“What makes you so sure?” I asked.
He smiled and said, “Because I’m captain of the team.”
Brian subtly rolled his eyes, but I liked Allan’s confidence.
Mary Catherine started to engage the young man in a much friendlier and warmer tone. “Have you given any thought to where you might go to college?”
“My parents are insisting on an Ivy League school.”
Mary Catherine beamed and said, “You could even stay in the New York area. Columbia is a great school. Even Cornell is at least in the state.”
Allan winced and said, “My dad calls Cornell the community college of the Ivy League. He’s been pushing me toward Harvard, but I’m worried they’re a little stale. From what I know of the place, they’re mired in too much tradition. It’s a new century, and I want to be on the cutting edge.”
I revised my opinion—Allan wasn’t confident; he was a cocky little shit. I silently began to hope that Jane would quickly get tired of this entitled ass.
But the way she was looking at him didn’t give me much hope.
Chapter 8
It was late in the evening and I thought everyone was asleep in my little hostel on the Upper West Side. Lying in bed, I used a penlight to read reports from a dozen different detectives about persons of interest who’d been interviewed regarding the recent homicides. I reread a couple of Brett Hollis’s reports. One of them had a few speckles of blood on it. Like tears on a sad letter. I didn’t know if this made him a tough guy or a biohazard.
I needed some sleep. All the sentences were starting to run together, and it was becoming difficult for me to pick out the useful information in the interviews.
Detectives Terri Hernandez from the Bronx and Javier Tunez from Brooklyn were both leads on homicides similar to my Chloe Tumber case. I knew I could rely on the accuracy of their reports. They were both too sharp to make careless mistakes.
I was startled when Mary Catherine turned in bed and squinted at my weak light.
“I’m sorry. Am I keeping you awake?”
“Are you kidding? I have so many thoughts swirling in my head I’m surprised I even lay down.”
“Need more help with the wedding planning?”
“Nah, I’ve got a handle on the wedding plans. Seamus has been great. He has a good sense of what’s important, and he’s really come through on a couple of details at the church I needed him to handle. It’s like having me mam’s help, without all the criticism.”
“Don’t worry, the criticism will come. Just give it time.”
We both giggled. I waited a moment, then said, “Are you getting cold feet? I’d understand. I wouldn’t like it, but I get it.”
“It’s nothing to do with that. Though it is just a bit…overwhelming to think I’ll be stepmother to ten children. I love them all to pieces, but it’s loads of responsibility, isn’t it?”
I marveled at my incredible luck. I had found not only a beautiful woman but one who loved me and my kids too.
“I worry about them all,” Mary Catherine continued. “I already told you my concerns about Brian, and now I’m a little bothered by Jane’s new boyfriend. Does it ever end?”
“Not really, no,” I told her truthfully.
Mary Catherine gave me a smile, which reassured me. Then she kissed me and I felt even better. She brushed the papers off my stomach and took the penlight out of my hand. Her soft lips caressed my neck and she nibbled at my ear.
Then Mary Catherine wrapped her delicate hands around my face and pulled me toward her as she stretched out on the bed.
I mumbled, “What’s going on?”
“Really? The city’s best detective can’t figure it out? I worry for the fate of our citizens.”
The more she kissed me, the less I worried about anything else. It was exactly what I needed.
Chapter 9
I was on edge the next afternoon as I stepped through the front door of One Police Plaza. My lieutenant, NYPD veteran Harry Grissom, and I had been called in for a meeting, and I’d brought Brett Hollis along as comic relief. The swath of white bandages across his face would distract anyone. To his credit, Hollis had not complained once about breaking his own nose while chasing Van Fleet through Harlem.
The conference rooms in this public face of headquarters, where the NYPD often hosted other agencies, journalists, or politicians, tended to be more plush and technologically up-to-date than the cheap furniture and threadbare carpet in the precincts. These rooms looked like government offices are supposed to.
As soon as we stepped into the second-floor conference room, which overlooked the parking area for the highest-ranking NYPD administrators, I froze. I turned to Harry and said in a very low voice, “I didn’t know the FBI would be here.”
“Neither did I,” he said, stroking his long gunslinger mustache.
In the room were four FBI agents, all of whom seemed to be in a staring contest with us lowly NYPD detectives.
That was the real problem: law-enforcement agencies working together. Even though the national rate of unsolved murders was just under 60 percent, no one really thought the solution was to trust people from other agencies. Not only because they were worried other agencies might steal their cases but, even worse, other agencies might screw up any cases they were brought in on. It was petty and stupid, and I was as guilty as anyone.
It was pretty clear what this meeting was about, even before I saw detectives Terri Hernandez from the Bronx and Javier Tunez from Brooklyn already at the table.
Hernandez smiled and said, “This must be important if they’re bringing in big guns like you.”
“Nah, can’t be that important. The FBI is here.”
That comment made Tunez bark out a laugh. Ever since an overzealous FBI agent had tried to charge him with workers’ compensation fraud, accusing him of overstating his injury claims from a car accident, Tunez had no use for the federal agency. He’d won his case easily, but he still suffered from the stress, as well as speculation in the press—the media never seemed to believe the FBI could be fallible and screw things up more often than local police.
NYPD inspector Lisa Udell was running the meeting. With her professional demeanor and terrifying reputation, I knew she’d make sure things didn’t get out of hand. She was known for chopping your nuts off if you did something stupid. I could get behind that kind of administrator. If you act stupid, you should face the consequences. The flip side of the equation was that if you were in the right, Udell always backed you up. Every time.
Inspector Udell said, “We all know why we’re here. We have three murder cases in Manhattan, the Bronx, and Brooklyn. The FBI has graciously offered their help to investigate the similarities in the crime scenes. I thought it would be best if we all sat down and talked about where we are in our investigations.”
The door to the conference room opened and two more FBI agents rushed in. One of them looked at me and smiled. I couldn’t help but smile back. Emily Parker had helped me out a dozen times over my career. And we’d once come within a moment of having a romantic relationship. That was before Mary Catherine and I had gotten serious. Now I just counted Emily as a good friend who happened to be a damn good cop. No matter who she worked for.
The other FBI agent who’d entered along with Emily was a sharply dressed, forty-something black man. He cleared his throat and said, “My name is Robert Lincoln. I’m the assistant special agent in charge of our New York office. The FBI is prepared to bring in resources and personnel to move this case along.”
Every veteran detective in every big city in the US has heard this song and dance before. And in my experience, the assistance flowed only one way: away from us. The FBI seemed to count the NYPD as a resource only to inflate their numbers. They rarely added to a case.
ASAC Lincoln said, “Let’s not waste any more time. If you tell us what you’ve got, maybe we can help.”
Harry Grissom said, “We’ve got three murders and a ton of work to
do. What we don’t have is time to waste on pointless meetings. I’m sure you’ve seen our reports. All three known victims were young, white females. They all died from wounds from a sharp implement. But not the same one. Additionally, they each sustained a wound to the left eye. Assuming we’re dealing with the same killer in all three circumstances, I think we can safely note that as his signature. Also, each of the crime scenes was excessively, intentionally bloody. The killer’s clearly doing that on purpose. And his mutilation of their left eyes is a detail so distinctive that it must be kept from the media. You got some magical database that can point us in the right direction, that’s great. But if you’re just looking to make sure you’re at the podium during a press conference, we need to get back to work.”
I couldn’t keep my eyes from shifting over to Inspector Udell. I respected an administrator who would remain silent while someone expressed themselves so clearly and disrespectfully to the FBI.
Lincoln didn’t seem flustered by the pushback. He calmly straightened his tie and looked directly at Harry Grissom. “Look, Lieutenant, we know you’re overworked and understaffed. We think we can help. All we need to do is set up what we’re calling Task Force Halo. My people can report to me, and your people can report to you. It’s as simple as that.”
It hadn’t gone unobserved that the sharp ASAC had somehow used Lieutenant as if it was some kind of insult.
Grissom took a moment to gather his thoughts, then said, “I appreciate your interest in assisting the NYPD to be more efficient. But in my long experience, task forces tend to slow things down. We’re still running and gunning on this case. None of us has time for the extra administration and politics a task force would create. That doesn’t mean we can’t work together. But it does mean that this will be the last official meeting that takes time away from our actual investigations.” Harry stroked his mustache once, then looked at everyone around the table. “Am I clearly understood?”
Sometimes I just wanted to kiss my boss.
Chapter 10
Like any meeting attended by too many law-enforcement officials, this one didn’t end as quickly as I would’ve liked. I still didn’t mind taking a moment to chat with Emily.
“Are you in New York permanently?”
She nodded and said, “As permanently as any assignment with the federal government. I like working here and in Virginia. I don’t mind if they ship me between the two.”
“Tough on the social life.”
“It can be a challenge, sure. But we can’t all fall in love with someone we pay to watch our kids.” Before I could rise to my own defense, Emily said, “That came out a lot cattier than I meant. I’m probably just a little jealous of a beautiful girl with an Irish accent.”
“Well, to show you it wasn’t a fluke, Mary Catherine and I are getting married in a few weeks.”
“The kids must be over the moon.” She cut her eyes to the ASAC, who was now talking animatedly with Grissom. “Mike, don’t be too tough on Lincoln. In a way, he’s a throwback FBI agent. It’s not that he believes we’re smarter than everyone else. He just doesn’t like to be left out of the mix.” She looked at me and her face softened. “He’s a political animal. You and Harry wouldn’t last ten minutes with him.”
“I try not to get involved in anyone’s politics. But I appreciate the warning.” I made my good-byes and grabbed Hollis to head out the door. We had to wait another few minutes for Harry to break free.
I took one look at Hollis’s face and said, “Pop into the bathroom, take a look at your bandage.”
“Is it leaking?”
“Like the Titanic.” In just the couple of seconds we’d been talking, a red stain had spread across the entire front of the white gauze and tape covering his nose.
Hollis hurried off. A few minutes later, Harry Grissom stepped out of the meeting. The way the FBI agents turned sharply away from him and left as a unit told me the most recent discussions had not gone any better than the one during the meeting.
I didn’t even ask Harry about it. He’d tell me any information I needed to know.
He said, “Get together with Hernandez and Tunez and figure out if you have any common leads. I’ll get you any help you need. How’s Hollis handling himself?”
“He’s smart and not lazy. That usually works out.”
“Most guys would milk an injury like his and sit at home for a few weeks. I appreciate that he’s not whining about it. I’ll put him on background for now and then managing the crazy leads that’ll come in as we get more media coverage. We’ll have a couple of plainclothes help out as well.”
“Sounds good, boss. Anything else?”
“Watch what you share with your FBI buddy.”
“She’s okay. I trust her.”
“She’s an FBI agent. If she’s doing her job right, you shouldn’t be able to trust her with any information. I don’t care if you use her; I just don’t want them screwing up our case. At this point, I don’t even care if they try to steal credit. We gotta stop this guy. He’s a sick and twisted bastard.”
Hollis wandered back with fresh bandages around his nose. His eyes were watering, but he tried to look attentive.
Harry looked at me and said, “I need you to do your best work on this case. And that means a solve.”
Hollis managed to say, “What about me?” He sounded like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer after his father covered his nose with mud.
Harry said, “Bennett’s on legwork. You’re on research.”
My mind was already skipping ahead in the investigation. It’s a double-edged sword when your boss has that much faith in you. You can do things your way, but you absolutely have to get results. And quick.
Chapter 11
Daniel Ott was a little concerned that he was being rash. He’d finished the job at the insurance company only yesterday and was already seriously intending to make the snotty intern his next victim.
Waiting longer between victims—and distancing himself from any particular office—was meant to give the cops less to go on. But frankly, he was starting not to care. After all, no one ever remembered him. His superpower was being invisible in plain sight. He was completely and utterly unremarkable.
As a young man, that had bothered him. Now he embraced it. He was indistinctive. Even his workouts reflected that attitude. He didn’t exercise to get bigger, only to get stronger and faster while maintaining his trim frame.
Now he was standing in Greeley Square Park, about forty feet from the intern, Elaine Anastas, watching her without any fear of being noticed, just as he had watched her two roommates come and go from the apartment since yesterday. Elaine’s comment about how glad she was that she’d never have to do a job as lonely as his burned in Ott’s brain. The arrogance. The audacity. He’d show her.
Elaine sat on a concrete bench in the fading light, reading a paperback of Where the Crawdads Sing, her dark hair draped across her pretty face as she concentrated on the book.
He’d made a study of women’s clothing trends. Hers was student chic—a knockoff Kate Spade purse and an H&M jacket she wore over an AmazonBasics white T-shirt, and the Target Cherokee cross-trainers she’d clearly decorated herself with a few rhinestones and colorful laces. Just another pretentious bitch trying to look more sophisticated than she actually is.
Ott had already seen Elaine’s tiny apartment on 30th Street, which she shared with two other girls whose work schedules he had quickly figured out. He had taped the lock on the building’s rear door so it would not automatically close. He could slip in and out at any time. Now was his chance to savor and enjoy what was to come.
He turned his attention to speculating about one of the most important decisions he made for each victim: what kind of tools would he use this time?
He reached into the left pocket of his plain blue windbreaker. Would it be the twelve-inch, extra-fine, Phillips-head screwdriver? On the other hand, in his right pocket, the weight and shape of a Milwaukee brand combinati
on wire cutter and stripper made him grin. He’d used that tool only once before, but he loved the way it made a pattern on flesh. Like someone had gnawed on it. One news report from that kill had even mentioned the police thought there might be evidence of bite marks on the corpse. It made him almost giddy thinking about it.
Chapter 12
It took Elaine Anastas a few minutes to get moving once she put her book away in her purse. Daniel Ott barely breathed as she glanced around the park and gathered her stuff. He knew it wouldn’t be much of a walk down Sixth Avenue to 30th. No lights on in the apartment. Her roommates were at work, as scheduled.
Ott watched Elaine slip into her building and, a few minutes later, the light come on in her apartment. He cut down the alley behind her building and opened the door he knew would be unlocked. He took the tape off the lock so no one would realize that’s how he’d gotten into the building.
He slipped past a maintenance area crammed with broken lamps and microwaves, items the super had probably promised to fix. That was the easiest way to keep tenants quiet. Promise to do your best, but never give an exact date. It was a lot like Ott’s job.
He paused at the third-floor door in the stairwell. Again, he questioned himself: Was he moving too quickly? Was it a bad sign that he was unable to control his urges? Sometimes Ott wondered if this was what a drug addict felt, though he knew his affliction was more like a mental illness. When he actually had a victim within his reach, wave after wave of a perfect balance of excitement and calmness would wash over him. He knew his mind would be clear after it was done. That’s all he really needed. A clear head.
In a way, he had no choice. He’d be leaving New York City soon—well, in another few weeks. He had one more company scheduled for a complete office software installation. But if he didn’t act now, he could end up lying in bed back home in Omaha thinking about nothing but this snarky intern.
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