The DeadHouse

"But there were other places on the island, see, to keep his jewels."

"I realize they had the run of the penitentiary, Mr. Lockhart," Mike said, "but not access to the rest of the land beyond the jail walls."

"Ah, but you're forgetting what most of the prisoners did every day."

"Some of them had to work as caretakers in the other hospitals and asylums," I offered, still chilled by that startling fact.

"But most of them, missy, were doing hard labor. The island abounded with rich deposits of stone. Desirable building material, granite and gneiss. Most of the convicts were sent out in their striped uniforms to spend their days excavating the rock.

"And some of Reggio's men believed that Je

"So someone would smuggle the diamonds in to Mr. Je

"I suspect it was his lawyer who brought in the jewels. You know, since ancient times, there's been a universal method of carrying loose stones. You just fold them into a paper pouch, smaller than the palm of one's hand, and you can pretty much go anywhere you want, unmolested."

Lockhart was right. To this day, throughout the diamond district in midtown Manhattan and in the gem trade all over the world, the most incredibly valuable stones were carried this way- wrapped only in a thin slip of paper-in the pockets of pants and jackets of the most unlikely-looking couriers.

"Were any found during the raid?"

"Just two. Saw them myself, right in the warden's office, when one of the detectives carried them in to us. There was a rose-colored one, about the size of a pigeon's egg, sewed right into the cuff of a pair of pants. And then a crystal-clear diamond with more brilliance than the brightest star I've ever seen. It was just a small one, and it was stuffed in a tiny slit inside the leather cover of Freeland's mother's Bible that he kept next to the bed." He laughed to himself. "Guess it wouldn't occur to the thugs to look in the Lord's book.

"Problem was that one of Reggio's men-believe his name might have been Ke

"How so?"

"If there really were other diamonds, well-the reason poor Freeland didn't yield to the bastards was because he thought he'd be perfectly safe during the raid."

"He knew that you and MacCormick were coming?"

"Let me say this, young man. I never betrayed a confidence of the commissioner's, but I was the one to whom Je

Lockhart stiffened in his chair and bored his eyes into Chapman's. "I wanted Je

"What happened to Je

"Ke

"Whatever it was, Je

"And the diamonds?"

"My detectives were on these two fellows pretty quickly. Mind you, at the time, no one knew the men were in Je

"Was the island searched?"

"By the time these stories surfaced, the penitentiary had long been abandoned and the quarries on the island had been mined of their riches. People have scoured it and fools will continue to do so well after I'm gone, if you ask me.

"Course, if I didn't have this tale to tell, probably wouldn't get a single visitor anymore. That's why Lola comes." He lifted his left arm and squinted to see the time. "She's late."

"Was Lola looking for Je

"She may guess that I'm stupid and senile, but if Lola thinks I believe there's any other reason she's been here to visit me, she's mistaken. She's been all through my diaries, too. I suspect she's looking for clues that she thinks I've forgotten by now. Probably knows more about all my lady friends and some of the crooks I represented in my practice than she does about any buried treasure"-he smiled broadly now-"but if it keeps her coming back here to chat with me, she's welcome to them. Hell, I've answered to more important people than Lola about that."

"What do you mean?"

"Old MacCormick himself called me on the carpet many years after the raid. Thought I was living mighty high on the hog and had heard all the rumors by then. Looked me straight in the eye and asked whether Je

"What did-?"

"And Je

"Did you ever look for the diamonds yourself?"

"I only set foot on the island once, the day of the raid. No reason to go back, in my book."

"Did Lola talk to you about the deadhouse?"

He snapped his head to look at me. "You damn well must be her friend. What is it? Where is it? Damned if I ever heard that word before she sat at my feet going at me. Doesn't mean a thing to me, young lady."

"May we come back and visit you sometime, Mr. Lockhart?" Mike was on his feet, hand on the shoulder of the old guy so he didn't feel the need to stand up with us.

"Certainly, certainly you must. Come to the party next week. Skip's having a little holiday party at the house." His eyes brightened and he looked up at me. "You'll bring me some licorice, will you? And you, miss, you'll send my best to Mr. Hogan?"

Frank Hogan had been one of America's great prosecutors, before Bob Morgenthau and Paul Battaglia. He had died in 1974 after twenty-eight years as Manhattan's district attorney. I wondered anew how much of what Orlyn Lockhart had been telling us was fact, and how much was lost in the confusion of time past. Perhaps I could get some articles from the microfiche newspaper files at the New York Public Library and research the story of Freeland Je