“So,” Craig asked, “how did our guy get into the building and then out?”
“He didn’t,” Marty told them.
“What do you mean, he didn’t? There are fire codes.”
“Yes, of course, but...well, even the stairs lead back to the lobby. There are stairs that go all the way to the basement, but there’s no way I’ve found yet out of the basement. Now, there are fire escapes outside the building, but once released, they can only be reset through a main panel. If one goes down, they all go down.”
“That would mean he was killed by someone in the building,” Mike said.
Craig shook his head. “Blom was seen coming back into the building and never going back out. And he’s nowhere to be found. If it was him who came back with the dog.”
“You really think someone else came in as Blom? But the dog. The dog was in the apartment,” Mike said.
“There’s a way in and a way out that we have to find,” Craig said. “Keep going, Marty. Put all your images together and see what you can find for me. There must be something we’re not seeing, because whether it was or wasn’t Blom, someone came in with the dog. And someone has entirely disappeared.”
“I’ll do my best, sir, I’ll do my best. Miss Finnegan, a pleasure,” Marty said.
“Thank you, Marty. You, too,” Kieran said.
As they headed back up the elevator to the conference room, Kieran tried to get a better grip on all they had learned that morning.
“Blom has disappeared. The dog was there, though?” she asked.
“Hiding and terrified,” Craig said.
“Where is the dog now?” she asked.
Mike grinned without answering. Kieran looked at Craig.
“In my office.”
“I think you have a dog,” Mike said.
“They were going to take him to animal control,” Craig said. “I figured we’d find something, because I don’t think we’re going to find Blom. Not alive.”
“But you also think Blom might be the killer?” Kieran asked.
“Right now I have no damned idea whatsoever,” Craig said. “Everything is a contradiction. It could be Nicholson, it could be Blom. And this killing may be a complete copycat by a person unknown.”
“If Nicholson is the killer, then Blom is alive somewhere,” Kieran told them.
“Why is that?”
“It would be a sin for him to kill the innocent. In his mind, he only kills witches.”
“Unless he’s the best actor–con artist in the history of crime,” Craig said quietly.
“You’re asking my opinion—or at least Drs. Fuller and Miro wanted my opinion, or the courts wanted my opinion. I’ve gone over it all in my mind a million times. I don’t think he was acting. He believes in witches and evil and people controlled by Satan, or possessed by Satan, who intend to hurt others.”
“He did escape right after your interview,” Craig reminded her.
“Yes, but he still wouldn’t have killed an innocent man to kill another. He’d have found another way.”
They stepped out of the elevator and headed for the conference room along with other agents, nodding in acknowledgment of one another, and greeting those from other agencies who were joining the investigation.
Kieran had been to several such meetings. They always began with Egan detailing the situation. He didn’t tell agents or officers what to think, but he did provide possibilities.
Every law enforcement agency in or associated with the five NYC boroughs had known about the Fireman. They had seen Raoul Nicholson’s face in the media dozens of time. There would likely be no mistaking the man if they were to find him.
Certain details regarding Nicholson’s murder spree had initially been held back. Only those who were immediately involved were aware he’d removed the tongues from his victims. The removal of the eyes had been evident to any officer on scene when a victim had been discovered. Some knew or guessed, but any public information officer or agent speaking to the press knew not to give out any details. The public knew he claimed he executed witches—and he had burned the bodies. His belief was that they could not regenerate or create more havoc if they were destroyed by fire.
Egan gave them the details of the newest murder, and the time line for Nicholson’s escape, and the possibility that he might have killed again.
He asked Craig to come to the front. Craig gave what information he had on the Mayhew murder, and what he knew of the building, informing them that one resident was missing. He acknowledged that they still had dozens of unanswered questions. How could a man have disappeared from such a building? And the fact he was missing—could that suggest that he was the killer? “Or else, we’re going to find Olav Blom, I’m afraid,” he went on, “but not alive. We can speculate that the killer caught him outside the building. He used Blom’s clothing and took his dog as a way to get into the building without rousing any curiosity. And he knew how to get out of the building once he was in it. How he did that is something we have to discover.”
Egan stepped forward to speak and summed up the briefing, and all those on the task force were given two directives—find Nicholson and find the missing tenant, Olav Blom. Special Agents Michael Dalton and Craig Frasier would be taking lead. Any information or anything deemed a clue should be reported and shared.
Egan always thanked his force. He did so now, reminding them the public was going to be anxious and fearful.
“Yeah, everyone is going to be all over this,” Mike, standing by Kieran, said lowly. He looked at her and grimaced. “You know, it’s sad to say, when two prostitutes were dead, the good people of New York could feel safe—as long as they were not prostitutes. Men could feel safe—only women had been killed. But then the Fireman moved on to a student, a designer, and an accountant. No one is safe. No one can know for sure they haven’t been targeted as a witch.”
“I’ll be speaking with the media and suggesting, as much as possible, our populace should not go out alone, stay out of dark alleys, and make a point of remaining in crowds. Also, they should carefully monitor their locks, close windows, and so forth,” Egan said.
“A boon for the locksmith and alarm companies of the city,” an officer muttered dryly.
“Yes, well, I don’t think we need to create a panic,” Egan said, “but this killer managed to get to Charles Mayhew in a building that should have been impregnable—well, at least without leaving a dead armed guard lying around to be discovered.”
“That’s the thing,” Kieran said. “If I’m right, Nicholson wouldn’t murder a guard, or anyone else who wasn’t a witch. He didn’t believe he was killing human beings. Killing a human being would be a sin. Killing witches was commanded to him by his voice.”
Egan finished the meeting, sending the room of officers out to scour the city for Raoul Nicholson and Olav Blom.
Craig came over to join Kieran and Mike, and she said quickly, “I don’t believe Nicholson did kill this man, even if he did escape just in time to do it. Someone saw to it he was released so he could be blamed for the murder. Or used his escape to cover their crime.”
Craig nodded. “That is definitely a possibility, and we haven’t ruled it out. But because of the method, we still need to consider that Nicholson is a suspect.” He looked at Mike. “We need to get back to the apartment building and get on this thing, fast. Egan is doing a press conference in an hour. I’d like to give him more to talk about.”
“I’ll be leaving here with Egan and his driver and heading to Finnegan’s,” Kieran told them.
Craig smiled and stepped close to Kieran.
“I’ll talk to Egan on my way out, but there’s one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
He took a deep breath. “Well, I guess you’re in this one whether I like it or not. And I figure you’re better off with agents than alo
ne. I know you’ll be safe with Egan, so...well, I surrender again. This is your work, too, and if you didn’t have your streak of caring for humanity...well, you wouldn’t be you.”
“Thank you. Neither of us had much choice on this one,” she said, smiling weakly.
“No,” he agreed. “But whether he’s guilty of this new murder or not, Nicholson is dangerous. I’m going to be as careful as I’m asking you to be.”
“That’s a good deal,” she said. “So, is that it?”
“Uh, one more thing.”
“Okay?”
“Can you drop the dog off at the apartment first? He’s not a service dog, so I don’t think he should go to the pub.”
“Dog?” she asked, forgetting what Mike had said earlier.
But Craig was already quickly striding out.
Mike called over his shoulder as he followed Craig, grinning. “Ruff. Pup’s name is Ruff!”
* * *
When they returned to the building on the Upper East Side, Simon Wrigley was still there, along with Joey Catalano and the man guarding the door. There were also two NYPD officers out front.
“Today we’ve had anyone in and out signing a sheet, even the residents, and they’ve been good about it.”
Craig realized Wrigley was likely feeling a bit defensive and shocked. He had cameras; he hired good men. He had probably thought such a thing as this couldn’t happen.
Mike told Wrigley they were going to need a list of the security company’s employees. Wrigley was, naturally, wary.
“I told you, my guys all had background checks and the key is handed straight from one man to another,” Wrigley said.
“Still, there might have been a breach somewhere along the line. This took planning. We’re not suggesting you hired a cold-blooded killer. We just have to find out anything that we can.”
Craig cleared his throat and explained to Wrigley they wanted to get down to the basement.
“The elevator doesn’t go to the basement. I don’t know why. We’re responsible for the key functions, but not the building arrangements,” Wrigley said. “The stairway goes down, and Joey can open the door for you. But...there are no other exits. Tools and supplies are kept down there. But we haven’t had anyone in for any kind of maintenance or repair in over three months. The basement is clean. The central heating and air-conditioning works are down there.”
Wrigley and Catalano escorted Mike and Craig to the stairs to the basement and went down with them to see that the lights were all turned on. Foundation walls separated rooms in the tidy space, while the outer walls had stacks of boxes in front of them, most containing cleaning supplies, light bulbs, and other miscellanea that would be used for the building’s upkeep.
One large area was given over to a new central heating and air-conditioning system. It was huge and covered about an eighth of the entire space.
“I’m not seeing anything,” Mike said. “I mean anything that might be something.”
“A man came in and never went out, but he’s nowhere here to be found. That means he got out somehow,” Craig said.
“There is no exit from the basement,” Mike said. “So, what are we doing?”
“Finding the exit that doesn’t exist,” Craig said. “We’ll go wall by wall...there had to be coal delivery here, at one time. We’ll divide and conquer.”
“You do realize the walls are concealed by boxes.”
“Yep. That must be why they make us take physicals all the time,” Craig said cheerfully.
Mike groaned.
“We’re looking at another problem, you know.”
“What is that?”
“Say there is an exit of some kind down here—an old ice or coal chute, a mail drop for giant packages...a tornado door, a doggy door for a giant German shepherd—”
“Mike.”
“Sorry, getting carried away there. But here’s the question.”
“Yes?”
“How would he hide it after he got out?”
“If you know what you’re looking for, it’s easy enough. Move something aside in a way that allows you to draw it back in place. Mike, all I know is a killer got out of here somehow.”
“Unless one of those nice people we interviewed today is really a killer,” Mike suggested. “Or one of those nice people has a body stashed in a closet?”
“And that is possible, but...” Craig looked around. “But we’re going to need search warrants to tear through apartments. And this space hasn’t been properly searched yet.”
“It’s creepy down here,” Mike said. It was clean, it was organized, brightly lit...
And still, somehow...
“There’s something down here. An exit...or something.”
“Yep, all right, so...let’s get to it,” Mike agreed.
CHAPTER SIX
RUFF WAS SO scruffy looking he was cute.
Maybe fifteen or sixteen pounds, he had a little barrel body and short legs.
In the front he was a little bit bow-legged.
They hadn’t talked about having a dog. They were both at work all the time, or so it seemed, but Kieran did love animals. When the little dog tried to leap into her arms and shower her with kisses, she knew that she couldn’t argue much about him.
Perhaps they would find his master.
She just didn’t think so.
She played with the dog while she waited for Egan to finish with his press conference. He must have spoken quickly and succinctly—and refused most questions politely, assuring people they would have more definitive information when he had it. It didn’t seem to be that long before he came to Craig’s office to tell her Amy Nicholson was there, deeply worried about her husband, and happy to talk to Kieran, fully aware Raoul had seen the psychologist before his escape, too.
Kieran thought Egan was going to bring Amy in to Craig’s office, and they would talk there, but she heard Amy and Egan talking, and then Egan told her they’d be in the small conference room down the hall.
Ruff heard them, too, and seemed agitated.
“Be good!” she told Ruff, setting him on the floor. “I’ll be right back for you—just behave.”
The terrier mix looked at her, cocking his head as if he really listened. He wasn’t happy, but he seemed to be an obedient dog.
“I promise I won’t be long. I’ll come back for you,” she said.
Ruff barked and wagged his tail, whined, sank down on all fours, and set his nose on his paws.
Kieran had no idea what a dog might really be thinking, but she left him there, closing the door firmly behind her.
Amy had been seated at the end of the long conference table, with Egan beside her, when Kieran entered the room. She stood nervously and apologized. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be a pest, but I’m horribly allergic to dogs.”
She was a tall woman, slender, with platinum hair becoming a true white. She wore a simple blue dress that extended past her knees, and a cotton denim jacket. She was in her midforties, and would have been attractive if her eyes weren’t so puffy and red.
“Oh, it’s fine,” Kieran said. “It doesn’t matter where we talk.” She offered her hand to the woman. She had read many notes on her, but had never met her before.
Amy shook her hand with a firm, enthusiastic grip.
“And I’m happy to talk,” Amy said. “I love my husband. I know what he’s done, but you have to believe me—he’s not a bad man. It’s hard to understand. He does what he’s commanded to do.”
“Please, sit,” Kieran said.
Amy sat. Egan waited for Kieran to do so as well before taking his chair again on one side of the long conference table.
“You saw your husband yesterday at Rikers,” Kieran said.
“I know he’s confessed to the killings, but again, I beg you to understand. I d
idn’t know what he was doing, since he knew it was against the laws of man, but he is a dedicated man, a devout man.”
“You haven’t seen him, and you haven’t heard from him?” Kieran asked.
Amy shook her head. “Well, I visited at Rikers.”
“And you had no idea he was planning an escape?” Kieran asked.
“No. Did you?” Amy asked innocently, her eyes wide.
Kieran smiled. “No. But I just met him yesterday. You’ve known him for years and years.”
“Yes, but as I said, my husband loves me. You must understand he wouldn’t involve me. I keep telling you that.”
“Of course. It’s just...well, you do seem to have such an incredible marriage. I can’t imagine there would be secrets between you.”
“You don’t understand—there aren’t secrets between us.”
“You’re a good woman, right? You couldn’t have approved of murder.”
“It wouldn’t be a matter of me approving. And what he did...wasn’t like keeping a secret. You just don’t understand the scope of his belief, the knowledge the voice that spoke to him came from a higher power.”
“But you don’t hear these voices.”
She shook her head. No.
“That’s just it. He’s a good man. He is a better human being than I am. He did hear the voice. It was his calling. He would never involve me. He wants me to be there for our sons, and for their children, when they have them. Someone needs to be with them, Someone who can make them see the light of goodness and keep them from the sins of the flesh. Drugs, women, there’s so much evil out there.”
Not to mention knives and fire and maniacs like Raoul Nicholson, Kieran thought.
It was, however, somewhat unnerving to see this woman went beyond understanding what her husband had done—she seemed to condone it.
“Do you believe in witches, Mrs. Nicholson?” Kieran asked.
“I believe in evil, don’t you?” the woman countered passionately. “Words—they’re all just labels, aren’t they? Witches, evil human beings. Ruled by Satan!”
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