88 Killer

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88 Killer Page 28

by Oliver Stark


  Harper and Denise headed for the car. They had no idea which way to turn.

  ‘What about the car, Tom? Where do we go?’

  ‘I’m thinking,’ said Harper.

  ‘So am I. And I think the reason the kids aren’t dead is because he’s not tortured them yet. That’s what he needs to do before he kills. Mark them and torture them. We’ve got time, but it’s not much.’

  Harper looked at her for a second. ‘Let’s go.’

  As they sped back to Brooklyn, Harper reckoned that the kids would soon be in a lock-up or worse. He knew the driver of the red car wouldn’t risk speeding, but would keep to the legal limit. That was their advantage. They had the license-plate out there. Someone had to spot it.

  He called up Eddie Kasper who was back at the scene in Borough Park, helping the clean-up. ‘I need to know the places these guys go when they’ve got something to hide. You’ve got twenty or more prisoners – find out which ones are most afraid and cut them a deal. I need a lock-up, a location, anything.’

  ‘I’ll see if anyone knows anything,’ said Eddie.

  Harper hung up.

  ‘How did he know where they were?’ asked Denise when they arrived at McRory’s.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Harper. ‘But I will find out.’

  It took ten minutes for the red car to turn up on the police radio.

  ‘What have you got?’ asked Harper.

  ‘There’s a red car parked in Bedford-Stuyvesant. Plates match. It’s just been taken inside a lock-up of some sort.’

  ‘Don’t spook him,’ said Harper. ‘He’s got the two children. Just give us the location and tell them to set up roadblocks. If he drives off again, I don’t want him getting far.’

  They traveled for about ten minutes. There was silence in the car. Harper turned into the street that Dispatch had given him and killed the lights. He then called the patrol car.

  ‘I’m going in direct. Got to see if the kids are still there. Most likely, he’s switched cars, come from the side street.’

  Harper and Levene got out of their car. Ahead of them was a row of lock-up garages in a courtyard. Tall buildings flanked the lock-ups and two alleyways led between these buildings on either side.

  ‘You hold back,’ said Harper. Denise stood at the car as ordered. She watched as Harper walked towards the row of garages. He looked inside the one that was open, but it was pitch black. There wasn’t much light in the courtyard. The greasy asphalt shone in the moonlight, but the whole area was full of shadows and alleys. Whoever had taken them could be anywhere.

  Harper held his Glock firmly in his right hand. He crept to the left of the lock-up, down a side street then came back. Hearing something, he turned quickly. It was a low thump. He listened intently. Someone was inside the garage, kicking at something. That meant that the driver had probably left the kids.

  His pulse raced. The two children were still in the car then, still alive. Harper started to run back towards the lock-up. He only half-caught sight of something over to his right – a red cigarette end or a glint of light. The sound of a gunshot woke the night. A bullet hit the ground by Harper’s feet and ricocheted into a large metal door. Harper heard the patrol cops in the distance; they had started to run towards the sound. He pointed his gun into the alley and fired six shots into the darkness.

  Nothing. Whoever had been there, had gone. Harper stared at the scene, trying to work out what had happened.

  Denise was standing by the car, hidden in darkness. Harper decided he couldn’t wait another minute for patrol. He had to chase the killer down. He got up and started towards the alley, trying to get cover before heading into the darkness.

  Harper hit the wall and leaned into the alleyway, gun first. It was too dark to see a goddamn thing. He stepped into the shadows. It was a risk, but he figured the sound of the uniformed officers running and shouting could have spooked the killer.

  As Harper disappeared into the alleyway, a figure appeared from the next alleyway up and moved to follow him.

  From the far side of the alleyway, Denise stared out, her hands shaking. Alone and exposed, she could hear the running footsteps of the two patrolmen coming up behind her and suddenly felt afraid. Her heart beat fast, and her legs felt weak.

  ‘It’s all going to be okay,’ she told herself and moved a couple of steps towards the alleyway. She stopped by the side of the car. At that moment, a shadow emerged about fifteen yards in front of her – a figure holding a gun. Denise stared across at the killer. The shaking moved throughout her body. She steadied herself and tried to breathe.

  From where she was, she could see the garage and the alleyway where Harper had followed the killer, but the killer had doubled back and was now behind him. What could she do? Her throat was dry.

  Denise tried to remember what Mac had told her, but she couldn’t. The whole psychological change that Mac talked about was already happening to her. ‘You’ve got to be a predator to stop your body preparing yourself to die.’ She knew she couldn’t shout to Harper. She was unarmed. The killer would turn, take her out and then wait for Harper.

  She reached into the car and pulled out the keys. Slowly, she moved around to the back of the car and lifted the trunk, her eyes on him as he walked down towards the first alleyway.

  She reached in and felt around until she gripped the handle of the lug wrench. She pulled it out and felt the weight in her hand. ‘Become the predator,’ she whispered.

  Denise needed to get across to the killer just as he turned into the alleyway. She would have to move silently, so she removed her shoes. Watching and waiting, she was the predator now, both eyes forward, body still, ready to pounce. He was moving to the corner of the alley: if she left it any longer, he would be able to catch up with Harper. She had to act now.

  Denise sprinted across the open ground, her feet making a low slapping sound, nothing more. She hit the wall within a few seconds and moved quickly to the corner. She leaned in, held the wrench hard, raised it to her shoulder and then turned the corner. Think Predator. Act Predator. It’s life or death. She needed all her power, but it was working. She wasn’t scared. Not at all. She was angry. This killer had Abby, had the two kids. Denise moved lightning fast, reaching him in two large strides. He heard her and turned, but that didn’t help him. As he turned, Denise smashed the lug wrench across his temple. The killer’s head twisted. She saw the whites of his eyes, white teeth and that was all. He was falling in front of her.

  His head twisted into the ground, he lost control of himself and his gun hit the ground and skidded into the dark.

  ‘Harper!’ shouted Denise. ‘I got him!’

  The killer rose slowly. ‘What the fuck . . .’ he said, but the lug wrench came down again, hard on the head. No mercy. One specific target. She hit him again on the same spot. ‘On the floor!’ she screamed. ‘On the fucking floor.’ He didn’t obey. She hit him twice, as hard as she could. Blood splattered her hand, but she kept him there and screamed, ‘On the floor, flat on the floor!’

  She could hear Harper running up the alleyway. The man stirred and tried to speak. She hit him again. ‘Do not move,’ she shouted.

  The body at her feet lay still on its front, a large wound on his head, blood creeping across his skull and on to the ground.

  Harper appeared, his gun trained on the body on the ground. ‘What the hell?’ he cried. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘It’s him, Tom. He doubled back on you. I saw him coming after you. I had to take him out.’

  Harper just stared. Denise stood, her heart pounding, her body feeling strong and powerful, the lug wrench poised for another blow.

  The killer lay prostrate, groaning in pain, his right hand clutching the wound. Harper flashed the light over him then pulled out his cuffs and jumped on the body, cuffing him.

  ‘Well done, Denise,’ said Harper. He rolled the body over. ‘Let’s see what we got.’ Harper’s flashlight illuminated the face staring up at them and he felt the sho
ck jolt him.

  ‘It’s Jack Carney,’ said Harper. ‘You’ve attacked a cop.’

  Carney groaned. ‘I tried to fucking tell her. She’s brutal. Just kept hitting me. Jesus Christ, my head.’

  ‘Save your strength, Jack,’ Harper said. ‘Where did you come from?’

  ‘Hate Crime Unit got the call from Dispatch. We got here a few minutes before you.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Denise. The lug wrench clattered to the ground. ‘I didn’t realize.’

  ‘You didn’t fucking check,’ said Carney. ‘Just lucky you didn’t have a gun.’

  Harper knelt and uncuffed Carney. ‘Where are they, Jack? Did you see?’

  Carney motioned to the building opposite. ‘There’s a garage. Second along. He parked in there, then I heard him lock the front, so I went around the back. He’s gone already. Are the children okay? I didn’t check if they were in the car.’

  ‘We don’t know. We hope so. Can you walk? We need to stick together.’

  Jack was helped to his feet. Denise decided to say nothing and just looked at the ground. She picked up Jack’s gun and handed it back to him. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Listen, lady, this goes nowhere, right? Nowhere. No one finds out I got pummeled to the ground by one of our own, by a civilian. By a woman.’

  ‘All right, Jack, this stays here, but let’s get back to the garage,’ said Harper.

  ‘I got the whole thing on the radio, got here fast as I could. I should’ve identified myself. I didn’t fucking see her. She must’ve been hiding.’ Carney grimaced through the pain.

  Behind them, the patrol cops arrived. ‘We’ve got a man down,’ said Denise. ‘Call for Emergency Medical Support.’

  ‘Scrub that,’ said Jack. ‘There’s no one down and no need for a medic yet.’

  They moved across to the garage. Harper sent the patrolmen around the back entrance.

  ‘We’ve got to break this,’ said Harper.

  Denise ran back for the lug wrench. She smashed down repeatedly on the lock until the old wood shattered.

  Harper kicked the door and the lock finally gave. They dragged it open. Denise ran to the trunk of the car and lowered her head to speak. ‘Ruth, Jerry, can you hear me? It’s okay, this is Dr Levene. If you’re in there, let us know and we’ll get you out. You’re safe now.’ She heard a kick from the car. ‘It’s the children!’ she shouted. She ran over to the car and tried the trunk. Locked. She called, ‘It’s okay, you’re safe. We’re with the police.’

  The kicking continued, frightened, irrational thumping of panic.

  ‘Stay still, you’ll hurt yourselves.’

  Denise tried to force the lock with the wrench but it didn’t budge. She passed it to Harper. He tried but also failed.

  ‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Harper. He ran to the back of the car, a knife in his hand. He pushed the blade under the rim and tried unsuccessfully to pop the trunk latch.

  He looked around and had a second idea. He opened the back door and found the seat lever. He pulled out one seat and cut a hole through to the trunk. Denise stood at his shoulder. ‘Be careful,’ she said. Harper ripped back the material with his hand. They waited a moment.

  Two small hands, like two petals of a flower, reached out and turned in the dark air.

  PART FOUR

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  North Manhattan Homicide

  March 13, 9.22 a.m.

  Denise waited for Harper all morning at the station house. She hadn’t seen him since they’d recovered the children the night before. She’d tried his apartment early but there was no one in and Harper’s phone went direct to message. When he didn’t show up in the investigation room, she asked Eddie Kasper where he might be.

  ‘Only four places I’ve ever found him:investigation room, the park, his apartment or the Cathedral.’

  ‘The Cathedral?’

  ‘St Patrick’s. He’s deep, you know.’

  ‘He disguises it well.’

  Denise left the team. They were poring over the details of the previous evening’s operation. The relief was palpable: the two children, Ruth and Jerry Glass, were in police custody and they wouldn’t make the same mistake again. But the repercussions of the night in Borough Park would be felt for some years. The only good thing to come of it was that so many neo-Nazis had been caught and arrested, so there were fewer of these misguided minds on the streets. Jewish organizations were working together to find an appropriate way to make a statement and show solidarity with the victims.

  Jack Carney was the name being passed around, not Tom Harper. Carney had got there before Harper. He’d seen the danger. He’d spotted the killer, and even Harper admitted that Carney’s presence had meant that they had avoided the unthinkable.

  Maybe that’s what was bugging Tom Harper. A rival for the city’s affection. A new hero.

  Denise found him alone, in the quiet of St Patrick’s. He was sitting hunched over the pew in front of him. Not exactly praying, but somewhere close. She walked over and placed her hand on his shoulder. ‘How you feeling?’

  Harper turned, surprised. ‘You,’ he said.

  ‘Eddie said you might be here.’

  ‘When I need some perspective.’

  ‘A close call.’

  Harper turned and his eyes bored into her. ‘The 88 Killer had them. He had his hands on them. If he’d wanted to kill them there and then, he could have. It couldn’t have been closer.’

  ‘But he didn’t. And if you and Jack hadn’t thought as fast as you did, then it would’ve been worse.’

  ‘But how the hell did we miss it?’

  ‘You didn’t. They were in protective custody.’

  ‘Then we’ve severely underestimated this killer.’

  ‘He knew they could ID him – he took a very big risk. We were seconds away from catching him. Harper, this is what happens. You get close and they panic. This is how you catch them. You scare them into doing things in a way they don’t want to.’

  Harper hit the pew in front of him. ‘What did we do wrong?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘He should be behind bars by now.’

  ‘Stop it, Tom. Without the surveillance operation, you never would have suspected he was after the kids. We never would have shut down their attack in Borough Park.’

  ‘It’s true.’

  ‘Then let’s leave the self-pity for later. He’s still out there.’

  ‘It’s not self-pity, Denise. I’m grateful.’

  ‘To whom?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter, it’s just important that we’re grateful. A few minutes later and we’d be searching for a child killer.’

  ‘Don’t think about it. We need you now. As I said, he knows we’re close and it’s freaking him out. He’s making poor decisions. We can flush him out, Tom.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Harper.

  Denise pressed both hands firmly on to his shoulders. ‘There is a lot of detail to take in and process.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve been going through it. There’s something we’re missing.’ He turned to Denise and saw her eyes searching his. He felt a jolt of emotion that caught him off-guard. ‘He’s going to do something big,’ he said. ‘If he knows the kids saw him, he realizes his time is short. He’s not going to go out without a big finale.’

  ‘You got any ideas?’

  ‘Plenty, and I don’t like any of them.’

  ‘We need to work on his background,’ she said. ‘We need to understand him. It’s still not coming together. He’s acting the part of a Nazi, but I don’t know why.’

  ‘You’re right about that,’ said Harper. ‘I can’t get it straight in my head. Either I’m going mad or there’s something here that just doesn’t fit. You know what I think? I think our killer knows what we’re up to. I need to work this through.’

  ‘Just tell me if you’re going mad,’ said Denise, ‘and I’ll get you put in a nice ward, no question.’

  ‘Appreciate it.’ Harper let
a half-smile curve his lips. ‘Let’s get back to the station house. I’m done with praying for now.’

  Eddie Kasper appeared at the front entrance ‘You okay, Harps?’

  ‘I’m okay. How’s things?’

  ‘Still no sightings of Heming?’

  ‘He’s pretty good at evading us. Whenever our guys show up, he seems to have already left. Like he knows. Like he’s getting information.’

  ‘You think he listens to the police frequency?’

  ‘I’d be a whole lot surer if I had him in the cell,’ said Harper. ‘Heming escaped last night, but it was a close call. This thing has wheels within wheels.’

  ‘I got the photographs of Heming’s place for you.’

  ‘I visited last night after we got the kids back. Anything new?’

  ‘They emailed it through. Take a look.’

  Harper opened his email and glanced through the pictures. Heming’s life was a sad little affair. But he was a serious Nazi. He liked swastikas, Nazi memorabilia and Nazi combat knives. Harper looked up. ‘He’s your all-American loser with a power fetish and a perverted intellectual grasp of history and politics.’

  ‘Just about sums him up,’ said Eddie.

  ‘I want Denise to see it. She’s still not convinced that Heming matches the profile of the 88 Killer. Will you show her?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Eddie.

  Up in the investigation room, Harper flicked through the reports that had started to come in from the house searches on all the Nazi rioters. They had photographs from over twenty homes. It was all the same. Little hidden bedrooms and garages set up like film sets of the Third Reich. There were flags, insignia, Nazi literature, swastikas everywhere and framed photographs of mass murderers from the Nazi regime.

  The poverty of the lives they were leading was unsettling. This was America. Brooklyn. One of the most diverse and vibrant places on the planet, and yet these resistant little cells continued, feeding on scraps that they could interpret as reason to hate. It wasn’t life they were leading, they were in a spiritual and moral vacuum, unaware that every day, they were destroying themselves.

 

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