88 Killer

by Oliver Stark

  The hand released her and she pulled her foot back through the flap. She was gulping for air.

  ‘My name’s Abby,’ she said. ‘I’m just sixteen. I’m scared. I miss my home. That’s all, mister. I just miss my mom, my dad, my nana, my friends.’

  There was no reply. The flap shot up and was locked.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Apartment, East Harlem

  March 7, 5.55 p.m.

  Harper crossed to the desk to sign out a department saloon. He needed to head up to the morgue and get the autopsy report. Dr Pense had said it’d be ready after 6 p.m. The guy on the desk raised his head and checked out Harper’s face. ‘Don’t tell me, I should see the other guy!’ he joked. Harper nodded, unsmiling, and took the keys without a word.

  Harper walked down towards the car. He turned into the lot and stopped. Ahead of him, Erin Nash flashed a big cheap smile. The Daily Echo’s crime reporter looked lithe and purposeful, leaning on the hood of a parked SUV with one foot up on the chrome grille. Something about her had changed since he’d last seen her. He didn’t know what it was at first. Maybe it was wealth. She had made a lot of money selling her stories.

  ‘Erin, it’s nice to see you. You spot an opportunity to fuck us over again?’

  ‘Now, listen to you. I’ve come by to see how you are. Saw you at the crime scene. You look like shit. I was concerned.’

  ‘Concerned enough to ride straight to the victim’s grieving girlfriend and offer her money.’

  ‘Harper, you know that’s not ethical.’

  ‘That’s never stopped you before. I know it was you.’

  ‘You’re playing down the political angle on this murder, is that ethical?’

  ‘I’m playing the percentages. If someone’s targeting the government, then it’s the government’s problem. I’m just trying to solve a homicide.’

  ‘What about the coke? You seriously think he was shot while trying to score?’

  ‘I think the drugs might be relevant.’

  ‘I guessed you would.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘We’ve all got skeletons in the cupboard, right, including you, Tom Harper. A journalist’s job is to sniff them out.’

  ‘Yeah, well keep sniffing, I’ve got nothing to hide.’ Harper stared at Erin Nash and felt the anger coming in spurts. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I’m not into scandal-mongering, Detective, but an old friend of yours tells me that you were in rehab for something a few years back. Amphetamine addiction, maybe.’

  ‘How much did you pay for that?’

  ‘Listen, I don’t want to make trouble and I wouldn’t want to do harm to an investigation, but give me something. This Capske guy was dealing, am I right? Maybe he got in over his head.’

  ‘I’m busy,’ said Harper.

  Erin Nash let out a little light laugh. ‘Wouldn’t it be nice if we could just walk away like that? You want me to run a drug story on you or on your victim? Nice simple choice.’

  Harper stopped. He was running things over in his head. ‘If you’ve got something to say about me and you’ve got the evidence, then print it. If not, go back to the sewer.’

  ‘I wouldn’t get so hung up, Tom.’ Erin paused for a second. ‘I wouldn’t want to harm you just yet. You’re a hero, Harper; people want to hear more about you. New case, first major one since your big moment.’

  Harper looked to the ground. ‘You want to know about David Capske, not me.’

  ‘Come on, Harper. Just want to know what you’re thinking? Trail a cop who’s trailing a killer, that kind of thing.’

  ‘Get this, Nash – it’s a no. If you can’t read it, put it in 72-point Helvetica like the rest of your headlines.’

  ‘His father’s a pretty important guy. A judge. This is going to run and run.’

  ‘I got nothing for you, Nash.’

  ‘Why were the media called this morning? What’s the connection?’

  ‘Not sure. Whoever killed Capske wanted a big audience and he knew how to get one.’

  ‘Gun lobby would love the attention,’ Erin said.

  ‘You’re a dog with a bone and you know I can’t say anything, even if I knew something. Which I don’t.’

  ‘You know nothing, right?’

  ‘And just for the record – you can’t quote me on that.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it, Detective.’ Erin Nash took out a card and handed it to Harper. ‘Just one more thing – here’s my number. You scratch mine and I’ll avoid pulling you off that great big pedestal.’ She looked at him and locked eyes with his. ‘So, soon as you get anything on this case, just holler.’

  Erin Nash nodded and walked away. Harper watched her go. For a second, he wanted to reach out and shake her. Then his head started to pound again and he reached in his pocket for his painkillers, threw two pills down his throat and headed for his car.

  Harper called Dr Pense from the car as the rain started to pound down again. ‘Hey, it’s Detective Harper. How’s it going with my corpse?’

  ‘Hell, Harper,’ Dr Pense said. ‘Well, it’s not nice, but I’ll be ready in thirty minutes.’

  ‘Anything I should know?’

  ‘I’ll tell you in thirty minutes.’

  Harper looked at his watch. He needed a shower, a change of clothes and some more painkillers, and since he had a few more minutes before heading to the morgue, he pulled out and headed for home.

  Harper climbed up the stairs and entered his two-room apartment. He never used heating, and as a result the apartment was constantly damp. He took a quick shower, saw the extent of his bruises for the first time and was shocked at how he’d let himself get beaten up. He dressed and found more painkillers. Well past their sell-by date, but he figured they’d work as good as any. He went to the window, took a quick look across the street. The hookers were huddled out of the rain, trying to peer into cars from a distance. It wasn’t working for them or the curb crawlers.

  As quiet as Harper was, he found it hard to attain silence. His mind rarely stopped working. When he was on a case, that driven, tireless mind found a home and, for a time, his trait had a worthwhile outlet. As he was staring out into the rain, several thoughts passed through his mind. Each case was a puzzle that kept returning, and he knew that his mind was going back every few minutes to try to solve it afresh.

  The shrill ring of the buzzer broke into his thoughts. He pushed open the window, took in the fumes of gasoline and rain and looked down to the ground floor – but whoever was there was taking cover from the cold sheets of rain. The ringing continued.

  He walked to his buzzer. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Tom.’

  Harper paused. ‘Denise?’ He felt his pulse rising with unexpected excitement.

  ‘Yes, Tom, it’s me.’

  A line of heat ran along the underside of each of Harper’s eyes. He pressed his head to the cold gloss of the door. ‘Denise.’

  ‘It’s raining, Tom.’ There was a silence. ‘Tom, I’m getting soaked down here.’

  ‘Denise,’ he said again. He felt like a man encountering a ghost. It had been a long three months and she’d been in his thoughts every day. ‘I just don’t believe I’m hearing you. I called you – I left messages. You’ve never replied. I didn’t expect to hear from you.’

  ‘I got all your messages, Tom. Please believe it, and open the door. I’m freezing.’

  Tom was on the stairs, heading down as fast as he could. He reached the front door and stared out. She was framed by the red wrought-iron bars that crossed the glass panel in the door. Her blond hair was shorter and plastered to her head, her face was charged with something he didn’t yet understand, she had lost some weight, but it was Denise. He watched her a moment and opened the door.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m actually looking at you.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Tom.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For being so . . . out of touch. I couldn’t cope with you.’ Denise�
�s eyes fell to the ground. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Forget it,’ he said. He suddenly felt like the pieces of a puzzle he’d been struggling with for months had fallen into place. He was wide open. More open than he’d felt in months. Here she was. Denise Levene. He smiled.

  ‘I’ve hated you, you know,’ she said. ‘I want you to know that’s what’s been going through my sick head.’

  ‘You were always too honest. You could’ve kept that one to yourself for a while, at least.’ Harper looked at her. ‘Hell, maybe I’ve deserved it.’

  ‘I don’t think you have. I’ve been in a bad place. No idea how to get out.’ The tone of her voice dropped a note and with it the volume. ‘I went to see Mac.’

  ‘I’m surprised, I thought that wasn’t your thing.’

  ‘Been to see every other specialist there is. Thought I’d give your recommendation a try.’

  ‘What did you think?’

  ‘Brutal, but it works.’

  ‘That’s good to hear. Come on, let’s sort you out.’

  Harper led her in silence up the stairs and walked into the apartment. She looked around in obvious dismay.

  ‘Wow, you’ve decorated,’ she said.

  ‘It really makes a difference, doesn’t it?’ They looked at the one wall that had been half-coated in white paint. Harper went to a closet, pulled out a large clean towel and passed it to her. Denise ruffled her hair and pulled the towel around her. She sat down. She was shivering but still smiling. He went through to his bedroom and brought out a pair of sweatpants, a T-shirt and a hooded top.

  ‘You should get into these, before you—’ He stopped himself.

  ‘Catch my death?’ she offered.

  He twisted his mouth. ‘Okay, I’ll cut out the fussing.’

  Denise took the clothes and disappeared into the bathroom.

  Harper stood at the door. ‘So, what you working on?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Denise.

  ‘I can read you, Denise. You didn’t come here just because of my problems.’

  Denise called through the door, ‘You’re still good on observations. What gave it away?’

  ‘You’ve got a newspaper on you. You never liked newspapers. I figure you’re looking for news, which means you’re up to something. And, the big giveaway is you came here.’

  Denise opened the bathroom door and stood there. ‘I came to ask for help.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘An old colleague and a missing child. His daughter ran away or something worse. He doesn’t understand. I went by to see him. He’s a mess. He thinks something or someone happened.’

  ‘And what do you think?’

  ‘I agree with him.’

  ‘What does he want you to do?’

  ‘Prove that she didn’t run away. Missing Persons are shelving the case. I’m all he’s got.’

  ‘You get anywhere?’

  ‘I’m not a detective. But you are.’

  Harper looked up. ‘On a good day.’ Then: ‘Can I offer you something? A word of advice?’

  ‘You can try.’

  ‘Don’t try to solve other people’s problems because you can’t solve your own.’

  She looked up, hurt. ‘That’s unfair, Tom. I’m trying to get back to work.’

  ‘You could have come to see me any time.’

  ‘No, Tom, I had to know this was about me, about whether I could face this alone.’

  ‘Come on, you’re a helper, Denise – all your life, you’ve been saving someone, helping someone. That’s who you are. You helped me. You brought yourself up. You saved your old man from losing hope when he was inside.’

  ‘No, I didn’t. I left him. I visited every week. That was all I could do.’

  ‘Sure you did, Denise. He told you that you always had to have faith. The same faith you used to get you through. What did he call it? That thing in the dark that he said he always held every night and that kept him from being afraid.’

  ‘His fantastic sparkler,’ she said.

  ‘That was you, Denise. That was you he was holding in the dark all those years in prison. His fantastic sparkler.’

  Denise broke into silent sobs. Harper didn’t comfort her. It wasn’t pain that she was suffering. It was relief.

  ‘What the hell do you want, you bastard? Making me cry and look weak and foolish. This is why I hate you!’

  ‘I want to help you.’

  ‘It’s not that kind of help I want, Tom. I’m involved in this case because I think I can do some good. I went to see the case-files; I started a profile. Victimology.’

  ‘What did you find?’

  ‘A way in. I think there’s something here.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Tom. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll help if I can, but I’ve got a big case just starting up.’

  ‘I know. I saw you on TV,’ she said. ‘What’s the deal?’

  ‘Put simply, David Capske got wrapped in barbed wire and shot. Everyone has it down as a political killing.’

  ‘But you don’t see it like that?’

  ‘No evidence. I know it’s nice and neat, and someone wants us to see it like that, but I see something that I’ve only ever seen with sadistic serial killers.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Someone who’s got no real ulterior motive. The kill is the thing, the whole thing and nothing but the thing. Whoever killed Capske liked it. Liked it a lot and will do it again.’

  ‘Gratification killer?’

  Harper raised his eyebrows.

  ‘You got a profiler working on this?’ said Denise.

  ‘Rookie that the Feds sent.’

  ‘Any good?’

  ‘Not good enough. We’ve only got twenty-four hours before Lafayette rolls over and the Feds come in and take over the investigation.’

  ‘I could take a look,’ she said. ‘Offer a comment.’

  ‘Tit for tat?’

  ‘One good deed deserves another . . .’

  ‘What do you want me to do on the missing girl?’ asked Harper.

  ‘I need some help getting access to the Hate Crime Unit.’

  ‘What do you need them for?’

  ‘A couple of months back, Abby was roughed up as she walked home. It’s all I’ve got. A group of four young men. Hate Crime found them and took them in for questioning but couldn’t make anything stick. A week later, there was a swastika painted on the Goldenbergs’ front door.’

  ‘You think it’s related?’

  ‘It’s the only evidence of anyone targeting the family and my profile suggests that if Abby was attacked, then it was someone who knew where she lived, knew her name and wanted to hurt her and her family.’

  ‘What are the guys called?’

  ‘Raymond Hicks, Patrick Ellery, Leo Lukanov, Thomas Ocksborough.’

  Harper wrote down the names. ‘I know someone in Hate Crime. I can call him up, give you a good reference, get you some information.’

  ‘Thanks, Tom. It might help.’

  ‘And if you’re going to help me, you need to take a look at this victim.’

  ‘I suppose I’d have to.’

  ‘It’s not pretty. It’s a hell of a way back in to your day job.’

  ‘I’ll cope,’ said Denise. ‘Or at least I’ll give that impression.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Office of the Chief Medical Examiner, Manhattan

  March 7, 6.36 p.m.

  Harper waited for Eddie Kasper to find his way to the department parking lot. Eddie got in the front passenger seat and turned round: Denise Levene sat in the back of the sedan. Eddie’s eyes opened wide. ‘Don’t I know you from somewhere?’

  ‘Yeah, maybe, but I’m not one of your conquests.’

  ‘I wish,’ said Eddie, ‘but I don’t go for smart women, they see right through me.’

  ‘And see what? A good guy with a fine line in self-deprecation.’

  ‘Hey, Tom, she’s back, right? The mouth and everything.’

  ‘Yeah,’ sa
id Tom, ‘and everything.’

  They drove by the city Medical Examiner’s office and caught up with Dr Laura Pense, the Deputy Chief Medical Examiner. Denise stood at the back of the small group as they entered. She wanted to be closest to the door if the panic attack started.

  Harper turned to Levene. ‘This one is pretty bad, Denise. You sure you want to tag along?’ She nodded.

  The two detectives and Denise Levene walked inside and trailed down familiar corridors. Dr Laura Pense was sitting in a small windowless office, writing up paperwork. Harper knocked and stood at the door.

  ‘Hey, Dr Pense, how are you?’

  Laura Pense continued to hammer out something on her keyboard. ‘All good, here, Detective, how about you?’

  ‘He’s a fucking mess,’ said Eddie, ‘but you already know that, right?’

  Laura turned and saw Harper’s face for the first time. ‘Jesus,’ she said. ‘Were you assaulted or something?’

  ‘Or something,’ said Harper.

  Laura Pense stood up, acknowledged Denise with a smile and then peered more closely at Harper’s face. ‘That’s pretty bad. Abrasions to the nose, lips, jaw, eyes. Deep tissue bruising. Potential fracture on the left cheek. Is that sore, there?’

  ‘I can’t feel it any more.’

  ‘He’s popping four painkillers every hour.’

  Laura Pense raised her eyebrows in disapproval. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve been boxing?’

  ‘You’re right, he wasn’t boxing,’ said Eddie. ‘No, you couldn’t call what he was doing anything more than giving someone target practice.’

  ‘You been checked out?’ said Laura.

  ‘This guy?’ said Eddie. ‘This is a Neanderthal, Doctor, a throw-back. You know, when men were men and pain was personal disgrace.’

  ‘Macho men!’ said Dr Pense. ‘God, the amount of big guys I’ve seen who have been brought down by a spot of blood. Intracranial hemorrhages, Harper – perhaps you can fix that yourself, too.’

  ‘Is that my report?’ said Harper, pointing at the computer screen.

  ‘Are you lead on the Capske case?’ asked Laura.

  ‘I’ve been given the honor. Blue Team are on the case.’