your agita, Guido. The feds will jump in, too. The old fortress is still their property. It's a national monument.'

'Then if I were you, Chapman,' Guido said, checking his watch. 'I'd get your ass over there on the next boat. Make the commissioner an honest man when he goes on the air at five o'clock to tell them his department is doing a thorough investigation. There's got to be something to that idea of a military nexus to the murders.'

'We're moving,' Mike said, looking down to meet my eyes when he spoke. 'I know what's over there, Guido. It's another ghost island.

TWENTY-FOUR

An RMP with lights and sirens made our trip from Police Plaza to the old terminal building in less than two minutes.

We left Dickie Draper behind at headquarters, to help Guido triage the data in the police reports that would be the subject of media scrutiny.

Mike got out and handed the driver a slip of paper with a Brooklyn address on it. 'Eunice Chapman, she's expecting you. Bay Ridge. She's going to give you a box full of old catalogs. Take them to-your apartment okay, Coop? Drop them with Ms. Cooper's doorman,' he said, adding my address to the note.

Mercer walked to the entrance of the northernmost ferry slip. It was the place through which Mike and I had entered to climb up to the grim room in which Amber Bristol's body had been found. Now, a twelve-foot wire mesh fence blocked the way, with a sign that warned: ACTIVE DRIVEWAY-NO PARKING. And in smaller letters below: 'Watch for vehicles entering or leaving the site. 'Yo. Anybody home?' Mercer shouted.

Mike came up behind him and called again. 'Would have been nice if someone actually had been looking for vehicles leaving the site the night Amber was dumped. A man in a blue jumpsuit came from behind the interior building. 'Yeah? Whaddaya want? Mercer flashed his badge. 'Police. We need a lift to Governors Island.'

'Next service run is at four o'clock. You make arrangements with anyone?'

The Lt. Samuel L. Coursen was berthed at the dock, just thirty feet ahead of us. It was three fifteen and Mike was impatient. 'The captain's expecting me.'

'He is? He didn't say nothin' to me.'

'Hurry up. We're trying to beat the rain.'

The man looked confused but unlocked the gate, and before he could close it again Mike was leading us to the ramp of the old motor vessel.

'That's where Amber's body was,' he said to Mercer, pointing up behind us to the landing at the top of the building's rust-encrusted staircase.

'Good place to leave it. Looks pretty uninviting to me.'

There was bright red lettering on the door that said: DANGER-HIGH VOLTAGE. Everything around the space was so filthy and dilapidated that it didn't seem surprising that no one had ventured in to find the missing woman until the stench became overwhelming.

Mike stepped over the railing that separated the aft platform of the ferry from the landing bay and held out his hand to help me over.

Two men came running down the staircase from the bridge of the boat. Mike explained to them why we needed to cross as quickly as possible.

'C'mon. You can drop us off and be back here in twenty minutes.'

They reluctantly led us up to the wheelhouse, called over to tell the crew on Governors Island to expect them, and fired up the engine.

'Any of you ever been over here before?' the captain asked.

Only Mike answered. 'Yes. Twenty years ago, when it was the largest coast guard base in the world.'

'I thought you said it was an army post,' I said.

'That's why it was built in 1776, when George Washington sent the first garrison there. By 1966, it was turned over to the coast guard.'

I covered my ears as the copilot blasted the ferry horn to announce our departure to the boats around us on the river.

'How long's the ride?' Mercer asked.

'Six minutes. It's just eight hundred yards from Manhattan.'

'Ferries are open to the public?'

The captain answered with a firm 'No.'

'But that's all about to change,' Mike said. 'This is the year they announce a plan for the island's future, isn't it?'

We pulled out into the swirling gray water. Landing off to our right, dwarfing us, was one of the Staten Island ferries, and ahead on the river was a lively mix of pleasure craft, small yachts, water taxis, sailboats, and Circle Line tour ships.

'What future?' I asked.

'One hundred seventy-two acres of prime New York City real estate,' the captain said. 'The city and state have to figure out how to use it-jointly. It's all in the planning stage now, for redevelopment as civic space, with an arts center and recreational activities. The island's a pretty spectacular place.'

'I had no idea it was so large,' I said.

'The historic district is only twenty-two acres,' Mike said. 'The National Park Service still owns it. That piece will be restored and maintained while the rest is developed.'

'There's a national park on Governors Island?'

I looked across at the massive stone fortification on the southern tip of the island.

'Any private boats go there?' Mercer asked.

I knew he was thinking of the short, easy ride from the mainland to the dock at Bannerman Island.

'The forty-two seats on this old reliable is all you've got, at the moment,' the captain said, gesturing to the pier ahead. 'Trying to land there is worse than threading a needle when you're drunk. See those two slips? They run perpendicular to the current, which is always trying to drive you away. Pretty rough. And on either side of them, you got a brick seawall that could smash a small vessel to smithereens.'