WHILE EVERYONE
WAS SLEEPING
A Litchfield & Danski Novel
Donald Steven Collins
As always, to my sweetheart Cathy
Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Note From The Author
About The Author
Acknowledgements
Books By Donald Steven Collins
Copyright
Chapter One
Cold Case Squad
Manhattan Office
“Don’t answer it,” Gregory Litchfield said when his partner’s desk phone rang. “It’s a quarter to four on a Friday afternoon. Whatever it is can wait ‘til Monday.”
Second-grade detective Steve Danski had signed up for an annual police department fishing weekend that was scheduled to start at seven o’clock the next morning and Litchfield knew he was anxious to get a head start on the rush-hour traffic.
An avid fisherman, Danski looked forward to spending time with some old friends from the Queens Robbery Unit where he worked for four years before coming to the Cold Case Squad.
“Let it ring,” Litchfield said when it rang a second time.
But Danski couldn’t ignore it. The blinking yellow button told him it was an internal call. He glanced around the office to see if one of the other detectives was dodging a call by forwarding it to him, but no one looked suspicious.
The detective snatched the phone from the cradle. “Danski.”
“I realize you’re ready to go home, Detective,” said Shameka Washington, a slim, dark-skinned civilian receptionist who sat at a desk in the outer-office beyond a glass-panel door. “And I know it’s almost four o’clock, but there’s someone out here who’s waiting to see you. She says it’s very important that she speaks with you.”
Something about Washington’s voice annoyed Danski. It wasn’t so much the nasally monotone as how closely it resembled his ex-wife Christina’s voice. He stretched his six-foot torso to see through the tinted glass in the door. He didn’t recognize the thin, dour-faced, blonde sitting opposite Shameka.
“Her name’s Whitlock, Susan Whitlock. She doesn’t have an appointment,” Washington added ahead of Danski’s next question.
Danski exhaled loudly and then shook his head as he eyed Litchfield.
“Don’t look at me,” Litchfield said. “I told you not to answer it.”
“She asked for me specifically?” Danski asked Washington.
“Yes, Detective. She said it was important.”
“Yeah, you already mentioned that. Okay, I’ll be out there in a minute.”
“What’s up?” Litchfield asked when Danski pushed himself away from his desk and stood.
“I don’t know yet.” Danski answered and then chin-nodded to the outer office. “There’s a woman in the reception area waiting to talk with me.”
Litchfield, one of three black detectives in the twelve-man squad, twisted his broad shoulders and squinted to see through the tinted glass. “I don’t recognize her.”
“Me either,” Danski said over his shoulder on his way to the door. “I guess I’ll find out soon enough what she wants.”
Litchfield and Danski were relative newcomers to the Cold Case Squad. Five months ago, they were successful in finding Barbara Weinstein, the daughter of a prominent Queens criminal defense attorney, eight years after she was abducted from her home in Douglaston, the night before her thirteenth birthday. Litchfield and Danski were on temporary assignment to the Cold Case Squad at the time but solving the Weinstein case had drawn tremendous media coverage and the detectives were held over at the Cold Case Squad and assigned investigations that had been sitting in the squad’s file cabinets long past their expected “close-by” date.
“Here he is now,” Washington said as Danski got to the reception area and let the door close softly behind him.
“I’m Detective Danski,” he said extending his hand. “How can I help you?”
“I’m Susan Whitlock,” the woman said fighting back tears that immediately filled her eyes. “I’m so grateful you’re able to meet with me.” She held up a tightly-rolled newspaper. “I need you to find my son,” she said and smacked the newspaper against her open hand. “You did it once; I know you can do it again.”
She didn’t have to open the newspaper. “Obviously you’re talking about the Weinstein case,” Danski said.
Whitlock nodded somberly. “I’ve carried this newspaper with me every day since I read about you finding the Weinstein girl. It’s what kept me sane. Just knowing that you brought one family’s child back to them after she was gone eight years gave me hope that you or some other detective like you would bring Jake back home to me.”
Danski nodded and raked his teeth across his lower lip. “My partner and I got very lucky with that case. We caught a couple of breaks and . . . ”
“Yes, of course,” Whitlock interrupted and quickly got back to the reason she was there. “Jake was taken from me in the middle of the night five years ago and nobody is looking for him . . . no one except me.”
“I’m sure someone is looking for hm.”
Whitlock shook her head. “There were plenty of cops at my apartment when it happened, plenty of detectives from different squads, too. All of them told me they wouldn’t rest until they found Jake. They said they would stop at nothing until he was back home with me. But now, after five years, they avoid my phone calls or else give me the run-around when I do get to talk with someone.”
“It was very foolish for anyone to make promises like that,” Danski told her as Washington turned her head away and pulled a few personal items from her desk drawer and fed them into a colorful oversized tote-bag. “It often gives people a false sense of hope.” He opened the door and gestured for Whitlock to follow him inside. “Let’s go check the system and see if we can learn the status of the case.”
Danski introduced Litchfield as they approached his desk. “Pleased to meet you,” Gregory said. Susan chewed her lower lip and nodded grimly.
Danski sat and rebooted his computer, then slipped his reading glasses from his shirt pocket and shook them open. “Jake, you said?”
“Yes, Jacob actually.” Susan inched closer to the computer as the department logo appeared on the scr
een followed by the Cold Case Squad’s insignia.
Litchfield pulled a chair away from a nearby desk and wheeled it across the aisle to Danski’s desk. “Here, Miss Whitlock, make yourself comfortable.”
“Okay, I’ve got it here,” Danski said as he scanned the file. “Jacob Robert Whitlock, male, white, age four; thirty-nine inches tall, weighing forty-one pounds. It says here the victim’s mother reported that between the hours of ten p.m. and six o’clock the following morning on the date in question Jacob was taken from his bed in their third-floor apartment at 1845 East 67th Street by persons unknown.”
Whitlock nodded bleakly. “Yes, that’s the story in a nutshell.”
Danski pursed his lips as he read further. “It doesn’t look like much progress has been made here.” He looked up as Washington pushed the tinted glass door open and popped her head into the squad room and wished everyone a nice weekend. She was joined by four day-shift detectives as she turned and headed for the elevators in the hallway.
Danski pulled a department telephone directory from his desk drawer and flipped through the pages. When he found what he was after he tapped the number into the phone-pad. He asked for Detective John Latimer when he reached the Nineteenth Precinct Detective Squad. He was told by a cheery-voiced receptionist named Tasha Claxton that Latimer was promoted to sergeant two years ago and is currently assigned to the patrol force in a Bronx precinct.
“In that case I need to speak with the detective that took over his caseload,” Danski said. “Specifically, the detective assigned to a 2013 case involving the abduction of Jacob Robert Whitlock.” He provided the case number and waited.
“I’m going to ask you to hold on a few seconds if you don’t mind, while I enter the information in my computer,” Claxton told him.
“Certainly, go right ahead,” Danski responded and then glanced at his watch.
“You can hit the road,” Litchfield said. “I can handle this. I haven’t got anything planned this weekend and I know you do.”
Danski shook his head. “It’s all right, Greg. This shouldn’t take long.”
“Famous last words,” Litchfield said.
Minutes later Claxton came back on the line and informed Danski that the case was not currently being investigated and because it was approaching its fifth year in the open status it would be one of more than a hundred city-wide cases that would be refrigerated at the end of the month.
“By refrigerated you mean . . .”
“Sent to the Cold Case Squad,” Claxton replied with a smile in her voice. “That’s what we call it, anyway. Say, isn’t that where you said you’re calling from?”
Danski asked to speak with a supervisor and was connected with a sergeant who agreed to forward the Whitlock file to the Cold Case Squad, attention Detective Danski. He said he would handle the paperwork on his end.
“What’d you just do?” Litchfield groaned when Danski hung up.
“It’s all right,” Danski answered. “The case was going to come here in another couple of weeks anyway. This way we can get a head start working on it.”
“Fine with me,” Litchfield said with an eye-roll. “I’m just not sure how the boss is going to feel about it. You know he’s going to accuse you of cherry-picking the cases you want to work on.”
“The case folder should be on my desk when we get back here Monday morning,” Danski said turning to Whitlock.” I’ll be able to get a better handle on the facts then. In the meantime, I need you to give me a little background on the case.”
Susan took in a breath and released it slowly. “It was a middle-of-the-week night,” she began, relating the story for perhaps the thousandth time over the past five years. “Wednesday night going into Thursday morning. I put Jake to bed at eight o’clock and he went off to sleep very quickly while I worked on a project I had just taken on. That night I went to bed just after ten o’clock.”
“You said you were working on a project. What type of project?”
“I’m an interior designer.”
Danski nodded. “Did you check on Jake before you went to bed?”
“Yes, certainly,” Susan responded quickly. “I always do . . . or did, anyway. I woke up the next morning at seven and, as usual, I let Jake sleep another ten minutes or so while I showered and put on a quick breakfast before waking him. But this particular morning when I went to his bedroom his bed was empty. I thought maybe he had gone off to the other bathroom, but when I checked, he wasn’t there either. I wasn’t alarmed at first. We have a very large apartment and I just assumed he was there somewhere. He loved to play hide-and–seek.”
“At what point did you realize he was gone?”
“Around seven-twenty-five when my housekeeper Francine arrived. We usually sit and have coffee together and talk while Jake has his cereal.”
“So, Thursday morning Jake was nowhere to be found,” Danski said trying to move her story along.
“Yes, that’s right. Francine helped me look. We went through the apartment calling his name and looking under the beds and behind every piece of furniture. We searched the laundry basket, every cabinet and closet, every nook and cranny.”
“I assume you had to unlock the door to let Francine in.”
Susan eyed Danski curiously. “Yes, of course.”
Danski sat back and rolled his thumbs as he thought. “If the door was locked it means Jake didn’t leave the apartment while you were in the shower.”
“I don’t see how he could have left any time during the night either,” Susan said. “The apartment door was double-locked and the building is very secure. I’ve lived there for several years and we’ve never had a problem.”
Danski’s eyes drifted to Litchfield and then back to Susan. “What about Jake’s father?”
“Martin died in a hunting accident sixteen months before Jake disappeared,” she said and then pinched her lips together and nodded grimly.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Danski said. “So you called the police when you and Francine weren’t able to find Jake?”
“Yes, that’s correct. A couple of uniformed officers arrived I’d say ten or fifteen minutes later, followed by a patrol sergeant. Detectives got there around eight o’clock.”
Danski eyed Litchfield. “I’m almost finished here, Greg. You don’t have to wait around.”
“You sure? I don’t mind waiting.”
“Yeah, go ahead; I’m fine here.”
Litchfield pulled his Glock from his desk drawer, and then stood. He stepped away from his desk and clipped the holster to his belt. “Enjoy your weekend,” he said as he turned and headed to the hallway. He didn’t look back until he reached the elevators.
Danski ran his fingers through his hair as he glanced over his notes. He was satisfied he had gotten enough information to start an investigation “Is there anything else you want to add?” he asked just to be sure.
Susan chewed the corner of her lower lip and shook her head. “Only that I’ve had the feeling that someone is watching me.”
Paranoia, Danski thought, but maybe not. He promised Susan he would get back with her sometime Monday after he had a chance to read through Detective Latimer’s file.
“I can’t make any promises, other than assuring you that my partner and I will try our best to find Jake. We’ll make it our top priority.”
“Thank you, Detective. That’s all I can ask”
Danski and Susan stood and shook hands for the second time. He noticed the tension was gone from her hand this time. “I’ll be in touch with you on Monday,” he said.
“Oh, my goodness,” she said when she turned to leave and saw the office was empty. “Everyone has gone. I’m sorry I delayed you.”
Danski smiled politely. He doubted she was really sorry. After all, she had accomplished what she set out to do. Someone was finally going to look for Jake.
“I’ll walk you to the elevator,” Danski said.
Chapter Two
Monday Morning
>
“Hey! Where’s the sunburn?” Litchfield called out when he got to the office and saw Danski at his desk hunched over an assortment of department reports, witness statements and a half-empty coffee mug.
“After spending two days fishing in the blazing heat in the middle of the Atlantic I expected to find you as red as a boiled lobster when I got here this morning,” he said after a quick laugh. “I expected the place to smell like a Noxzema factory.”
“I didn’t go,” Danski said tersely.
“Don’t tell me that’s the Whitlock file you’ve got there,” Litchfield groaned following a heavy sigh.
“You’re very perceptive this morning,” Danski grumbled as he reached for his coffee mug. After gulping down the last mouthful he pushed his chair away from his desk and stood.
“I stopped at the Nineteenth Squad on the way home Friday and picked up the file before they put it in the department mail,” he said over his shoulder as he walked to the credenza. “That saved us a little time.”
“It’s an awfully thick file,” Litchfield noted as he joined Danski at the credenza. He poured a cup for himself and carried it back to his desk.
“Yeah, I took it home with me and went through it once. I’m going over it again now to make sure I didn’t miss anything.”
Litchfield glanced at a glass-enclosed office twenty feet away and saw Captain Quinn talking on his phone. “Does the boss know about this yet?”
Danski shook his head. “Not yet. I figured I’d explain things to him after I got a good handle on the information Latimer developed. For what it’s worth, Latimer did a good job here, but he was working with sand. He did the best he could with the little information he had to go on.”
“You must have at least twenty DD5’s there,” Litchfield said pointing to Latimer’s reports.
Danski nodded. “Yeah, thirty-four to be exact. Latimer and his partner Jim Quincy canvased the building, and also spoke with everyone that Susan said she came in contact with on a regular basis. Apparently, he ran out of information to follow up on and had to wait and see if anything developed while they went on to another investigation.”
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