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Hospital, Strecker, the Octagon Tower even the row of grim little shacks that
had housed the dead land wrote about the circumstances in the letters he sent
sister the same one who was taking care of my father. First, months of
observations of the other inmates and their manners and odd habits. Then his
fascination with the way these seemingly fearless street thugs would avoid,
like a ritual, haunted remnants of all the places that had sheltered the
terminally ill.
"It didn't take him long to figure out a safe place to hide the diamonds, the
jewels he considered his lifeline."
"Under the deadhouses." I thought of the map Bart I had mailed to me shortly
before he died, and how it diagram every inch of the island, signed by
Freeland Jennings.
"Luigi Bennino was the prisoner who created my grandfather s model of the
island. And it was Luigi he hired to dig the places for his gems. No one would
think to go where a disease and pestilence might still lurk. Even today, lots
students and faculty won't go near this building, fearful they'll unearth some
encapsulated germs that still bear their lethal poison."
"Bennino was an uneducated peasant, too. Why wasn't he just as superstitious
about contamination?"
"Don't forget his crime, Ms. Cooper. He was a grave robber. Young Luigi had
clearly overcome his concern about contact with the dearly departed long
before he reached Blackwells Island. He was the perfect henchman for my
grandfather's needs.
"It's just that Freeland had learned never to put all his trust in another
human being. And although it's kind of veiled in his correspondence, it would
appear that he paid a second prisoner to double-cross Bennino and move the
diamonds. Still in the dead-houses, but in entirely different locations in the
ground."
"Another grave robber?" How fortunate for him to find two such thieves.
"No. A murderer. A man who had killed a prostitute down at the Five Points,"
Shreve said, referring to a once notorious area of the city where our
courthouse now stood. "Freeland talks about him in the letters, a much too
solicitous concern for the man who was dying of syphilis. One last charitable
thing that Granddad could do for him, so that his family would have enough
money for a proper burial. And so that he would take Freeland's secret with
him, well rewarded for his trouble."
"So three men knew about the diamonds and where they were buried."
"And all three died on the rock, as it were. My grandfather's death in the
raid could not possibly have been anticipated. He never had time to retrieve
his fortune. That's why I'd like the map, Ms. Cooper. The map and the model of
the island." Shreve sat in the frame of the window, hands on his knees, and
stared me in the eye.
"And Lola had them?"
"And Lola's dead."
"But if you hadn't killed her "
His gloved hands slapped against his thighs as his temper flared. "Why would I
have killed her without getting what I needed from her? It's Claude Lavery's
fault that she's dead."
How could I evaluate what he was telling me? Maybe Chapman and I had given him
an opportunity to blame Lavery telling the group of professors that Lavery had
been seen going into Lola's building with her the day she died. Maybe Shreve
hadn't known that until we gave the fact away. And now he was just using it to
make me think he wasn't the killer. Or perhaps both of them were involved, and
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they were both responsible her death. How could I know?
I was more tentative now, talking softly to Shreve, aware he might keep me
alive as long as he thought I could give him he wanted.
What had I done with the map before Mike and I had dashed out of the office on
the way to King's College? Is it possible I had been less than twenty-four
hours since all that had happened? I bit my lip and took myself back one day.
I had given my paralegal the map to copy, telling her to lock the original in
one of the file cabinets until Mike could voucher it. And I had given one of
the copies to him, then folded the other to slip in the pocket gray slacks, to
examine later that night when I got home. Shreve overheard Mike ask me, in
Sylvia Foote's office, whether I had secured Jennings's blueprint of the
island?
I looked down at my pants leg to make certain that I was still wearing that
same suit. My pocketbook and case folder were either in Shreve's van or his
apartment. Perhaps he had gone through them in search of the map or any
references to it, but if he hadn't thought to search my clothing, he would not
have found the map.
The adrenaline pumped again and I swallowed hard. ] knew that what Shreve
wanted was here under his nose, and if he found the small slip of paper, there
would be no reason to maintain our dialogue. I would be as good as dead.
"But Lola was telling you all these things while she at Lily's house, doing
the research. What did you two have to fight about the day she was killed?"
"I didn't go to see her to argue about anything. I was excited, thrilled that
she might have solved the puzzle about my grandfather's fortune. I wanted to
see the map for myself."
"Did she have it?"
"She was mad that I had come to her apartment. She stalled and tried to put me
off. Told me she didn't have it with her. Told me the prosecutor from New
Jersey was going to be arriving shortly and that she'd call me the next day.
Of course, I didn't know at the time that she wasn't kidding about the
prosecutor. He actually was coming over." Shreve sneered. "Not for Lola, but
for his money."
"What money?"
"Apparently the guy had all kinds of financial problems. Lola was doling out
cash to him to keep him afloat. Probably to keep him coming back to bed with
her, which wasn't necessarily a pleasant place to be."
"How do you know that? I mean, about the cash?"
"After she died, Claude Lavery told me. That's what drove the two of them
apart. Lola knew that Claude took an unorthodox view of his grant money. She
pleaded with him to let her borrow some of it, claiming she needed it for the
Blackwells project. Claude called me last week and asked me to return the
money. I had to tell him she hadn't used a nickel of it for the dig. Then I
remembered what she'd told me about the prosecutor and his financial problems.
The money must have all been going to the deadbeat boyfriend."
Lola's shoe boxes full of cash. She had put the squeeze on Lavery to share
some of his stash, pretending it was for her professional needs, but she was
using it to solve Bart Frankel's personal problems.
I leaned forward and tried to look sincere when I asked the next question. I
didn't believe what I was saying, but I wanted Shreve to think I did. "So why
did Claude kill Lola? Was it about the money?"
He took too long to answer. I shivered again and put my hand to my side,
trying to feel the piece of paper through the layers of clothing. Was it
there? I could not be sure.
"She had called me earlier in the week to tell me she would be home that
afternoon. Not to worry about the news stories Ivan's attempt on her life, if
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