Criminological Research.” His demeanor and voice rebuked them sharply. “I know each of you adheres to high standards of journalistic integrity, and no one wants to publish unsubstantiated rumors that will lead only to a libel suit.” He paused to let the warning sink in. “If you’ll bear with me a moment, I will be happy to explain this project and its background for the benefit of your readers.”
I managed to make my way through the crowd, and Alistair’s voice trailed off as I moved farther away from the stairs. Obviously Alistair was handling himself well, but the unwanted questions and unwelcome attention were exactly the sort of distraction I had hoped to avoid.
Suddenly I became aware of Isabella at my side, slightly out of breath from having run to catch up with me. “Simon, wait,” she said. “Haven’t you heard me calling your name?”
“Why, no,” I said, caught off guard. “What’s wrong? Alistair appears to have the reporters well in hand.” I could see she was agitated and I assumed her concern related to the aggressive newsmen who had pigeonholed Alistair.
“No, no—it’s not that,” she said impatiently. I noticed her right hand was clenched around a yellow piece of paper. “Alistair’s friend McGinty from the coroner’s office just telephoned. There’s a dead body that may relate to our case, so McGinty thought . . .”
My heart sank. We were too late. I felt an all too familiar frustration that our efforts had not been enough. Alistair’s prediction had proven true: Fromley had killed again. We should have managed to find him before now.
“Who is she?” I barely managed to breathe the words. I was not ready to confront another victim like Sarah Wingate.
“I don’t know. McGinty didn’t say.” Isabella looked stricken. “He mentioned only that a body had washed up from the Hudson River. A man walking his dogs discovered it; apparently information found nearby links the corpse to Michael Fromley.”
“Where is the body? Have they taken her to the morgue yet?” I asked.
“Not yet. McGinty called right after they got word at headquarters. The coroner’s still on site where her body washed up, near Seventy-ninth Street.” She handed me the paper where she had written the address.
“Then that’s where I’m headed,” I said. “You’ll let Alistair know?”
Of course she would have anyway. I was simply trying to give her something to do that might distract her from asking to come with me. I did not want Isabella’s company, not for this. Not when I felt such a strong sense of failure—and when I knew what horrors most likely waited down by the riverbank.
CHAPTER 19
The Hudson River loomed cold and gray before me. There was a biting chill in the air that seemed to sharpen my perception of everything—from the trees that displayed their few, last, withering leaves to the hulking black barge that roiled the water downstream. Odd how cold temperatures can generate an effect that is uniquely visual.
A group of policemen huddled together by the riverbank near Seventy-ninth and Riverside. They were obscured by the coroner’s wagon, a rickety contraption that had somehow managed to lumber over the rough, rocky earth all the way down to the river. I suspected they had not wanted to risk carrying the body far in light of its condition, for even just a few hours in the water badly decomposed a corpse.
I quickly recognized Jennings, the coroner with whom I’d had many dealings in the past. He was a short man, overstuffed and unevenly shaped. But I had seen him at work on the autopsy table and, in complete disproportion to the rest of his body, his hands moved swiftly and expertly, as did his keen mind.
The officer in charge, a strapping Irishman with a shock of red hair and strong accent, was addressing a group of young men who were obviously rookies. “Okay, lads, let’s get to work. We need to search up and down the shore, the whole perimeter.” One young man looked positively green with nausea, and all were decidedly uncomfortable. I suspected few had ever seen a dead body before. This was not to say that those of us more familiar with the sight never felt ill—I could already sense my own stomach beginning to churn—but I liked to think we veterans learned to disguise it better.
The officer waved his hands broadly, gesturing up and down the waterfront. “And remember, anything that may be relevant, just bring it to someone’s attention. Anything at all.”
I approached Jennings, greeting