by John Cutter
“Team two, Lou’s on his way up to you,” Simmons said into the radio. “He had to grab his party favors.”
“Yeah, I see—we’ve got him coming out now,” said O’Dell. “We were wondering what he was up to down there. He have a near miss? He looks like he’s in a real hurry to get out of here.”
“Yeah,” Simmons said. “Motherfucker’d just about opened that bag, when a patrol car came down. Let’s hope it’s thrown him off his game for the moment.”
“Well, he just tossed the bag in the trunk without looking in it, so it looks like we’re good for now,” said O’Dell.
“Let’s hope that luck holds up long enough for us to nail this lunatic,” said Morrison, who’d been listening in.
“All right, he’s moving,” O’Dell said. “We’re tailing him over toward Ninth Avenue.”
“Great, I’m heading down,” Morrison said.
Simmons had brought the car to the top of the ramp to wait for him. “Well, Andre,” Morrison said as he jumped in, “I guess our investigative instincts have just been validated! He just had to have that bag back, didn’t he?”
“Guess he did,” Simmons said, shaking his head. “Son of a bitch even broke into a cop car to get it.”
Morrison looked at him in disbelief. “Broke in?” he asked.
“Yep—Slim Jimmed the door like a pro.”
“Christ,” Morrison said. “The guy’s got balls, I’ll give him that. Well, I wish we had the DNA back from those panties and shorts to shut him down hard, but this’ll definitely do for now—the bag’s enough to do away with any of my doubts.” Morrison took a deep breath. “Now we just have to make sure the rest of this goes off without a hitch.”
Detective Tina Koreski was the only customer in the salon.
The stylist’s conversation hadn’t taken much of the edge off; if anything, it had only made it more difficult to keep her focus. She’d promised Captain Morrison that she’d be all right, but since she’d left the precinct, it had been a constant struggle to keep the panic at bay. It did no good to remind herself that this time was different, that this time she would have the best help she could have; her mind continued to race with ugly scenarios, in spite of her.
She’d already gotten the text from Morrison that Galipoli had returned to the car on his way out for the rape kit. In a detached sense, that was a good thing, since it meant they didn’t need to have any more compunction about accusing him unjustly, and could focus on getting the evidence they needed to draw the noose tight around his neck.
On the other hand, it really did mean she was walking right into the lion’s den.
She was brought back to the present by the stylist removing the towel from around her neck.
“This ought to get your attention,” she said. “Voila! You’re done.”
“Wow, just like that, huh?” Koreski said. “Let me see.”
Koreski looked in the mirror, smiling. She couldn’t help but admire the work the stylist had done. She wasn’t normally a woman who spent much time at the salon; hell, she hadn’t even known what to call it when she’d spoken about it earlier! She’d had to have one of her friends tell her where this place was, and call to make the appointment for her.
“It looks great,” she said, and meant it. It damn well better! said a voice at the back of her mind. A simple wash, cut, and dry had cost her two hundred dollars. Now she knew why she didn’t go to these places normally. She’d have to make sure Galipoli wouldn’t be the only one to enjoy the results.
Standing, she fixed her blouse, again reopening the extra button to make sure Galipoli got a good view of the merchandise. She checked her makeup one last time in the mirror, and handed the stylist a tip.
“I hope your date goes well,” the stylist said.
“That makes two of us,” Koreski said, making one last effort to smile on her way out the door.
Now that he had his things back, Lou Galipoli was feeling more at ease as he pulled away from the precinct. Soon he was cruising up Sixth Avenue, on his way to the address that Tina had given him for the salon. He felt anxious and wanted to get there early, but not so early that he’d be waiting long. He knew from experience that the longer you stuck around in one spot the more likely it was that there’d be someone who’d remember you.
He had fake plates in the trunk, but didn’t have a place to stop and put them on without being noticed; he’d have to wing it. He didn’t like doing that normally—too many variables involved—but the temptation of finally getting that bitch alone was too much to back away from.
He’d known his charm would work on her in the end—it always did—but he felt a special sense of satisfaction in knowing it had this time. A policewoman, snatched from the very task force that, unbeknownst to them, was already looking for him—had anyone ever pulled off anything so audacious before? And under the open disapproval of the whole team, too—! But that was the force of his charm, especially with women, whom it tended to affect in a very different way than it did men. They might put on the same show of disliking his attitude, but in the end he was a man who got what he wanted, and all women wanted that, however inconsistently they showed it.
Of course, he couldn’t have her showing that kind of inconsistency tonight, so he’d come prepared with another sort of charm to exert on her: a nicely balanced cocktail of Xanax and Rohypnol—“the predator drug,” as he enjoyed hearing it called around work—mixed with a drink and re-bottled just for her. The combination of the two had always seemed to him to work better than either on its own—keeping a victim on the edge for a longer time, it made it easier for him to take his time and enjoy himself.
He passed the salon and found a spot to park halfway down the block, making sure to put himself somewhere fewer bystanders would be, but where she’d be able to see him clearly when she came out. He couldn’t have her calling him to find out where he was; in order for everything to go off smoothly, there had to be no trace of them meeting.
Right on time, he saw her emerge from the salon. A new flush of pride ran through him to see her; it was a big change, and she’d done it for him. He was also happy to see the pretense of the tough detective dropped. Now she looked the way he liked them to look, like a young girl in a beauty pageant: dolled-up but slightly out-of-place, unsure, out of their element. Helpless.
He stuck his hand out the window and waved cheerfully. She saw him immediately, and walked up the block toward him with a nervous step. Walk into my parlor, he thought elatedly, and greeted her with a big, winning smile.
37
Tina Koreski approached the car under the watchful eyes of Kasak and Marchioni, who’d been following Galipoli’s every move since he’d pulled up. They snapped several photos of the two of them as she opened the door to get in.
She slid into the seat and shut the door behind her, unconsciously crowding over as close to the passenger-side door as she can.
“Hello, honey,” he said, looking her over with a leer. “You weren’t kidding about that place—you look amazing.”
Her eyes wanted to roll back in her head, but she restrained herself to smile. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m glad you like it.”
He leaned in closer, and she feigned distraction to turn her head away from him. “So what have you got planned for tonight?” she asked, in a voice perhaps a bit too loud. Don’t blow this, Koreski, she thought to herself, and turned back around to look at him.
He was showing a Cheshire-cat grin that he must have thought charming, but which, under the circumstances, almost made her gasp in revulsion. “Don’t you worry, honey,” he said. “I’ve got something very special in mind—something I’m sure nobody’s done for you before.”
The words cut through her like a knife. Galipoli, she remembered, had been new to the task force too; he didn’t know about her past. Play it off, she thought.
“I can’t wait,” she managed. “I love surprises. And I think it’s sweet that you’ve planned something out for me.”
She smiled, warming to the act. “It seems so uncharacteristic.”
“Oh, I’m full of surprises,” he said.
“I see that,” she laughed. “And everyone said you were such a douchebag! I should never have listened to them.”
She couldn’t help taking the jab at his ego, and it cut deep. Too deep, she realized, as his eyes suddenly darkened.
“Of course they would think that,” he said. “Those pathetic fucks, hiding behind their badges! Of course they’re jealous of someone with options—someone who can think for himself!” He glared at her, his face caught in something between a proud smile and a snarl. “None of them have ever tried to figure out for themselves what a real man is capable of,” he added in a strange tone.
She reached across the car and rubbed his shoulder. “Hey, simmer down, tiger,” she said, forcing the words through a flirtatious smile. “You’re the one I’m with tonight, remember?”
His smile returned with an eerie suddenness.
“Of course I am,” he said. “There’s no question there.” He reached into the backseat and brought up a small cooler. “And you’re right—tonight’s about us, not those jerkoffs. Let’s get this party started, shall we?”
He pulled two bottles from the cooler.
“I didn’t figure you for a beer girl,” he said, opening her bottle and handing it to her. It was a bottled margarita. Well, no wonder you’re wrong, Koreski thought, having never been in a bar with any of us.
“This is perfect,” she smiled, happy to have him back under control. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure,” he said lightly. He opened a beer for himself. “What shall we drink to?”
“To our little secret?” she said, raising her bottle. The guys in the van will enjoy that one, she thought.
His grin widened. “Our little secret,” he agreed; and with genuine smiles, the two toasted.
A few blocks away, parked with Simmons, Morrison was feeling a bit better about the operation.
Team one, the Coke boys, hadn’t lost Galipoli’s car once; nor had Rivera and O’Dell, who’d been leap-frogging with them to make sure it always remained in sight. Morrison had also been on the phone with Garriga throughout, getting constant updates on the conversation; eventually he’d simply had the detective turn up the volume so he could hear it for himself. McNamara had pointed out that Tina had sounded a bit stiff towards the beginning, but under the circumstances, it was completely understandable. And besides, she sounded much more at ease now, and in control. Even her voice and speech patterns seemed much more relaxed.
“She sounds like she’s eased into the role, anyway,” Morrison thought out loud.
“Completely,” Simmons agreed. “Sounds like she’s really putting on a good act—even I think she likes the scumbag.”
“Well, we’ll hang back for the moment,” Morrison said. “Two close tails is enough.” He addressed his teams over the radio. “Any of you guys with eyes on them, want to give me an update?”
“Just sipping their road sodas together in the car,” O’Dell said. “Still driving around aimlessly, seems like. Real proper date.”
“She still going with it?”
“Definitely a convincing performance on her part,” O’Dell confirmed. “He just reached over the seat and grabbed her arm, and she’s sliding closer to him. I don’t know how she’s keeping from punching him in his fucking face, with that obnoxious grin of his.”
“Hang on,” Morrison said, listening closer to his phone. He could hear Galipoli talking in the background, over McNamara’s radio. “Garriga, what was that last?”
“He said, There, isn’t that better? Come on over, I know you want me,” Garriga said. “Cocky fuck.”
“Yeah, well, see how that—”
“She’s got her head on his shoulder now,” O’Dell said. “She’s looking—okay, wait, he’s going through her bag. He’s just taken something out. Think it’s her phone—yeah, he just kissed the screen—he’s putting it in his jacket pocket.”
Morrison’s nerves jangled at the urgency in O’Dell’s voice.
“He’s going through her purse now,” O’Dell went on. “She’s not stopping him; she looks really out of it.”
“Neither of them’s saying anything, Cap,” Garriga said quietly over the phone, a note of alarm in his voice.
“Fuck,” Morrison said to Simmons, his heart pounding. “He’s drugged her.”
“You think so?” Simmons asked. “We didn’t have any evidence of drugs in the previous—”
“Yeah, I know,” Morrison snapped. “He’s changed it up for her.” He picked up the radio again, but Marchioni’s voice came through, interrupting him.
“Team one to team leader,” Marchioni said.
“Go ahead, team one.”
“He’s picked up speed,” Marchioni said. “We’re still on him, but yeah, they’re really moving now.”
“Stay on him,” Morrison almost shouted. “Where does it look like they’re headed?”
“West Side Highway,” Marchioni said. “Yeah, just reached it. Northbound on the West Side.”
“Where the hell’s he going?” O’Dell asked. “He’s tearing ass—they heading to the Bronx, or what?”
“Just don’t lose him, any of you,” Morrison said again. “Run him off the goddamn road if you have to—just keep on him. Let’s head up to Tina’s, Andre,” he told Simmons. “I have a feeling he’s heading to her place. Maybe he just got it off of her ID. The others can tell us if he changes direction.”
“Cap, he’s talking again,” Garriga was saying. “You catch that?”
“I missed it—what’d he say?” Morrison asked, after listening for a moment.
“He said, Looks like you’ve had a bit too much to drink,” Garriga said, “but you’ll feel better when we get you home.”
“That confirms it,” Morrison said, his heart sinking. “Team leader to all teams: be advised, Detective Koreski’s been drugged. I think Galipoli’s bringing her to her place in the Bronx, but keep your eyes on him in case anything changes. Simmons and I will meet you there. In the meantime—” He faltered. “In the meantime, remember: no losing that car. Let me know of any and all movements.”
And pray he doesn’t do anything to her before they arrive, he thought to himself.
38
Tina Koreski wasn’t completely out of it, but she was close.
Long since, the words she wanted to say had stopped coming to her lips. Before her self-control had dropped away she’d had a moment of horror; but as suddenly as it had arisen, it had sunk down again below the surface of the vast drowsiness that had enveloped her. Now her thoughts held together no better than her words, coming together only to swim apart again before she could make sense of them.
She tried to push herself up. Feeling her stir against his shoulder, Galipoli snickered and patted her head condescendingly.
“It’s all right,” he said, reveling in her utter powerlessness. “Don’t worry about it, baby. You’re in for the time of your life.” Exiting the highway and heading down a residential street, he checked his GPS. They were less than half a mile from her house.
“It’s going to feel so good when I fuck you hard,” he said absently, almost angrily.
The harsh words brought a moment of clarity to Koreski’s semiconscious mind.
“Wha—what’reyou—talking—” she began to slur.
Suddenly, her head rocked back in an explosion of light and pain as Galipoli slapped her in the face, hard.
“Shut the fuck up,” he snapped. “From now on, you only need to speak when I tell you to, get it?”
The slap had knocked her away from him, and now she slumped in her seat. He tried half-heartedly to pull her back toward him, but she was dead weight. She sobbed quietly, pain ebbing hotly through her nose and cheek. The car seemed like a black hole, with blurred lights flowing around it on all sides, all blackness below and behind her, and him, the darkest center of the hole, talking
absently somewhere beside her.
“That’s right, bitch, cry,” he was saying. “Cry, like all the other little bitches do. You all think you’re so high and mighty, sticking your tits out for everyone to see—but no touching! No touching!” He gestured with his hands, his voice echoing in her ears as he chanted in a mocking falsetto. “Looking down your nose at me—fuck you! I have to keep showing you cunts who the man is, but fuck it—I’ve shown others, and I can show you, too.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the motion bright and sudden. “Before tonight’s done, you’re goddamn right you’re going to show me the respect I deserve. You’re going to beg me for your miserable, stuck-up bitch life. You ready for that, bitch? I know I can’t fucking wait.”
“We’ve got to stop him now,” Simmons said, listening along with Morrison to Tina’s kel on speakerphone. “We can’t let this psychopath get inside with her.”
“We’ll get him,” Morrison said. “Just wait a second. Team leader to all teams,” he said over the radio. “We’re a few minutes away from Koreski’s place. Be ready to take him down when he arrives—I want him as he’s heading up the front steps.”
“Copy that, team leader,” answered Marchioni. “We’re still on the car; we’ll park across the street from him as soon as it looks like he’s stopping.”
“Same here,” O’Dell said. “We’re about a minute away.”
Simmons was confused. “We have enough on him already, Cap,” he said. “Why don’t we take him now?”
“Just trust me, Andre,” Morrison said tensely. “This is making me nervous too, but I know what I’m doing here.”
“Okay, he’s parking,” Marchioni said quietly. “We’re pulling into a driveway across the street to get in position.”
“We’re right behind you,” O’Dell said. “We’ll pull over and stay in the car, to make sure he doesn’t spook.”
“What’s happening?” Morrison asked.
“He’s going around to the trunk,” O’Dell said. “He’s opening the trunk—he’s got the gym bag. He’s opening the passenger door. He’s got Tina; looks like he’s got to carry her.”