Liberty Falling
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
PRAISE FOR NEVADA BARR AND THE ANNA PIGEON NOVELS
LIBERTY FALLING
“Barr writes with hypnotic lyricism of these decaying ruins, where ‘Nature was taking back what had once been hers’. . . . [Manhattan] isn’t the Grand Canyon, but to a naturalist like Barr, the place is teeming with life.”
—The New York Times Book Review
“The descriptions of life on the island are fascinating, especially as Barr contrasts Pigeon’s isolation there to the swirl of activity in the concrete canyons just across the harbor.”
—Chicago Tribune
“Compelling . . . engrossing . . . unusual ...”
—The Denver Post
“Barr is one of the hottest mystery writers going right now, and her latest will only add to her momentum.”
—Booklist (starred review)
“Well crafted . . . Anna is at home under the stars fighting natural disasters and human sins in wild, unforgiving settings. But none of them comes close to the menace of New York.”
—The Times-Picayune
“By the time Anna is ready to return to the wild, everything around her has undergone upheaval. And the reader has had a ball.” —The Washington Times
“Excellent . . . The vast closed buildings of Ellis Island become accessible to us with Barr’s trademark attention to detail. . . . The puzzle comes together with a bang.”
—Rocky Mountain News
“Gripping . . . harrowing . . . a moving, suspenseful, fast-paced novel . . . shimmering with vibrant life and originality . . . Readers will be riveted by the detailed and loving portrait painted of the monument itself, its history, its grandeur, its secret places.” —The Cleveland Plain Dealer
“Nature’s combination of awesome beauty and brutal terror are strikingly portrayed in Nevada Barr’s mysteries.”
—The Seattle Times
“Anna Pigeon is becoming one of the most interesting of the many female sleuths vying for reader loyalty in the crime fiction field.” —St. Louis Post-Dispatch
“Haunting . . . gritty . . . poignant.” —The Florida Times-Union
“This series is one of my favorites.”
—The Globe and Mail (Toronto)
“A fast-paced read spun in this author’s always lyrical prose . . . Warning: Reading mysteries can be habit forming . . . especially if they are the work of Nevada Barr.” —Southern Living
“Whether it’s your first time to share a sleeping bag with Anna Pigeon, or you’re a regular back-to-nature fan, Liberty Falling will make you a happy camper.” —The Clarion-Ledger
ENDANGERED SPECIES
“No one delivers the thrill better than Nevada Barr.”
—Colorado Springs Gazette-Telegraph
“Barr is a splendid storyteller.”
—Los Angeles Times Book Review
“In Anna Pigeon, author Barr may have created the most appealing mystery series heroine to come along since Sue Grafton’s Kinsey Millhone.” —The Cleveland Plain Dealer
“Vivid . . . skillful . . . Barr, a park ranger herself, has the tools to make the island seem real, from the wicked insect life to the glow of the moon on the Atlantic.” —Detroit Free Press
“Despite the many plot complications that claim Anna’s attention in this intricate mystery, Ms. Barr makes sure that she also has eyes for the eerie beauty of her isolated surroundings. No less than her heroine . . . the author seems to have immersed herself in everything strange and lovely about this place.”
—The New York Times Book Review
“Nevada Barr’s fifth Anna Pigeon is an Americanized, natural history version of the English country murder. . . . While the mystery in Endangered Species is expertly rendered, keeping us guessing most of the way, the strength of the novel lies in Barr’s host of deftly sketched and offbeat supporting players . . . and her striking depictions of the island’s environment.”
—San Francisco Sunday Examiner & Chronicle
“[An] estimable series . . . Barr writes evocatively about nature’s pleasures and perils, astutely about those who would protect the wilderness from those wishing to exploit it. . . . Anna continues to be a character to care about, flawed but resilient.”
—Orlando Sentinel
“Nevada Barr has carved out her own fictional fiefdom, creating a body of work like no other. To her intriguing depiction of the U.S. Forest Service, its mission and its members, she adds a storytelling skill that makes her Anna Pigeon novels tops in entertainment.” —The San Diego Union-Tribune
“A nifty thriller . . . Barr’s one heckuva writer. . . . Her tales read like Patricia Cornwell exploring the great outdoors.”
—The Clarion-Ledger
“Anna Pigeon is an outstanding example of the contemporary woman detective. She is smart, determined, and able enough to compete with anyone in the mystery business.”
—The Dallas Morning News
“Nevada Barr’s mysteries keep getting better and better.”
—Susan Isaacs
“Anna Pigeon, Barr’s down-to-earth heroine, is a delight, with her no-nonsense approach to crime solving and her common-sense approach to life.” —Booklist
“No one delivers the thrill better than Nevada Barr. . . . Fans of the current crop of women mystery writers will love Anna Pigeon. . . . For those who read mysteries to figure out whodunit before the end, be warned: Barr will stump you almost every time.” —Colorado Springs Gazette-Telegraph
“Poetically written and exquisitely clued.” —Kirkus Reviews
“A refreshing change from the brash, wisecracking order of female PIs, Barr’s thoughtful and sensitive heroine rings true on every page.” —Publishers Weekly
“Nevada Barr is an accomplished storyteller. She understands about plot twists, narrative drive, comic relief, and the various other elements vital to the mix. . . . She also has a feeling for the solidity of mountains and the relentlessness of rivers, and what it is that can make a brilliant, star-filled desert night so scary.” —The Philadelphia Inquirer
“The book abounds with unusual and colorful characters and is imbued with Barr’s wonderful sense of place and the details of a park ranger’s daily life.” —The Denver Post
“Gals don’t get much tougher than Forest Service ranger Anna Pigeon. . . . Barr is as precise a craftswoman as Agatha Christie. . . . She’s made the genre her own.” —San Jose Mercury News
“Anna Pigeon is one of the top female sleuths today. . . . Endangered Species is a fabulous read.” —The Blood-Letter
Titles by Nevada Barr
BORDERLINE
WINTER STUDY
HARD TRUTH
HIGH COUNTRY
FLASHBACK
HUNTING SEASON
BLOOD LURE
DEEP SOUTH
LIBERTY FALLING
BLIND DESCENT
ENDANGERED SPECIES
FIRESTORM
ILL WIND
A SUPERIO
R DEATH
TRACK OF THE CAT
BITTERSWEET
Nonfiction
SEEKING ENLIGHTENMENT ... HAT BY HAT
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
LIBERTY FALLING
A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 1999 by Nevada Barr.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without
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eISBN : 978-1-101-44383-5
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For Trish:
once my agent,
twice my editor,
always my friend
For help on this book, I thank the staff of the Ellis Island and Statue of Liberty National Monuments; the Park Police on Ellis and Liberty (and yes, they are all handsome); the staff boat captains, and especially Becky Brock, who gave me the place and a bed to sleep in while I did my research; an individual who is too shy to be named; and Charlie DeLeo, who kindly let me use him in the story. And thanks to Fred Shirley for his time and expertise.
Since the writing of this book, plans have been made to stabilize the buildings on Islands II and III, though no work has yet begun. It is hoped that if the structures can be saved, there will be funds to restore them. Contributions toward this future restoration can be made to The Statue of Liberty Ellis Island Foundation; e-mail: pr@ellisisland.org.
1
OF COURSE MOLLY would live; anything else was unthinkable. But Anna was thinking it.
Concerned for her mental health—or their own—the nurses at Columbia-Presbyterian had banded together and banished Anna from the hospital for twelve hours. Once pried free of the rain-streaked monolith housing umpteen floors of misery, Anna fled the far reaches of the Upper West Side, spiraling down into the subway with the rainwater. Huddled on the Number 1 train, she rattled through the entrails of Manhattan to the end of the line: South Ferry. The subways weren’t those she’d known as a young woman—a wife—living in New York City with Zach. These were clean, silver. They smelled of metal and electricity, like bumper cars at the carnival. Graffiti artists, frustrated by the glossy un-paintable surfaces, made futile attempts to etch gang symbols and lewd declarations of adolescent angst in the plastic of the windows. Vandals lacked patience and dedication.
At South Ferry, Anna sprinted up the stairs and burst from the station like a deadline-crazed commuter and across the three lanes of traffic that separated the subway from the pier. The National Park Service staff boat, the Liberty IV, was waiting at the Coast Guard dock, floating on the tip of Manhattan Island. Anna got aboard before they cast off. Kevin, the boat captain, winked. “I wouldn’t have left you.” She knew that, but she’d needed to run, to see the planks of the pier passing beneath her feet, to feel she’d outpaced the demons, beaten them to the boat. Ghosts can’t cross open water.
On shipboard, she kept running. Avoiding kindly questions from Kevin, she left the warmth of the cabin and went to the stern. Under the dispirited flapping of the American flag, she watched the skyline, dominated by the twin towers of the World Trade Center, recede, carried away on the wake of the Liberty IV. Patsy Silva, the woman on Liberty Island with whom Anna was staying, referred to this pose, this view, as her “Barbra Streisand moment.” It was the East Coast equivalent of Mary Tyler Moore throwing her hat into the air in downtown Minneapolis.
Crossing the harbor, Anna tried to fix her mind on the movie that had burned that image into the collective unconscious of a generation of theatergoers, but could not remember even the title.
The NPS boat stopped first at Ellis Island. From there it would continue its endless triangle, ferrying staff to Liberty Island, then the third leg of the run, back to MIO, the dock shared with the Marine Inspection Office of the U.S. Coast Guard where Anna had boarded. Farther out in the harbor, the Circle Line ferried its tourist cargo in roughly the same path but docking at different points on the islands. Anna was bunking in Patsy Silva’s spare room in a cozy little cottage on Liberty Island in the shadow of the great lady herself. The view from Anna’s bedroom—could it be duplicated—would jack the price of a condo into the high six figures. As it was park housing, Patsy and her roommate paid the staggering sum of one hundred and forty dollars a month; recompense for living in an area a GS-7 on NPS wages couldn’t possibly afford.
Loath to go “home” immediately, to strand herself amid the all too human accoutrements of coffee cups and telephones, Anna thanked Kevin, disembarked at Ellis, the Liberty IV’s first stop, and slunk away, keeping to deserted brick alleys.
For ease of reference, Ellis was divided into three “islands,” though all three of its building complexes shared the same bit of earth and were joined together by a long windowed walkway. Island I was the facility the tourists saw. Spectacularly refurbished in 1986, it housed the museum, the Registry Hall, the baggage room and the service areas through which twelve million of the immigrants who poured into America from 1892 to 1954 had passed. Vaulted ceilings, as airy as those of a cathedral built to worship industry, intricate windows, modern baths, electricity, running water—all the state-of-the-art nineteenth-century architecture—had been lovingly restored to its original grandeur. And returned, Anna had little doubt, to its original cacophony. At Ellis’s peak, ten thousand souls a day were shepherded through the “golden door” to America. Now Ellis, in season, saw eight to ten thousand visitors from all over the world each day. The raucous babble of languages must have seemed familiar to the old building.
Echoing off acres of tile in cavernous rooms, the din gave Anna a headache. She’d arrived in New York two days before. After a day of staring blindly at exhibits, she’d been driven to Islands II and III. In these crumbling urban ruins she’d found solace.
Isolated from the
public by an inlet where Circle Line ferries disgorged two-legged freight, Islands II and III had been the hospital wards and staff living quarters when Ellis was an immigration station. One of the first American hospitals built on the European spa principle that light and air are actually good for people, its many rooms were graced with windows reaching nearly from floor to ceiling. The infectious disease units on Island III were interconnected by long, freestanding passages, walled in paned glass. Ellis had boasted a psychiatric hospital, two operating theaters, a morgue and an autopsy room. At the turn of the century, the hospitals on Ellis were showcases for modern medical practices. That, and the fact that at one time or another nearly every disease known to man was manifest in at least one hapless immigrant, lured students and doctors from all over. They came to Ellis to teach, learn and observe.
In the early fifties the hospitals had been abandoned. Unlike the registry building on Island I, they’d never been restored. There had never been funds to so much as stabilize the structures. Thus Anna loved them, found in them the peace the sprawl of New York City had destroyed even in the remote corners of her famed city parks.
On these abandoned islands, as in the Anasazi cliff dwellings in Colorado, the sugar mills on St. John, the copper mines on Isle Royale, Nature was taking back what had once been hers. Brick, glass and iron were wrapped with delicate green tendrils, vines content to destroy the man-made world one minute fragment at a time. Walls disappeared behind leafy curtains. Glass, shattered by the vicissitudes of time and vandals, was slowly returning its component parts to the sand that had been dredged from the Jersey shore to build the island. Four stories above this landfill, hardwood floors, sloped with moisture, grew lush carpets of fine green moss on the mounds of litter half a century of neglect had shaken down from the ceilings.