There was dust everywhere; Joe wasn’t at all certain that he could have ascertained anything in the gray and vile-smelling room he entered. But he was pleased to be here, doubly pleased because Leslie had called him with such excitement and insisted that he come.
The police presence around the dig was larger than ever, and the press swell had grown to monstrous proportions. But Robert Adair had cut his way through the crowd to reach him, then created a path for the two of them to reach the site and climb down into the strange gaping hole. Despite the work lights, he had been totally disoriented when he’d first entered the underground room. It wasn’t exactly the smell of death that had assailed his nostrils when he’d first managed to straighten up in the subterranean room, but more like something stale, the overwhelming odor of simple decay that had been closed up for too long.
“There you are!”
He was startled when Leslie rushed over and hugged him. She was barely recognizable, she was so covered in the dust of the past, but her eyes were bright in her smudged face. “Well?”
“You found a room,” he said, feeling foolish for stating the obvious.
She laughed. He saw that Professor Laymon, Brad Verdun and a number of other workers were clustered at the far side of the room. They clearly understood the significance of the find far more that he did. They were talking excitedly and dusting at a wall.
“It’s a crypt,” she told him.
“A crypt?”
“There was a church here at one time, built in 1817, to be exact,” she told him. “A few years later, it burned to the ground in the fire that destroyed much of old New York. Other buildings went up on the site and were razed over the next century, and then, in the late 1930s, what we’d now call a miniskyscraper went up. That’s what was just torn down. But this is it, the proof that we’ve made an amazing find. Look! This is where the priests and the wealthy were buried, not mixed with the poorer people buried in the churchyard. We’ve already found gold crucifixes and other High Episcopalian paraphernalia, and even a storeroom of old books and documents. Isn’t it great?” she demanded.
“Amazing,” he told her. “And your…” He found himself lowering his voice. “Your instinct led you to it?”
She started laughing again, delighted, elated. “No, I leaned against what I thought was an embankment, and I fell through.”
He had to appreciate the rueful humor in her eyes.
Professor Laymon let out an excited cry. “I can’t believe it! It’s a cache of sermons. There’s a protected niche here…watch the bones,” he warned, as eager workers surged forward.
“Congratulations,” Joe said. “And thanks for getting me in here.”
She was holding his hands, he realized, as if they were old friends. But then again, they did have a bond.
They had both loved Matt.
She pulled him closer, rising slightly on her toes to whisper, “You had to see what I was talking about.”
“I did?”
“The city under the city.”
“And,” he said softly, “you think that there might be a psycho kidnapping and killing prostitutes and then hiding the bodies in hidden crypts?” He didn’t mean to sound as skeptical as he did, but she merely stared at him, amused.
“Maybe not crypts, but somewhere in the abandoned places under New York. Do you have any better answers?” she inquired.
“No. So let’s start exploring underground.”
She nodded, smiling. “I’m just about done here, anyway. So how was your day?”
He started to answer, and then decided not to bother. He’d spent the day retracing his steps. He’d gone back to Genevieve’s apartment. He’d studied every little scrap of paper she’d left lying around, every note. He’d checked out her last doctor’s appointment and her last dentist appointment. He’d visited the bars where she’d partied with friends, and all he’d found anywhere were people who spoke of her wistfully and with affection. He’d checked again for any evidence of her credit cards being used. Then he’d headed back to the street where Didi continued to ply her trade. She hadn’t remembered anything else, and none of the other prostitutes she’d introduced him to had anything helpful to add, either, though they had all spoken admiringly of Genevieve. In the end, it still seemed he had hit his best stroke of luck when he first met Didi—the last time anyone had seen Genevieve O’Brien had been when she had gotten into the dark sedan.
The highlight of the day, of course, had been telling Didi about the waitressing job he had arranged.
“Your friend would hire me?” she asked skeptically.
“Yes. Cut the makeup by half, wear something that covers you…you know the drill.”
“You’re taking a risk.”
“Life is a risk.”
“I owe you. I’ll be there. And I won’t let you down. Except now I won’t have Genevieve to help me get my daughter back.”
“Start with legitimate employment, huh?”
“Absolutely.” She’d hugged him.
The low point of the day had been talking to Eileen Brideswell and telling her that, so far, he’d traced Genevieve to a street corner and a dark sedan, and no further.