by J. R. McLeay
Joe shook his head.
“He wouldn't be stupid enough to come to such an obvious place. Besides, he disowned his namesake, remember? I'll be surprised if his adoptive parents have any clue about his whereabouts.”
A woman in her mid-fifties opened the door.
“May I help you?”
Joe flipped open his wallet and showed his badge.
“Detectives Bannon and Trimble, ma'am. Are you Mabel Weir?”
The woman's face fell. It was obvious she'd been anticipating the call.
“Yes…”
“May we have a few minutes of your time?”
The woman opened the door, and the detectives followed her into the living room.
“May I get you some tea?” she said.
Joe welcomed the opportunity to have a few minutes to look about the room alone.
“That would be lovely, thank you.”
As the woman retreated to the kitchen, he and Hannah scoped the lower level. There were no tracks in the hall or dishes on the table. Joe ran his finger over the top edge of the wainscoting lining the walls. The house was impeccably clean and ghostly quiet. There was no visible sign of habitation other than the middle-aged woman.
Joe noticed some oval-shaped faded patches on the living room walls. He picked up a picture frame resting on a side table. The image showed a man and a preadolescent boy sitting beside a dead deer. The man wore a broad smile, but the boy's face was expressionless. Joe recognized the flat upper lip immediately.
“I suppose this is about my boy,” the woman said, placing two cups of steaming tea on the coffee table.
“Yes,” Joe said, taking a seat opposite the woman. “Are you Todd Weir's mother?”
“His adoptive mother. He came to us when he was seven.”
Joe opened his notepad and scribbled some notes.
“Is your husband here as well?”
“He passed away a couple of years ago of a heart attack,” the woman said, betraying no emotion in her voice.
“I'm sorry for your loss, ma'am.”
“There's no need to be. He wasn't a kind man. It's much quieter around here now.”
“Are you aware of the purpose for our visit?”
The woman nodded.
“My son's face is all over the news. But I can't imagine he could ever...”
Joe picked up the hunting photo.
“Can you share some insights into his childhood?”
The woman paused for a long moment as she looked at the picture.
“My husband used to take Todd hunting frequently. I think he thought it would take his mind off his troubles at school.”
“What kind of troubles?”
“He was bullied a lot because of his appearance. It's unfortunate because he was such a good boy. Nobody deserves to be treated like an animal.”
Joe looked down at the picture of the dead deer.
“Did your son enjoy these hunting expeditions with his father?”
“At first, I think he enjoyed being treated like a big boy. You know, being able to hold and fire a rifle. Men are attracted to these things, aren’t they? I could never understand why some people enjoy killing helpless creatures.”
The muscles in Joe's jaw clenched as he remembered how his wife had died.
“The boy looks distracted in this photo,” he said.
“I think there was more going on in those hunting excursions than just hunting. My husband had certain...predilections. I sometimes heard him sneaking into Todd's room when he thought I was asleep. I'm afraid he used these hunting trips as an excuse to feed his urges...”
The woman's voice trailed off as she choked up.
“Did you notify the authorities about your concerns?” Hannah asked.
“My husband was a violent man. He would beat me at the slightest provocation. I'm sorry, but I feared for my own safety as much as my son’s. I was glad when Todd was finally old enough to leave our home.”
“At what age was that?”
“Seventeen. He took a job as a locksmith's apprentice in Greenpoint, a few miles from here. We didn't hear from him much after that. I think he was happy to have his own space and control over his life. He was always a bit of a loner.”
“Did you ever see him exhibit violent behavior?” Joe asked.
The woman shook her head.
“No. He was always the submissive one. Until something happened around the age of twelve.”
“What happened then?” Joe asked.
“There was a noticeable change in both my son and my husband after they returned from one of their hunting trips. Otto would usually gloat about how he and Todd stalked and killed another large deer. They were always bringing home the spoils of their hunt. I didn't mind eating the meat, but the trophy heads were too much. I threw them all out as soon as my husband died.”
“Do you know what happened on that trip?” Joe asked. “How did they behave differently?”
The woman’s mind wandered back a few years.
“They returned home much later than usual that night. Normally, if they couldn't make it home before dusk, they’d stay another night at the camp and return the following morning. Plus, they didn't bring home any game meat or trophies.”
She paused to take a sip of her tea.
“They were strangely quiet the following day. Nobody wanted to talk about what happened up there. But it must have been something awful. Otto's relationship with Todd was completely different after that. He became very distant and unaffectionate. Thankfully, I never again caught him sneaking into Todd's room. They never hunted together again.”
“Did your son's mood change as well?” Hannah asked.
“He remained detached, like he'd always been. I think that was his way of coping with being shuttled around so many foster homes before settling with us. But I never heard any more complaints about him being bullied at school. I think those hunting expeditions saved him in some way.”
Joe and Hannah glanced at each other awkwardly.
“When was the last time you heard from your son?” Joe asked.
“It's been a couple of years. I tried to reach out to him, but he never wanted to come back into this house. Painful memories, I suppose.”
“Do you have any idea where he might be now?” Hannah asked.
“The last time we spoke, he said he'd taken an apartment in Flatbush. He apparently started up his own locksmith business. You might be able to contact him that way.”
“I'm afraid he's gone into hiding,” Joe said. “Do you know of any favorite hangouts or places he liked to go?”
The woman looked outside her living room window.
“He didn't have any friends that I know of. But he would often go out on his bike for long periods when he wasn’t away hunting with his father. When I’d ask him about it, he said he liked to go out to Jones Beach and just watch the ocean. How he got that far on his bike is a mystery. He didn't have much money...”
The woman's eyes suddenly welled up as she looked at Joe and Hannah beseechingly.
“How could he have gotten to this point? Are you sure he's connected to all these killings?”
“We aren't certain yet, Mrs. Weir,” Hannah said. “That's why we're trying to find your son. We'd like to confirm some of the details. We're just trying to keep everyone safe, including your son.”
The woman peered down at the photo of her son and nodded sadly.
“Thank you for your time, ma'am,” Joe said, standing up.
He handed the woman his card.
“If you do happen to hear from your son, please notify us immediately. We'll let you know when we have more information.”
The woman walked Joe and Hannah to the door and closed it quietly behind them. The detectives looked at one another for a long moment on the porch. Hannah had a pained expression on her face.
“Don't even think it,” Joe said. “A monster is no less a monster just because of a troubled past.”
Joe
descended the steps and walked toward their squad car parked across the street.
“Let's check out this Long Island connection.”
49
Jones Beach, Long Island
July 18, 11:30 a.m.
Joe and Hannah strolled along Jones Beach, watching the surf break fifty yards off shore. They'd driven to the resort town on Long Island to see if they could find any clues to the sniper's whereabouts. But the entire village was deserted. Even the usually bustling ice cream shops lining the boardwalk were closed from lack of customers.
Hannah sidestepped a syringe lying in the sand.
“Looks like the only dangerous things we're going to find out here are some used condoms and hermit crabs.”
Joe kicked a dead sea anemone back into the water.
“And some other spineless creatures.”
“At least we got some fresh air,” Hannah said. “I don't think you've gotten more than ten minutes of sunshine since—”
“Since my wife's funeral?”
“Sorry. I just meant—”
“Don't worry about me. I'll be fine.”
Joe stopped by a dune and sat down in the sand.
“What about you, Hannah? I think that's the second sentence you've spoken all day.”
Hannah sat down beside Joe and stared off to the horizon.
“It's just all the crazy stuff that's been going on the last couple of days. Jane, the Weir apartment blast, the mayor. It makes you more aware of the risks...”
“We knew what we were signing on for when we took this job. Don't go soft on me now.”
“It's not me I'm worried about so much as my family. Now the sniper's targeting children and people close to us.”
Joe placed his hand on Hannah's arm and squeezed it gently.
“So far, he seems to be taking out his frustrations mostly on me. I don't think you've got too much to worry about. With the TV appearance and all, he sees me as the ringleader.”
Hannah looked at Joe and raised an eyebrow.
“Which you basically are. I'm surprised he didn't try to take you out with the mayor when he had another chance. You might not want to stand out in the open again like that for a while.”
Joe snorted.
“If he wanted me dead, he's had ample opportunity. I think he's enjoying this little battle of wits as much as he is offing innocent people. Not that there's been much sign of intelligence on this side of the equation. So far, he's outsmarted us every step of the way.”
Joe picked up a handful of sand and let it fall between his fingers.
“At least we ID'd him,” Hannah said. “Out of the millions of people in New York City, that was a good piece of detective work. And you were the one who kept the focus on Weir until we were able to connect him to the crime.”
“But it's all circumstantial. We still haven't actually found the smoking gun.”
“We find him, we'll find the murder weapon.”
Joe shook his head skeptically.
“Now that he's gone into hiding, we’re going to have to wait for someone else to be shot to have our chance.”
Joe's radio crackled.
All units, code 246. Suspected sniper shooting. Eighty Riverside Boulevard, Upper West Side.
“You were saying?” Hannah said.
Joe jumped up and sprinted toward his squad car.
50
80 Riverside Boulevard, Unit 22D
July 18, 12:30 p.m.
Forty-five minutes later, Joe and Hannah stepped through the open door of a luxury condominium unit on the Upper West Side. The hall entrance was crawling with uniformed and forensic cops. A young woman wearing a robe sat sobbing on the sofa. Her blond hair had a dark red stain on the left side. A man in his late twenties lay at the base of the near wall, thick blood oozing from the back of his head onto the hardwood floor.
Joe saw one of the patrol cops from his precinct and walked over to speak with him.
“Looks like another sniper victim,” the cop said, recognizing the detective.
He pointed to the far window.
“Clean shot right through the glass. Lots of high-rises to shoot from in the vicinity. The woman said it happened almost an hour ago. The shooter's probably long gone by now.”
Joe looked at the bullet hole in the window then turned around to trace the path of the incoming bullet. There was a large blood stain at eye level on the adjacent wall, with a small circular hole in the middle.
Joe kneeled down and turned the dead man over. There was no entry or exit wound on the front side of his head.
He looked up and saw the surprised look on Hannah’s face.
“That's a departure,” she said.
He walked over to the sofa and showed the distraught woman his badge.
“I'm sorry, ma'am. I’m Detective Bannon, with the NYPD. I just need a few moments of your time.”
Joe noticed the wedding ring on the woman's finger.
“Can you tell me what you and your husband were doing when the shot was fired?”
“We were…making love.” The woman pointed toward the blood-stained wall. “Right there, next to the kitchen.”
Joe hesitated.
“Were the two of you standing up at the time?”
“Yes.” The woman's shoulders shook as she sobbed. “What kind of person shoots someone when they're—”
“How many shots did you hear?” Joe asked.
“Just one. I hid behind the kitchen island right after it happened.”
The detective pushed the woman's bloody hair gently to the side.
“Are you injured? Do you need medical attention?”
“No, I think this is Dean's blood.” She peered at her husband lying on the floor and whimpered. “Oh baby...”
Joe looked at the dead man then at the stain on the wall. He turned to see the perfectly round bullet hole in the living room window.
“Ma'am, do you have some binoculars in your apartment?”
The woman looked up at Joe, confused.
“What? Yes.” She pointed to the top of a bookcase near the window. “Over there...”
Joe got up and pulled the binoculars off the shelf. He walked to the bloodstain on the wall, centered his head over the bullet hole and turned around with his back to the wall. Then he pointed the field glasses toward the hole in the pane and lifted his hand to twist the knob on top. He paused for a moment then lowered the binoculars and walked to the edge of the window. He made a mental note of a landmark on the high-rise tower across the street then looked down and counted the number of floors up from the street.
“Let's go,” he said, turning to Hannah. “Looks like our sniper might not be so clever after all.”
A few minutes later, the detectives stood outside the door of another condominium in direct line of sight to the crime scene. They paused with their handguns drawn.
“What's your plan?” Hannah whispered.
“Knock once, then kick the door in,” Joe said.
“That didn't work so well for us last time.”
“He was expecting us last time. This time he won't be.”
Hannah hesitated.
“Shouldn't we get a warrant? The Lieutenant—”
“How many times have we lost this guy because we gave him time to slip away? I'm not taking any more chances this time.”
Hannah nodded and raised her pistol. Joe banged his fist on the door three times.
“Police! Open the door.”
Joe listened for movement inside. He heard some shuffling sounds and footsteps quickly moving from one room to another. The footfalls returned and approached the door slowly. The detectives braced themselves, cocking their pistols.
An unfamiliar man answered the door. He looked disheveled and nervous.
“What's this all about?” he said with a shaking voice.
“We have reason to believe a gun was fired from this location. May we come in?”
The man hesitated for a moment consider
ing his options.
“Yes, I suppose. But I've been here all day and didn't hear any gun shots.”
Joe motioned to Hannah to keep a close watch on the man as the detective walked toward the living room window. Half way up the glass was a sill with a sliding pane. He opened the window and looked down at the sill. There was some black powder in the trough. He ran his index finger over the powder then raised the finger to his nose.
Joe swung around and leveled his pistol at the man.
“Where is it?” Joe said.
"Where's what? I don't know what you're talking about.”
Joe looked around the room. He moved to the sofa and flipped up each cushion. Then he motioned to Hannah to keep the man covered while he ran into the bedroom. He lifted the mattress and saw a rifle resting on the box spring. He placed his hand over the barrel. It was still warm.
Joe returned to the living room and pulled the man's arms behind his back, cuffing his wrists.
“You're under arrest for murder.”
As Joe read the man his rights, Hannah took out her police radio and called the forensics team.
Joe looked at Hannah and shook his head at the revelation of a new sniper.
“I guess it’s true what they say. Copies are never as sharp as the original.”
51
Broadcast Studio, The Today Show
July 21, 8:00 a.m.
In the days that followed the West Side killing, more copycat shootings emerged in New York City and began to spread to other cities across the country. The live assassination of Mayor Braxton on TV screens across America seemed to ignite a visceral reaction among a large swath of disenfranchised citizens. Whether it was anger directed against the government or toward other symbols of their hatred, the cockroaches had come out of the woodwork to feast on the spoils.
The escalation of random violence was ravenously covered by the media, with the major networks and newspapers sensationalizing every new killing. The Today Show, broadcasting from the center of the action, was no exception. After repeated requests, Detective Bannon had been persuaded back into the studio to provide an update on the latest murders. As much as he hated the spotlight, Joe felt he should take advantage of its large audience to help capture his wife's killer.