by Blake Banner
David was at his office and agreed to come with us without any objection. Fischer came out to see what was going on and took me aside.
“Are you arresting him?”
“No, we just want to ask him some questions down at the station.”
“Does he need a lawyer?”
“That’s up to him, Mr. Fischer, but we are not accusing him of anything.”
He looked past me at where David was standing with Dehan, staring at his feet. “David, do you want me to call Sam?”
David didn’t say anything. He just shook his head.
We drove in silence. Dehan sat by his side in the back and stared at him all the way. Even in the mirror I could tell he was nervous. We put him in the interrogation room and asked him if he wanted coffee. He said he didn’t. I took Dehan outside the room and asked her, “You want to sit this one out?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Okay. But I want you cool.”
She said she was cool, and we went back in. We sat. He was sitting with his feet together and his hands in his lap. His eyes were lowered.
I took a moment to think, then said, “David, I was just wondering if you could clarify a few things for me that I don’t understand.”
His jaw was rigid when he answered, like he was trying to talk with his mouth closed.
“If I can…”
“You told your uncle that twice a year, in July and December, you attend computer conventions and conferences so that you can stay abreast of developments in the IT world.”
His eyes shifted around, left and right, like he was mentally measuring the tabletop. I waited, and after a while he said, “That’s not a question. I don’t know how to answer you.”
Dehan looked at me like she wanted to slap him around the head. I ignored her.
“Okay, that’s true. Is it also true that you told your uncle that you attend those IT conferences?”
His cheeks colored and he gave a very small, private smile.
“Yes.”
“Now, here’s the thing. We checked and we found that there are no fixed IT conferences for those dates, every year. So, what I would like to know is, what have you been doing for the last twelve years, when your uncle thought you were attending IT conferences?”
He was silent again, with his eyes darting this way and that and his jaw working. Dehan said, “You going to answer the question, David?”
I glanced at her, but she ignored me.
I sighed. “I know it’s a difficult question to answer, Dave…”
“David.”
“David. I know it’s a difficult question to answer…”
“I have to insist on being called David.”
I paused. Dehan sighed.
I asked him, “Is that a decision you made for yourself, David?”
“Yes.”
“Did somebody help you to make that decision?”
“Yes.”
“Who helped you?”
“Dr. Stephens.”
“Is Dr. Stephens your psychologist?”
“Psychiatrist.”
“How long have you been seeing Dr. Stephens?”
“Thirteen years, th-three months, and four days.”
I gave a small laugh of admiration. “You have quite a memory.”
He smiled and there was clearly pleasure in his face. “I have an ei-eidetic memory. I have almost t-total recall.”
He was stammering on his longer sentences.
“I know a few psychiatrists. They are interesting people. They don’t see things the same way as other people, do they?”
He shook his head and murmured, “They’re smart.”
“They’re smart,” I agreed. “Like, most people would think telling the truth is good, lying is bad, right?”
His eyes were darting again, and his jaw started working. This was his tell, but it was a tell that said he was trying to frame a sentence.
“Dr-Dr. Stephens says, do w-what you need to do… t-to get strong…”
Dehan snapped, “Does that include killing young women?”
His face went crimson, and his eyes locked on to the table like a vice. I glared at Dehan. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were bright with anger.
“Will you excuse us a moment, David? Detective Dehan, a word outside, please.” We stepped into the corridor. I closed the door and said, “Are you going to hold it together or not? You just sabotaged my interrogation. I’m going to try and get it back on track, but I don’t know how much damage you’ve done.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll keep it together.”
“He’s not going to talk with you in the room. For now just stay in the observation room.”
She nodded. “Okay. I’m sorry.”
I went back in and sat down. “Wooh! Women!”
He smiled, but he looked scared.
“You never know what they are going to do next. So, where were we? We were talking about Dr. Stephens. And if I understand you, he advised you to lie to your uncle and your mother about where you go in July and December. Am I right?” Before he could answer, I went on. “I want you to know that as far as I can see, I don’t need to tell your uncle and your mother that you have been lying to them.”
I gave him a while to think about that.
“So did he advise you to lie to them?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“Okay, a good doctor. So let’s start with the cities you go to. Where do you go in July?”
He stared hard into the right-hand corner of the room. This was a different tell. Now he was deciding if he wanted to tell me or not. Finally, he said, “San Diego.”
“Nice town. How about December?”
“L-Los Angeles.”
“L.A., huh? Okay, David, we are doing really well.” He smiled. “Now what I need to understand is what it is you do in San Diego in July.”
His face flushed and his eyes shone. He stared hard into the corner. I raised my hands and gave a small laugh. “Hey! I’m with Dr. Stephens. Whatever it takes to get you strong.”
He licked his lips, kept pursing them. There were tears in his eyes. “B-bring your… bring your dreams a-a…”
“Alive?”
He nodded. He looked like he thought I was going to start beating him. I thought for a while. After a bit, I said, “That’s all any of us want. There is nothing wrong with that, is there?”
He shook his head. “Mom… Mom and Uncle Howard say that m-my dreams are ch-ch…”
“Childish?”
“Yes. And w-w…”
“Wicked?”
“Yes.”
“What is it about your dreams that they say is childish and wicked? Can you give me an example?”
“B-B…” He paused. “Batman. Conan…”
“You like Marvel and DC comics, huh? I like them myself. I once met Stan ‘the Man’ Lee in person.”
He was smiling into the corner. “I shook his hand.”
“So are you telling me you go to Comic Con?”
“Yes.”
“And how about in the evenings?” The smile faded. “Did Dr. Stephens tell you not to talk about it?” He nodded. “But you can tell me, David. Just like you told me everything else, because you know I get it. I understand.”
His face flushed again, and he stared down at his fingers. He was ashamed—ashamed of his pleasure. “I visit my f-friends.”
“Girlfriends?”
He nodded.
“Do you enjoy those visits?”
Again the secret smile. “Th-they do nice things to me…”
“Does Dr. Stephens give you special pills to help with that?”
“I h-had e-e…” He stopped and breathed. “Erectile d-dysf-f…”
“Dysfunction? You had erectile dysfunction?”
“But he gave me pills. Now I’m okay…”
I nodded. “That’s good. Let me see your shoes, David, will you?”
He frowned at me. He pulled his chair back and stood u
p, then walked around so I could look down at his shoes. They were blue-and-white Converse trainers.
“Thanks. They’re nice shoes. Do you have any special leather shoes that you use for special occasions?”
He shook his head. “No. These are the only sh-shoes I like.”
“Okay, David, let’s take a break. I’m going to take you back to work in a while. But for now just take a break. You okay?”
He nodded at the corner.
I stepped outside and opened the door to the observation room. It was empty. I poked my head into the detectives’ room. She wasn’t at our desk. I asked a couple of people. Nobody had seen her. I went downstairs. I looked outside. It was raining. Don was on the desk. “You seen Detective Dehan?”
“Yeah. She went out about five minutes ago.”
I called her on my cell. It rang a couple of times, then cut off. I looked at my watch. Maybe she was at the deli getting lunch. My phone rang. It was Dehan. I felt an unexpected surge of relief. I pressed the green button and said, “Where are you?”
There was a moment’s silence, and then a giggle and a voice that was almost all breath said, “Tick… tock… tick… tock…”
NINETEEN
I had a strange sensation like the world rocked. I could hear the blood pounding in my head, and there was a voice telling me it was essential to stay calm and focused because Dehan’s life depended on me not fucking up. My hands were shaking, but I managed to call Bernie at the bureau.
“Bernie, he has Dehan…”
“What are you talking about, Stone?”
“I haven’t got time to explain. He took her in the last five or ten minutes.”
“Who did? You’re not making sense.”
“The serial killer! The guy who cut off the girl’s arms twelve years ago, goddamn it! He took Dehan about five minutes ago. I need you to trace her GPS on her phone!”
“You’ve got techs who can do that…”
“For crying out loud, Bernie! By the time I get through the red tape she could be dead! Just do it!”
I was shouting. Several people turned to look at me.
“Okay, buddy. Take it easy. I’ll do it.”
I went inside and ran up the stairs to the captain. I went in without knocking.
“Stone!”
“Dehan has been abducted.”
“What? When? By whom?”
“The serial killer we’ve been tracking down. She was convinced it was David Hansen. But while I was interrogating him, she was abducted.” I told him about the phone call.
He was reaching for the phone. “We can have them track her GPS.”
“The bureau are on it already.”
He looked startled.
“It was quicker. We need a BOLO.”
He frowned. “But what are we looking out for?”
“I don’t know! Goddamn it!”
“Get a grip, Stone. She needs you cool right now.”
I breathed. “Put out a BOLO on Detective Dehan. Approach with extreme care. She has been abducted. Also, an all points, I need to talk to the last person who saw Detective Dehan when she left the building. There must have been patrolmen or women coming in and out.”
As I was talking, I was leaving his office and running down the stairs. I went to the desk sergeant and took him aside.
“Don. Dehan has been abducted.”
“Shit!”
“You saw her step outside. I need to talk to any patrolmen and women who were coming in or leaving and may have seen her.”
He nodded. “Yeah! Andersen was going out just behind her. She’s outside now. She ain’t left yet…”
I was already running, shouting, “Andersen! Andersen!”
She was just climbing in her car. She stopped and turned to face me.
“Hey, Detective…”
“You saw Dehan, ten, fifteen minutes ago.”
“Sure.”
“She was abducted moments after you saw her.”
“Holy…”
“Think. Where was she going? What was she doing? What vehicles were near her…?”
She stared at me.
“Let’s go inside. I need a full statement from you. Every second is crucial.”
As we were going in, my phone rang. It was Bernie.
“Stone!”
“We’ve located her phone.”
“Where?”
“Headed north on I-95. Our techs are talking to your techs, and there’s an agent talking to your captain right now.”
I said to Andersen, “Talk to the captain!” I ran for my car. “Bernie, I am in pursuit. What channel do I need?”
He told me. I fired up the Jag and took off toward the I-95 like a bat out of hell. I tuned the radio as I went and checked in.
“Detective John Stone, headed east on the Bruckner Expressway in pursuit of suspect vehicle headed north on I-95.”
The voice came back over the radio.
“We have an eye in the sky, Detective. What is your vehicle?”
“1964 Jaguar Mark II, burgundy, doing one hundred MPH.”
The radio crackled. “I see you, Detective. Suspect vehicle is about two miles ahead of you doing fifty miles per hour. You should be on him in a little less than two minutes, Detective.”
I was weaving in and out of the traffic trying to keep the needle at 100. I was pissing a lot of people off, but I didn’t give a damn.
“Describe the suspect vehicle? What am I looking for?”
“Dark seven-seater, smoked windows. Could be a Chrysler.”
A big SUV pulled out in front of me. I braked, swerved, almost hit a truck, switched lanes, and hit the gas. I watched the needle climb to one twenty, which was about as fast as she’d go.
The radio crackled again.
“You are approaching your target, Detective. He’s about a quarter of a mile ahead of you, and you are closing fast. He is in the slow lane just going under the Country Club Road bridge now. He’s about eighteen or twenty cars ahead of you.”
I kept going, swerving, weaving, jumping lanes. I switched the channel and barked, “Dispatch! Where is my backup?”
More hiss and crackle and, “We have four cars about to intercept at Pelham Bay Park.”
I switched channels again and started to slow.
Crackle. “He is ten cars ahead of you on your right. Nine cars… eight… seven… You should have visual now, Detective. Dark Chrysler, seven-seater, smoked windows…”
“I see him.”
I pulled into the next lane and eased up behind him. I figured if he looked, he’d catch sight of me in his mirror, and that suited me fine. I wanted this son of a bitch to panic. He could see me, but he couldn’t see the four patrol cars that were about to descend on him and box him in.
They came in behind us as we passed the junction. The guy didn’t accelerate. He maintained his fifty miles per hour and stayed in the slow lane. Two of the patrol cars pulled ahead and slipped in, one in front of him and the other in front of me. Meanwhile, behind us, the other two cars did the same. He didn’t try to squeeze out or ram us. He didn’t panic.
The other drivers on the road could see something was going down and were giving us a wide berth. The squad cars had their lights flashing now, and the car behind blasted his siren and hailed him.
“Pull over to the side of the road! Kill your engine. Put your hands out of the window and remain in your car.”
The Chrysler indicated right and began to slow, then pulled onto the hard shoulder and stopped. The uniforms were climbing out of their cars and drawing their weapons. I didn’t wait. I didn’t give a damn about procedure. I jumped out and ran. He was opening the window to show us his hands. I wrenched open the door and dragged him out.
He was about five eleven, two hundred and twenty pounds, dark and swarthy. I had never seen him before in my life. I slammed him against the side of the van. Patrolmen were running up, pulling open the other doors, shouting, “Clear!” “Clear!”
; I didn’t bother cuffing him. Right then what I most wanted in the world was for him to take a swing at me. My face was an inch from his, and I snarled, “Where is she, you son of a bitch? Where is she?”
He looked terrified.
“Who?”
They had every door on the vehicle open. They were searching the floor, under the seats, and in the glove compartments. There was nothing.
I lowered my voice so only he could hear me, “I swear to you, if you have harmed a hair, if you have hurt her in any way… Tell me where she is, or I will not answer for what I do next…”
There was an icy wind coming in off the river, but he was sweating and I could feel his legs trembling. “Look, I am on my way to pick up my family because we’re going away for the weekend. I have no idea who you’re looking for, or why you think I have her. You’ve made some kind of mistake…”
Even through my rage, I could see something was wrong. I asked him, “Where have you come from?”
“I… um…”
“Where were you before you drove here?”
“The pharmacy…”
“Rite Aid? On Storey and Croes?”
“Yeah…”
“Shit!”
Right at the back of the station, with a large parking lot. She had been there—right there!—in the lot, while I was on the phone to Bernie, talking to the captain. I got on the ground, lay on my back, and crawled under the van. It took me two minutes to find it. It was stuck with duct tape to the bottom of the chassis, by the side door.
I scrambled out, stood up, and looked at it. My heart was pounding. I wasn’t close to panic. I was panicking. The screen displayed a timer. It was set to go off in three hours. I peeled off the tape and put it in an evidence bag. I gave it to one of the patrolmen. “Take this to the lab. It is absolute priority. Detective Dehan has three hours, then she dies. You understand me? See if they can get any prints off it. Do it now.”
They ran and the car took off with sirens wailing. I returned to the driver. I showed him my badge and told him my name. “I need you to think real hard. Did you see anything—anything—that struck you as odd or out of place near your vehicle? Anyone standing nearby?”
He shook his head.
“Who was parked next to you?”
“I don’t know, Detective. They were cars, just normal cars. There was nothing out of the ordinary.” He hesitated. “About…” He closed his eyes, counting in his mind, his right hand held out, positioning to the vehicle in his mind. “Four cars down, opposite, an old, beat-up Cherokee Jeep. Dark green. It stood out because it was old. Maybe early ’90s. But that is all.”