ght hit the top page。
It was an old brown carbon； faint and difficult to read。 At the top of the first sheet was printed： Application for Access to the Collections： The New York Museum of Natural History
Applicant： Prof。 Enoch Leng； M。D。； Ph。D。 （Oxon。）； O。B。E。； F。R。S。 &tc。
Remender： Professor Tinbury McFadden； Department of Mammalogy
Seconder： Professor Augustus Spragg； Department of Ornithology
The applicant will please describe to the mittee； in brief； the purposes of his application：
The applicant； Dr。 Enoch Leng； wishes access to the collections of anthropology and mammalogy to conduct research on taxonomy and classification； and to prepare parative essays in physical anthropology； human osteology； and phrenology。
The applicant will please state his academic qualifications； giving degrees and honors； with appropriate dates：
The applicant； Prof。 Enoch Leng； graduated Artium Baccalaurei； with First Honors； from Oriel College； Oxford； Doctor of Natural Philosophy； New College； Oxford； with First Honors； Elected Fellow of the Royal Society 1865； Elected to White's； 1868； Awarded Order of the Garter； 1869。
The applicant will please state his permanent domicile and his current lodgings in New York； if different：
Prof。 Enoch Leng
891 Riverside Drive；
New York New York
Research laboratory at
Shottum's Cabinet of Natural Productions and Curiosities
Catherine Street； New York
New York
The applicant will please attach a list of publications； and will supply offprints of at least two for the review of the mittee。
Smithback looked through the papers； but realized he had missed this crucial piece。
The disposition of the mittee is presented below：
Professor is hereby given permission to the free and open use of the Collections and Library of the New York Museum of Natural History； this 27th Day of March； 1870。
Authorized Signatory： Tinbury McFadden
Signed： E。 Leng。
Smithback swore under his breath。 He felt abruptly deflated。 This was thin…thin indeed。 It was too bad that Leng hadn't gotten his degree in America…that would have been much easier to follow up。 But maybe he could pry the information out of Oxford over the telephone…although it was possible the academic honors were false。 The list of publications would have been much easier to check； and far most interesting； but there was no way he could go back and get it now。 It had been such a good idea； and he'd pulled it off so well。 Damn。
Smithback searched through the papers again。 No photograph； no curriculum vitae； no biography giving place and date of birth。 The only thing here at all was an address。
Damn。 Damn。
But then； a new thought came to him。 He recalled the address was what Nora had been trying to find。 Here； at least； was a peace offering。
Smithback did a quick calculation： 891 Riverside lay uptown； in Harlem somewhere。 There were a lot of old mansions still standing along that stretch of Riverside Drive： those that remained were mostly abandoned or broken up into apartments。 Chances were； of course； that Leng's house had been torn down a long time ago。 But there was a chance it might still stand。 That might make a good picture； even if it was an old wreck。 Especially if it was an old wreck。 e to think of it； there might even be bodies buried about the premises； or walled up in the basement。 Perhaps Leng's own body might be there； moldering in a corner。 That would please O'Shaughnessy； help Nora。 And what a great capstone for his own article…the investigative journalist finding the corpse of America's first serial killer。 Of course； it was very unlikely； but even so 。 。 。
Smithback checked his watch。 Almost one o'clock。
Oh； God。 Such a brilliant bit of detective work and all he'd really got was the damn address。 Well； it was a matter of an hour or two to simply go check and see if the house was still standing。
Smithback stuffed the papers back into his pocket and strolled to Central Park West。 There wasn't much point in flagging down a cab…they'd refuse to take him that far uptown； and once there he'd never find a cab to take him home again。 Even though it was broad daylight； he had no intention of doing any wandering around in that dangerous neighborhood。
The best thing to do might be to rent a car。 The Times had a special arrangement with Hertz； and there was a branch not far away on Columbus。 Now that he thought about it； if the house did still exist； he'd probably want to check inside； talk to current tenants； find out if anything unusual had e to light during renovations； that sort of thing。
It might be dark before he was through。
That did it： he was renting a car。
Forty…five minutes later； he was heading up Central Park West in a silver Taurus。 His spirits had risen once again。 This still could be a big story。 After he'd checked on the house； he could do a search of the New York Public Library； see if he could turn up any published articles of Leng。 Maybe he could even search the police files to see if anything unusual had happened in the vicinity of Leng's house during the time he was alive。
There were still a lot of strong leads to follow up here。 Leng could be as big as Jack the Ripper。 The similarities were there。 All it took was a journalist to make it e alive。
With enough information； this could be his next book。
He； Smithback； would be a shoo…in for that Pulitzer which always seemed to elude him。 And even more important…well； just as important； at least…he'd have a chance to square himself with Nora。 This would save her and Pendergast a lot of time wading through city deeds。 And it would please Pendergast； who he sensed was a silent ally。 Yes： all in all； this was going to work out well。
Reaching the end of the park； he headed west on Cathedral Parkway； then turned north onto Riverside Drive。 As he passed 125th Street he slowed； scanning the addresses of the broken buildings。 Six Hundred Seventy。 Seven Hundred One。 Another ten blocks went by。 As he continued north； he slowed still further； holding his breath in anticipation。
And then his eye alighted on 891 Riverside Drive。
The house was still standing。 He couldn't believe his luck： Leng's own house。
He gave it a long； searching look as he passed by； then turned right at the next street； 138th； and circled the block； heart beating fast。
Eight Ninety…one was an old Beaux Arts mansion that took up the entire block； sporting a pillared entryway； festooned with Baroque Revival decorations。 There was even a damn coat of arms carved above the door。 It was set back from the street by a small service road； forming a triangle…shaped island that adjoined Riverside Drive。 There were no rows of buzzers beside the door； and the first…floor windows had been securely boarded up and covered with tin。 The place； it seemed； had never been broken into apartments。 Like so many old mansions along the Drive； it had simply been abandoned years before…too expensive to maintain； too expensive to tear down； too expensive to revamp。 Almost all such buildings had reverted to the city for unpaid taxes。 The city simply boarded them up and warehoused them。
He leaned over the passenger seat； squinting for a better look。 The upper…story windows were not boarded up； and none of the panes appeared to be broken。 It was perfect。 It looked just like the house of a mass murderer。 Front page photo； here we e。 Smithback could just see his story generating a police search of the place； the discovery of more bodies。 This was getting better and better。
So how best to proceed？ A little peek through a window might be in order…provided he could find a place to park。
Pulling away from the curb； he circled the block again； then drove down Riverside； looking for a parking spot。 Considering how poor the neighborhood was； there were a remarkable number of cars： junkers； aging Eldorado pimpmobiles； fancy SUVs with huge speakers tilting up from their rear beds。 It was six or seven blocks before he finally found a semilegal parking spot on a side street off Riverside。 He should have hired a livery driver； damn it； and had him wait while he inspected t