by Walter Marks
Maria wanted to pursue the subject further, but she knew it wasn’t up to her. It was a few seconds before she spoke.
“He fled the scene, right?”
“Yes. Evidence suggests he disguised himself as his mother and took off in her car. His friend Richard Chang is coming in this afternoon. Maybe he can tell us where Aaron is. You can sit in if you want to.”
“If I ‘want to’?” she asked pointedly.
“I mean I want you to.”
She looked closely at Jericho, trying to gauge his sincerity. Sometimes this guy is hard to figure.
“I mean it,” he said.
Maria was half convinced, so she gave him a half smile. Then she turned and left the room.
CHAPTER 30
Maria and Jericho sat behind his desk, while D. Everett Chang, Esq., and his son sat opposite them. The three-piece-suited lawyer sat rigidly in his chair, pen in hand, notebook in lap. Richie, in his black jeans and hoodie, slouched indolently in an adjacent chair. He occasionally tried to twirl his Fu Manchu mustache, but his facial hair was insufficient.
“Richard,” Jericho said, “we’d like to ask you a few questions about your friend Aaron Platt.”
“He’s no friend of mine,” Richie said.
“I thought you two were big buddies.”
“I’m done with him.”
“Why is that?”
“He stood me up once too often,” Richie said. “Couple days ago he, like, told me to meet him somewhere and I went and he didn’t show. And I waited for, like, two hours. He never even called. Then he did the same thing last night, he asked me for a favor, a big favor — he needed money. I said I’d give him whatever I could scrape up, because he’s, y’know, my best friend. And he said meet me at such and such a time. He never showed. He left me waiting again, like I didn’t count for shit!”
“Richard,” Jericho said. “Aaron’s gone missing and we’re trying to find him. Do you have any idea where he might be?”
Everett Chang interrupted. “Don’t answer that, son. Aaron is a runaway, and if he commits a crime, your relationship with him could implicate you.”
“Whatever he did has fuck-all to do with me,” Richie said. “And I’m pretty sure I know where he is.”
“Where’s that?” Jericho asked.
“Richie!” the lawyer shouted.
“Amityville,” Richie said. Then he turned to his father. “Dad, just ’cause you’re a hotshot lawyer doesn’t mean you can lay down the law whenever we disagree. Aaron screwed me, and I hope the cops nail him and send him to Attica.”
“What would Aaron be doing in Amityville?” Jericho asked calmly.
“He told me he wanted to leave town,” Richie explained.
“Why did he want to leave?”
“You know why.”
“No I don’t. Tell me.”
Richie hesitated and then answered. “Because of the letters. The letters and sneaker on the beach.”
“He told you about that?”
“Yeah,” Richie said. “And he said he knew you’d find a way to bust him, one way or another. That’s why he split.”
“Did he tell you about anything else?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Richard, do you know where Aaron is in Amityville?”
“Said he was heading for this Goth nightclub called Phantasmagoria. We went there once last summer.”
“They let teenagers in?” Jericho asked.
“Yeah,” Richie said. “See, the club is in an old brewery. First floor is now a storage warehouse, second floor is for over twenty-ones, and the top floor — open Saturday night only — is for under twenty-ones. They don’t serve booze, but believe me, the kids find other ways to get high.”
“Hold it!” yelled his father. “My son didn’t do drugs there, right, Richard?”
“Puh-leeze!”
“Son, these are police officers. You can get in serious trouble if…”
“Drugs are not our concern, Counselor,” Jericho said. “So Richie, are you saying Aaron’s likely to be there tomorrow night?”
“It’s Saturday. Mos’ def. He’ll be looking to, like, hook up with some kids, join the Goth community.”
“Okay,” Jericho said, getting up. “Richie, you’ve been a big help.”
“No problem.”
“No problem?” the lawyer growled at his son. “You’re gonna have a big problem when I get you home.”
Richie struck a prayerful pose and said piously, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
The elder Chang grabbed his son and hustled him out of the room.
“Jericho,” Maria said, after they left, “do you think Richie was telling the truth?”
“Yes, I do.”
“So — do we pick Aaron up?” Maria asked.
“Yeah,” Jericho said. “We’ll go to Amityville tomorrow night. Hopefully he’s at the club and we can bust him there. Wear plain clothes. Those kids see a cop’s uniform, all hell will break loose.”
“Right.” After a moment Maria spoke again. “If Aaron killed his mom, could that suggest he killed the other women too?”
“Well, it sure increases the likelihood. But on the other hand, it could have been an isolated act, rooted in his rage at his domineering mother. We saw how much she intimidated him when we interviewed the kid.”
“So — we’ve still got two possibilities — Aaron Platt and Sanford Richman.”
“Yes,” Jericho said. “But now there’s a wild card. The ME found a human hair in Mrs. Richman’s sock, which he says is Malaysian hair.”
“Malaysian?” she said incredulously.
“Yep.”
“How the hell do we investigate some unknown Malaysian person who may be a serial killer, based on the evidence of a hair found in a sock on the detached foot of a victim?”
Jericho shrugged. “I haven’t a clue.”
CHAPTER 31
That night Jericho was on Skype with his daughter.
“Daddy,” Katie said excitedly. “Teacher taught us a Thanksgiving song. You wanna hear it?”
“Of course, honey.”
The child sang in a sweet, pitch-perfect voice. “One day in cold November, when the snow began to fall / I heard a turkey gobbler to her children softly call: / Now, dears, you must be careful, for it’s just the time of year / When turkey meat is wanted / for Thanksgiving day is near.”
She burst out laughing.
“That’s great, Katie,” her daddy said.
“Just four more days,” Katie said. “Then I’m taking JetBlue to see you. Oooh, that rhymes.”
Jericho took a deep breath, then spoke gently. “Listen, Katie. Daddy’s in the middle of a very big important job. It might not be finished in time for Thanksgiving. So, the thing is, I might not be able to spend enough time with you.”
“You mean…I can’t come?”
“I don’t know yet, honey. I won’t know until…I dunno, just before the holiday.”
Katie bit her lip to keep from crying, but it didn’t help. Her eyes welled up and she began to sob. Her mother pulled her away from the camera and spoke, still holding on to her.
“Jesus, Neil. Katie’s been counting the days till she can see you. You can’t do this to her.”
“I know. I know. It’s just…I’m in the middle of a serial murder investigation here.”
“Serial murder?” Sarah said incredulously. “In East Hampton?”
“Yes,” Jericho said. “It’s very complicated.”
“Are children being attacked?”
“No. No. It’s not that. It’s just…look, I don’t know how or when this thing is gonna get solved. I’ll let you know soon as I can. Maybe I can wind it up before Thanksgiving. Otherwise maybe Katie can come for Christmas.”
Katie jumped in, still crying. “No, no, I can’t, Daddy. I’m in the school Christmas play. I’m playing an angel.”
“Typecasting,
” Jericho said.
“Huh?”
“Never mind,” Jericho said. “Listen, maybe I’ll come out there — I can see you in the play.”
“No,” Katie protested. “A whole bunch of people will be at the school. And at Christmas our house is always full of people. I wanna have alone time. Remember you promised we’d have alone time. I want you to myself. Don’t you want me to yourself?”
“I’ll try to work things out, sweetie, I promise.”
“I’m leaving. Goodbye, Daddy.” She moved off-screen.
“Katie, please,” Jericho called after her.
His wife glared at him angrily.
“Sarah,” Jericho said. “I’m so sorry. Please explain to Katie.”
Sarah shook her head. “I can’t. She’s only six. She doesn’t understand your work, she doesn’t understand why we’re not together, and when you say you can’t see her, she thinks you don’t want to see her.”
“I understand.”
“So you better wind up this case and make time for your daughter, or she’ll be devastated. It’s up to you. Goodbye, Neil.”
When she logged off, Jericho was crushed with sadness. For the first time in a long while, he wanted a drink. But he fought off the feeling. There’s only one thing to do, he said to himself. I’ve got to solve these goddamn cases — and soon!
CHAPTER 32
It was a cold, dreary afternoon when Jericho and Maria drove to Sanford Richman’s house. Jericho’s mind was whirling, struggling to make sense of this investigation, while the memory of Katie’s tearful face kept intruding on his thoughts.
“You okay?” Maria asked.
“Yeah. Why?”
“You seem sort of distracted.”
Jericho suddenly realized he’d been unaware of driving for the last few minutes. Scary.
“I’m fine,” he said. “Didn’t sleep much last night.”
“Me neither. The case?”
“…Yes.”
Maria sighed. “I never knew being a detective could become so obsessive. I even found myself wishing I were back on dumb, uneventful patrol duty.”
“I know the feeling.”
They pulled up in front of the Richman residence.
Jericho rang the doorbell. Richman’s voice reverberated on an intercom speaker. “Hello, Detective.”
How did he know it’s me? Jericho wondered. Then he turned and noticed the CCTV surveillance camera mounted on a pole behind him.
“Sir, we need to talk to you.”
“Okay,” Richman said. “I’m in my office downstairs. Gimme a minute, then I’ll buzz you in. When you enter walk straight ahead to the end of the hall. On your right you’ll see the basement door. Then just c’mon down.”
After a minute the buzzer sounded and they entered. Following Richman’s instructions they came to a door with a sign marked “MAN CAVE — KEEP OUT.” They descended the stairs and entered Richman’s sanctum.
It was a large finished basement. There was an elegantly carved mahogany pool table with a Tiffany lamp above it, and several plush sofas arranged around a Victorian marble top coffee table. In one corner was a vintage pinball machine. A computer sat upon a burled walnut desk, with an open Wall Street Journal beside it. The room was also equipped with a large stainless steel refrigerator and an electric stove. A half open door showing some blue tile indicated there was a bathroom in this man-cave.
On one wall Jericho noticed three framed certificates — BA from Yale, MBA from Harvard Business School, and membership in the New York Stock Exchange, Inc.
Richman sat in a leather recliner, dressed in a terry cloth robe. He was watching a football game on a floor-to-ceiling ultra-high-def TV. The screen was so vast that the players appeared almost life-sized.
Richman wore a Yale baseball hat, clearly covering his bald pate. Not expecting visitors, he’d probably left his hairpiece upstairs.
“Yale versus Dartmouth,” he said. “Watching sports is really my only respite from worrying about Ann. Do you have any new information?”
“Yes,” Jericho said grimly. Richman sensed bad news and turned off the game.
“Mr. Richman,” Jericho said, “I’m sorry to tell you — your wife is dead.”
“Dead?” Richman said. “It can’t be…it just can’t be.”
“We’re very sorry, sir,” Maria said softly.
“What happened to her? Where is she?”
“We don’t know what happened to her,” Jericho explained. “Her foot was found washed up at the water’s edge on Main Beach. Just her foot…in a running shoe.”
“Just a foot?”
“Yes.”
“Well…well, how do you know it was Ann’s?”
“It was confirmed by DNA match.”
“That could be a mistake. Sometimes the labs mix up samples…”
“The sneaker was New Balance size six triple E, just like you told us. And the medical examiner said there was…I’m sorry, sir, a large corn on the right toe.”
Richman looked stunned for a few moments. Then he suddenly became hopeful. “You didn’t find a body?”
“No.”
“Then maybe she’s still alive.”
“Possibly,” Jericho said. “But as you know, we found another foot last week. We have other information suggesting this may be the work of a serial killer.”
“Oh, my God,” Richman shouted. “You’re saying some madman is out there doing this?”
“We can’t be sure.”
“Well, you can’t be sure Annie’s dead either,” Richman stated firmly. “Maybe she’s in a hospital somewhere. Have you checked all the hospitals?”
“No, but I doubt…”
“She could be in a hospital,” Richman said. His mouth twitched a few times before he spoke again. “I dunno, maybe…maybe she was attacked by some weirdo with a foot fetish. Y’know, maybe he gets his kicks from cutting off women’s feet, then takes them to the hospital so they won’t die.”
“Sir,” Jericho said patiently, “assuming he could stop the severe bleeding, how would he explain the woman’s injury to the hospital staff? And also, the woman could identify her attacker.”
“Okay, okay. But I’m gonna check all the local hospitals myself.”
Jericho nodded.
“You never know,” Richman went on. “Or maybe…maybe somebody’s got her, keeping her alive somewhere. I mean, it’s possible.”
“We’re exploring all possibilities.”
“I’m gonna keep believing she’s alive,” Richman said, his voice trembling with desperation. “I’ll never stop believing that. Unless you show me…unless you show me she’s dead…to me she’s alive!”
He glared at them defiantly.
Maria tried to comfort him. “Mr. Richman, I know this is hard to accept but…”
“I took an ad in the papers offering a reward for her return. I’m gonna triple it. Maybe somebody will let her go, for the money.”
“We’re working hard on the case,” Jericho said. “We’ll be in touch if we learn more.” He handed Richman his card.
“If you think of anything that might help,” Maria said, “give us a call.”
Richman threw his ponderous weight against the back of the recliner. It lurched backwards until he was lying almost prone. He put his hands over his eyes and began reciting a mantra: “My Annie is alive…My Annie is alive…My Annie is alive…”
Jericho and Maria quietly left the room and went upstairs.
Back in the car Jericho said he’d noticed a double-cylinder deadbolt on the “man-cave” door.
“Double cylinder?” Maria asked.
“A lock that can be controlled from inside or outside. That suggests Richman is into some secretive activity down there.”
“Lemme guess,” Maria said. “Internet sex, binge eating, drugs, booze, all of the above. Obviously his marriage wasn’t as perfect as he claimed. Remember I said his wife could’ve been afraid of him.”
“So
let’s review,” Jericho said. “I’ve felt there was something off about him since I took his deposition. Your gut feeling is the same. He lied to us about his food shopping, his wife may have been threatened by him, and he’s doing something down in the basement she’s not allowed to see. Plus, he talked about a foot fetish.”
“Which connects to the Jerry Brudos letter.”
“Exactly.”
“And what about his reaction to his wife’s death?” Maria said. “That was certainly over the top.”
“Well, everybody reacts differently to the death of a loved one,” Jericho said. “But we’ve got plenty to suggest he’s a killer. Unfortunately, we’ve got no proof.”
“Well, he’s surely high on the suspect list.”
“Yep. And we’ve also got Aaron Platt.”
“That’s right,” Maria said. “If Aaron killed his mother, it proves he’s capable of murder.”
“And let’s not forget our other possibility — the unknown Malaysian person.”
Maria moaned. “And what about our Teresa Ramírez disappearance? I feel like we’re letting that case slide.”
“We’ll get to it. I’m waiting to hear back from the medical examiner on how these two feet were cut off. That may help us.”
Maria nodded.
“Okay,” Jericho said. “We’ve done our due diligence here. Tonight we go to that Amityville nightclub and arrest Aaron Platt, assuming he’s there. Meet me at my office at seven. And remember, wear street clothes.”
“I’ll have to go back to Sag Harbor and change.”
“Right,” Jericho said. “See you tonight.”
“I’ll dress up like a real Gloomcookie,” Maria said.
“Is that Goth?”
“Uber Goth!”
CHAPTER 33
During the afternoon Jericho called the Malaysian Consulate General in New York City. It was a long shot, but he wanted to learn if there were any Malaysian nationals or immigrants living in the East Hampton area.
A receptionist answered the phone and told him since it was Saturday, the only official on duty was the undersecretary to the Minister of Foreign Affairs, a Mr. Bambang.