“In that case, would you like us to hold your luggage?” he says.
“Thank you, but I have some things in it that I’m going to need for my meeting.”
If he’s dubious about my having a meeting at such a late hour, he doesn’t betray it. Nor does he inquire about the contents of my suitcase.
“Very well. Have a pleasant evening, sir.”
In this part of Manhattan, I’m almost equidistant from the East and the Hudson Rivers. Without giving it much thought, I head east. I cut over to Fifteenth Street to avoid the traffic on Fourteenth and select the block to the north because, even though I’m not the least bit triskaidekaphobic, it feels like I’d be tempting fate by dragging a dead body along Thirteenth Street.
Once I’m off the main drag, I relax a bit. Of course, I’ll have no good answer if a cop approaches and asks why I’m wheeling a suitcase large enough to hold a dead body along Fifteenth Street after midnight, but it reminds me a little of walking my dog as a kid. That feeling of being alone, but not completely so. I stifle the impulse to talk to Charlotte, to apologize for what I’ve done and for what I’m about to do. That won’t do either of us any good.
When I reach FDR Drive, the highway that runs along the eastern shore of Manhattan, I realize that depositing Charlotte in the East River is going to be more difficult than I’d previously imagined. Before getting to the river, I’ll need to traverse the FDR, which is four lanes across with a three-foot-high median between north and south traffic. It’s a difficult thoroughfare to cross under the best of circumstances, but at night, with a dead body in tow, it’ll be next to impossible.
I spy a pedestrian bridge a few blocks south and decide that’s the better play. It has a ramp, so making it across turns out to be relatively easy. A few minutes later, I’m on the other side.
I give some thought to leaving Charlotte in the park that borders the East River but figure that, given that I’ve come all this way, I should see the job through as I envisioned it. So I drag the suitcase across the dirt until I make it to the railing at the river’s edge.
I had originally thought that Charlotte’s weight would be enough to sink the suitcase to the bottom of the river, but now I’m not so sure. Once she’s in the river, it’ll be too late to rectify the situation if I’m wrong. To eliminate any risk she’ll float to the surface, I start collecting rocks and stuffing them in the outer pockets of the suitcase. When I can’t lift the satchel above my ankles, I figure it’s heavy enough that it will sink to the bottom.
My plan is thwarted when the suitcase doesn’t fit under the lowest bar of the railing. Worse still, because I’ve loaded it down with rocks, it’s now too heavy to lift over the top. Although it’s the very last thing I want to do, I have little choice but to take Charlotte out and make the transfer in phases.
Her lifeless body spills out as soon as I open the zipper. Charlotte is now contorted in a way that’s anything but natural. I try not to look at her face, and instead roll her body under the fence and down the embankment, stopping just short of the water. I look around once again to make sure I’m not being watched, then scurry back up the hill to collect the suitcase.
Without Charlotte’s weight, I’m able to hoist the suitcase over the top bar even with the rocks. Then I slide it down the embankment until it rests beside Charlotte’s lifeless body. Once we’re all reunited, I stuff Charlotte back inside.
If I want to make sure she isn’t found, I know I’ll need to pull the suitcase out into the river. Otherwise, I run the risk that she’ll just wash up on the bank ten feet from where I’ve pushed her in. But after the deed is done, I’ll still have to make it back home without raising any suspicions, and a soaking-wet man walking through Manhattan is something people remember. So I strip down to my birthday suit and get into the water, dragging the suitcase in after me.
The water is freezing cold. From the first stroke, I know my body isn’t going to adjust to the temperature. I shiver every inch of the way. After I paddle far enough out that I can no longer stand, I feel the suitcase drop hard. I had forgotten that even though the suitcase is lighter in water than it had been on land, my leverage is much less now that I’m afloat. I originally thought I could make it halfway across, but the weight of the suitcase and the numbness in my limbs make me quickly realize I’ll never get that far.
I’m a hundred feet from the shoreline when I let go of the suitcase.
Once I’ve released my load, I’m overcome with a sense of lightness. Not just because I’m more buoyant now without holding a dead body. It’s as if the act of letting go of Charlotte’s body has freed me from what I’ve done. My sin will also be forever buried beneath the black water.
The swim back is far easier. Without Charlotte pulling me down, I make it to land quickly. Once there, I lie low in the muck until I’m satisfied I’m outside of anyone’s view. It takes me a few minutes to locate my clothes in the dark, but I eventually stumble across them.
I do my best to shake the water off before I get dressed. I’m confident that it will be next to impossible to ascertain by sight that I’d spent time in the East River. The stench is a different matter. I can’t tell how rank I’ll be to others, but my nostrils twitch.
I’ve got three options to get back home: walk, subway, or taxi. Walking renders me the most incognito, but it will take at least an hour and I need tonight to be over. The subway is faster—probably less than five minutes—but I’ll be on the security cameras and in sight of other passengers, which is obviously less than optimal. With a taxi, there’s only one person to worry about—the driver. So I select the least of the three evils and hail a cab on First Avenue.
Other than giving the driver my address, I don’t say a word. I try my best to hide my face, but still can’t shake from my mind the image of the cabbie—a Mr. Mamadou Iqbal, according to his license—on the witness stand, testifying that he picked up a guy after 1:00 a.m. on the night Charlotte Broden went missing who reeked like he’d just gone for a swim in the East River.
Needless to say, I pay in cash.
Once inside my apartment, I step into the shower and let the hot water rain down on me. It feels like a baptism, washing away not only the chill in my bones, but also what I’ve done.
DAY TWO
WEDNESDAY
27.
After the strenuous work of disposing of Charlotte’s body, I have no problem falling asleep. There’s no tossing or turning, racked with guilt. Nor do nightmares invade my slumber. Like the rest of me, my subconscious is at peace.