Cemetery Dance

Rocker finally said, 'I repeat: that's all?'

'The man's issued threats, he's a collector of voodoo items — I think that's a solid beginning.'

'Solid? Lieutenant, let me tell you what you have. You have shit.'

'Sir, I respectfully disagree.' D'Agosta wasn't going to knuckle under. His entire team was behind him on this.

'Can't you understand we're dealing with one of the wealthiest men in Manhattan, a friend of the mayor, a philanthropist all over town, sitting on a dozen Fortune Five Hundred boards? You can't trash his office without a damn good reason!'

'Sir, this is just the beginning. I believe we have enough to justify continuing the investigation, and I intend to do just that.' D'Agosta tried to keep his voice mild, neutral, but firm.

The commissioner stared at him. 'Let me just say this: until you get a smoking gun on the man — and I meansmoking — you back off. That search was improper. It was harassment. And don't feign innocence. I was a homicide cop once, just like you. I know why you tossed his place, and I don't approve of those methods. You don't pull that drug — bust crap on a well — known, respected member of this city.'

'He's a scumbag.'

'That's the bad attitude I'm talking about, D'Agosta. Look, I'm not going to tell you how to run a homicide investigation, but I am warning you that the next time you want to pull something like that on Kline, think again.' He stared long and hard at D'Agosta.

'I hear you, sir.' D'Agosta had said what he had to say. No point in provoking the commissioner further.

'I'm not taking you off the Smithback homicide. Not yet. But I'm watching you, D'Agosta. Don't go native on me again.'

'Yes, sir.' The commissioner waved a hand dismissively as he turned back to the window. 'Now get out of here.'

Chapter 26

Although theNew York Public Library had closed ninety minutes before, Special Agent Pendergast had unusual visiting privileges and never permitted the formality of business hours to incommode him. He glanced around with approval at the empty rows of tables in the cavernous Main Reading Room; nodded to the guard in the doorway whose nose was deep inMont Saint Michel and Chartres; then ducked into the receiving station and made his way down a steep set of metal stairs. After descending four flights, he exited into a low — ceilinged basement vault that seemed to stretch ahead endlessly, filled floor — to — ceiling with stack after stack of books on cast — iron shelves. Making his way down a transverse corridor, he opened a dingy, unmarked gray door. Beyond, another set of stairs — narrow and even steeper — led farther downward.

Another three flights and he emerged into a bizarre and semi — ruined bookscape. In the dim light, stacks of ancient and decomposing books leaned against one another for support. Tables littered with unbound book signatures, razor blades, jars of printer's glue, and other paraphernalia of manuscript surgery stood everywhere. Blizzards of printed material receded on all sides to an unguessable distance, forming a labyrinth of literature. There was an intense silence. The stuffy air smelled of dust and decay.

Pendergast placed the bundle he had been carrying on a nearby stack and cleared his throat.

For a moment, the silence remained unbroken. Then — from some remote and indeterminate distance — there was a faint scurrying. It grew slowly louder. And then an old man emerged from between two columns of books, tiny and frighteningly gaunt. A miner's hard hat rested atop a blizzard of white hair.

The man reached up and snapped off the headlamp. 'Hypocrite lecteur,' he said in a voice as thin and dry as birch bark. 'I've been expecting you.'

Pendergast gave a small bow. 'Interesting fashion statement, Wren,' he said, indicating the hard hat. 'Quite the rage in West Virginia, I understand.'

The old man gave a silent laugh. 'I've been — shall we say — spelunking. And down here in the Antipodes, working lightbulbs can be hard to come by.'

Whether Wren was actually employed by the public library, or whether he'd simply decided to take up residence here on its lowest sub — level, was anybody's guess. What was uncontestable, however, was his unique talent for esoteric research.

Wren's eyes fell hungrily on the bundle. 'And what goodies have you brought me today?'

Pendergast picked it up and proffered it. Wren reached greedily, tearing away the wrappings to reveal three books.

'Early Arkham House,' he sniffed. 'I'm afraid I was never one for the literature of the weird.'

'Take a closer look. These are the rarest, most collectible editions.'

Wren examined the books one after the other. 'Hmm. A pre — publication Outsider, with the trial green dustwrapper.Always Comes Evening ' — he plucked off the jacket to examine the cover—'with the variant spine. And a leather — boundShunned House … containing Barlow's signature on the front pastedown. Dated Mexico City, not long before his suicide. A remarkable association copy.' Wren raised his eyebrows as he carefully put down the books. 'I spoke too rashly. A noble gift indeed.'

Pendergast nodded. 'I'm glad you approve.'

'Since your call, I've managed to do some preliminary research.'

'And?'

Wren rubbed his hands together. 'I'd no idea Inwood Hill Park had such an interesting history. Did you know it has remained an essentially primeval forest since the American Revolution? Or that it was once the site of Isidor Straus's summer estate — until Straus and his wife died on the Titanic?' 'So I've heard.'

'Quite a story. The old man refused to board the lifeboat before the women and children, and Mrs. Straus refused to leave her husband. She put her maid into the lifeboat instead, and the couple went down together. After they died, their 'cottage' up in Inwood fell into ruin. But my research indicates that, in the years before, a groundskeeper was murdered, and there were other unfortunate events that kept the Strauses away from—'

'And the Ville?' Pendergast interjected gently.

'You mean the Ville des Zirondelles.' Wren grimaced. 'A more shadowy, secretive bunch is hard to imagine. I'm afraid my examination of them is still in its infancy — and under the circumstances I'm not sure I'll ever be able to learn a great deal.'

Pendergast waved his hand. 'Just let me know what you've discovered so far, please.'

'Very well.' Wren laid the tip of one bony index finger against the other, as if to tick off points of interest. 'It seems that the first building of the Ville — as it's now known — was originally constructed in the early 1740s by a religious sect that fled England to avoid persecution. They ended up on the north end of Manhattan, in what is now the park in question. As was so often the case, this band of pilgrims had more idealism than pragmatism. They were city people — writers, teachers, a banker — and were intensely naive about making a living off the land. It seemed they had peculiar views regarding communal living. Believing the entire community should live and work together as a single unit, they had their ship's carpenters build a vast structure out of local stone and planking. It was part dwelling place, part workplace, part chapel, part fortress.'

He ticked off the next finger. 'But the tip of the island they'd chosen for their settlement was rocky and inhospitable for farming or animal husbandry — even for those knowledgeable about such things. There were no more local Indians around to give them advice — the Weckquaesgeek and the Lenape had long since left — and the closest European settlement was at the other end of Manhattan, two days' journey. The new settlers proved to be indifferent fishermen. There were a few farmers scattered around who had already chosen the best farming spots, and though they were willing to sell some crops for hard cash, they weren't inclined to provide free sustenance for an entire community.'

'So the folly of their plan soon became clear,' Pendergast murmured.

'Precisely. Disappointment and internecine squabbling followed quickly. Within a dozen years or so the colony was dissolved, its residents moving elsewhere in New England or returning to Europe, and the structure was