by James Hayman
“You talk to Lynch yet?”
Instead of answering McCabe’s question, Astarita asked one of his own, “You remember that place we used to hang out over on East 5th Street?”
“Yeah, I remember.” The place Art was talking about wasn’t on East 5th. It was a dive bar called Joey Boyle’s and it was on Avenue C, way east, in Alphabet City. The two of them used to meet there when they didn’t want anybody else to know where they were, what they were talking about or even that they were talking at all.
Boyle’s wasn’t a cop bar, but even more important it was out of the way and offered what had to be the most totally private booth of any watering hole in town. Rumor had it the booth was originally designed and built to serve as a private meeting place for some of the Gambino family’s goombahs back in the day. Tucked into an alcove at the back of the long room, the booth was blocked from view by a floor-to-ceiling wall that made it almost like having their own private room. A strategically placed convex mirror allowed the occupants keep an eye on anyone coming through the front door with or without drawn guns. The fact that Art wanted to talk at Boyle’s meant privacy was his priority now.
“Darlin’ Danny and I are just getting out of a meeting with the chief of detectives,” said Astarita. “Meet me at the old place in half an hour and I’ll let you know what’s going on.”
McCabe’s phone went dead and his ex-partner was gone. McCabe had kept up with goings on in the NYPD well enough to know that the recently promoted chief of detectives was Charlie Pryor, a cop McCabe knew and respected from his early days in the department. He’d even sent Pryor a congratulatory e-mail on getting to be such a big cheese. Pryor being Pryor had sent back a note saying: Thanks Mike for your e-mail. I appreciate your good wishes. I also appreciate the fact that if you hadn’t left town ten years ago you probably would have gotten this job and I’d be the one congratulating you.
Instead of enduring further torture by traffic, McCabe pulled off the FDR on East 23rd and dumped Maggie’s car in the nearest indoor garage. He decided to walk the rest of the way. He needed the exercise and he figured he could make it to Boyle’s in less than half an hour if he kept up a good pace. He got there five minutes early.
Out of caution and old habit he walked past the entrance, crossed the street and walked back again, keeping his eyes peeled for any familiar or otherwise suspicious faces. Seeing none, he opened the door and went inside. Half a dozen guys who looked like serious drinkers were parked at the bar.
One table was occupied. Two guys and two women downing draft beers and barbecued wings and having a good time yukking it up. The place looked exactly like it did ten years earlier. Same dark brown walls. Same tin ceiling. Same beaten-up wooden tables. Even the same skinny, pale-faced guy named Floyd working the bar. The only differences McCabe could see were that Boyle’s looked ten years grubbier and Floyd looked ten years older. He checked the rows of booze on offer. No change there either. Joey B’s had never stocked any decent single malts back in the day and, as far as McCabe could see, it still didn’t, so he ordered his preferred alternative, a Dewar’s White Label straight up plus a pint of Guinness for Art.
He paid for the drinks and carried them back to the booth, which was empty of goombahs either from the Gambinos or from any other of the Five Families. He slid across the wooden bench facing the front and waited, keeping one eye on the mirror. He had nearly finished his first whiskey and was thinking about a ordering a second when Astarita showed up fifteen minutes late. Art stopped at the bar, then headed for the booth carrying another Dewar’s, a double this time, and another pint of Guinness.
“Sorry, I’m late. Took longer than I thought to get out of the meeting.”
“No problem.”
“Anyway, here’s a peace offering.” He put the Scotch next to McCabe’s nearly empty first glass and lined up the stout next to his own untouched first one.
“Good to see you, buddy. Just like old days, huh?”
“Not exactly,” said McCabe. “But it’s good to see you as well. I just wish it was under better circumstances.”
“Yeah, me too. How’s Rose?”
“She died a couple of hours ago.”
“Ah, shit. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah. Thanks. At least she had no idea what was going on.” McCabe didn’t feel like talking about his mother’s death. At least not at the moment. “So you talked to Lynch?”
“Yeah. After I left you this afternoon., Danny and I had a nice little chat in his office with the door closed. I told him the missing girl was your niece, which he’d already heard—I’m not entirely sure how, but probably from Hollister. Pete’s got a big mouth. I told him I wanted to bring you in on the case trying to find her. I didn’t expect him to say yes, and as usual, Darlin’ Danny didn’t surprise me.”
“He said no?”
“He said no.”
“Which means I’m not gonna be able to work with you on this?”
“Hold your horses. I didn’t say that.”
“Oh yeah? So what are you saying?”
“The meeting with the chief down at Number One was all about declaring, after Zoe’s disappearance, that we now officially have a serial killer case on our hands. One we’ve got to stop before he kills again. Chief Pryor is setting up a special department-wide task force to work on it. And guess who Charlie put in charge of it.”
“You?”
“Me.”
“Lead investigator?”
“You got it. Reporting directly to Pryor.”
“What about Danny?”
“I don’t think Charlie trusts him. Not on a case like this. Anyway, we’ve got five teams. One from each of the other affected precincts. One from the Sixth Precinct. One from the Ninth. One from the First. Two from ours.”
McCabe knew the Sixth covered the West Village. The Ninth, the East Village. And the First handled Tribeca. Astarita pushed an orange envelope across the table to McCabe. “Names and contact info of everyone on the task force are in this envelope. Plus a bunch of other stuff, including pictures of Zoe and the other three victims, plus Nakamura,. Some relatively crappy still shots from the surveillance cameras. I’ve also e-mailed copies of all the pictures and videos to you. Background information on all four women. Names and numbers of known contacts. Investigation reports, lab results and crime scene photos for all the vics are also in that file. Since the Lower East Side is our turf we’ll be focusing on finding Zoe. Of course we’ll be coordinating our efforts with each other.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah. Given one of the bodies was found in Connecticut, we’re also coordinating with the Staties up there. Their lead guy is a Captain Kevin Cusack. Again, contact info is in the envelope.”
“Cusack know my name?”
“Doesn’t know anyone’s yet. I’ll send him all the names when I get back to the station. Also, I get to choose who I want on my teams from the Seventh. And when I told Charlie that you wanted in and I wanted you, he said go for it. Said I couldn’t have chosen a better investigator. Wanted you to focus on finding Zoe.”
“What’d Danny say?”
“Exactly what you’d expect one of the top ten nationally ranked ass-kissers to say. He told Charlie it was a great idea. A smart move. Told him he’d been thinking exactly the same thing himself.”
“Certainly sounds like Danny.”
“There are a couple of ifs, ands and buts involved, though.”
“I figured.”
“Number one, he wants you to get an okay from your boss in Maine. If he’s worried about money, tell him you’ll be on the NYPD payroll for the duration.”
McCabe just nodded. No point in telling Art that if he couldn’t get Shockley’s blessing, he was planning on quitting his job up in Portland.
“Number two is don’t advertise that you and Zoe are related. Given the circumstances of Nakamura’s murder and Zoe’s disappearance and the fact that you’re both named McCabe, it’s obvious t
he question’s gonna get asked. If anybody asks, admit that you are, but if any reporters start pressing for comments just tell ’em any and all questions about the case get referred to the dedicated task force media supervisor at One Police Plaza. Number three, and this is me talking not Charlie Pryor, have as little contact as possible with Lynch. He’d love to fuck you over on this if he can find any way to do it.”
“How’s he gonna fuck me over?”
“Beats me, but if anybody can do it, Danny can.”
McCabe let out a quiet snort. “Hard to believe. After all these years, Lynch still sees me as the enemy. That’s fine with me. Dumb, but fine. Will I know anyone on the other four teams?”
“Probably not but they’re all good people. Handpicked by me and the lead detectives at the other three precincts. First task force meeting will be tonight at seven. Seventh Precinct conference room on Pitt Street. Any other questions?”
“What about an ID?”
“Anybody who asks, just show ’em your Portland ID and tell them you’re on temporary assignment with us. If they check, we’ll back it up. Your Portland creds also make it legit for you to be carrying a weapon.”
“Anything else?”
“You screw up in any major way, and you know what I’m talking about, you’re on your own.”
“Understood. I just want to know, if Lynch is so worried about me showing him up on this, why’s he agreeing to let me have anything to do with it?”
“I told you he’s an ass-kisser. He doesn’t want to cross the relatively new and extremely popular chief of detectives. Listen, Danny always hated playing second fiddle to you back in the day when you guys were competing. But now that you’re employed by what Darlin’ Danny, with his typical finesse, referred to at least three times as the East BumFuck Police Department, you and he no longer have your eyes on the same prize. So he figures what the hell? Why not take advantage of your talents?”
“Which is fine with him as long as he can take credit even if I happen to be the guy who clears it?”
“Yup. Especially now that we’re sure the murders of Jacobs and Wingfield, the kidnapping of the Polish actress and now Zoe are all the work of the same guy. That makes this the biggest case news-wise the department’s had in years. The kind that makes headlines and, if he’s lucky, gets Danny’s fat face on national TV.”
“Funny.”
“What?”
“Lynch sounds exactly like the guy I work for in Portland.”
“Lucky you. Anyway, Charlie Pryor knows you’re a good resource. A way better detective than Lynch ever was. Or anybody else Lynch has working for him.”
“Present company excepted.”
“Not totally accurate but thanks for the compliment. Anyway, I want you to concentrate your efforts on finding Zoe. We’ll try to get you desk space at the Seventh. We’re a little squeezed for room but I guess we’ll just squeeze a little tighter.”
McCabe and Astarita silently nursed their drinks. “Y’know,” McCabe said after a minute, “I wonder if Pryor’s really thought this through.”
“What do you mean?”
“If it is me who nails the killer, the DA’s office is gonna want to talk to me about it. We’re not going to be able to hide the fact that Zoe and I are related.”
Astarita held up his hands in a who-the-hell-knows kind of way and shrugged. “I guess he figures priority number one is catching the bad guy, and if having you in the game improves the odds of us doing that, screw the rest of it.”
“Okay. Good for him. Works for me.” McCabe took another sip of his Dewar’s. “Did I tell you I just became engaged?”
“Well, God bless you. Who’s the lucky girl?”
“My partner in Portland. Detective Margaret Savage. Maggie Savage.”
“Cop marries cop. Always wondered how something like that’d work out.”
“I’d like to clear participation on this case for Maggie as well?”
“You really want to drag her in on this?”
“She’s not giving me a lot of choice. She’s already made it clear if I work on it, she does. I’ll need a partner on this and she’s one of the best investigators I know.”
Astarita shrugged and nodded. “It’s okay by me. Let me just run it by the chief. If he agrees, I don’t see Danny objecting to having not one but two cops on loan from East BumFuck. I’ll see you tonight. Seven sharp.”
McCabe waited until Astarita was gone before he called Maggie and told her to meet him at the Seventh.
“Have you mentioned any of this to Shockley?” she asked.
“No yet. But I’m going to call him soon as we hang up.”
“What if he objects to our being involved?”
“I have a pretty strong hunch he won’t. Given the chief’s love of publicity, he’ll probably be thrilled having two of his people invited by the chief of detectives in New York to help out the NYPD in the biggest serial murder case the country’s seen in years. He’ll just have to find a way to get a few cable news cameras focused on him.”
“Sadly, I suspect you’re right.”
McCabe made the call. It turned out that he was.
Chapter 24
Zoe walked down the elegant staircase with Bradshaw following two steps behind. She’d hoped he’d go first and give her an opportunity to give him a good kick in the ass and send him the rest of the way down, hopefully breaking his neck en route. But he simply smiled, gave a half bow and said, “After you.”
When she got to the bottom, she looked back as if to say, Where now?
“Go to your right and then right again.”
Following the directions, she entered a stylishly designed and expensively outfitted kitchen with a hardwood floor and handcrafted glass fronted cabinets. Off to her right, a large, well-equipped butler’s pantry. The kitchen felt like an updated version of something out of a 1933 edition of Architectural Digest, assuming Architectural Digest actually existed that long ago. She wondered if Bradshaw liked to cook. It seemed like a strange passion for a serial killer, but then everything about Bradshaw was more than a little off kilter.
“Are you interested in cooking?” she asked.
“Not really. Are you?”
Zoe considered her response. An honest answer would have been to admit that her only talent in the kitchen was turning on her Keurig machine for coffee in the morning and tossing out the half-empty Chinese delivery cartons at night. The fact was, when cooking was done in the apartment it was always Alex who had done it. Instead she said, “Yes, I’m a very good cook. Almost went to culinary school. This would be a great kitchen to work in.”
“So you’re a regular Julia Child?”
“A little shorter perhaps.”
“And much prettier.”
“Thank you. Do you have any favorite dishes you’d like me to prepare for you?”
Without asking permission, Zoe circled the large center island, sliding her cuffed hands along the butcher-block surface, wondering where Tyler might keep the knives and any other potential weapons. Except for a single coffee mug with about an inch of muddy dregs in the bottom, there was nothing remotely murderous in plain view. Not even a frying pan.
“Now, why do I have this strange feeling you’re looking for something to kill me with?” he said.
Zoe debated for a split second how to respond. This was a bit like one of her improv classes back at Juilliard. He’d never believe innocent denial.
Perhaps a little dangerous teasing might be a better tack.
“How did you know?” She let a mischievous smile cross her lips. “Maybe you’d tell me where you keep the knives, or perhaps a meat cleaver might be better? Of course, splitting your skull with a cleaver would make such a mess. I think maybe a large dose of strychnine in your hors d’oeuvres would be tidier and should probably do the trick. Or deep-fried deadly nightshade. If you’d let me know now if there’s anything remotely poisonous in the house and where you keep it, you could save me the trouble of
having to find it later. Watching you in the throes of death might just provide an exciting last act to our pas de deux.”
Bradshaw smiled. He seemed to be enjoying the game. “Perhaps it would. We’ll just have to see how clever you are, won’t we?”
“Oh, I’m a very clever girl, Tyler. Everyone says so. And you, I must say, in spite of being a rapist and a kidnapper, are a very interesting man.”
“Indeed. Which is why I’m sure this will prove to be an exciting interlude for both of us. From our indelicate beginning, right up until our grand finale.”
Zoe knew if she was going to change the ending of this particular script she had to be a good enough actress to handle the role he had created for her. The smart, sexy woman, interested in experimenting with a tough, sexy man, and at the same time flirting with the danger of death.
She leaned in and gave him a soft kiss, suggestively letting her tongue explore his lips. “I think it’s time we go and find that wine.”
“Time indeed.”
Placing one hand on the small of her back, Bradshaw directed Zoe toward what looked like an elevator door at the far end of the kitchen. He pressed a thumb against yet another thumb-coded device. The door slid open. Zoe entered and leaned against the back of the small car. Bradshaw followed and stood next to her. The control panel contained only two blank black buttons. He reached out and pressed the one on the bottom. The doors closed. The car descended.
“I have a question,” Zoe asked.
“Yes?”
“Did you ever meet a girl named Sarah Jacobs?”
“Sarah Jacobs? No. I don’t believe I know anyone named Sarah Jacobs,” he said as the car began to descend. “Is she a friend of yours?”
Okay. No surprise. Tyler enjoyed playing mind-fuck games. The game of Oh, I won’t be back until after dark bullshit followed by interrupting her in the shower. The I don’t know anyone named Sarah Jacobs game. The I love you and just want you to love me back game. Well, Zoe could play these games as well as Bradshaw, and behave as if this was a normal conversation with a normal human being. “Yes. Sarah was a dear friend before she was found murdered the other day. I’m sure she once mentioned a man named Tyler Bradshaw to me. In fact, she said she told her uncle this Bradshaw fellow was stalking her.”