by J. R. McLeay
The sniper lifted his hand to the front of his scope and turned the magnification dial to maximum. He watched the women's erect nipples flexing as they rubbed against one another. The pace of his breathing increased, but it was not from sexual arousal as much as it was from anger. He flashed back to his high school years when pretty girls would make fun of his appearance and reject his awkward advances. He remembered the taunts and whispers of his classmates as they ridiculed him.
There's that Weirdo guy. He's so ugly. How could anybody kiss him? I'd be sick to my stomach if he ever touched me.
Watching the women laughing behind the nightclub window, he suddenly heard the giggles of his tormenters from years ago. He moved the crosshairs of his scope upwards and focused on the forehead of the topless blond girl.
This will teach them, he thought. Only God can judge who's worthy. I hope you've said your prayers. Otherwise, you'll soon be going to a different kind of loud and fiery place.
A second later, the window in front of the hot tub shattered and the blond woman dropped into the water. At first, the noise and flashing lights distracted the partygoers from what had just happened in the pool. But as horrified bathers scampered out of the tub and screamed at what they saw, a stampede of clubgoers began retreating to the exit.
In the pool, the blond girl lay floating face down, her hair spread out on the surface, surrounded by a pink halo in the frothing water.
37
The Mayor's Office, City Hall
July 16, 9:30 a.m.
Commissioner Pope sat in the anteroom to the mayor's office waiting to be invited in to his scheduled 9:00 a.m. meeting. The mayor was already a half-hour late, and Pope did not take kindly to being held up. The two men had a contentious relationship, not least because both had oversize egos.
Neither one liked sharing authority on important police matters. Pope had a distinguished history with the NYPD, working his way up through the ranks since graduating from the police academy thirty years ago. He had the respect of the rank and file and, until recently, the admiration of the public. He was widely credited for bringing the crime rate down in the city during his tenure as commissioner.
For his part, the mayor was relatively new to the job, elected to the office just under a year ago. New York had a celebrated history of larger-than-life mayors. Fiorello La Guardia, who presided during the Great Depression, unified the city's transit system and had the airport named after him. Rudy Giuliani, the powerful former District Attorney for New York, rallied the city after the World Trade Center attack and made a run for President. Michael Bloomberg, the billionaire industrialist, restored fiscal order to the city after the Internet bubble burst in the late ‘90s. The incumbent mayor felt he had much to prove to leave his own mark on the city.
Unfortunately, the recent slew of sniper shootings dominated the political headlines. The mayor's switchboard lit up with frightened and angry citizens demanding action. He knew if he didn't take decisive action soon that his chances for a second term in office, not to mention his larger political ambitions, would evaporate. He huddled with his advisors for over an hour before the meeting with the commissioner, discussing how they could best handle the situation.
The door to the anteroom swung open.
“Carl,” the mayor said. “Come in. Sorry to keep you waiting. It's been a crazy couple of days.”
The commissioner followed the mayor into his office.
“It’s been a crazy couple of weeks,” Pope sighed.
The mayor offered the commissioner a cup of coffee, then sat behind his large desk flanked by U.S. flags.
“That's what I wanted to see you about this morning. Something has to be done about the sniper situation. This shooter has taken over the city. People are afraid to venture outdoors, and businesses are closing their doors. The tourism trade is normally at the height of the season, but it's completely shut down. The Union Square shooting was the last straw. Now everyone's afraid to go to work. We've lost control of our city.”
Pope found it interesting that the mayor never mentioned any loss of life. His concerns related only to commercial and political interests. Unlike the commissioner's main priority, which was keeping the streets of New York safe.
“The ancillary damage has been...unfortunate," Pope responded. “But we've lost nine lives since this started, and I'm far more concerned about what we can do to prevent more lives being stolen.”
The mayor paused for a moment, realizing how insensitive he'd been.
“Yes—sorry about your man Bannon. It's a shame about his wife. Such a brutal and senseless killing. Do you think this will compromise his role as our media spokesman? The public will view him as even more of a hero after this.”
The commissioner could hardly believe his ears. Instead of empathizing with the detective's loss, it sounded like the mayor was looking to capitalize on the tragedy. It was another example of the mayor using other people as a scapegoat and not leading from the front.
He breathed in and out slowly to calm himself down before replying.
“I can't imagine he'll want to be back in the spotlight for a while. The man just lost his wife. I suspect he'll need a little time to process his loss.”
Pope had grown accustomed to being the public face of the police force during his tenure as commissioner. He’d become comfortable in front of the camera and felt a little blindsided when the mayor asked Detective Bannon to handle the media.
“I'll be happy to take the lead on the public outreach again,” he said.
The mayor looked at the commissioner blankly. Before the meeting, his advisors had told him of the enormous political opportunity this case presented. Like Mayor Rudy Giuliani had done after the 9/11 attacks, they thought the people were primed for a charismatic leader to rally the public. In times of great crisis, they said, the people always unite behind a strong leader. Mayor Braxton felt this was his chance to establish his legacy.
“I've been thinking about that, Carl,” he said. “I think it's time I actually addressed the people. They're obviously frightened and looking for leadership at a time like this. I'd like to make a public statement.”
The commissioner paused, taken aback. Perhaps he'd misjudged the mayor.
“What kind of statement? Were you thinking of a televised address?”
“I want it to be bigger than that,” the mayor said. “I want to get out among the people and show them we won't be cowed by this sniper. I’d like to make a speech at the site of the last shooting in Union Square. Of course, it will also be televised by all the major networks.”
The commissioner's brow furrowed.
“Are you sure that's a good idea, Mr. Mayor? That's a wide-open and very public place. After you alert the media, it may attract the attention of the sniper. He's already shown how easy it is to pick someone off in the Square. I can't guarantee I'll be able to assure your safety.”
The mayor nodded and smiled.
“Actually, I don't have any intention of alerting the media until the last possible moment. Only you and a select group of officers will have advance notification of the timing and place of my address. If the sniper doesn't know where I'll be, he can't shoot me, right? But before I put this plan into action I need to be certain it's safe. If we keep this low-key, will your people be able to protect me?”
Pope thought about the mayor's plan for a long time. There were many variables and risks to consider. Traffic would have to be routed around the event to avoid accidents. The perimeter would have to be secured from gawkers. Media personnel would need to be precleared. And police sharpshooters would need to be positioned on high ground to keep a lookout for the sniper.
“This is a bigger operation than you might imagine, sir. We'll need to mobilize a few hundred officers at least, plus the ESU team. But if we can keep this contained until the time of your address—yes, I think we can protect you.”
“A few hundred officers?” the mayor said. “Isn't that about the size of o
ne of your precincts? What if we only notify Lieutenant O’Neill and have his team secure the site? I'd like to have Detective Bannon beside me. Like it or not, he's become the public face of this campaign.”
The mayor paused as he looked at the commissioner.
“What do you say, Carl?”
Pope shook his head and sighed.
“It's a hell of a plan, Mr. Mayor. I think we can make it work. I'll check with O'Neill and begin making the arrangements. When were you thinking of making your address?”
“Tomorrow at noon. In front of the statue of Washington, in the middle of the Square. That ought to set the tone and project the right amount of confidence. Make it happen.”
38
Lieutenant O'Neill's Office, 18th Precinct.
July 16, 9:00 a.m.
Brady O'Neill sat behind his desk flipping through the latest notes in the sniper file. Joe, Hannah, and Kate sipped their coffee while they waited for the lieutenant to start the meeting. After a few minutes, O'Neill closed the heavy file and exhaled deeply.
“Looks to me like the sniper's shifting his MO,” he said, peering up at the detectives. “I'm concerned about this new pattern of indoor shootings. Previously, the shooter was focused on outdoor targets. Kate—can you make any sense of this?”
Kate shook her head.
“Honestly, Lieutenant, I'm at a bit of a loss to explain this one. The location, the timing, the victim—none of it fits the previous pattern.”
“Perhaps he's getting bored?” Joe interjected. “Maybe he just gets off killing people who are enjoying themselves.”
It was obvious to everyone that Joe was venting. No one wanted to check him, knowing the pain he was still feeling so soon after losing his wife.
“He's running out of easy targets,” Hannah suggested. “It's getting pretty quiet out there on the streets. Shooting fish in a barrel isn't quite as simple when they're all hiding below the surface.”
“And this latest fish wasn't exactly well camouflaged,” Joe snipped.
O'Neill looked at Joe and raised an eyebrow.
“Joe, let’s keep this professional. I know you're still hurting—”
“I was simply pointing out that the latest victim presented a highly visible target—”
“As visible as one can be eighteen stories above the street,” O'Neill said. He looked at Kate. “Why a nightclub, and why this particular one?”
“Le Bain is one of the city's most popular clubs. The sniper may be tracking people's interior movements more closely with the streets emptying out. The flashing lights on top of the Standard Hotel late at night would attract attention from anybody in the vicinity. Joe might not have been so far off. Maybe the sniper was angry that people were in a partying mood and felt he still hadn't created enough fear—”
“What's his end game?” O'Neill said. “Is he simply shooting people who piss him off, or do you think he has a plan for some kind of escalation? Can we detect a pattern that might give us a clue to where he might strike next?”
Kate looked at the lieutenant blankly. O'Neill turned to Joe and Hannah.
“What about the sniper's vantage point this time? There aren’t many tall buildings in that part of the city. The shooter would have to be at a high elevation to see through the windows that far above street level.”
“We're still in the process of reviewing CCTV footage from other high-rises within a mile radius of the hotel,” Hannah said.
“No eyewitnesses pinpointed the sound of a rifle this time?” O’Neill asked.
“There's not many people outside who would hear suspicious noises, especially at that time of night.”
O'Neill leaned back in his chair and placed his hands on his head. He closed his eyes while he considered his next step. His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of his cell phone buzzing on his desk. It was an incoming call from the commissioner.
O'Neill picked up the phone and held it to his ear.
“Lieutenant O'Neill,” he said. “Yes, Commissioner...I understand. That soon? I'll mobilize the department...Yes sir, I'll inform him.”
O'Neill hung up the phone and looked straight at Joe.
“That was the commissioner. The mayor wants to make a public address. Tomorrow. And he wants you by his side when he makes the announcement.”
Joe squinted his eyes in surprise.
“Did he say what it's about? Where is he planning to make this announcement?”
“Union Square. At noon.”
“Holy shit,” Joe exclaimed. “Is he crazy? That's where the sniper hit two days ago. How can we possibly protect him?”
“That's what we need to figure out. He's placed our department in charge of arranging security. He's not going to announce his plans until just before he makes the address. He thinks the sniper can't hurt him if he doesn't know when or where this will be happening.”
O'Neill looked at the three officers in turn.
“This needs to stay on a strictly need-to-know basis. I don't want this information going outside this precinct. I'll arrange a meeting with our patrol team within the hour. I need you three to stay the course in collecting intel. If you come across anything at all that looks actionable, let me know immediately. The best-case scenario is to have our suspect locked up ahead of time to avoid any more surprises. This one's on me—we can't afford to screw this one up.”
Hannah glanced at Joe then turned to the lieutenant.
“With all due respect sir,” she said, “I think there will be a fair amount of exposure for someone else too. The mayor won't be the only one in the line of fire tomorrow.”
“You two just watch your backs and make sure you're not followed,” O'Neill said. “Let me take care of your other flank.”
39
Time-Warner Center, Columbus Circle
July 16, noon
Joe rested his elbow on the escalator handrail as it moved upward from the lobby toward the third floor of the Time Warner Center. Normally at this time of day, the mall would be packed with lunchtime diners and shoppers sampling its upscale fare. Located on the southwest corner of Central Park at the junction of three subway lines, its brand-name boutiques and Michelin-starred restaurants were a popular destination for tourists and midtown residents.
He looked down at the large bronze statues of Fernando Botero's Adam and Eve standing in the lobby. The nude sculptures were a magnet for visitors to the Center, who would often have their picture taken next to the rotund figures. So many people had fondled Adam's genitals while taking a selfie that his buffed penis had grown a brassy shine.
But today the mall was eerily quiet. A few lone shoppers walked from the underground subway entrance to their target destination, scurrying through the lobby with its exposed three-story-high windows. After the two recent indoor sniper shootings, nobody wanted to tempt fate being caught in the sniper's crosshairs. But Joe didn’t give it a second thought. He'd been careful to monitor his tracks after the sniper attack outside the coffee shop. Besides, his own safety was the last thing on his mind.
He turned his body to take in the midday sunshine streaming through the lobby's tall windows. The view of Central Park was spectacular as he approached the third floor, with the tall statue of Christopher Columbus in the middle of the traffic circle outside the front entrance dominating the picture. He closed his eyes and thought about his wife.
They would often meet at the mall's famous French bakery for a quick bite, then take a walk in the park whenever Joe had a break in his routine. She loved the taste of the pastel macarons stacked behind the bakery's glass showcase. Jane would tease Joe that he should order a donut to maintain the public’s image of the lazy cop.
But Joe was in no mirthful mood today. His wife's murder was still fresh in his mind, and he was seething at his continued inability to catch the sniper. His surveillance of Weir's apartment the previous evening had come up empty and the sniper's trail had gone cold. He didn’t want any more distractions from his
single-minded pursuit, but a cryptic message late yesterday from Miles Lundberg piqued his interest.
Have some information of interest, Miles' text read. Lunch tomorrow?
Sure, Joe replied.
Meet me at Bouchon Bakery, TW Center, at noon. Keep your chin up.
As Joe stepped off the escalator, he peered toward the cafe in the mezzanine, looking for the Medical Examiner. He saw Miles waving by the railing overlooking the lobby. As he approached Miles' table, the ME stood up and held out his hand.
“Good to see you, Joe,” Miles said, clasping Joe's hand warmly. “How've you been holding up?”
“As good as can be expected.”
Miles looked into Joe's eyes, feeling his pain.
“I'm so sorry, Joe. Jane will be missed by everybody.”
“Thanks, Miles.”
It was awkward speaking with the Medical Examiner, knowing that just a few days prior he was examining his wife's body. Joe looked out the window toward the park to deflect the subject.
“Interesting choice for a rendezvous,” he said.
“I know you have a soft spot for this place. Besides, something tells me you're watching your back pretty carefully these days.”
“You got that right.”
Joe didn't waste any time getting to the point.
“What's up? You said you found something new?”
“It's not so much a find as an idea. After the ferry killing, I was racking my brain about the disappearance of the rifle from the hotel rooftop where you tracked the sniper's movement the night before. I've got a crazy idea, but one you should be able to check out fairly quickly. If you can confirm it, you might have enough evidence to bring your suspect in.”