The Golden Hen

Chapter 4: The Great Houdini

August 28, 2004. Saturday morning.

As Peter searched the Hudson River embankment, he focused only on the shoreline. He ignored the rescue boats in the water, the helicopters overhead. An hour had passed since he watched the van plunge into the river. The last communications replayed in an endless loop in his head—Neal's pleas to slow down, the screeching of the tires, and then the thunderous boom of impact when all went silent. Where was he?

Within minutes a police patrol boat arrived on the scene. Divers were helicoptered in shortly afterward.

The van had been almost halfway to New Jersey when it crashed. Searches were being conducted on both sides of the river. A half-hour into the operation, scuba divers reached the van. They found one body—Harper's. The driver's side had been smashed by the impact with the tractor-trailer, with Harper pinned inside the wreckage. He was most likely killed instantly. There was no sign of Neal.

While patrol boats scoured the heavily wooded New Jersey side, Peter and the rest of the team members along with NYPD officers searched the Manhattan shoreline. The current was treacherous. No telling where Neal might have come ashore. Complicating the search were the dense rushes and reeds which lined the river. At the end of a long growing season, they towered five feet high in places. A body could easily be hidden. No, not a body. Neal.

Peter was a member of the team methodically combing the river embankment around Fort Washington Park. The wind had picked up during the day, making it difficult to use binoculars.

Updates were being called in. The first reports from the New Jersey side were all negative. Tricia texted that Harper's body had been brought to the surface.

Was that something in the reeds? Heart pounding, Peter raced to the area, only to find a black trash bag.

A short distance ahead, he caught sight of another dark object. Probably just another trash bag. As Peter approached, the shape, partially obscured by bulrushes, started to look tantalizingly familiar. Breaking into a run, Peter forced his way through the vegetation to Neal.

He was sprawled face down in the reeds, some three feet away from the water. Peter scrambled down the slope, his earlier tension replaced by a mounting fear about his condition.

Peter crouched beside him and put a hand to his neck, exhaling in relief when he found a pulse. "You gotta stop twisting me in knots. You're gonna give me a heart attack," he muttered, not that Neal could hear him. He rested his hand on the kid's shoulder while taking a deep breath to get control of his emotions. After a quick call to Tricia to alert the others and dispatch the EMTs, he gently rolled Neal onto his back.

Eyes still closed, Neal groaned at the movement.

Peter stripped off his jacket and placed it under his head. "Neal, can you hear me? Open your eyes."

Neal blinked slowly and grimaced. "P'ter? What ...?"

"The EMTs are on their way. You're going to be fine. Don't try to move." Peter took out a handkerchief and gently wiped some of the smears off his face. His hair was plastered down with mud and water. Peter suspected a concussion. No telling what else, but he didn't want to risk checking him out. The medics would soon be here.

Neal's eyes wandered, squinting groggily at his surroundings, and then returned to Peter. "You ... found me."

"Better believe it." Peter waited till Neal focused on him again. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Harper?"

Peter shook his head. "He didn't make it."

Neal nodded jerkily and struggled to sit up.