by Philip Cox
Today, he had been handed a much sturdier, porcelain mug, white with a NYPD shield on one side. The drink itself was of better quality too: thicker and stronger. Not only that, he had been provided with a donut. Maybe it was someone’s birthday; maybe it was lunchtime; maybe the department had won the lottery that week; maybe his treatment was better now that he could identify a suspect. Or maybe he was just being cynical.
Whatever the reason, Will was thankful. In his hurry to get there, he had overlooked getting something to eat; his stomach was used to a midday lunch, and he was getting hungry. He was greeted by Detective Roberts with a handshake, and shown to a different room. Not a stark, austere interview room, but a more comfortable place, with softer, more relaxing chairs.
Now he was explaining to Roberts and Alvarez the events of the previous night. They stood listening, Roberts shaking her head now and then. When he had finished, she said, ‘Mr Carter, I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you how foolhardy you were. Apart from venturing into a part of the city you concede you don’t know, at night, how do you know the guy wasn’t armed and dangerous?’
Sheepishly, Will said, ‘That’s what my wife said when I got back home.’
‘Gave you a hard time, did she?’
‘Chewed my nuts off, if you must know.’
‘Good. So I don’t need to tell you that as soon as you thought you saw the guy outside of your house, you should have called us.’
‘No, you don’t.’
‘And I don’t need to tell you that’s what you do if you see him again?’
‘No, you don’t.’
‘And I don’t need to tell you that indirectly, you caused another member of the public to get assaulted. You realise, it’s possible if it comes out, he might take you to court for damages?’
‘No, you don’t. And no, I didn’t realise that.’
‘Okay.’ Roberts stood there for a moment, staring at Will. Satisfied that her message had gotten through, she said, ‘Right. We need you to look at some mug shots now, see if you can pick this guy out.’
Will sat up. ‘Sure. I’ll see what I can do.’
Roberts looked over at Alvarez who walked over to a table where there was a screen and keyboard. He pressed a few keys and a face appeared on the screen. ‘Just tab through these,’ he said. ‘There’s only around forty of them here.’
‘Oh,’ said Will. ‘I’d expected a large book.’
‘The department’s moved on over the last few years,’ Roberts said, leaning on the door. ‘Click on the icon bottom right if you recognise anybody. We’ll leave you while you look through the shots. Thirty minutes?’
‘Just tab right to go to the next one,’ Alvarez explained, ‘and left to go back to the previous one.’
‘I get it,’ Will said, straightening in his seat and putting his hand on the mouse.
‘See you in half an hour, then.’ With that the two detectives left Will on his own.
*****
It was forty minutes later when they both returned.
‘Anything?’ Roberts asked.
Will pushed his chair back slightly to allow them to see the screen. ‘I picked out two or three,’ he said, ‘but it was very dark last night.’
‘You clicked the icon for them?’ Alvarez asked, taking the mouse.
‘U-huh. I did.’
‘Okay, then.’ Alvarez manoeuvred the cursor around, clicked, and the screen changed. Now it was filled with smaller tiles of the three Will had picked out.
‘One of those?’ Roberts asked.
Will ran his hand down the back of his head. ‘Maybe. It’s just last night, it was dark, obviously; and there were no street lights nearby. Just the light from the buildings. And he was wearing a hood.’
‘We can get round that,’ Roberts said.
Alvarez pulled up another chair. ‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said quietly, as Will moved his chair to the left so the detective could get to the keyboard and mouse. He clicked on the first shot, enlargening it.
As Roberts looked on, Alvarez said, ‘Let’s go through this one first. Tell me how it differs from the face you saw last night.’
Will considered. ‘Well, the guy I saw… his skin was darker.’
‘He was black?’
‘No, not black. Just a slightly darker tone. And it was night.’
‘Okay.’ Alvarez adjusted a dial on the screen. The face on the screen darkened. ‘Like that?’
‘Not exactly. Lighter than that.’
‘Okay. How about this?’
‘That’s more like it.’
‘Good. I’ll try to adjust the entire shot. To simulate night time and faint artificial light.’ He did so. ‘How’s that?’
‘Better, I guess. But he kind of had a beard.’
‘Right. A full beard?’
‘Not exactly a beard. Kind of lots of five o’clock shadow.’
‘How many days’ growth?’ Roberts asked.
Will rubbed his own chin. ‘One. Maybe two.’
‘Okay,’ said Alvarez quietly. The face soon acquired two days’ beard.
‘And he was wearing a hood.’
‘Hoods are easy.’ A couple more clicks of the mouse and Alvarez was painting a hood on the face. ‘Tell me if I’m covering too much face,’ he said. When he had finished, he and Will stared at the screen.
‘Seem familiar?’ Roberts asked.
Will shook his head. ‘No. Sorry.’
‘No problem,’ Alvarez said. ‘Let’s look at the next one.’
They repeated this process for the other two faces. When they had finished, Detective Roberts asked Will, ‘Are we there on any of them?’
Tentatively, Will said, ‘I think number two is the best likeness.’ Alvarez retrieved the second picture and looked up to Roberts. ‘Do you recognise this one?’ he asked her.
‘I don’t recognise any of them.’ She paused a beat. ‘I want to thank you for coming in again to help, Mr Carter. I know you’re a very busy man.’
Will looked up at her. ‘I’m done here, then?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, although we will be back in touch if we need any more information from you. And we’ll keep you up to date with events.’
‘You will?’ Will sounded pleased.
‘Of course. After all, when we catch them, you’ll need to testify.’
‘Ah, yes.’ Something else Will hadn’t factored in.
‘Thanks again. Detective Alvarez here will show you out. And Mr Carter: remember what I said. No vigilantism. If you see this guy again, call us.’
‘I will, I promise.’
‘Good. You take care, now.’
Alvarez got up and opened the door for Will, following him out.
*****
When Alvarez returned, he found Roberts staring at the enhanced picture on the screen.
‘Recognise anyone?’ he asked again.
She shook her head. ‘Nah. And I’ve put him through the Department database. No match.’
‘Shall I run it through NCIC?’
The National Crime Information Center is an electronic repository set up by the FBI. It is a store of crime data that can be accessed by virtually every law enforcement agency in the United States, 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. It has been called the lifeline of law enforcement. The database comprises twenty-one files, each relating to a different category of crime. Files include: Foreign Fugitive, Immigration Violator, Known or Appropriately Suspected Terrorist. At the end of 2014, NCIC contained 13 million active records in those 21 files. During 2014, it averaged 12 million transactions per day.
‘Yeah,’ Roberts agreed, getting off the chair. She held the chair out for her partner. ‘Log in here, and let’s get started.’
TWENTY-NINE
It was the next day.
‘You have a choice,’ Chrissy had said to Will earlier. ‘You can either stay at home and cook dinner, or go pick up Louise from her party.’
Will looked over at his wife as he scraped the remains of
his breakfast into the waste disposal sink. ‘What’re we having for dinner?’
‘Up to you if you’re cooking.’
Will straightened up. ‘Well…’
‘McDonalds!’ Louise cried out. ‘McDonalds.’
‘No,’ Chrissy said firmly. ‘Not McDonalds. If Daddy’s cooking dinner, it’s going to be a proper meal. Not McDonalds, not pizza, not takeout. And not something you can nuke, either.’
‘I’ll do the party,’ Will grunted. ‘Where is it?’
Chrissy looked over at Louise. ‘Tell Daddy.’
‘It’s at Peyton’s house,’ Louise replied through a mouthful of waffle and syrup.
‘And where’s that?’ Will asked her.
Louise did not know, so Chrissy answered. ‘Off Bleeker. It’s not far. Easier to walk than use the car.’
‘Can we use the subway, Daddy?’
‘No, sweetie, you can’t,’ Chrissy replied. ‘Different line. Nice walk, though.’
Louise was disappointed. ‘Aw.’
At that point, Jake shuffled into the kitchen. Saying nothing, he poured himself a bowl of cereal, added some milk and sugar and began to eat.
Will, Chrissy and Louise paused their conversation to look at Jake; getting no response, they continued.
‘Don’t worry, honey,’ Will said. ‘It’s going to be a nice evening. We can take a walk through the park.’
‘And get some pretzels?’
Will sighed. ‘Yes, yes, and get some pretzels. That’s if you’re not full of party food.’
‘She won’t be,’ Jake mumbled, earning himself a glare from his younger sister.
‘Hurry up with your breakfast, you two,’ said Chrissy. ‘You need to get off to school presently.’
Will drained his coffee cup. ‘I need to get off too.’ He turned to Louise. ‘I’ll bring you home from the party, then. What time?’
‘It’s six,’ Chrissy told him. ‘So you need to be home in time. No trips to the Bronx or like that.’
Will pulled a face. ‘I’ll be home in time.’
*****
And Will was home in time. He made sure he left work at five, and headed directly to Louise’s party. With Chrissy’s directions, he was easily able to find Peyton’s house, which was in a small court off Bleeker Street. Partly because it was a mild evening, and partly because Will was reluctant to lose the parking space directly outside their door just for a short trip, he took Chrissy’s advice and walked. They headed up LaGuardia Place, Will walking and Louise skipping.
‘Was it a good party?’ Will asked.
‘It was awesome.’
‘Sure? What did you do?’
‘Peyton’s mommy and daddy did a sparkly treasure hunt. Well, it wasn’t her daddy.’
‘Oh?’
‘Peyton said he was her mommy’s best friend.’
‘Oh, I see. Where was her daddy?’
Louise pulled a face and shook her head.
‘Never mind. Tell me about the treasure hunt.’
Louise kept on skipping. ‘She had lots of pink envelopes all round the house with clues in.’
‘Yes? What sort of clues?’
‘Clues to find the treasure, of course.’
‘Of course. And what was the treasure?’
‘It was a big sparkly pink box with lots of sparkly things in it.’
‘Did you win it?’
‘No, I think Layla did.’
‘Lucky Layla. What else did you do?’
‘We watched Peyton open her presents, and then ate lots of cake.’
‘I guessed you would. Here we are: shall I get us some pretzels?’ They had arrived at Washington Square Park.
‘Yes please. No - I want some cotton candy. No - can I have ice cream?’
Will bought two ice creams and they wandered across the park and under the Washington Arch. Under the arch, a small crowd was watching a mime artist perform, with the white painted face, black beret and pants and black and white striped shirt. They paused for a few minutes until Louise lost interest then resumed their walk home.
‘So, who else was at the party?’
‘Peyton was there.’
‘Obviously. Who else?’
‘I was. So was Peyton, Autumn, Amiyal…’
‘And…?’
Louise thought for a few seconds then said, ‘Troy was.’
‘But Troy’s a boy. Were there any other boys there?’
‘Don’t think so.’
‘Lucky Troy, I think,’ Will muttered.
‘I guess you’re not hungry,’ he asked as they paused at the crossing on Avenue of the Americas.
She looked up at him. ‘No way. I’m ready for dinner now.’
‘But you’ve had party food, cake and ice cream. Surely you can’t be hungry.’
‘I am. The food at the party was a snack.’
He shook his head in resignation as they continued up Waverly.
‘It was a very good party,’ Louise carried on chattering. ‘Peyton’s mommy’s best friend has a very big house and it has three floors. And a big yard out back. She has… Daddy, are you listening?’
She tugged at his sleeve but he still gave her no response. Will stood on the corner of Waverly and Christopher Streets, staring open mouthed over to the other side.
Not believing what he saw.
THIRTY
'Which Precinct are we headed for?’ Alvarez asked, as he and Roberts pulled away from their own station house.
‘Carter said he followed the suspect to 182nd,’ Roberts replied. ‘Then he apparently headed north. 183rd is the boundary between 46th and 52nd Precincts. Assuming the guy headed past 183rd, then that comes under the 52nd. Which is good.’
‘How so? Do you know anybody up there?’
Roberts chuckled. ‘Yes, I do. The Lieutenant - a guy going under the name of Dobson - and I are kind of old friends.’
‘You partnered him?’
‘You could say that,’ she replied enigmatically.
Alvarez looked over at his partner, saying nothing.
Roberts steered the car crosstown and made a left into Central Park West; now they were headed Uptown, soon passing Central Park on their left. Alvarez noticed his partner was smiling.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
The smile left her face and she frowned. ‘What’s what?’
‘You were smiling. What’s the joke?’
‘No joke. I was just thinking.’
‘About what?’
She shook her head and sighed, pulling out around a tour bus which had stopped outside one of the Park entrances.
‘Nothing really; I was just thinking about Paulie Dobson, that’s all.’
Alvarez looked ahead, saying nothing.
‘We just had some fun times together,’ she added.
‘When you were partners?’
‘Yes, Eric. When we were partners.’
She said nothing more on the subject. After a few moments’ silence, Alvarez spoke. Now they were crossing the Cathedral Parkway traffic circle on 110th Street, leaving Central Park behind them. The Bobby Womack song ran through Alvarez’s head as they passed 110th: he had no idea why; maybe the movie had been on television recently.
‘So, what’s the plan when we get there?’
Roberts cleared her throat. ‘It’s basically a matter of getting some identification on this guy, then finding him.’
‘But NCIC drew a blank.’
‘I know, but all their facial recognition technology is all very well: what we have is based on Carter’s description from memory. The guy was wearing a hood, and it was night, with no streetlights. So, it might not be that accurate. But I’ll ask Paulie to get the likeness out to all his patrol cars; hopefully somebody there will say, “Yeah, he looks like a guy I know”, and then we have something to work on.’
Now they were in the middle of Harlem. No longer on Central Park West, they were now travelling along Frederick Douglass Boulevard. Named after the celebrated
African-American social reformer, abolitionist and statesman, it is sometimes unofficially referred to as Eighth Avenue, this corridor was reallocated in the early part of the century, resulting in the construction of large density residential buildings, and the construction of condominiums, rental buildings, restaurants and cafés Previously described as being like Detroit on account of its urban blight, it is now gentrified, especially in the restaurants along its route, giving it the nickname Restaurant Row.
‘That would be good,’ Alvarez remarked.
‘You bet your pay check it would be,’ Roberts countered. ‘Look at all the hours we’re spending on this case. The suspects were in full view of the security cameras in the mall, but had enough balls to cover their faces in the right way. What likeness we do have doesn’t show up on any databases. Which means they’re not known to us, meaning they’re either very lucky, or newbies. But these guys are so professional. And if they are newbies -’
‘Somebody’s coaching them.’
‘That’s what I figure. So we need to make some progress here. If we don’t, then we’ll have to do what Nkomo said, and look into DiMucci’s own background. Now that doesn’t feel right to me, and I don’t want to waste my time screwing around in Jersey. We need a result here, so we can spend time on the other cases we have. This isn’t supposed to be the primary, remember?’
Alvarez nodded. Now they had turned right along Macombs Place headed for the bridge over the Harlem River, and into the Bronx. ‘Where are we headed here?’ he asked.
‘The station house is on Webster,’ Roberts explained. ‘Not far from the zoo. We’re nearly there.’
She was right. The headquarters of the 52nd Precinct is a terracotta brick building in a Tuscan Villa architectural style. Completed in 1906, it is across the street from the boundaries of the Botanical Gardens. The imposing structure boasts three floors, ornately carved timber roof gables, and a matching 21-foot clock tower with a large polychrome terracotta clock face on three sides. The main building is used as the primary command of the Precinct, and there is also a stable of the same design which is used as a garage. The building was registered as a historic landmark in 1982.
Roberts drove through the narrow space between the two terracotta posts and parked at the side of the lot, between two patrol cars. A uniformed officer appeared as if from nowhere and began to challenge her, stopping once she showed her badge. He saluted and directed her to the main door. Once inside the lobby, Roberts sent a text message. A minute later a tall slim man with cropped red hair appeared at the top of the stairs.