Entombed

The
Dunamai
Memorial Collection

This
ebook is part of
a collection to honor the memory of Hugh ‘Dunamai’ Miller who passed
away on
the evening of January 19th, 2006.

Dunamai
was an
incredible asset to the ebook community, literally converting books to
ebooks
by hand like a modern day clerical monk when he had to. He was the
Knight of
the Obscure Book and a better champion could not be found. They don't
make them
much better than this man.

If you
are lucky in
your life you might meet a handful of really 'good' people. If you knew
Dunamai,
then you were lucky in meeting just such a person. He was a very
special man
who had time for everyone and asked nothing of anyone. He also had a
smile and
a kind word for you anytime you needed one. Dunamai was one of the
nicest,
helpful and easygoing people you could meet online.

“For
what is it to
die but to stand naked in the wind and melt into the sun. And what is
it to
cease breathing but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it
may
rise and expand and seek god unencumbered. Only when you drink from the
river
of silence shall you indeed sing. And when you have reached the
mountain top,
then you shall begin to climb. And when the earth shall claim your
limbs, then
you shall truly dance.”

I'm
sure Dun is
dancing today. He was a star on earth, and will be a star in heaven.

We
grieve the loss of
an important member of the ebook community. We will remember you
forever, dear friend.

A
LSO BY
L
INDA
F
AIRSTEIN

I looked at the pool
of dried blood that covered the third-floor landing of a brownstone on
one of the safest residential blocks in Manhattan and wondered how the
young woman who'd been left here to die yesterday, her chest pierced by
a steak knife, could still be alive this afternoon.

Mercer Wallace
crouched beside the stained flooring, pointing out for me the smaller
areas of discoloration. "These smudges, I figure, are partial imprints
of the perp's shoe. He must have lost his footing over there."

The blood streaked
away from the door of the victim's apartment, as though her attacker
had slid in the slippery fluid and stumbled to the top of the staircase.

"So there's likely to
be some of this on his clothing?"

"Pants leg and shoes
for certain, until he cleans them. Look here," he said, and my eyes
followed the tip of the pen he was using as a pointer. Outlined on the
light gray paint of the door to 3B was another bloody design. "That's
hers, Alex. She must have braced herself with one foot against that
panel to push the guy off. She put up a fierce struggle."

I could make out the
V-shaped tip of a woman's shoe sole, and inches lower the circular mark
that confirmed it was a pump rather than a flat.

"High heels and all,
she did pretty well for herself. Just lucky." The uniformed cop who had
been assigned to safeguard the crime scene for the past twenty-four
hours spoke to Mercer as he straightened up.

"That's what we're
calling it now when someone resists a rapist and ends up in the
intensive care unit with a few holes in her chest and a collapsed lung?"

"Sorry, Ms. Cooper. I
mean the girl is fortunate to be alive. You know she went DOA when they
pulled up to the docking bay at the emergency room?"

Mercer had told me
that. Annika Jelt had stopped breathing on the short ride to New York
Hospital. The cops who were dispatched to a neighbor's 911 call
reporting screams in the stairwell knew there was no time to wait for
an ambulance. The young officer who carried the victim down to the
patrol car had served in the army reserves as a medic during the war in
Iraq. Annika owed her life to the fact that he revived her in the
backseat of the RMP, on the way to the ER, before she was rushed into
surgery to inflate her lung and stanch the bleeding.

Mercer led the way
down the staircase. The traces of black finger-print dust on the
banister and walls reminded me that the Crime Scene Unit had done a
thorough workup of the building when they were summoned by Mercer,
shortly after the 3
A.M.
attack on a frigid
morning in late January.

"He never got her
inside the apartment?"

"Nope. She fought like
hell to keep him out."

"Did he take
anything?" I asked.

"Keys. He took the
ring with the keys to both the vestibule door and the apartment. The
super's changed both locks already."

"But money? Jewelry?"

"Her pocketbook was
lying on the ground next to her. Cash and credit cards were inside and
she still had on her earrings and bracelet. He wasn't there for the
money."

Mercer had
double-parked outside the five-story walk-up on East Sixty-sixth
Street. He had awakened me yesterday at six o'clock to tell me about
the case. We had worked together for the better part of the decade that
I had run the sex crimes prosecution unit of the Manhattan District
Attorney's Office, while he had been assigned to the police
department's Special Victims Squad. He knew I'd want the first heads-up
about the crime, before it was reported on the local network news and
before the DA, Paul Battaglia, hunted me down to get enough details so
that he could answer the flood of calls from local politicians,
concerned citizens, and the ever-curious media. Violent crime,
especially sexual assault, was always fodder for headlines when it
happened in the high-rent district of the Upper East Side.

I left my desk in the
criminal courthouse this afternoon to join Mercer at the victim's
apartment. It always helped me begin to frame an investigation and
prosecution if I could see exactly where the attack had occurred and
what evidence there was of a struggle, or any clues to the
perpetrator's method of operation. What the lighting conditions were,
the size of the area involved and distances between the beginning of
the attack and its conclusion, as well as potential evidence that might
be cleaned up or altered in the days to follow-I liked to see those
things with my own eyes. The cops had still been too busy processing
the scene themselves to allow me access when Mercer called me yesterday
morning, but now they had given the green light to let him walk me
through it.

In addition, my years
of work on these cases often added another experienced perspective to
that of the police team-and sometimes it resulted in recalling a
distinctive detail or trait that would lead the investigators to a
repeat offender in this category of crimes in which the recidivist rate
was so extraordinarily high.

Mercer started the
engine and turned up the heat in the old department Crown Vic that had
responded to more sexual assaults than most officers ever would in a
lifetime. "So, did anything there speak to you?" Mercer said, smiling
at me.

I rubbed my gloved
hands together against the harsh winter chill that had seeped through
the cracks around the car windows. Lots of veteran cops got vibes at
crime scenes, claiming to be able to figure out something about the
assailant by being in the same space. I shook my head. "Nothing you
don't already know. Yet one more sick puppy who was somehow aroused by
forcing a woman he'd never seen before to engage in a sexual act."

"There are buildings
with doormen on both corners of the block. This is a fully occupied
brownstone on a well-lighted street. He's a cool case, this guy. He got
her at the front door on top of the stoop, as she was unlocking it-"

"She told you that?"

Mercer had been
waiting at the hospital when the young woman emerged from the
anesthetic late last evening. "Too many tubes coming out of the kid to
speak, and the docs only gave me fifteen minutes with her. I asked some
basics until she ran out of steam. She squeezed my hand like I told her
for some yes-and-no kind of questions."

We were driving to the
hospital, just a few blocks away on York Avenue at Sixty-eighth Street.
Mercer stopped in to check on his victim on the way to his office this
morning, and insisted on seeing her again, as he would every day until
she recovered. He wanted to tell the young exchange student that he had
telephoned her parents, in Sweden, and that they were flying here
tomorrow. Until they arrived, he would be the closest thing to family
she would have at her side.

"Did Annika know he
had the knife when he accosted her?"

"She never even heard
him coming. I figure the first thing she felt was his arm yoking her
neck and the blade of the knife scratching the side of her throat."

"Not a particularly
distinctive MO," I said.

"You looking for
creative, too, Alex?"

I shook my head.

"It's all in the
details, as you know. Exactly what words he said, how he touched her,
what he smelled like. It may be a couple of days until we can get all
that from her."

"And hope in the
meantime that he doesn't feel it necessary to finish the job with
another victim tonight or tomorrow."

Mercer flashed his
badge at the security guard in front of the hospital driveway, who
motioned him to leave the car right at the curb.

Sophisticated monitors
beeped their familiar noises as we pushed open the doors into the
surgical ICU. Nurses were engaged in every one of the eight cubicles,
tending to patients in the most critical phase of care.

Mercer walked to the
glass-enclosed area where Annika Jelt lay in bed.

"She's awake,
Detective. You can come in," the nurse said.

I remained in the
doorway as Mercer took a step to the bedside. He reached out his large
hand and placed it on Annika's arm, above the intravenous needle that
carried fluids back into her slim body. As she felt his touch, the
young woman turned her head toward us and tried to smile, recognizing
her new friend and protector.

"Hello," she
whispered, barely able to move her mouth because of the tubes coming
out of her nostrils.

Mercer leaned his
six-foot-six-inch frame over the bed railing and gently stroked
Annika's forehead. "Don't try to talk. I just came back to check on
you. Make sure they're treating you right."

The nurse walked to
the far side of the bed and adjusted the pillows behind her head.
"Detective Wallace told me he'd haul me off to the clink if we don't
get you up and out of here as soon as possible."

She twisted her head
back toward the nurse and forced another smile.

"I spoke with your
mother, Annika. It's okay. She and your dad will be here tomorrow."

At the mention of her
parents, the girl's eyes filled with tears and a guttural cry escaped
from her mouth. She wanted to speak but couldn't find the strength, or
the right words.

"They know you're
going to be fine. They want to come over here and be with you."

I couldn't understand
what she was mumbling. Her head was moving back and forth, causing all
the monitors to go into high gear. It was something about what she
wanted.

"I know you want to go
home," Mercer said. Her hand was clasped in his and he continued to try
to calm her by stroking her hair.

I bit my lip and
thought of how isolated and frightened she must be. Alone in a foreign
country, victim of a crime that almost took her life, and not even able
to speak on the telephone to assure her family that she would survive.

"Remember the lady I
told you about, my friend Alex? I've brought her here to meet you,"
Mercer said, stepping back from the bed that was surrounded with
medical equipment so that Annika could see me.

I came in closer and
she dropped his hand, gesturing toward mine. I took his place by her
side, covering her cold fingers with my own, and let Mercer finish
speaking. "Alex and I are going to find this man, Annika. All you have
to do is get strong again. That's your only assignment."