Entombed (43 page)

Ellen's screams should
have shattered the hundreds of glass panes that surrounded us.

I let go of Scotty and
ran to where she lay, facedown, as though something was holding her in
place.

"Ellen!"

She stretched out an
arm to me and turned her face. There was blood everywhere.

I stepped off the
paved walk and onto the rocks that ringed the giant plant.
Encephalartos
horridus-a ferocious blue cycad
was the way a nearby sign described
this unlikely weapon.

Every long arm of the
green monster was lined with spikes, from its root down to its very
tips. Ellen's face and torso had been impaled on them with the force of
the kid's thrust, and I had to literally lift her off its center,
thorns hanging from her skin like rusty nails from an old railroad tie.

I sat her on the
ground and waited for her heaving cries to stop. Behind me, Scotty-also
in some kind of physical distress-kept murmuring apologies about not
being able to help.

"Call nine-one-one,
Scotty. Can you do that?"

Ellen started to pull
the prickly pieces out of her forehead. "Don't touch them," I said to
her. "Let me try it."

I could see she was
ripping the skin on her face in an effort to get out the thorns. The
pain must have been excruciating, and I tried to spread the wounds
apart with my fingers to release the embedded needles without further
lacerating the surface.

Again I looked over my
shoulder. Scotty had rested his bulky body against some kind of small
tree trunk. The overweight, outof-shape detective was fumbling with his
cell phone as though it was a struggle even to open it. He looked like
he was in the middle of suffering a heart attack.

I grabbed the phone
from his hand and dialed 911.

"It's just my angina,
Alex. It'll pass."

"Operator? Yes, it's
an emergency. At the Botanical Gardens. Inside the Haupt Conservatory."

Now the battery of
questions.

"No, operator. I have
no idea what cross street. It's a police officer
down.
Two
officers, badly
injured. We need an ambulance and we need cops."

"I don't understand,
miss. Is this a crime or a medical emergency?" the 911 operator asked.

"It's both, damn it.
We're wasting precious time."

I gave her the
information and hung up. I dialed Mercer's number. "Where the hell are
you?"

"I'm over in front of
the administration building. I just arrived but nobody's around."

"The conservatory-the
crystal palace, remember? Get security and get over here as fast as you
can. There's an ambulance on the way. I'll explain."

I dropped the phone on
the ground and tried to stop Ellen from pulling more thorns out and
scarring her face.

In all of this, it
suddenly occurred to me, Zeldin had never opened his mouth to offer
help. I twisted around to confront him, but he was nowhere in sight.

42

"Is it taking them as
long as it feels?" Ellen asked.

I had removed all the
thorns from her face. Blood had streaked down her cheeks and lined her
neck. It caked on my hands as well.

"Are you okay if I go
back to the door? Maybe Mercer's having trouble getting in."

She nodded.

"Scotty-don't even
think about moving a hair until Mercer and I get back," I said, but he
didn't seem capable of trying. I balled up my bloody scarf and tucked
it beneath his head.

I retraced my steps
through the African desert. The late-afternoon sun was casting shadows
now, and all of the plants seemed more sinister than they had before
Ellen's assault-branches and tendrils and leaves as large as elephant
ears reaching out over the path as though to slow my retreat and grab
on to me.

I broke into a trot as
the walkway sloped downhill, tree limbs grazing the top of my head and
catching on the sleeves of my jacket. The long cylindrical tunnel was
dark and claustrophobic, almost like an empty subway tube. I kept
looking behind me because it sounded as though I were being chased, but
it was just the noise of my own footsteps echoing off the metallic
walls.

Out of Africa now, and
passing through the end of the tunnel, I slipped in a puddle of water
that had dripped from an overhead sprinkler, and grabbed the
moss-covered rocks to stop myself from falling. Their surface felt
hairy and damp, like a handful of caterpillars resting in the shade.

I pushed off and
jogged up the curving ramp, snagged on the head by hanging jade vines
and the pods of cacao plants. The Victorian reflecting pool was like an
oasis in the middle of the other, overgrown faux environments, but it
took only seconds for me to dash through it before being launched back
into the dank humidity of the tropical jungle.

There was no sign of
human life in the dense growth, but as I ran around the base of the
huge tree trunk, I could hear feet pounding on the skywalk above me. I
ducked off the path and into a mass of ferns, looking up and fearing
another encounter with the three young thugs. It was only the same
workman I had seen on the way in, oblivious to everything but the
browned tips of his plants. He seemed anxious to find out who was
racing through his sanctuary this time, and from the expression on his
face was more frightened by the encounter than I.

By the time I reached
the Palm Dome, I could hear pounding against the front door, and
through the glass windows could see Mercer, a security guard, and two
EMTs. Once I let them inside, I started to double back-out of breath
myself-and told them what they would find as they ran on ahead,
pointing in the direction where I had left Ellen Gunsher and Scotty
Taren.

Mercer stopped me and
tried to calm me down. "Why did you call for medics?"

"Ellen's cut up pretty
badly, but I think it's all superficial. I'm worried about Scotty,
though. He's got some kind of coronary history and he's just collapsed
in there like a lump."

"Take some deep ones,"
he said, as I bent over, my hands on my knees, trying to regulate my
breathing. "You never met with Zeldin?"

I straightened up.
"Yeah, he was here. Didn't you pass him on your way in?"

"No. The security
guard said I just missed him. He sped off the grounds in one of those
minivans."

"Who was driving?"

"According to the
guard, Zeldin himself was behind the wheel," Mercer said.

"What about kids? Did
you see any 'wild child' types?"

"Yeah. When the guard
opened the gate for me, a trio ran out. Hoodies?"

"Exactly. We've got to
get the local precinct on it. They're the ones who pushed Ellen, and it
seemed to me it was on some kind of signal from Zeldin."

A blue and white squad
car pulled up in front of the conservatory with its lights flashing.
Uniformed cops got out on each side and we met them at the door,
repeating the story and suggesting that they get started in case the
three teens were still moving through the neighborhood in a pack. They
radioed out the generic description with orders to bring the group in
for questioning and then took off to sweep the area before darkness
enveloped the city streets.

"There's a second
ambulance on the way. You want to stay here by the door while I see if
they need a hand with Scotty?" Mercer asked.

"Sure. But if you pass
one of the gardeners on your way through, send him back to relieve me.
Ellen's a mess. I might as well help with her-she's hysterical."

I stared out the tall
windows and watched as the setting sun threw long shadows across the
frozen flower beds. Looking at the bleak landscape I found it hard to
believe that within two months' time, a dazzling array of
chrysanthemums, zinnias, and peonies would color every inch of these
same borders.

The vibrations of my
cell phone startled me and I pulled it out of my jacket pocket to
answer it. Maybe a DNA match to the rapist we'd been calling John Doe
would brighten the bloody afternoon.

"Hello?" I said
tentatively, hoping to hear a cheerful reply from Dr. Thaler.

"Maybe your skinny
little ass fits through this gate, but I'm too big to squeeze in and
too old to climb over."

"Where are you, Mike?"
The sound of his voice was the best antidote to my fatigue and
depression.

"You told me ol'
Gun-shy was here, didn't you?" he said, referring to Ellen by the
nickname the office trial dogs had given her for her well-noted fear of
the courtroom. "I kind of missed abusing her. Thought you two broads
might need a hand. I went to the gate, exactly where Mercer told me to
be, only nobody was there to let me in. So I drove back around to the
other entrance on Fordham Road. Same story."

"Damn it, he's got the
security guard from the Mosholu gate in here with him. There's been a
bad scene-I'll tell you about it. Are you-do you think you're ready-"

"C'mon, Coop.
Commandeer one of those golf carts the staff scoot around in. Pick me
up and get me inside."

I started back to find
Mercer, but first walked right into the gardener he had sent to take
over my post. "Do you speak English?"

"No, señora,"
he said, shaking his head.

"Mi amigo, el
detectivo?"

"Sí."

"
Lo dice que yo soy
buscando un otro amigo. Yo soy buscando Mike.
Okay?"

I didn't know whether
I came close to making sense but counted on the quiet man to tell
Mercer that I had gone to find Mike. It was the best I could do under
the circumstances.

I pushed open the door
and ran down the path. Three electric golf carts were lined up on the
roadway. I sat in one and turned the key in the ignition, pressing down
on the pedal to get onto the main drive, heading east and looking for
the road signs that marked the direction of each of the gates. I was
bound to run into another guard along the way.

I traveled a few
hundred yards before the road forked, one arrow pointing to the Twin
Lakes and the other toward the children's adventure garden. One thing I
didn't need was another adventure, so I skirted around behind that plot
of land in the direction of the new visitors center.

The paths were meant
to be scenic. Rock gardens gave way to gazebos that were surrounded by
vast swaths of seasonal plantings that would bloom when these dismal
days gave way to spring. The daylight was dimming and I had to stop in
the middle of the next intersection to read the signs.

I dialed Mike's number
as I drove near the conservatory gate. "I can't spot you," I said. "Do
you see the headlights on this thing I'm driving?"

"Where the hell are
you?"

"Near the ticket
booth, in the middle of a big parking lot. I'm the only jalopy in the
joint."

"Wrong gate. C'mon,
blondie. Try finding the building that Zeldin took us to, where he's
got that Raven Society office. I'm over on that side. How can you
possibly lose Fordham Road?"

Two hundred and fifty
acres of pristine land in the middle of the Bronx-absolutely
deserted-and I couldn't find a street sign for one of the city's
largest thoroughfares.

I stepped on the pedal
and chugged along until the next intersection, where Azalea Way crossed
Snuff Mill Road. The latter led, I knew, to the building we had visited
with Zeldin, and near the carriage house in which Sinclair Phelps lived.

I flipped open the
phone again. "Now I got it. I'm on the bridge crossing the river. Get
back in your car-you must be freezing. I'll get Phelps to help me. He
can call someone from security if he hasn't got keys himself."

"I got the heat on.
Make it snappy, kid."

"I'm flooring this
buggy, Mike. Mercer and I have been worried about you." Then I said
quietly, "I've missed you."

I could hear the river
running over the rocks below me, and the roar it made as it dropped
from the gorge just beyond me drowned out whatever Mike whispered to me
in response.

I steered on past the
snuff mill, which was as completely dark within as it was getting to be
outside. I remembered that Sinclair Phelps's carriage house was not
much farther along, so I kept driving around the curving path until I
made out its outline, pulled up behind it, and turned off the cart's
motor.

The stone building
standing alone on the wooded grounds looked like a small English manor
house in the Cotswolds. I knocked on the back door several times and
called Phelps's name, but no one answered.

I tried the handle,
which was not locked, so I let myself into the kitchen. A phone was
mounted on the wall next to the refrigerator, and there was a list of
the organization's telephone extensions beside it, so I assumed it to
be a direct connection to the gardens' employees.

I dialed zero and
waited several rings before someone on the switchboard picked up.

"Yes, Mr. Phelps?"

"I'm, uh-I'm sorry-I'm
not Mr. Phelps, obviously. But I am calling from his house. Can you
connect me to security, please?"

"Is there a problem at
the carriage house, ma'am? I'll get someone right-"

"No, no. There's a New
York City detective trying to get into the gate on-"

"The police are
already inside, ma'am. We're aware of the commotion at the
conservatory. Can you hold? That's another line ringing."

She was back to me in
thirty seconds.

"I'm talking about the
Fordham Road gate."

"Yeah, we just heard
about that other guy. You stay where you're at. Security will bring him
to you there, okay?"

I hung up and called
Mike again on my cell phone. "I gave up on you, Coop, and called
Mercer," he said. "He's got a couple of guards on their way to get me.
You inside? Stay warm-see you in ten."

"Did he tell you what
happened?"

"Yeah, I know you've
been looking to smack Ellen in her long, sour puss for years, but
dumping her into the briar patch? I hope you saved a little of your
strength for the next guy."