I’d fallen half asleep, camped in a cluster of trees near the Great Hill on the north end of the park, hoping for a miracle—that our falconer friend would should up again. My watch read one a.m.Down the hill, out on the pond, it was nearly pitch black. Resting ducks and geese were visible in the dim glow cast by a distant street lamp. They might make tempting targets for an owl on the hunt. Not to mention a ready supply of field rats and other smaller night mammals moving through the grass and woods.“Pavlicek,” I said into the phone. My voice sounded hoarse, even to me.“This the PI looking for the dude with the owl?”“You got ‘em.”“Joe Brodsky, Midtown North. Me and my partner think we spotted your guy, running into the woods down here by the Shakespeare Garden.”“Across from the history museum, isn’t it?”“Right. Think we’ve got him cornered too. We chased him across the Seventy Ninth Street Transverse and in behind Belvedere Castle. Already have two other units on the scene.
