Kilar’s radio came to life. The dispatcher informed him that the mayor’s limousine was on the way. The lieutenant said he would inform the medical team, then come downstairs to meet him.

“As I said,” Kilar told Joyce, “if you want to give us the benefit of your expertise, I’d love to have it.”

“Thanks for the invitation, but I think I’ll tackle this from another direction.” She excused herself, then left.

Kilar glared at Gentry and stepped closer. “I lost some good people today. You oughta know when to back the fuck off.”

“I’ll back off when I’m sure more good people aren’t going to be butchered-”

“Thanks for the advice. If you find out anything about this perp, something I can use, you’ll let me know?”

Gentry nodded. Kilar returned to the hospital room.

Gentry ran after Joyce. He caught up to her, and the two walked quickly toward the elevator.

“Sorry about that,” he said.

“Right.”

“I am. You’re not having a very good afternoon.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“Tell me.”

“I thought it was obvious back there. Another case of SDS.”

“SDS?”

“Swinging dick syndrome. The idea that men do things better.”

“Another? Is that what you thought I was doing in the tunnel?”

“Weren’t you?”

“Oh, come on, Nancy! I thought I explained-”

“You did. I never said I believed you.”

“Well, it wasn’t SDS,” Gentry said. “And neither is this. The lieutenant may not have much of an imagination, and I can’t say I blame him for not believing there’s a giant bat on the loose. But he cares about the problem and he did want your help. He asked you to come to the command center.”

“In support of his man.”

“No. But it’s like anyplace else. There’s a pecking order-”

“A pecker order, you mean.”

Gentry swung in front of her and stopped. So did she. “Look, I’m not saying that doesn’t exist in the NYPD. But that’s not what you got from the lieutenant and it’s not what you got from me. You have to believe that.”

“I’ll try,” she said, then moved around him.

He turned and walked with her. She reached the elevator and jabbed the button.

“Let them stick to their ‘pecking’ order,” she went on. “Only if they do, there’s going to be a lot less order and a lot more pecking. The kind you saw in the tunnel. This isn’t a job for pseudo-experts.”

The elevator arrived and they stepped into the empty car. Joyce leaned against a corner, her eyes downcast.

“Like I said before, Nancy, I’m sorry this hasn’t worked out the way you wanted.”

They were quiet for a moment. It was the silence of cooling off.

“I can’t remember,” Gentry said. “Did I ever thank you for coming?”

“I wanted to come.”

“Well, thank you anyway. Whatever this thing is, we’re going to figure it out and lick it.”

She was silent again. Gentry didn’t know what else to say, so he said nothing.

When the elevator door opened, they walked down a crowded corridor toward the Eleventh Street exit. Gentry had to hustle to keep up with the woman.

“Whatare you planning to do?” he asked.

“I was thinking about heading back to my office and getting on-line,” she said. “I’m relatively up-to-date on all the current bat literature, but I could’ve missed some research somewhere. Occasionally the reports about bats show up under different headings.”

“You mean like dead livestock or missing persons or things like that,” Gentry said.

She nodded. “You may also be onto something with that Hudson route you mentioned before. I want to check it out.”

“Y’know, I have access to a lot of reports that aren’t a matter of public information.”

“That could be useful.”

“I was thinking that maybe we should pool our resources.”

“Don’t you have cases and crimes to work on?”

“Always. But this one’s got me hooked. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He smiled at her. “What about you?”

“My assistant Marc will cover the school lectures.”

“Excellent. So how about it? We can work together.”

She thought for a moment. “Sure. It makes sense.”

“Then I have a suggestion. The subways are going to be screwed up for a while, and getting to the Bronx will be a pain. My apartment’s a short walk away. Why don’t we go there?”

“Nice one.” She allowed the hint of a smile. “You inviting me up to see your guano?”

“Absolutely. It’s a babe magnet.”

Her smile flowered a little more.

“You can use my computer, and if you’re hungry we can eat. Also, if they find anything in the subways, I’ll hear about it and we can go right over.”

Joyce nodded. Now Gentry smiled.

Fortunately, the mayor was arriving as they were leaving. The cluster of reporters gathered outside-Kathy Leung among them-failed to notice Nancy Joyce.

Gentry stopped at a pay phone and called NYPD ICCU, the Inter-city Correspondence Unit, also known as the Stat Unit. He wanted to get them working on the bat attacks as soon as possible. This small division, which is composed mainly of civilians, primarily involves itself with collecting information from and disseminating information to police departments in other cities. The wait time for information is typically a day or two. But Gentry got preferential treatment. That was because he made it a point to remember the birthdays of key personnel with flowers or Knicks tickets. It was a habit he’d started during his days as a narc, when he couldn’t afford to wait more than a few hours for background checks on possible perps in Bridgeport or New Haven or White Plains.

Gentry asked Max Schneider to go back a year and check bat assaults in the northeast and up into Canada. Max promised to beep him as soon as he had something.

Ten minutes later, after paying for a sausage and onion pizza at a small shop on Hudson Street and Eleventh, Joyce and Gentry were on their way to the detective’s apartment.

Eighteen

Nancy seemed a little more relaxed on the way to Washington Street. That allowed Gentry to stop thinking about her long enough to try and buy the idea that there could be a big bat under the streets of New York. Not a “giant” bat. That was too much. It was the stuff of fairy tales, like a dragon or a centaur or a flying horse. A “big” bat was like a python or a great white shark or a condor. Though it was a hell of a lot more than you wanted to meet in the woods or on a beach or on a hillside, it wasn’t something that defied reason.

But even “big” bothered him, and his mind continually returned to logical explanations. A psychotic or sociopathic killer, as Lieutenant Kilar had said. Cultists. Pro-hunting radicals. An animal that had escaped from a zoo, like the big cat that ran free for several days down in Florida a year or so back. Or even like the ostrich that got its feathers up somewhere in South Africa and killed a woman by raking her to death with its claws. Gentry still wasn’t entirely convinced that this wasn’t the work of a mountain lion.

Yet Nancy and certainly her mentor believed in the big bat. Gentry could still hear Lowery responding, “Such as?” when Nancy said there had to be another explanation. He seemed so confident. Hell, maybe he was. Gentry didn’t like the man, but he hadn’t liked a lot of people, starting with the street scum he used to use as informants. Not liking them didn’t make them wrong.

Thinking about dragons led Gentry to dinosaurs, and something suddenly occurred to him.

“ Nancy,” he said, “if there is a big bat, could it possibly be a throwback of some kind? I remember when I was a kid reading about a prehistoric fish that somebody found. It was about five or six feet long, ugly-looking thing. And it was still alive.”

“That was different,” Joyce said. “The fish was a coelacanth. It was discovered off South Africa in 1938.”