preston&child.thecabinetofcuriosities-第48节
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keep a professional distance。 And now； she had almost bee another Mary Greene。
That made it personal。 Very personal。
Her thoughts were interrupted by the rattle of wind at the door； and another； fainter； rumble of thunder。 Nora rose to her knees； opened the penknife again； and began scraping vigorously at the brickwork beneath her feet。 It was going to be a long night。
FOUR
THE WIND SHOOK the barred door； and occasional flickers of lightning and grumblings of thunder penetrated the room。 Now that O'Shaughnessy had returned； the two worked together； the policeman moving the dirt； Nora focusing on uncovering the details。 They labored by the light of a single yellow bulb。 The room smelled strongly of decaying earth。 The air was close； humid； and stifling。
She had opened a four…square…meter dig in the living room floor。 It had been carefully gridded off； and she had stepped down the excavation； each meter grid to a different level； allowing her to climb in and out of the deepening hole。 The floor bricks were neatly piled against the far wall。 The door leading to the kitchen was open； and through it a large pile of brown dirt was visible； piled in the center of the room atop a sheet of heavy plastic。 Beside it was a smaller sheet of plastic； containing bagged items recovered from the digsite。
At last Nora paused； putting her trowel aside to take stock。 She removed her safety helmet； drew the back of her hand across her brow； replaced the helmet on her head。 It was well past midnight； and she felt exhausted。 The excavation at its deepest point had gone down more than four feet below grade： a lot of work。 It was difficult； also； to work this rapidly while maintaining a professional excavation。
She turned to O'Shaughnessy。 〃Take five。 I'd like to examine this soil profile。〃
〃About time。〃 He straightened up； resting on his shovel。 His brow was streaming with sweat。
Nora shone her flashlight along the carefully exposed wall of dirt； reading it as one might read a book。 Occasionally she would shave off a little with a trowel to get a clearer view。
There was a layer of clean fill on the top going down six inches…laid； no doubt； as a base for the more recent brick floor。 Below was about three feet of coarser fill； laced with bits of post…1910 crockery and china。 But she could see nothing from Leng's laboratory…at least； nothing obvious。 Still； she had flagged and bagged everything； by the book。
Beneath the coarse fell； they had struck a layer containing bits of trash； rotting weeds； pieces of mold…blown bottles； soup bones； and the skeleton of a dog： ground debris from the days when the site had been a vacant lot。 Under that was a layer of bricks。
O'Shaughnessy stretched； rubbed his back。 〃Why do we have to dig so far down？〃
〃In most old cities； the ground level rises at a fixed rate over time： in New York it's about three quarters of a meter every hundred years。〃 She pointed toward the bottom of the hole。 〃Back then； that was ground level。〃
〃So these old bricks below are the original basement flooring？〃
〃I think so。 The floor of the laboratory。〃 Leng's laboratory。
And yet it had yielded few clues。 There was a remarkable lack of debris； as if the floor had been swept clean。 She had found some broken glassware wedged into the cracks of the brick； an old fire grate with some coal； a button； a rotten trolley ticket； a few other odds and ends。 It seemed that Leng had wanted to leave nothing behind。
Outside； a fresh flash of lightning penetrated the coat Nora had hung over the window。 A second later； thunder rumbled。 The single bulb flickered； browned； then brightened once again。
She continued staring thoughtfully at the floor。 At last； she spoke。 〃First； we need to widen the excavation。 And then； I think we'll have to go deeper。〃
〃Deeper？〃 said O'Shaughnessy； a note of incredulity in his voice。
Nora nodded。 〃Leng left nothing on the floor。 But that doesn't mean he left nothing beneath it。〃
There was a short； chilly silence。
Outside； Doyers Street lay prostrate under a heavy rain。 Water ran down the gutters and disappeared into the storm drains； carrying with it trash； dog turds； drowned rats； rotting vegetables； the guts of fish from the market down the street。 The occasional flash of lightning illuminated the darkened facades； shooting darts of light into the curling fogs that licked and eddied about the pavement。
A stooped figure in a derby hat； almost obscured beneath a black umbrella； made its way down the narrow street。 The figure moved slowly； painfully； leaning on a cane as it approached。 It paused； ever so briefly； before Number 99 Doyers Street； then it drifted on into the miasma of fog； a shadow merging with shadows until one could hardly say that it had been there at all。
FIVE
CUSTER LEANED BACK in his oversized Mediterranean office chair with a sigh。 It was a quarter to twelve on Saturday morning； and by rights he should have been out with the bowling club； drinking beer with his buddies。 He was a precinct mander； for chrissakes； not a homicide detective。 Why did they want him in on a frigging Saturday？ Goddamn pointless public relations bullshit。 He'd done nothing but sit on his ass all morning； listening to the asbestos rattle in the heating ducts。 A waste of a perfectly good weekend。
At least Pendergast was out of action for the time being。 But what； exactly； had he been up to？ When he'd asked O'Shaughnessy about it； the man was damned evasive。 You'd think a cop with a record like his would do himself a favor； learn what to kiss and when。 Well； Custer had had enough。 e Monday； he was going to tighten the leash on that puppy； but good。
The buzzer on his desk rang； and Custer poked at it angrily。 〃What the hell is it now？ I was not to be disturbed。〃
〃missioner Rocker is on line one； Captain；〃 came Noyes's voice； carefully neutral。
Omigod holy shit sonofabitch； thought Custer。 His shaking hand hovered over the blinking light on his telephone。 What the hell did the missioner want with him？ Hadn't he done everything they'd asked him to do； the mayor； the chief； everybody？ Whatever it was； it wasn't his fault 。 。 。
A fat； trembling finger depressed the button。
〃Custer？〃 The missioner's desiccated voice filled his ear。
〃What is it； sir？〃 Custer squeaked； making a belated effort to lower the pitch of his voice。
〃Your man。 O'Shaughnessy。〃
〃Yes sir？ What about O'Shaughnessy？〃
〃I'm a little curious here。 Why； exactly； did he request a copy of the forensic report from the ME's office on the remains found down on Catherine Street？ Did you authorize this？〃 The voice was slow； weary。
What the hell was O'Shaughnessy up to？ Custer's mind raced。 He could tell the truth； say that O'Shaughnessy must have been disobeying his orders。 But that would make him look like a fool； a man who couldn't control his own。 On the other hand； he could lie。
He chose the latter； more habitual course。
〃missioner？〃 he managed to bring his voice down to a relatively masculine pitch。 〃I authorized it。 You see； we didn't have a copy down here for our files。 It's just a formality； you know； dotting every t and crossing every i。 We do things by the book； sir。〃
There was a silence。 〃Custer； since you are so nimble with aphorisms； you surely know the expression 'Let sleeping dogs lie'？〃
〃Yes； sir。〃
〃I thought the mayor made it clear we were going to let that particular sleeping dog lie。〃 Rocker didn't sound like he had the greatest faith in the mayor's judgment。
〃Yes； sir。〃
〃O'Shaughnessy isn't freelancing； is he； Custer？ He's not； by any chance； helping that FBI agent while he's laid up…is he？〃
〃He's a solid officer； loyal and obedient。 I asked him to get the report。〃
〃In that case； I'm surprised at you； Custer。 Surely you know that once the report is down at the precinct； every cop there will have access to it。 Which is one step from laying it on the doorstep of the New York Times。〃
〃I'm sorry； sir。 I didn't think of that。〃
〃I want that report…every copy of that report…sent back up to me。 Personally。 By courier。 You understand？ No copy is to remain at precinct。〃
〃Yes； sir。〃 Christ； how was he going to do that？ He would have to get it from O'Shaughnessy； the son of a bitch。
〃I get the funny feeling； Custer； that you don't quite appreciate the full situation here。 This Catherine Street business has nothing to do with any criminal investigation。 It is a historical matter。 That forensic report belongs to Moegen…Fairhaven。 It's private property。 They paid for it and the remains were found on their land。 Those remains have been given a respectful but anonymous burial in a private cemetery； with the appropriate religious ceremonies； all arranged by Moegen…Fairhaven。 The matter is closed。 Follow me so far？〃
〃Yes； sir。〃
〃Now； Moegen…Fairhaven is a good friend of the mayor…as the mayor has taken pains to point out to me…and Mr。 Fairhaven himself is working very hard to see that he is re…elected。 But if this situation gets any more botched up； Fairhaven might not be so enthusiastic in his support。 He might decide to sit this one out。 He might even decide to throw his weight behind the other fellow who's running。〃
〃I und
