Our Honored Dead (Stephanie Chalice Thrillers Book 4) (9 page)

It wasn’t the nicest day. The sky was overcast, and the wind was brisk. I was dressed in a cotton blazer and slacks. The cotton jacket had become my maternity uniform because it hid my baby bump and was lightweight. Today, though the weather was raw, and I felt chilled. I wondered how cold it was down in the pumping station? Just then the wind picked up. “Oh Christ, I have to pee.”

I saw Gus looking around just as the Port Authority vehicle pulled up to the curb. He was scouting for a potty. “There’s a deli across the street. Run over and use the bathroom.”

I scoped it out and decided from its appearance that it didn’t house the kind of restroom facility I would care to use. “Don’t worry, I’ll hold it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Completely.”

“You can do one of your patented hover-squats.”

“Fuhgeddaboudit!”

The Port Authority officer got out of the car. He was an elderly, black gent with rich, dark skin and white hair. “Kevin Charles,” he said as he greeted us. “Chalice and Lido?”

“That be us,” I said. “Thanks for the assist.”

“So what’s going on?” Charles asked. “You’re investigating a homicide?”

“A body was found here yesterday morning,” Gus said. “It was frozen solid.”

“And you think it was frozen down at the pumping station? I have to tell you, that’s a real long shot. The pumping station is being renovated for the new World Trade Center complex.”

“So it’s not operational?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s operational, but with all the engineers and workers going in and out, I don’t see how someone could hide a body down there long enough for it to freeze and then bring it up to the street without being seen.”

“But it’s cold enough down there to freeze a body?”

“The river water is cold as fuck, but it’s not a refrigeration plant.” Charles scratched his head. “There’s frost on the inlet pipes all the time—I suppose it’s possible.”

“So you don’t mind if we poke around?” I asked.

“Hell, you got me out of the office—poke around as long as you like.” Charles locked his car. “All right, let’s take a walk.”

“Tell us about the pumping station. I’m curious.”

Charles squeezed in between us while we walked to the pumping station street entrance. “Originally, the entire World Trade Center complex was cooled with water from the Hudson.”

“The water’s that cold?” Gus asked.

“Hell yes. The water doesn’t get pulled from the surface; it gets pulled from down deep, and it’s freezing cold—well below thirty-two degrees this time of year. It doesn’t freeze because it’s always moving and because of the mineral content—if you don’t believe me, go take a dip.”

“A dip in the Hudson? No way, it’s like one big festering sore. Everyone knows the Hudson is polluted.”

“Uh yeah, that’s one of the reasons the pumping station is going to be modified, to have less of an environmental impact. The old system used to pull as much as a hundred and twenty thousand gallons per minute.”

“Sounds like a shitload of water,” Gus said. “It doesn’t sound like a system like that would have much trouble freezing one little body.”

“Probably not,” Charles replied, “but there are a hell of a lot easier ways to freeze a body. I know the meat-packing district isn’t what it used to be, but there are still some slaughterhouses in operation, and there’s tons of meat in deep freeze at all times. Easier to hide a body in with all that beef than it is to get it in and out of the pumping station.”

“I’m surprised the pumping station wasn’t destroyed in the September 11 attack.”

“It’s right here beneath the park, not beneath the World Trade Center site. The intake, pump station, underground piping, and discharge station are still intact and will be used to cool parts of the new complex that’s being built.”

“But not all of it?” Gus asked.

“No. River water will cool the Performing Arts Center, Education Center, and the Memorial Center, but the Freedom Tower will be cooled with a new state-of-the-art system.”

We came upon the entrance to the pumping station. We entered to find a security guard dozing at his post.

Charles produced a fake cough. The guard roused slowly. He didn’t seem embarrassed to have been caught asleep. Charles flashed his credentials. “Busy?” Charles asked, unable to conceal the chuckle he was trying to suppress.

The security guard took a sip from a water bottle. “You’re the first visitors I’ve had all day. Everyone’s on strike again—there’s nothing going on down there.”

“Again? How long has that been going on?” Charles asked.

“Couple of weeks, maybe longer. I’ve been catching up on my sleep,” the security guard said.

No shit.

Charles shook his head in amazement and then filled in our names on the sign-in sheet. “I’m going to give these folks a tour. Lights and power on?”

“All the time, boss,” the guard said. He opened a copy of the New York Post and began to read the sports section.

“What kind of staff do you have here today?” Charles asked.

“Just some folks in the control room up here. There’s no one down in the pump station,” the guard replied. I noticed the patch on the guard’s jacket—it had an embroidered lighthouse with the name Beacon Security stitched above it. The city employed several independent companies to keep costs in check. My assumption was that Beacon was just one of the city’s vendors.

Charles led us to a locker room. He looked at me. “Your jacket won’t be warm enough.” He handed us coats and protective helmets. “Put these on,” he said. “It’s cold and damp below. You won’t like it very much.”

Charles guided us to the elevator, and we descended into the pumping station. Charles wasn’t kidding about not liking the environment. “Jesus, it’s like the Himalayas down here.” For a moment, I recalled how warm and toasty it was back at the precinct.
You’re such a dope, Stephanie. Volunteering for work. That’ll teach you.

“I told you it wasn’t pleasant,” Charles said.

Gus zipped his jacket up to his neck. “Give us the ground rules,” he said. “I’m too cold to stand still.”

“Just watch your step,” Charles said. “There’s no telling where ice will form. And don’t touch anything you think may be frozen. Your skin will instantly bond with the metal pipes. This station was built in the late sixties—safety standards were not as stringent back then as they are today. Use your heads.”

There was no question that a body could be frozen down here. Judging by the upstairs guard’s alert nature, I had no doubt that someone could slip a body in and out as well. The place was a ghost town because of the strike. Charles was a sharp guy, but my guess was that he didn’t stop by very often.

The pumping station was astoundingly large. It had been blasted out of Manhattan bedrock, and the walls were pure stone. Water oozed from cracks in the bedrock in several locations. Some of the water was frozen. It was a little unnerving to think that the raging waters of the Hudson were just on the other side of the bedrock. The pipes running into the electric pumps were massive. “Might as well get cracking.” As I said, the place was vast. I didn’t know how much ground we could cover on our own. The size of the job warranted a full team of investigators. It was hard to fathom that places like this existed, but then I thought about how my last case led me to an old, forgotten railroad tunnel. There was another city beneath Manhattan, an entire network of tunnels and storerooms that time had long forgotten.

We spread out and began to look around. The pumping station was damp and brutally cold. I felt my teeth chattering as I searched for clues. I heard Gus shriek. I turned my head to see his legs fly out from beneath him. He was sitting on his butt, wincing in pain. I raced over to him, careful not to do the same. “You okay?” I called out. Gus was wearing his brave face and nodding so that I wouldn’t worry. It was just about then that something crunched beneath my shoe. It wasn’t a big clue, but it was obvious. It certainly wasn’t something that belonged on the floor of a pumping station. I had crushed a small hypodermic syringe with my heel. It was on the ground near one of the mammoth water-delivery pipes. Gus was already up on his feet, so I knelt down to examine the syringe. As I did, something else caught my eye. A tuft of hair and a small section of skin were frozen to the huge, iron water pipe.

“You
poor thing, you fell down and broke your butt.”

Gus bravely tried to smile through the pain, but I could see that he was really hurting as we walked back to our car. We left Charles at the pumping station, where he awaited the arrival of the crime scene investigators. “It’s embarrassing,” he said.

“What’s there to be embarrassed about? Do you really think that you’re first cop to fall on his keister in the line of duty? Just think about all of the sympathy sex I’m going to give you.” I became concerned when Gus didn’t reply to my comment. “I said sympathy sex—did you hear me?” Gus took a step and winced. “Do you want to see a doctor?”

“I’ll be all right. I just need a hot bath and a bottle of scotch.”

“How about a deep-tissue massage performed by yours truly?”

“It all sounds good. I just need to lie down for a while.”

I helped Gus into the car. I got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “I’ll have you home in a jiffy. I’ll draw you a bath and get you doped up on Vicodin and whiskey. How’s that sound?”

“It sounds like a dream.” I watched as Gus squirmed in his seat and tried to get comfortable.

“Want me to whip out my boobs or something?”

“Now?”

“You look like you could use a distraction.”

Gus closed his eyes and put his head back against the headrest. “Not that I don’t appreciate a good striptease every now and again, but how about you just drug me and put me to bed.”

“Sure, no problem . . . Ingrate,” I said, teasing him. “You know there are lots of guys that would get pretty excited over an offer like that.”

“Baby, I’m dying here.”

He wasn’t responding to my charm, which meant that he was really in pain. I pressed the gas pedal and raced uptown. We were crossing 23rd Street when my cell phone rang. The caller ID read: Sonellio.

“Boss, is that you?”

Gus heard the excitement in my voice. It brought him around faster than a jolting whiff of smelling salts. “Nick’s on the phone? Really? How is he?”

“Yes, yes, Stephanie, it’s the old man. How are you?” Sonellio said.

“Happy, I’m so happy to hear your voice. Are you still up in Maine?”

“I’m home, Stephanie. I’m back in Staten Island.”

“Really?” I didn’t know whether his reply meant something good or bad. I’d been worried about his health for a long time now, and it overshadowed my exuberance. “Oh my God, we miss you so much. I’m here with Gus.”

“Hi, boss,” Gus shouted. He had so much adrenaline pumping through his veins that he had momentarily forgotten about his bruised butt. “We miss you, boss.”

“I’m not the boss anymore,” Sonellio said. “I’m just an old friend.”

“You’ll always be The Boss,” Gus said aloud.

I smiled at Gus. Our feelings for Sonellio were so strong. Everything else felt unimportant in comparison. “So when are we going to see you?”

“Right away, if you can swing it. Any chance I can bribe the two of you into coming out for breakfast tomorrow?”

I whispered to Gus, “We don’t have to be at the medical examiner’s office until noon. We can run out to see him early in the morning. Okay?” Gus nodded happily. “Your place, boss?”

“Yeah. That okay?”

“I’d hijack the space shuttle if that’s what it took.” Sonellio laughed. It made me feel good to hear him chuckle, but then he coughed and a wave of melancholy washed over me. It was the same sickly cough I had heard from him increasingly just before he retired. “Eight o’clock good for you?”

“I’m up early,” Sonellio said. “I’ll put the coffee on, and it will be ready whenever you get here. I can’t wait to see you, Stephanie. I miss you.” There was sadness and finality in his last sentence. “Gus too.”

“See you in the morning, boss. Give our love to Toni.” I hung up and turned to Gus. I didn’t know whether to smile or cry.

Toni
Sonellio waved to us from the porch as we pulled up in front of her house. She pulled her sweater tight and hurried down the stairs to greet us. She threw her arms around me the moment I got out of the car.

“Oh my God, Stephanie, it’s so good to see you.” Toni took a step back to look me over. “You look great.” She shrugged. “Where’s the belly?”

My baby bump was beginning to look pretty obvious—Toni’s comment was meant to flatter. I unbuttoned my jacket.
“Voila!”

She ran her hand over my belly. “
Oh
. . . there it is. How far along are you?”

“Four and a half months.”

“I can’t believe how good you look. Did you put on any weight?”

“A ton,”
I said in an exaggerated manner.

“Well, you don’t look it. Is the baby kicking yet?”