A Fatal Obsession

by James Hayman

  Bradshaw said nothing. Just grunted a noncommittal hmmm.

  McCabe proceeded to take Bradshaw through what happened Sunday night, first at the McArthur/Weinstein Theater, then later at the Laughing Toad, followed by the walk up Rivington Street to 121 Clinton. He showed him the sketches produced by Randall Carter’s and Richard Mooney’s descriptions. And then the two best still shots of Tyler Bradshaw’s face from the surveillance cameras. He described how James, the bartender at the Laughing Toad, noticed the New York driver’s license belonging to a man named Tyler, whose face matched both the sketches and the CCTV photos. “We’ll be showing James this copy of your nephew’s driver’s license that came in just before we called you, and we will confirm he is indeed the man James served at the Laughing Toad. When your nephew and Zoe McCabe arrived at her apartment building, he managed to gain entrance—”

  “Did the CCTV show that?”

  “Yes. It shows him going up the stairs to the front door and then pushing his way in. Watch.” McCabe went to the monitor and played the entire sequence of Bradshaw going in and out of the building and finally leaving with the rolled-up rug over his shoulder.

  McCabe stopped the video.

  “While he was up there doing his thing we believe he was interrupted by Zoe’s next-door neighbor, a woman named Annie Nakamura, and that, to eliminate a witness, he killed Nakamura and dragged her body into her own apartment.” McCabe then showed Bradshaw the crime scene photos of the brutalized body of Annie Nakamura. The lawyer examined them and showed the first sign of emotion since he arrived at the precinct.

  Nicholas Bradshaw leafed his way through the photos of the dead Annie Nakamura and shook his head. “These pictures are very upsetting. However, you’ve shown me no definitive proof that it was Tyler who killed this woman or kidnapped the actress. The man in the surveillance photos looks like Tyler, but the features are blurry and he could simply be a look-alike.”

  “We’re not formally accusing your nephew of the murder of Nakamura nor the kidnapping,” said Astarita. “But I think you’ll agree we have more than enough evidence to consider him a person of interest and that it is important that we interview him as soon as possible.”

  “Knowing Tyler, I’m afraid I do agree.”

  “What can you tell us about him?”

  “He was my older brother’s son. One of two sons. The other one, Tucker, is . . . what is the politically correct term these days? I guess mentally disabled will do. Anyway, Tyler’s always had his problems too. Especially since he suffered a bad concussion at the age of fourteen.”

  “What sort of issues?”

  “Rage. Uncontrollable rage. If anybody crosses him he simply can’t stop himself from blowing up. I’ve always believed whatever part of the brain that controls that sort of thing was injured when he had that accident. Since he was a teenager, you never knew when Tyler was going to explode at some real or imagined insult. He got into a lot of fights as a kid. And a lot of screaming matches at home. He spent a number of years in therapy for rage control. But he’s also very bright. Got good grades both at college and law school at NYU. He worked as an associate at my firm for three years. And then the inevitable happened.”

  “The inevitable?”

  “Something one of the other associates said set him off and he attacked the guy. Punched him. Knocked him to the floor and had to be pulled off him. We couldn’t stand for that. We had to terminate Tyler’s employment.”

  “You also terminated a guy named Corey Ziegler?”

  Bradshaw’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah. About the same time. Why?”

  “Why’d you fire Ziegler?”

  “Incompetence and congenital lying. Why do you ask?”

  “Were he and Tyler friendly?”

  “Answer my question first.”

  “The police commissioner will be holding a press conference at noon today. He’ll announce Richard Ziegler has been arrested for the murders of the two actresses and the dancer Sarah Jacobs.”

  “But not your niece?”

  “No,” said McCabe.

  “Why?”

  “I can’t discuss that until after we talk to your nephew. Were Tyler and Ziegler friendly when they worked for you?”

  “Yes. As far as I know the two of them shared the spotlight as the least popular associates, and we had more than fifty. Nobody liked them. As a result, they gravitated toward each other. I remember seeing them going to lunch together more than once.” Bradshaw paused. “I suppose it’s possible Ziegler might have planted the idea of abducting and killing actresses in Tyler’s mind, but that was several years ago and these murders are very recent.”

  “Let’s just say the idea might have been ripening in Ziegler’s mind for some time. And once he started, Tyler might have recognized the pattern.”

  “I suppose that’s possible. I don’t actually know where Tyler is. But if I were you I’d check his apartment on Park Avenue.”

  “We already have. He isn’t there,” said McCabe.

  “The other possibility is the country place he inherited from my brother in Stanfield, Connecticut. Nineteen twenty-three Spruce Road. It’s a large property. Over a hundred acres. Tyler’s usually there with his younger brother, my nephew Tucker, who is, as I said, severely mentally challenged.”

  Astarita pulled up a satellite image of the house on his laptop.

  Bradshaw provided a detailed description of the property, the layout of house itself, as well as exits and possible escape routes. “I haven’t been there in years,” he said. “Not since my brother’s suicide. So things could have changed but as far as I can see it looks pretty much the same.”

  Bradshaw got up and handed McCabe a business card with his e-mail and direct line at his office. “Please let me know what if anything you find. God willing, it won’t be that young actress’s body.”

  They both watched Nicholas Bradshaw descend the stairs, go out and get into the back of the black Lincoln SUV that was waiting patiently to whisk him to his office.

  Astarita went for his phone. “I’m calling Kevin Cusack.”

  McCabe put a hand on Art’s forearm before he had a chance to punch in the number. “Hold on for a second.”

  “What?”

  “I want to go up to Stanfield myself and check out the house. Take Maggie as backup. See if he’s there. See if we can talk him into letting her go.”

  “Why not call Cusack? State Police in Litchfield are no more than half an hour from Stanfield.”

  “And have him send a SWAT team down to Stanfield? Or a tactical squad or whatever the hell they call it in Connecticut?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Before you make that call, hear me out. If Bradshaw’s got the kind of rage issues his uncle says he’s got, nothing’s going to send him off the deep end faster than being surrounded by a bunch of guys dressed in combat gear and ready for war. If Zoe’s alive and in that house . . . and I think there’s a good chance she is . . . he’d probably use her as a human shield. The last thing we want to do is turn the place into a killing field. The first one to die would probably be Zoe.”

  “So how would you handle it?”

  “I want to go up there myself. Take Maggie as backup, like I said. Approach quietly. Knock on the door. If nobody answers, go on in. If he’s there, we’ll play him as calmly as we can. See if we can talk him into telling us where she is. And maybe letting her go.”

  “And if he explodes into a rage?”

  McCabe shrugged. “Then he’d probably try to beat the shit out of me on the spot. Like he did to Nakamura. And that guy at the law firm. And like he almost did to Richard Mooney.”

  “He could shoot you. Kill you.”

  “We don’t even know if he has a gun. But assuming he does, that’s the chance we all take as cops. And I’ll have Maggie as backup. I’ll bet she shoots a hell of a lot more accurately than some guy in the middle of a temper tantrum.”

  “Geez, I don’t know.”

  “Lo
ok, Art. Tell you what. You go ahead and call Cusack. Have him bring his team. Just tell him no lights or sirens on the way in. Have his people surround the house from the woods as quietly and invisibly as possible just in case Bradshaw makes a break for it. But otherwise, please, please ask him to keep his people out of sight until Maggie and I have had a chance to look around and maybe save the situation without violence.”

  Astarita stared out the window and said nothing. Finally he turned back to McCabe. “Okay. We’ll do it your way, assuming Cusack goes along.”

  Astarita made the call. Cusack agreed.

  Chapter 45

  Zoe McCabe was lying on her left side on the cot, facing the wall and snoozing on and off, when she was stirred from her sleep by a large body lying down next to her on the small mattress. She stiffened and lay perfectly still as Tyler Bradshaw began gently stroking her back and kissing her neck.

  “What do you want?” She spoke without moving. “To rape me again? Is that why you’re here? Or have you decided to just get on with it and simply kill me here in this pre-dug grave?”

  “No. I don’t want to kill you. I don’t ever want to kill you. I want to love you. I want to make love to you. I want you to love me back.”

  “Make love? Love you back? Dear God, you must be joking. I have a battered eye, a face that’s swollen up like a football and possibly a broken wrist. Not in great shape for making love. Or for loving the man who did this to me. Or is it just another round of rape that you really want?”

  “I am sorry that happened. But then you attacked me with that damned corkscrew. I truly do want to make love. But before we do I want to give you this.” Bradshaw pressed a freezing cold ice pack against the right side of Zoe’s face. “It will help bring down the swelling.”

  The ice stung, but after a minute the stinging receded and the cold felt good. She lay silent for a moment, thinking about the madman whose body she could feel pressing against hers, and wondered why she felt more pity than hatred.

  “After what happened last night, do you actually think I could ever have sex with you voluntarily?”

  “Yes. That’s what I want you to do.”

  “Go to hell.”

  Bradshaw laughed bitterly. “I probably will someday. In fact, I imagine my journey there will begin fairly soon. But while I’m still here, I do want you. And I want you to want me back.”

  “What about last night?”

  “Please forgive me for that.”

  “No.”

  “I’m ready to forgive you for what you did to me. To my ear.”

  “Really? And why is that? I would have killed you if I could.”

  “The fact is you could have. Once you had the knife you could have killed me easily. You held that blade against my throat for exactly seven seconds. All you had to do was push. But you didn’t. Even though I pleaded with you to kill me and be done with it you didn’t. Why?”

  Zoe replayed the scene in her mind. Jamming the corkscrew into his ear. His almost inhuman howls of pain. The blood flowing from the wound. Then grabbing the knife. Holding it against his throat. Yes, she could have killed him. “I wanted to kill you. I don’t know why but I couldn’t.”

  “I know why. And the funny thing is I couldn’t kill you either. I still can’t.”

  “Even though you’ve killed other people?”

  “Yes. My father for one, and I’m not sorry about that.”

  “Then why not me?” Zoe managed to turn over and face Bradshaw. His ear was covered with a thick bandage that had been wrapped around his head to keep it in place.

  “I don’t know. I guess because I wasn’t lying when I said I loved you. I have been in love with you since the first time I saw you. It was on stage in a play you were in in Hartford. Do you remember? It was called Waves.”

  “Of course, I remember,” Zoe said softly. Waves was a play in which Zoe had played a young bipolar woman named Nora Beatty, who was desperately trying to hold back the onset of mania. Only four performances at the Hartford Playhouse. She wondered if he’d been there for every one. Sitting in the dark. Watching. Listening. Falling in love with a character who existed only in the playwright’s—and Tyler Bradshaw’s—minds. Were there other twisted creatures out there like Tyler? Fantasizing about characters created by playwrights and brought to life by actresses. Zoe wondered, if she was somehow lucky enough to survive this, if she’d ever be able to get on a stage again, not knowing who might be out there. Hiding in the dark. Waiting to strike.

  “I loved your strength in that play. I loved who you were. I loved everything about you.”

  “You fell in love with Nora Beatty, Tyler. Nora Beatty isn’t me. Neither is Desdemona. They’re just characters I played. Characters I pretend to be. I’m not remotely like either one. I’m Zoe McCabe, and Zoe McCabe is someone you don’t know at all.”

  “I know. But I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since the first moment I saw you standing on that stage in Hartford. Once I found out where you lived, I even rented an apartment I found on Airbnb on Stanton Street. Close enough so I could occasionally see you walking on the street. I saw you once in the grocery store. And then of course in Othello.”

  Zoe suppressed a shiver. “So you were stalking me?”

  “Yes. But only because I loved you.”

  “The same way you loved Sarah Jacobs? Did you fall in love with her after watching how gracefully she danced on stage? Did you fall in love again after watching one of Ronda Wingfield’s performances? How about Marzena Wolski? Did you stalk all of them too? Before you kidnapped and murdered them? Is that what you do, Tyler? Kidnap women you think you love and then kill them? Or do you only kill them after you discover they’re not the women you thought they were when you watched them on stage? Or peered through the windows of their apartments?”

  “I’ve never met or killed any of them. You’re the only one I love.”

  “Yesterday . . . good God, it’s hard to believe it was only yesterday . . . But yesterday you told me that you had kidnapped them. Just like you kidnapped me. And that after you kidnapped them and raped them you murdered them.”

  “I was lying.”

  “Really? Were you lying then? Or are you lying now?”

  “Then. I’m telling you the truth now. I didn’t kill them. I only read about their deaths in the newspapers. How they were kidnapped and then tortured and killed. I even think I know who did it. Someone I used to work with. Guy named Ziegler. We got drunk one night and he started talking about his sexual fantasies. When I read about Wingfield and Jacobs being murdered, I was pretty sure it was Ziegler who did it.”

  “Why did you tell me it was you?”

  “To scare you. To make you think I was an insane monster. Like Ziegler.”

  Zoe resisted the temptation to tell him that that was exactly what he was. Instead she simply asked, “Why? Why would you want to do that?”

  “To make sure you would do what I told you to do. When I read about what happened to those three, how they’d been kidnapped and hidden away, well, I started fantasizing about bringing you here. I wanted so desperately to have you close to me. And I knew I could never make it happen any other way. I was never going to kill you. I couldn’t kill you. I really do love you.”

  Zoe turned her back on Bradshaw and again faced the wall. Tears began falling from both eyes, stinging the injured one. She didn’t know why she was weeping. Maybe it was because the whole human race suddenly seemed like a totally fucked-up, seething mass of insanity.

  “Rhymes with humanity,” he said.

  Yes, it does, she thought. Insanity rhymes with humanity. But how on earth did he know what she was thinking? Had she spoken aloud? Or could he somehow read her mind? Was he somehow her intended other on this earth? Her alter ego? No. Not Tyler Bradshaw. No way. That was ridiculous. She must have been whispering her thoughts without being aware of it.

  “I just wanted to meet you,” he said. “In person. I just wanted to get to k
now Nora, Desdemona, Zoe, better.”

  It sounded so innocuous. The innocence with which he said it. I just wanted to meet you. I just wanted to get to know Nora better.

  “For the last time, I’m not Nora. And I’m not Desdemona.”

  “But you are Zoe. I wanted to get to know Zoe better.”

  Zoe heaved a deep sigh. Yes, insanity rhymes with humanity. “You might have tried asking me out on a date.”

  “I did. Sunday night. By your front door. You turned me down.”

  “You could have tried again.”

  “It seemed more direct action was required.”

  “Were you telling me the truth about killing your father or was that a lie as well?”

  “Not a lie. I did kill him. Payback for killing my mother. And for nearly killing me half a dozen times. He would have succeeded in the end. Killing me. Killing Tucker. He hated both of us. He would rape us. Beat us. Lock us in this dungeon.”

  “Why?”

  “Tucker for being different. Me for hating him. For fighting back.”

  “Have you ever killed anyone else?”

  Bradshaw looked into her eyes and said nothing for a minute. “No.”

  “Are you lying now?”

  “Yes. I have killed someone else, but I’m not going to tell you who.”

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  “No. I could never kill you.”

  “What if I attack you with another corkscrew?”

  “I’d rather you used something more lethal. And less painful.”

  “What did you do about your ear?”

  “I went to the emergency room. I told them I fell in my workshop. Told them a nail was sticking up from the floor and went into my ear.”

  “And they believed that?”

  “Probably not. I have a perforated eardrum. And a possible infection from the dirty corkscrew. They don’t know yet whether there will be any hearing loss. But the doctor thought there probably would be. Maybe total deafness in that ear.”