“Nothing. I don’t want anything in return.”
Their eyes met and Drake forced himself to hold the murderer’s demented gaze. Tobin was a master manipulator, but if he had to put money on whether or not the man was being deceitful, Drake would have bet on not.
“How would you know who I’m looking for? Other than what you overheard those cops saying?”
“I knew as soon as they mentioned that the skins—” another horrible chuckle, “—were tied together like some sort of stuffed animal. I know, because he attacked me. The Straw Man attacked me.”
Drake’s patience was wearing thin. So far, Tobin had offered nothing that wasn’t common knowledge. If the man didn’t say something soon, something that proved he wasn’t just blowing smoke up Drake’s ass, he was going to leave.
And maybe he’d accidentally unplug some of the equipment on the way out.
“I see it in your eyes, Drake. You and me—”
“If you say that we’re alike, so help me God I will tear that foreskin right off your skull.”
Tobin snickered again. This was somehow even more grating than his laugh.
“Okay, okay. I won’t say it. But I do know the man you’re looking for. He was wearing an apron, a black apron, thick, like rubber, and was naked underneath. And there were these animals, stuffed, all around… fucking creepy.”
Black apron, naked underneath.
That was exactly how Hanna had described him.
“Grey eyes. Nice, but weird, you know?”
“Where?” Drake snapped. “Where did you see him.”
Tobin took his time, relishing Drake’s interest. He swallowed once, twice, then spoke.
“He took me to this big house, huge. The kind with a gate out front, you know? It was in the city, but I don’t remember exactly where.”
Drake snarled.
“But—but I got the impression that he didn’t actually live there. He was renting or something. There were these animals—bears, fucking wolves, everywhere.”
Drake made mental notes of all the information Tobin gave him, no matter how thin. Recalling Hanna’s story, he asked, “Were the animals stitched together? Arms from one, head from another, that sort of thing?”
Tobin appeared confused.
“I-I don’t know. I don’t think so, but it was dark, and I was scared. There were so many of them, too. This guy—”
Drake held up a hand.
“Okay, okay, I don’t want to hear your whining. What was this guy’s name?”
“He said it was Caine, but I’m pretty sure that was made up.”
“Why?”
“Because he was feeding me cocaine all night.”
Drake grunted, unimpressed.
“Why were you at his house?” Drake had seen the squalor that Tobin lived in. As much as he wanted to, the man didn’t run in crowds that owned big houses with gates out front. And never would. “You meet him on an app or something?”
“No. At a club. We met there first, and then he took me back to his—or whoever’s it was—house.”
Most clubs in New York City had cameras everywhere these days. And while their unsub had planned his displays at both the art gallery and the department store, and wiped out their security footage, what were the odds he’d done the same at this club? Given what Tobin had said about the cocaine, maybe it was just the unsubs night.
“What club?”
“Focal. It’s a nightclub. And before you ask, I know that there are cameras in there. Scroll back two weeks or so and you’ll find him. He’ll be with me.”
Tobin was pining for thanks or at minimum some show of appreciation, but Drake refused to give it to him.
“You drive a car? How did you get from the club to the house?”
As he asked the question, Drake moved even closer to the IV bag.
“We took a cab. He paid cash for everything.”
So, even if we do catch the unsub on camera, we won’t have a name, credit card statement, address, anything like that, Drake thought.
“Why are you telling me this? I think you know by now that you’re not getting anything in return.”
Tobin turned his face away from Drake.
“Because I’m sorry for what I did. I should never have hurt those animals, burned down that building.” His voice hitched. “I’m sorry for what I did to Ken.”
Tobin looked back. Tears were pooling in his eyes, but because the sockets were so deep and warped, they failed to run down his misshapen face.
Drake felt no pity for this man. But even if this was all made up, if this Caine guy was just a figment of Tobin’s twisted imagination, one good thing could still come out of it.
“Where are the other body parts, Tobin? Where’s your roommate’s head and his arm?”
Again, Tobin looked away, but this time, Drake wasn’t going to allow him to collect his thoughts before answering.
“You say you’re sorry, that you didn’t mean it, or whatever, so tell me where you sent his head and arm.”
“If you forgive me.”
Drake wasn’t sure if he’d heard correctly, so he stepped aggressively towards the man’s bed.
“What did you say?”
Tobin’s head whipped back, fear in his lopsided eyes.
“I’ll tell you, Drake, but only if you say you forgive me.”
Drake pictured Patty on all fours, breathing smoke in and out of her mouth, coughing.
“If you say you forgive me, I’ll tell you where the rest of Kenneth Leung is,” Tobin repeated. “I’ll tell you where I sent those packages.”
“Fine,” Drake said.
“You forgive me?”
“No, no, not like that. I’m not going to fall for that. You tell me who you sent those packages to, then I’ll say what you want.”
Tobin was skeptical, but it wasn’t like he had any options. The man whispered something so softly that Drake had to move up to hear. It sickened him to be this close to Tobin again, and it wasn’t solely on account of the smell.
“Repeat it.”
When Drake heard the two names, he sucked in a deep breath.
“Now tell me you forgive me.”
Drake cocked his head to one side but said nothing. Then he started to back up.
“Drake, tell me you forgive me,” Tobin pleaded.
Drake grabbed the tubing from the IV bag and pulled. Tobin cried out as the needle tore out of the back of his hand. Whatever liquid was in the bag started to leak onto the floor. He hoped that it was something that Tobin needed to survive but would settle for just pain meds that the bastard would no longer be getting.
“Drake? Tell me you forgive me. Tell me—”
Tobin started to cough.
“The only thing I’ll tell you,” Drake said as he reached for the door. “Is that I wish I had pushed my thumbs in just a little bit harder.”
Chapter 69
“What the hell?” Yasiv said, his brow knitting.
Hanna was equally as confused.
“Robert Tiedeman was here?”
She read the name on the page again then looked at the manager.
“Is this the guy in sketch?” she asked. “Is this Robert Tiedeman?”
The man’s lips and nose moved around his face, reminding Hanna of something a mouse might do.
“I don’t remember exactly.” He looked at the date on the top of the page. “Could be?”
Hanna scowled and turned to Yasiv.
“You have a picture of Robert on your phone?”
Yasiv quickly pulled one up and showed it to the manager.
“You ever see this guy before?”
Like with the sketch, the man cocked his head at an odd angle as he observed the phone as if this would help him remember better.
“I don’t—maybe? Like, he looks like someone—shit, he looks like pretty much half the people who camp here.”
“Helpful,” Hanna grumbled. She grabbed the sketch off the counter and watched as
Yasiv put a business card on the table.
“In case you remember anything else.”
“Sure, man. You want me to put it on the board?” He indicated a cork board off to his left, which was riddled with everything from ads for dog walkers to menstrual cups.
“Don’t bother,” Hanna huffed.
“Keep it with you,” Yasiv said as Hanna made her way to the door.
She was nearly there, with the sergeant right behind her, when the manager’s squeaky voice called her back.
“Wait, wait,” he said urgently. The man snapped his fingers and Hanna looked over her shoulder at him. “I don’t remember if that guy’s name was Robert whatever, but I’m pretty sure—yeah, pretty sure—that I remember his car.”
Hanna glanced at Yasiv, certain that they were sharing the same thought: Why the fuck didn’t you tell us this before?
“What kind of car did he have?”
“Like, this old one? Chevy, light gray, hatchback. From the eighties, man. Real old. I remember ‘cuz I was like, I can’t believe that thing is still running. The guy in the picture there, he said it ran just fine, but I dunno.”
“You get a license plate on that car?” Yasiv asked.
“Naw. Usually, that’s what the cameras are for,” the man replied with a shrug.
“The cameras that don’t work.”
With that, Hanna retreated to Yasiv’s vehicle.
“At least it wasn’t a complete waste of time,” Yasiv said as he got behind the wheel. Hanna wasn’t sure if she agreed. “I’ll call my guy back at the station, see if he can look up an old Chevy. If it’s from the eighties, we might get lucky. Can’t be too many of those still registered and on the road.”
“I’ll let Screech know, too. Tell him to go over the parking lot footage from the mall around when the mannequin showed up to see if the car was there.”
After making their respective calls, the sergeant started the drive back to DSLH, while Hanna tried to wrap her mind around what the manager had told them.
“Poindexter back there said that you had to show ID when you signed the book. We know that the Straw Man was there, but was Robert? Or did the Straw Man just steal Robert’s ID?”
“They don’t look that much alike,” Yasiv remarked. “And the guy we’re searching for is at least fifteen years older.”
“Yeah, but you heard what the manager said: Robert kinda looks like everyone.”
Hanna rubbed her eyes and sunk deeper into her seat, fatigue catching up to her.
“So, they were either working together or they weren’t. They’re either partners or they aren’t. The only thing that we know for sure, is that the Straw Man followed those girls here. But how did he get them out? Three young girls, rich girls… they can’t that stupid, can they? To go with some random old guy?”
“You’re asking me what young rich girls do?”
Hanna ignored Yasiv’s comment and answered her own query.
“Drugs. Drugs and Instagram. Rich old guy… it’s gotta be drugs,” she concluded.
This felt like a revelation, but it still didn’t get them any closer to finding the Straw Man.
“He turned off or disabled the camera,” Hanna muttered, mostly to herself.
“Yeah, just like he did at the art gallery and the mall.”
Hanna frowned.
“But that was different. He was doing that on his own time, his schedule. He decided when to set up these mannequins. With these girls, they planned the trip. We know it probably wasn’t random, that these girls were specifically selected beforehand. So, not only did the Straw Man have to know that they were going camping, but he also had to plan ahead to knock out the camera. Either the Straw Man somehow knows these girls, deals to them, maybe, or has a connection with one of their parents.”
“Maybe… the answer could be simpler than that, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, when I spoke to Marjorie’s parents with Drake, they said that this camping trip was meant for them to get away from their phones. Apparently, they left them behind. And what does an addict do right before they enter rehab?”
“Go on a bender?” Hanna suggested.
“Yep, go on a bender. I bet they posted all over the Internet when and where they were going camping. Our guy probably found out about their trip from their Instagram posts. Just in case, I’ll have an officer swing by the girls’ parents’ houses, show them the sketch, see if they recognize him.”
“Show them a photo of Robert, too, while you’re at it. Who knows, maybe he was dealing drugs to them, as well,” Hanna suggested.
Yasiv sighed.
“I sure hope so. At least then we can lock that greasy bastard up for something. Because the longer this thing goes on, Hanna, the more likely he’s just going to walk. And if he does that, I doubt we’ll ever see him again.”
Chapter 70
“He said what?” Detective Dunbar stopped walking.
Drake had hoped that this could wait until they were back in his car but based on the utter shock on the detective’s face, there was no chance of that happening.
“Tobin said that the man we’re looking for, our unsub, almost killed him about two or three weeks ago. Took him to a house full of stuffed wildlife, got naked, threw an apron on, and chased him around. Said he barely got away.”
“Too bad,” Dunbar said absently, then shook his head. “The same guy, though? For real? What are the odds of that?”
Drake just looked at the detective.
“You believe him?”
Drake did but, unfortunately, he couldn’t tell Dunbar why. He was still determined to keep Hanna’s story between him and the other members of DSLH. The names that Tobin had mentioned, the names of the people he’d sent his roommate’s arm and head, were also going to remain with him.
For now.
“C’mon. For real?”
“He described the sutures on the stuffed animals,” Drake lied. “Sounded exactly like the ones on the mannequins. The same sutures that the ME said were extremely old and rare.”
Dunbar still looked doubtful, but Drake kept on talking.
“Tobin told me that the man’s name was Caine—likely fake—and that he met him at a club called Focal. We have nothing else to go on, might as well check it out. Maybe they caught him on camera.”
Finally, Dunbar started walking again.
“What about—what about the other thing, Drake? About what happened in the alley?”
“I wouldn’t worry about it. I think Tobin is done talking for a while.”
“You sure?”
Drake pictured Tobin’s horrible face.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Focal… you ever heard of it?”
“Yeah, I have, actually. It’s one of Nick Petrazzino’s joints. Owned and operated by the Casata Sacra.”
With everything that had happened, Drake had completely forgotten about the mob boss’ arrest. Judging by the coverage devoted to the Straw Man, so had the media.
“With the fat bastard locked up, what do you think the chances are that we can get access to the video footage from a few weeks back?”
Dunbar blinked twice.
“We don’t have to.”
“Look, I don’t trust Tobin either, but what do we have to lose?”
“No, it’s not that. I mean, I’d be surprised if Tobin wasn’t just talking shit, but we don’t have to waltz into Focal to get the video footage.”
“Why not?”
“Because I already have it.”
Drake was lost and Dunbar clarified.
“The NYPD scooped up pretty much every computer that Nick Petrazzino owns, including those from his clubs when he was arrested. It’s back at the station.”
Drake couldn’t imagine the kind of tantrum that the DA must be having. Mark Trumbo had refused to offer him any support, any help, and had generally made things difficult for Drake the moment Yasiv had hired him back at the art gallery. But ever since the very
public display at the mall, things had changed. The sad fact was that society didn’t care about a mobster being arrested. Not anymore. What they cared about was an active serial killer, about slurping up as many details of these heinous crimes as possible. The Straw Man movie was nearing the climax, currently in the rising action phase, while the Nick Petrazzino film was already rolling the end credits.
“Tobin was pretty adamant that they were at the club together, so if you see him on those cameras, which shouldn’t be too hard given the man’s proclivity for them, maybe we’ll see the Straw—” Drake caught himself. “—our unsub, too.”
“Will do—I’m heading to the station now.” Dunbar gave him a quick once-over. “You look tired, Drake. Want me to drop you off at home?”
The prospect of sleep—proper sleep, not in a chair—was nearly irresistible.
“Naw, I’m good,” he said. “Take me to DSLH. There’s still more work I gotta do.”
***
Drake was surprised to discover that not only had Yasiv returned from the campsite, but it didn’t look as if Leroy had ever left.
Hanna, on the other hand, appeared disheveled.
“Let me guess, you went with Yasiv instead of Leroy,” Drake said.
Nobody replied, which was answer enough. If there was one person on this earth who was as stubborn as he was, it was Hanna Whitmore.
“Well, tell me then, tell me what you found out.”
Yasiv relayed their conversation with the manager and shared what they’d found about the unsub’s potential vehicle. When it was Drake’s turn, he skimped on most of the details, focusing primarily on the possibility that their unsub was at a nightclub a few weeks back.
When they were both finished, it was Screech chimed in.
“While you guys were on your vacations, me and Leroy here were searching deep on the Internet. And you’re not going to believe what we’ve found.”
Screech directed them over to his computer but before waking it up, he offered Drake a curious glance. Then he subtly indicated to Hanna with his chin. When the image on his screen came into focus, Drake realized what these clandestine looks were all about: it was the taxidermy web page, the one that had gone out of business, the one with the header that read ‘We Specialize in Large Game’.
Straw Man Page 29