'And who rides with you?'
A sloping manicured lawn topped by a series of two-story colonial brick buildings ran down to the water's edge.
'We got some park rangers who patrol the area from ten to five. Then we get a few developers and government types who come back and forth for planning and surveying. Occasionally retired army personnel who were stationed here years ago request permission to come back, show their families around.'
'Anyone keep track of their names?' Mercer asked.
'I don't know. Check with the rangers. They've been holding events here from time to time during the summer. Real pain in the neck for us. We've had pretty slow going for so long.'
'What kind of events?'
'Rock concerts, dance recitals, ball games on the old polo grounds-'
'Polo?' I asked.
'Yeah, while it was an army base for a couple of centuries, the cavalry trained here. There's a big polo field,' the captain said. 'July and August are the worst.'
'Why?'
'Last couple of years, GIPEC's been holding-'
'GIPEC?'
'Governors Island Preservation and Education Corporation. They run the place,' the captain said, navigating around a long barge headed slowly upriver. 'They've been using the parade grounds and the old fort to stage Civil War battle reenactments on Sundays.'
'What kind of battles?' Mike asked. 'Who shows up?'
'It takes all types, Detective. You get these history buffs who like to dress up in old uniforms and chase each other around. Military nuts.'
'But who watches them? How do people get here?'
'There's always a crowd. We don't have much capacity on this sweet thing, so GIPEC rents some of the water taxis to get people on and off for the day.'
'Is there an event tomorrow?' Mercer asked.
'Next big one is Labor Day weekend. But there'll be a rehearsal tomorrow. There's one every Sunday. Fifty or so guys, in the old blue and gray. A few gawkers come along for the ride. We'll make a couple of extra runs, use our freight boat as backup, and get them all over. It's only the big displays I need help transporting the sightseers.'
'Weapons?' Mike asked.
'The Park Service has that old stuff stored away here. Cannonballs and muskets spread all over the place. These boys are just out to amuse each other. Nobody gets hurt.'
Mike flipped open his cell phone and dialed Peterson's number.
'Talk fast,' the captain said. 'You won't get any reception on the island.'
He was steering the nose of the boat toward the landing dock, patiently trying to control it as the aft end fishtailed in the strong current.
'Loo. You still in Scully's office?' Mike asked, then repeated the story about the battle reenactments to his boss. 'You're going to need a detail here tomorrow if the mayor stays on course. The press will be all over the place by morning. Have someone checking IDs at the old ferry terminal, okay? Slip number seven. The last thing we need is our killer walking around the battlefield with live ammo. Talk to you later.'
The stern of the ferry bounced off the pilings in the pier and we swayed from side to side as the shore crew stabilized her.
'Gives me more reason to think this may have been where our guy was headed with Amber Bristol-maybe even while she was still alive,' Mercer said.
'I'm surprised Battaglia didn't push me on coming over when Amber's body was found at the terminal,' I said.
'He doesn't have any constituents on Governors Island, Coop. Nobody to vote for him. High anxiety but low priority.'
The shore crew-three men and a young woman in dark blue jumpsuits-secured the boat before they took the chain off to let us disembark. At the end of the ramp was a tall man in a khaki uniform, arms crossed and unsmiling.
'I'm Russell Leamer,' he said. 'Park Service. Commissioner Scully's office called. I understand we haven't satisfied your curiosity.'
At the top of the landing was an enormous black cannon, mounted in a cement surround, made to appear more benign by the field of red impatiens that had been planted around it.
'It's more than curiosity, Mr. Leamer,' Mike said. 'Three women are dead, and the killer has some fixation with the U.S. military service. One of his victims was dumped right on top of your ferry terminal.'
'We let some of your men poke around, Detective. They were here the very next day.'
'That was before we knew what we were looking for, Mr. Leamer.'
'And exactly what are you looking for now?' Leamer asked, his arms locked in place across his chest.
Mike looked from Mercer to me. We had very little time before the mayor made his announcement and the media would attempt to swarm over all of the places directly or indirectly connected to the disappearances and deaths of our three victims.
'You'll hear the news shortly anyway,' Mike said. 'The guy who killed the girl in the abandoned offices over the terminal-well, he probably murdered two others. He might have been trying to get here with his victim. Maybe had a place to hide her on the island.'
Leamer's expression didn't change. 'Hard to get lost in a crowd over here. We know everything that goes on.'
Mike started to walk around Leamer, who stretched out an arm to stop him.
'Look, the mayor and the police commissioner want this done, and we're going to do it.'
'You're standing on federal property, Detective. You want to swim around to the part of the island the city owns? Be my guest. Otherwise, the three of you need to sit on one of those benches and wait for the agents.'
'What agents? FBI? You've called in the feebies?'
'Yeah. I've asked for a detail to come over from the city. You want a guided tour, they can take you.'
'C'mon, Coop. Stick with Mercer,' Mike said, as he continued to charge up the incline and called back to Leamer. 'By the time the feds figure out what's going on around here, there'll be more bodies than they can count.
TWENTY-FIVE
Iwas trying to keep up with Mercer, who was trailing behind Mike. He had turned right at the top of the hill and was leading us on the uneven cobblestone path that paralleled the seawall along the edge of the island.
'Think military, Mercer. I'll tell you everything I remember about this place and see if that gives you any ideas, okay?'
A light drizzle began to fall. Off to our right, the river's water darkened and swirled. To our left was a low brick building more than a city block long.
'What's that?' Mercer asked. 'Built as an arsenal.'
'Like Bannerman?' I asked.
'This one was done by the government in the early 1800s. Held all the arms and ammo for army posts on the entire Atlantic coast,' Mike said, jogging up to the building to peek in several windows. 'Closed up pretty tight. When the army shut down, this became administrative offices. Looks like it's still in use and too near the ferry landing to be a viable hiding place.'
The three of us kept up our fast-paced march, moving out into a wide open space with stunning views of Staten Island and New Jersey that made the strategic setting of this forgotten island crystal clear to me. The wind
