A Fatal Obsession

by James Hayman

  “He threatened to beat Mooney up?”

  “That’s what Mooney told me. He said he didn’t want to embarrass his girlfriend by getting into a brawl so he agreed to move. But he was so pissed off about it he couldn’t think about anything else during the entire show. My guess is Mooney was probably scared shitless . . . pardon my French . . . and was afraid of maybe getting beaten up or at least very embarrassed. Anyway, he tells me he’s a regular customer, comes to all our shows, which I’m pretty sure is true ’cause I’ve seen him before. He wants me to ban the guy who bullied him from coming to the theater again. I tell him I might be able to do something if he knew the man’s name. I mean there probably wasn’t anything I could actually do. At least not there and then. But I wanted to make nice with this customer. He says he doesn’t have the guy’s name but he’s sure to recognize him if he ever saw him again. On the other hand, I’d probably recognize him as well.”

  “So you got a good look at him?” asked Maggie.

  “More than once. You think this is the guy who kidnapped Zoe?”

  “Maybe,” said McCabe.

  “Just maybe?”

  “Yeah. Just maybe. Did this Mooney guy give you any of his contact info? We’re going to want to talk to him in person.”

  “He did.” She pulled a sticky note off the wall near her desk and handed it to McCabe. Turned out Mooney’s address was on the Lower East Side just a few blocks from the theater. The sticky also had Mooney’s mobile number, work number and e-mail.

  McCabe handed the sticky note back to Mollie Rosen. The information on the note would be stored in his brain more or less forever.

  “One last thing,” Maggie said to Rosen. “We’ll need to take a look at seat A12.”

  “It’s just a seat.”

  “Has it been cleaned yet?”

  “Not till tomorrow. Normally the carpet would have been vacuumed, the trash picked up and the seats wiped down first thing this morning. But after a show closes we have a crew come in and do a more thorough job. They’re not due till tomorrow.”

  “Can you delay them till our evidence techs go over the seat and the area around it?”

  “I guess so. Sure. You want to look at the seat now?”

  “Please.”

  Rosen unlocked the doors to the small auditorium. Flipped on the house lights. “It’s the aisle seat, front row, right-hand side.”

  Rosen tagged along as Maggie and McCabe headed down the aisle.

  McCabe slipped on a pair of latex gloves and handed a pair to Maggie. They stopped in front of A12. Looked carefully at the seat and the floor in front of it. Saw nothing of interest. Just worn leather with a couple of rough spots and a small tear in the middle. Still, there had to be prints and probably some hairs and maybe bits of skin or even flakes of dandruff, which with proper testing could yield DNA indicators.

  McCabe next crouched down and shone the flashlight on his iPhone first on the seat, then on the floor underneath the seat. And then he crouched down and pointed the light upward and looked at the seat’s bottom.

  “Well, well, well. Take a look at this.”

  Maggie crouched down and looked at what he was shining the light on. “Coulda been there for a while,” she said.

  “Yeah. Coulda been. But maybe not.” He turned to Mollie Rosen. “Do your cleaners clean the undersides of seats?”

  “They’re supposed to.”

  “Can you stick around for a while for our evidence techs to check out this seat for DNA?”

  “Of course.”

  McCabe thanked her and then called Astarita. “What now?”

  “We need some evidence techs to get over to McArthur/Weinstein ASAP and check out seat number A12 now.”

  “What’s the rush?”

  “It’s the seat where the suspect sat. All twelve performances. Cleaners aren’t scheduled till the morning so it’s best if you get a team over here right away. He’s got to have left something behind. Which may just include a big wad of chewing gum we saw stuck to the bottom.”

  “You think the chewer’s our guy? Pretty stupid to leave the gum behind.”

  “Seems likely. This has been his seat for twelve straight nights. Same guy Randall Carter noticed. Carter still there?”

  “No. He called one of his fancy cars and headed home.”

  “How about your sketch guy? Tony Renzi?”

  “He’s here.”

  “Good. Tell him to hang around. We’ve got a line on somebody who got a much better look at the bad guy than Carter did. Almost got into a fight with him.”

  McCabe filled Art in on what he and Maggie had learned about the man in A12. “I’m going to call Mooney and see if he’ll come in, talk to us and check out Carter’s sketch and maybe provide an even better one. I’ll let you know.”

  McCabe broke the connection and called Richard Mooney. “Hello.”

  “Mr. Mooney? Richard Mooney?”

  “That’s right. Who’s this?”

  “This is Detective Sergeant Michael McCabe with the New York Police Department. I just learned from the manager of the McArthur/Weinstein Theater that you were involved in a confrontation with someone last night who objected to the seat you were sitting in.”

  “That’s right.” Mooney sounded suspicious. “What about it?”

  “We have reason to believe the man in the seat is someone who we’re interested in talking to.”

  “You mean he’s some kind of criminal?”

  “We think it’s possible.”

  “Well, that sure as hell doesn’t surprise me. Sure as hell acted like one.”

  “Would you be willing to come over to the Seventh Precinct over on Pitt Street . . .”

  “Yeah. I’d be more than happy to. Like they say, payback would be sweet.”

  “Good. My partner and I about would like to talk to you about what exactly went on with this guy at the theater last night. And also get you to work with a sketch artist to help us get a likeness.”

  “Nothing I’d like more. I knew there was something seriously wrong with that guy . . .”

  McCabe heard a female voice in the background say, “Unhinged.”

  “Yeah, Unhinged is what my girlfriend’s saying. We’d both like to see that jerk get his comeuppance.”

  “Can you come on over to the precinct right now?”

  “Sure. I guess so. We’re only a ten-minute walk away. I’ll bring my girlfriend Sarah with me. She was there too and she’s got a good eye. Probably noticed stuff about him I was so angry I might’ve missed.”

  “Great. When you two get there ask the guy on duty downstairs to ask for a Lieutenant Art Astarita. He’ll be expecting you.”

  Chapter 30

  Maggie and McCabe arrived at the entrance to the Seventh Precinct just as a man and a woman, both of whom looked to be in their midthirties, were about to go in.

  “Mr. Mooney?” McCabe called out. “Richard Mooney?”

  The guy turned and peered at McCabe and Maggie. “That’s right. Are you Sergeant McCabe?”

  “Yes. And this is Detective Savage. Thanks for coming in.”

  “No problem. This is my girlfriend Sarah Slade.”

  Slade smiled and nodded her head.

  McCabe opened the door for his two new witnesses. Told O’Hara, who was still on duty, they were going on up to the second floor. Capriati and Morales were waiting when the elevator doors opened. Morales escorted Mooney and Slade to a waiting area and told them he’d be right back.

  “Okay, here’s the drill,” Diane was explaining when Morales returned. “I’ve printed out blow-ups of the frames from the street video that best show the suspect’s face. We’ve also printed similar video prints of four other guys on the street that are roughly the same size shot at roughly the same distance. We’ll show all five separately to Mooney and his girlfriend to see if each of them can pick the right one out of the bunch. If they can we’ll repeat the exercise with four sketches, one of which Tony Renzi produced worki
ng with Randall Carter. If they each pick the right one we’ll see if either one of them has suggestions that might improve the likeness. I’ll talk to Sarah Slade. Ramon will talk to Mooney. You two guys can watch from the monitor in the conference room. Work for you?”

  Less than two minutes later, a uniformed cop showed Richard Mooney into a small interview room where Ramon Morales was waiting with the photos and the sketches.

  “Which one’s the right one?” asked McCabe.

  “The fourth,” said Capriati.

  On the monitor McCabe watched Morales ask Mooney, “I’m going to show you five shots of men who may or may not resemble the man who confronted you last night. Please give me your initial reaction how closely each shot resembles that man. At the end I’ll turn over all five shots and ask you to tell me which one is the best likeness and if anything can be done to improve it.”

  Morales turned over the first photo.

  “No. That’s not him. Not even close.”

  He turned over the second.

  “Kind of looks like him. But no, I don’t think so.”

  He turned over the third.

  “This one’s much more of a likeness. Not exact but pretty close. Shall I tell you what I think should be changed to make it better?”

  “Tell me after you’ve looked at all five,” said Morales as he turned over number four.

  Mooney didn’t say anything for a minute. “That’s him.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. The one before looked like that bastard. But this one is him.”

  “Okay. Just let me show you one more.”

  “No. The guy we’re talking about doesn’t just look like the guy in the fourth one you showed me. It is the guy.”

  “Now, before you make a final decision I want you to look at them all together.” Morales turned all five of the photos from the street cameras over.

  There was no hesitation. He pointed at number four. “I’m telling you this is the guy.”

  “All right. Thank you, Richard. Now I’m going to show you five sketches of five guys who look like the one you selected from the photos. I want you to pick out the one who most closely resembles the man who confronted you in the theater last night.”

  Once again Morales showed the images to Richard Mooney one at a time. Mooney picked out number two, which was the sketch Tony Renzi had created with Randall Carter’s help. “Not perfect,” said Mooney. “But pretty close.”

  “What changes would you suggest?”

  “The guy in the theater had a bigger nose. Bigger ears too.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Not that I can think of.”

  “Thank you Richard. Now my partner, Detective Capriati, will take Sarah through the same drill you went through. Would you mind waiting outside?”

  Morales and Mooney left and were replaced by Sarah Slade and Diane Capriati. The two of them went through the same set of photos, and Slade was even more certain than Mooney that number four was the man they had the run-in with the previous night at the theater. She repeated the exercise with the five sketches. Slade also picked number two.

  “Is there anything that doesn’t look quite right in the sketch or that you’d change about it?”

  “It’s a pretty good likeness. But yes. There’s one thing not there you should know about,” said Slade.

  “What would that be?”

  “The creep last night had a very obvious scar on the left side of his neck. That’s not here. It went from right about here,” she said, pointing at her own neck, “all the way down to under his collar. I don’t know if Richard could see it or not looking straight on at the guy. But I had more of a side view and I couldn’t stop looking at it. It was one of the things that scared me about him. I kept thinking he must have gotten it in a knife fight or something like that. He wasn’t anybody I wanted to see Richard tussle with.”

  “Okay, thank you Sarah,” said Diane Capriati. “Thanks for your help.”

  “Are we finished here?”

  “No. Just stay where you are. One of our other detectives would like to ask both you and Richard a few more questions. One at a time.”

  Capriati left and Mooney came back in followed by Maggie. By agreement, Capriati, Morales and McCabe would watch the interview on the monitor in Art’s office.

  “Hi. I’m Detective Margaret Savage,” she said. “I should tell you before we start that we’re still video-recording our discussion for the record.”

  She asked Mooney for his name and address.

  “And what do you do for a living?”

  “I’m a project manager,” said Richard. “For a civil engineering firm.”

  “And you and Sarah live together?”

  “Yes. For the last three years.”

  “Okay, why don’t you just tell me and the camera up there in your own words what you experienced last night at the McArthur/Weinstein Theater?”

  Mooney went through his run-in with the man who wanted to sit in A12. “I just sat there trying to wait him out, figuring if we stay put, what’s he going to do? I didn’t think he’d be crazy enough to physically attack me in a public place. But Sarah was right. He really did look unhinged. Hey, you think this guy’s the serial killer that’s been in the news?” asked Mooney. “The one that killed the dancer?”

  “At this point I can’t comment on that,” said Maggie. “But I’m sorry that you had to go through this.”

  She told Mooney to wait outside and called Sarah Slade in. Slade confirmed that she and Mooney lived together and told Maggie she was a freelance jewelry designer. When they got to the incident in the theater she pretty much confirmed everything Mooney had just said and added a pretty precise description of what the guy was wearing.

  “Sarah, it sounds like this guy really frightened you,” said Maggie.

  “He scared the crap out of me.”

  “Why? Was it his size? His expression? Or what?”

  “Both. I mean he was a big guy. But more than that, there was this high level of tension in him. You could see it in his eyes. In the way he looked at Richard. Then at me. Intensity sort of radiated out of him. He looked like his whole head might just explode at any minute.”

  “You mentioned a scar before. Show me where it was.”

  Sarah ran her index finger about two inches along the left side of her own neck.

  “Did it look like a fresh scar?”

  “No. The skin was white. Looked like it had been there for years.”

  “Anything else you can remember that might help identify him?

  Slade thought about it.

  “Just a gold signet ring. Like a college class ring on his left hand. Engraved with what looked like some kind of image and letters in the middle. I couldn’t see what it said or what college it might’ve been from.”

  “Anything else about him that you can think of?”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  “All right. That was very helpful. Before you go, I’d like you and Richard to sit with our sketch artist and see if, with your help, we can make the likeness of this man even better.”

  Chapter 31

  Tyler Bradshaw raised his glass and looked directly at Zoe. “Drink to me only with thine eyes.”

  Zoe wasn’t sure if he meant that as a joke or not. The line was such a cliché she thought it had to be. In which case a laugh or some smartass remark might be the best response. That’s how she would have responded if Alex had ever said anything so corny. On the other hand, Bradshaw looked as if he was perfectly serious, and she had learned it wasn’t a good idea to seem to be mocking him. Instead she simply smiled, raised her glass with two hands and gave him what she hoped was a seductive look over the rim. “Sadly, Tyler,” she said, “with my hands cuffed like this, my eyes are about the only things I can drink to you with. At least without spilling your thousand-dollar wine all over myself. Do you think you might take them off?”

  “Point taken. If I take off the cuff
s do you promise to be good?”

  “Of course. I promise. I’ll be very, very good.” She added a smile, “In every way.”

  As she said it she once again asked herself if she was overplaying her role. Overacting? Sounding phony? The entire dialogue felt to her like the two of them were mouthing lines out of a script from Fifty Shades of Whatever. Or one of those bodice-ripper romances with hunky guys with bare chests on the covers. She’d never played in any soap operas but mustn’t “very, very good . . . in every way” sound as ridiculous to him as it did to her?

  Apparently not. His only expression seemed to be one of eager anticipation. Looking forward no doubt to the sexual frolics he had planned for after they finished their wine.

  Bradshaw got up, took her glass, put it on the small table next to his chair. Instead of removing the cuffs, he moved closer, pulled her to her feet, and began kissing her on the lips. A soft but sensual kiss. The kind of kiss that might have turned her on if only the guy kissing her was a normal human being and not some bat-shit crazy kidnapper, rapist and murderer.

  She returned the kiss. Softly. Delicately. Seductively.

  As she did, he started nibbling her lower lip. Then stopping long enough to murmur “That death’s unnatural that kills for loving./Alas why gnaw you so your nether lip?”

  She decided not to point out that it was Bradshaw who was gnawing her nether lip and not the other way around. Instead she recited the rest of Desdemona’s words from the speech, whispering them softly into his ear.