Vespers Read online

  “No. You ever think of going back to the army?”

  Henry winced. “Touché. On the other hand, you did do it over ten years. Most men would’ve burned out.”

  “Flattery won’t work either.”

  Henry shrugged. “Anyway, here you are. What can I do for you?”

  Gentry unzipped his overnight bag, withdrew the Baggie, and handed it to Henry. “I fished this from the wall of my apartment building last night. I was hoping you could tell me what kind of animal it belongs to.”

  Dr. Henry held the bag up to the fluorescent light. He shook it lightly, opened it, sniffed it, then pressed it shut. He handed it back to Gentry.

  “Well?”

  “Like I told you,” Henry said, “there was a time when you made my life interesting.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This was way too easy.”

  “You know what it is?”

  Henry nodded slowly. “It’s a waste medium consisting primarily of nitrogen, phosphorous, and potassium. Also millions of microscopic, undigested insect parts.”

  Gentry looked at him blankly.

  “It’s bat guano,” Henry said. “Not only that, but it was collected almost straight from the bat.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because very early this morning we were given a sample almost exactly like yours.”

  Gentry had been slumping. He straightened. “Explain.”

  “Laurette was here and ran the analysis,” Henry went on. “She identified it and also noticed the lack of any bioremediation microbes-meaning no decomposition. Hence the freshness.”

  “Who brought the sample to you?”

  “A Metro North cop sent it over. He had a strange name-what was it? Arville something? Arvids?”

  “Arvids Stiebris. Works under Ari Moreaux. I know him. What happened?”

  “One of the MTA maintenance workers went out on his weekly inspection early this morning and didn’t report back or answer his pager. The shift supervisor called for a police escort. Arvids and he went out looking for the guy. They found the man and the guano.”

  “What was wrong with him?”

  “Physically, not much. He apparently passed out from the smell. There were scratches on his face and neck, but the EMT personnel who were called in said he got them when he fell.”

  “Where did all this happen?”

  “I’m really not sure. Somewhere along the subway tunnels, Lexington Avenue side of the station, I think. Arvids said the dung heap was a big one, about two feet high.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Yeah. That’s a lot of shit.”

  “Anything else?” Gentry asked.

  “About the sample, no. But totally by coincidence, when I saw the bat attack on the news last night, I called Al Doyle at home. He’s the Health Department’s Dr. Pest Control. You know him? Looks like a field mouse.”

  Gentry said he didn’t know him or know of him.

  “He’s not one of us I Love New York guys. Sees the burg as a pit stop to the federal level. Anyhow, he didn’t think the Westchester bats were anything to worry about. He said the attack up north probably happened because too many migrating bats tried to feed on too few bugs and ended up colliding with one another and with people who got in the way.”

  “The news reports said the two people up there were practically gnawed to death.”

  “I mentioned that to Doyle,” Henry replied. “He said bat attacks make good copy.”

  “Horseshit. I saw the home video footage on the news report.”

  “Me too. What can I tell you?”

  “That you’ll call Doyle later and ask him what he thinks about the guano in Grand Central.”

  “Actually, we had that discussion last night. He told me that we’ve had bats in the subways before. He said they usually migrate late in the summer or early fall. They look for a warm place to hibernate and give birth, and the subways fill the bill. He said there are thirty to forty thousand bats in the city parks, and it’s not uncommon for many of them to head underground.”

  “I’ve lived in the city for eighteen years, Chris. I’ve never had bat guano in my wall. And that maintenance guy was obviously a little surprised by what he found on the train tracks.”

  Henry shrugged. “There are renovations going on at Grand Central. There’s been a lot of new construction where you live in the West Village. Maybe that’s opened new niches for the bats or closed some old ones.”

  “Oh, come on. How many displaced bats would it take to create a pile of shit two feet deep?”

  “Listen,” Henry said, “I’m no bat expert. Maybeyou should talk to Doyle. He gets in around ten o’clock. I’ll give you his direct line at the Health Department.”

  “No, thanks.” Gentry zipped his overnight bag and slung it over his shoulder. “I saw a bat lady on TV last night. I’m going to see if I can get in touch with her.”

  Henry smirked. “I’d take a lady over Doyle too.”

  “She seemed to know her stuff, Chris. That’s all.”

  “Sure. Well, let me know what you find out.”

  “I will.”

  “And it was good to see you,” Henry said. “Come back with a real problem next time.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Henry waved the Baggie. “You want this?”

  Robert shook his head. He had a feeling he’d be able to get more where that came from.

  Eight

  Midtown South is known as the busiest police precinct in the world. It’s responsible for Times Square and its millions of tourists, for Hell’s Kitchen and its mix of aspiring actors, old-timers, and human predators, for busy Grand Central Station, the residential elite of Park Avenue, and the heart of the popular Fifth Avenue shopping district.

  Gentry took a cab to the station house. He wrote “in” beside his name on the duty blackboard, then made his way through the crowd of officers and people with problems. He said good morning to Detectives Jason Anthony and Jen Malcolm who sat at desks in “the squad pit,” as they called it, then tucked himself into his small, bright office in the back. He shut the door and fell into his swivel chair. There was a pile of folders on his desk about a foot deep. Bike messengers who ran people down. Cars that hit poles. A model plane that flew off a roof and struck a pedestrian in the eye. Gentry decided that most of these cases would keep. He ran his finger down the sun-faded auto-dial list taped to the desk beside the phone. He punched in 34# and looked for a pen.

  Gentry couldn’t remember the name or title of the bat expert who had been on the evening news with Kathy Leung. He also couldn’t remember whether she worked at the Bronx Zoo or the Central Park Zoo. He assumed he’d get Kathy’s assistant, get the number, and get off the phone. He was surprised when the lady herself answered.

  “Kathy?” he said.

  “Who’s this?”

  “Robert Gentry. Midtown South.”

  “Detective,” she said flatly. “Hello. This is a surprise.”

  “A pleasant one, I hope.”

  She said nothing. This wasn’t going to be easy.

  “I saw your report last night,” Gentry said. “I didn’t think you’d be in this early.”

  “I slept here. Look, I’m really kind of busy right now. Things got weird last night.”

  “In what way?”

  “You ought to watch more morning TV. We get latebreaking news the papers miss.”

  “Sorry. My dad set type for theTrib.”

  “The what?”

  “TheHerald Tribune. Never mind. What happened last night?”

  “They found a dead deer way up a tree. Its side was torn open and it was partly eaten.”

  Gentry stopped looking for the pen. “Eaten as in decomposed?”

  “No, eaten as in ‘for dinner.’ The body was very fresh, dead only a few hours. The police thought at first that it might be some kind of prank. That whoever put the deer up there also scared the bats into doing what they did. But there were
no footprints anywhere near the tree, either human or deer. The police used a chopper to pull the deer out of the tree and had it brought to the zoo for an autopsy. I’m waiting to hear about the results.”

  “What the hell could have carried a deer up a tree?” Gentry said. “Even if this were a joke, a deer weighs-what?”

  “This one was full-grown, about three hundred kilograms.”

  “Which is how much in English?”

  “A little over six hundred pounds,” Kathy said. “That’s a lot more than your average puma or college jocks can haul twenty feet up a tree. You know my camera operator T-Bone?”

  “I do.”

  “Used to be a Con Ed lineman. Big guy. He said that four of him couldn’t have carried it up there. Everyone’s hoping the autopsy will give us some answers. Police are also asking parents who videotaped the game to turn over the cassettes. Some of them might have picked up something going on in the woods.”

  Gentry was silent for a moment.

  “So why were you calling?” Kathy asked.

  “Oh. I wanted the number of that bat lady you had on the air last night.”

  “Why?”

  “I’d like to talk to her.”

  “I got that part. Is it personal or professional?”

  “It’s business.”

  “Did something happen I should know about?”

  “No,” Gentry said. “I just wanted to ask her if there’s anything we should be worried about regarding bats.”

  “Detective?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t bullshit me. You’re with the accident squad. Since when are bats your beat?”

  “Since trains come into Grand Central from Westchester nineteen hours out of every day,” he said. “I’m worried about tiny little fare-beaters flying at people in the station.” Now that he thought of it, he wondered if they should be worried about that.

  “That’s a Metro North concern, not yours. Come on. I shared with you. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing, Kathy. Really.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Kath, if I can help you, I will. I promise. That’s the best I can do.”

  Kathy exhaled loudly. “Her name is Nancy Joyce, Bronx Zoo. And don’t call again unless you want to play ball.”

  The next thing Gentry heard was a dial tone. He still liked Kathy. But he didn’t want to tell her what they’d found. Just in case Doyle was right. He didn’t want to see the media turn this into something it wasn’t.

  Gentry got the zoo number and called. He got the switchboard recording, entered the first three letters of Joyce’s name, and was put through to her office. A young man answered.

  “Marc Ramirez.”

  “Hi. This is Detective Robert Gentry, New York Police Department. Is Dr. Joyce in?”

  “She had a long night. She’s trying to get some sleep. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Are you a bat expert?”

  “I’m working on it, Detective.”

  “All right,” Gentry said. “What do you make of about two feet of bat guano piled next to subway tracks under Grand Central Station? Enough of it to make a man pass out. Also a massive cockroach exodus, apparently from a pile of guano inside an apartment wall?”

  “I’ll get Dr. Joyce,” Ramirez said.

  Gentry smiled. He liked that about today’s young people, too-the smart ones knew when to duck.

  He was on hold for less than a minute.

  “This is Nancy Joyce.”

  Gentry recognized the husky voice from the newscast. It sounded thicker now, probably from lack of sleep. But it still sounded nice.

  The detective introduced himself and told her about the guano in Grand Central and also in Mrs. Bundonis’s apartment. When he was finished, Joyce was silent.

  “Doctor?” he said, after a long moment.

  “I’m here.” Her voice no longer sounded groggy. “I was just thinking.”

  “While you’re doing that,” he said, “I was wondering. Have you found out anything about the deer?”

  “We don’t know much about that yet,” she admitted. “There are large marks in the hide, backbone, and organs. They look like teeth, though they could have been made by an unserrated knife. The animal appears to have been killed by a large predator, but there were no bark splinters in its hide.”

  “Bark splinters? From the tree?”

  “Correct. Meaning it wasn’t dragged up. And there are fractures along the right-side ribs. Those could have been caused in an attack-you see it in bear assaults all the time-though the breaks appear to conform with the shape and size of the limb I found it on.”

  “Wait a second, Doctor. Are you saying the deerfell onto the branch from above?”

  “Fell or was dropped,” Joyce said. “Maybe from a plane or a helicopter-we just don’t know. The carcass is with Dr. Nadler. Even-toed ungulates are Caryn’s bailiwick.”

  “I see.” Gentry couldn’t decide whether this was comical or sick.

  “Detective, can you find out anything more about the guano in Grand Central?”

  “Like what?”

  “I need to know more about the dimensions and consistency. It’s not uncommon for bats to nest in subways, tunnels, and basements. But a two-foot-high mound of guano, even if it’s only a foot in diameter, would take a hundred bats about a week to produce. And that’s if they were all living on one vertical post.”

  “Is that unlikely?”

  “With all the subway traffic in those tunnels? Yes.”

  “Al Doyle at the Health Department says we get plenty of bats in the tunnels,” Gentry said.

  “He’s correct,” she said, “only they don’t stay there long. Bats don’t like loud noise, wind, bright light, or moving objects.”

  “I see. Then how do you explain the guano?”

  “If I had to guess, I think someone’s playing a trick on you.”

  “Subway workers aren’t noted for their sense of humor,” Gentry said. “And even if that were true, it wouldn’t explain the guano I found in my building.”

  “True,” Joyce admitted. She was silent again. Then she asked, “Can someone take me to where the guano was found?”

  “Absolutely,” Gentry said. “I’ll arrange it. When can you-”

  “An hour,” she said. “Meet me at the upstairs information booth in Grand Central. What are you wearing?”

  “I’ll find you,” Gentry said. “I saw you on TV last night.”

  “Fine,” she said and hung up.

  Gentry placed the receiver back in the cradle. Women didn’t seem to want to stay on the phone with him today.

  After calling over to Captain Moreaux at Metro North to make certain that Arvids was still on post this late in the morning, Gentry left his office. As he stopped to write his destination on the blackboard, Captain Chris Sheehy entered the station house.

  “Good morning, sir,” Gentry said as the short, round captain walked past.

  “Good morning,” Sheehy replied. He stopped. He seemed uncharacteristically chipper. “Detective Gentry, do you know what the sweetest thing in the world is?”

  “I think so.”

  “No, Detective,” Sheehy said. “It’s not. It’s payback. Three times in the last month I was supposed to have breakfast with Captain DiFate of Central Park. I got paged away each time. So we made a deal. The next one who canceled had to pick up dinner-not breakfast-at the Old Homestead. Well, guess who got nailed this morning?”

  Gentry smiled. “Not you.”

  “Not me.”

  “I’m happy for you, Captain,” Gentry said.

  “Bless the beasts and children,” Sheehy laughed as he walked toward his office. “Especially the beasts at the zoo.”

  Gentry’s smile evaporated. He put down the chalk and called after the captain. “What happened at the zoo?”

  Captain Sheehy stopped. “An attempted jail break,” he said. “Seems a couple hundred bats in the bat house decided
they didn’t want to live there anymore.”

  Nine

  Gentry walked up to Forty-second Street and headed east to Grand Central. This time his mind was not on the sunshine.

  According to Captain Sheehy, Captain DiFate said that the bats at the Central Park Zoo had gone wild shortly after sunrise. They were trying to escape through the two grated air ducts in the bat house. So far they hadn’t succeeded, though DiFate said that many of the bats were bloody from the effort and still wouldn’t give up. He added that the police deployment had nothing to do with the bats per se. It had to do with zoo and park authorities being concerned that nearly one hundred squealing bats might upset the other animals. They didn’t want people trying to get in to see the “wild” lions and trumpeting elephants.

  Captain Sheehy added that he wasn’t worried about the bats in Central Park or Westchester or anywhere else. If they got loose in the city and the Health Department couldn’t handle them, NYPD sharpshooters would. “Skeet,” he called them with a chuckle.

  Gentry wasn’t so sure about that. Any animal that could terrify a cockroach had his cautious respect. He hoped that Nancy Joyce had an explanation for what was going on.

  Gentry entered the busy terminal and headed toward the grand staircase on the western side of the concourse. Just like when he walked home at night, he loved the crowds. The life. The energy. He needed to get that back. As he walked, he looked up at the newly restored constellations on the hundred-foot-high ceiling. It was green and bright, and it helped take his mind off bats. He thought back to how his father used to tell him about the constellations. Only in New York would builders have been audacious enough to block out God’s heaven and put up one of their own. He admired that.

  Metro North ran most of the trains coming in and out of the city from upstate New York and New England. They had their own police force, which was chartered by the city and worked closely with the NYPD. They were based in the most elegant headquarters in New York: the former Vanderbilt apartments. The rooms, made of marble and stone, had been erected in 1912 for the convenience of the family that ran what was then the New York Central Railroad.

  Gentry paid a call on Captain Ari Alberto Moreaux. When Moreaux was the operations coordinator for Midtown South, he worked closely with Gentry at SNEU. Moreaux got burned out just nine months before Gentry had his own problem up in Connecticut. The long hours and slime stains they all had to deal with were bad enough. But for Moreaux, the capper came when a major heroin dealer got stopped on lower Broadway for a routine traffic violation. The officer found a joint in the car ashtray. One of Moreaux’s undercover boys was in the car with the dealer and saw two years of work going down the toilet for a simple pot bust. Instead of letting the cop arrest the dealer, the undercover guy flashed his badge to the traffic cop, blew the scumbag dealer away, and put a “throwaway” in the hand of the corpse-a gun he kept for just that purpose. The traffic cop covered for him and said the dealer reached for the gun to discourage the arrest. Moreaux couldn’t take it anymore. Now, as the captain freely admitted, he was happy to be dealing with the menace of drunken commuters, panhandlers, and cigarette smokers who lit up while they were still inside the station.