The man was thrown to the ground and cuffed. The crowd around the scene looked to be either cheering the cops on or booing them. With New Yorkers, it could go either way. The cop making the arrest got off the suspect and keyed his mike.
“Central, get us a detox unit. We got a street person here.”
Maya Bergmann cut in.
“One Boy, this is the air unit. Say again?”
The cop looked up at them, holding his cap on tight.
“This the mutt you looking for, ATF?”
“We can’t ID him from here.”
“Well, I can. His name is Trendy Freddy. He lives in the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel. He’s pissed as a newt. Also he stinks.”
“You know the suspect?”
“I do. He’s always coming up outta the Brooklyn-Battery. Everybody knows him around here. He has a roost in one of the maintenance rooms. He says some guy in the tunnel just stopped the van next to his bunkie, tossed him the keys, and got into another car. What’s that, Freddy?”
They watched as the cop leaned down to speak with the man on the ground. He straightened up again and looked up at them.
“He says it was a very nice car. A blue one. He hopes that helps you out. Also, he wants to take the van to Florida. He always wanted to go to Florida. So, whaddya say, ATF? Can he keep the van?”
“Can he describe the man who gave him the keys?”
“Lady, Freddy can’t describe his thumbs. Looks to us like you been had. Freddy says the guy got into a blue car. So go look for it. Now please get that chopper the hell out of my face.”
WATER STREET AT PECK
LOWER MANHATTAN
1300 HOURS
Casey and Nicky were sitting in a navy-blue Caprice, waiting for Earl Pike to come out of the U.S. attorney’s office on Water Street, Casey still in the black jeans, boots, and black tee she’d been wearing the day before, Nicky in a two-piece blue suit, white shirt, plaid tie. Dexter, also dressed for work, was standing six, on foot, a half-block down, in case Pike bolted. They could see him reading a paper and watching the girls go by.
A hot wind was whipping up scraps of paper and trash and sending it in little whirlpools through the tiny alleys of lower Manhattan. Casey looked up. It was like being parked at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. The tightly packed stone and steel buildings pressing in all around them, the narrow lanes, the offices barely far enough apart to move a car, the bumpy cobblestone streets, thousands of Sunday tourists jammed into one square mile.
Casey had the police radio on and tuned in to the Manhattan frequencies. They’d heard the entire exchange between the First Precinct patrolman and Maya Bergmann in the ATF chopper. Nicky had even rolled the window down to see if he could hear the chopper over by Battery Park, but the city was a waterfall of white noise. He could perhaps dimly hear—or rather feel—the faint drumbeat of a helicopter above the muted roar and booming rush of the city.
“Okay, what’d you make of that?”
Casey was watching the door to the building as if the answer to all of life’s questions were going to materialize in the glass. She answered Nicky without looking away.
“I’d say Jack Vermillion didn’t do that alone.”
“Brilliant. You should be a cop.”
“I’ve considered it.”
“Neat stunt, hah?”
“Yeah. Thrilling. The guy’s a genius. Where the hell is Pike?”
“How long you think he’ll be?”
“If they don’t bust him right there?”
“Casey, they’re not gonna bust him. He’ll be out.”
“I hope so—”
Casey’s pager bonged twice. She took it off her belt.
“Switch to five, Nicky. Vince is calling us.”
“Okay.”
He set the radio selector switch to channel five and Casey picked up the handset.
“Five-one-one, K?”
“Casey, that you?”
“Boss.”
“What’s your twenty?”
“We’re in the unit, parked at Water and Peck.”
“Pike come down yet?”
“Negative, boss.”
“Okay. Dexter ready on the street?”
“Yes, boss. We have him on visual. He’s ready.”
“I just heard from the ATF. He’s walking. They can’t break his alibi. They can’t hold him. He’ll be down on the street any minute now. They’re not going to put a tail on him because I told them you’re gonna scoop him as soon as he shows. Don’t blow this. You nail him as soon as he comes out. You want any backup? We can have a patrol unit from the Fifth to assist.”
“He’s not Godzilla. There are three of us.”
“Okay. Oh yeah. Peekskill PD called. About your briefcase? A PW named Moira Stokovich?”
Casey’s fingers tightened around the radio but she kept her voice calm. She tried to keep her eyes on the door across the street but her vision was blurred and the blood was pounding in her throat.
“Great. That’s super. What’d she say?”
“Since it was a cop’s briefcase got stolen, they decided to do some footwork on it. They canvassed the whole area around the hospital. Even put up notices describing it. It was brown, steel-reinforced, had a PBA sticker on it. Right? The ugly sucker you brought with you from the Two Five?”
“Yes. That’s the one.”
“Stokovich says a guy comes into their duty desk this morning early. Says he saw the flyer on a pole. Turns out he owns a Mail Boxes Etc. about a block from the hospital. He says a citizen came in with it about two o’clock on Friday afternoon, paid cash to have it packaged and held for delivery. Sounds pretty dicey. That’s why she called me.”
“Did Stokovich go there, get the package?”
“No. That’s why I’m calling you. Wasn’t it at your place?”
“My house?”
“Yeah. I figure the citizen opened your case, looked inside. You must have had something there with your home address on it. Apartment Five-B. Temple Court. Prospect Park. That right?”
“Yeah. That’s right. My home address. Okay.”
“You haven’t got it yet?”
“No. Why?”
“You should. The citizen called Mail Boxes back last night, around nine o’clock, while you were out in Pennsylvania. Asked them to send it right away. Immediately. Which they did. The courier driver picked it up at nine-fifteen last night. Peekskill is only forty miles from your door. It should have been there when you got home.”
Water Street wheeled and Casey’s throat went tight and her mouth dried up. Dexter had dropped them both off at the Thunderbird in Yonkers and taken the Lincoln in to the Jay Rats garage at Albee Square. She had called her mother from Nicky’s hotel room. Her mother hadn’t said anything about a courier delivery.
“I … Mom didn’t … she was asleep when I got home.”
“Well, she signed for it. The driver got her signature. Elena Spandau. Right on the waybill. You didn’t see it in the hall?”
“No. But she might have put it in a closet or something.”
“Stokovich wants to hear back from us. Should I call her?”
“Call her?”
“Yeah. Stokovich is getting a description of this active little Boy Scout from the Mail Boxes guy.”
“Right. I have her card. I’ll call her when we’re through here.”
“Ten-four, Casey. Call me as soon as you have Pike in the car. And Casey, be real careful around him. All of you.”
“We will, Vince. Ten-four.”
Casey looked as if she was about to pass out. Nicky reached out and held her by the shoulder.
“Casey, you want to take the unit? I’ll get a patrol unit from the Fifth to back us up here. Dexter and I can do this without you.”
“No. Do you have a cell with you?”
“Yeah. Here.”
Casey took the phone and dialed her home number. She was still watching the glass door, but her heart was in another place. The l
ine rang once. Twice. Three times. Earl Pike walked out onto Water Street, stopped to look for a cab. Dexter came on point, pushed himself away from the wall, opened his suit jacket. The line was still ringing. Four. Five. Nicky was out of the Caprice now, and Casey followed him, still holding the cell phone. Six. Seven. Eight. Pike saw them all coming. He tensed and looked as if he was about to run, then stopped. Nicky had his badge out and his suit jacket open, his right hand on the butt of his service piece. Nine rings. Ten rings. Pike was smiling at them. Eleven rings. No one was answering the phone. Twelve rings. Dexter was calling out to Pike now.
Casey hit the off button and came after them.
She had her own piece out and down by her leg. Nicky was ten feet in front of her, everything in his body radiating tension. Pike looked calm, even a little amused, his arms raised slightly, his palms up. Dexter was five feet away and coming in fast. Casey tried to focus but her head was spinning and all she could think about was what her mother was doing right this minute.
“Earl Pike,” said Nicky in a carrying voice, loud enough to make people in the street stop and turn. Nicky and Dexter reached Pike at the same time, stepped hard into the man, and shoved him up against the stone wall of the building so hard he bounced off once. Dexter stepped back and held out his Smith while Nicky did a quick frisk, leaning in close to Pike and growling in his ear.
“Earl Pike, you’re under arrest for the murders of Julia Maria Gianetto and Donald Albert Condotti on the night of June twenty-first, in the vicinity of Blue Stores. You have the right to remain silent.”
Nicky had his cuffs out now, Dexter and Casey standing a little away, both of them watching Pike’s hands.
“You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”
Pike was cuffed up, hands behind his back, and Nicky was turning him toward the Caprice. Dexter was holding the backseat door open. People were staring at them up and down the street. Pike offered no resistance at all. Nicky held him by the cuff chain and Dexter had a grip on Pike’s upper biceps.
Pike smiled at Casey as he reached the rear door.
“Officer Spandau. You’re very black today.”
Nicky shoved him hard. Pike staggered into the side of the car and recovered, twisted around, and spoke directly into Nicky’s face.
“We’ll have to go a round, you and I. See how you do.”
Nicky put his hand on Pike’s blue shirt, shoved him backward and into the car. He leaned down, pushed Pike’s legs free of the door.
“Your fight career just ended, hammerhead.”
Nicky slammed the door so hard the car rocked and the echo banged around the narrow street, slamming from wall to wall and then fading into the general rushing noise of New York. Dexter and Casey looked at each other. It was over. They had Pike.
“Damn,” said Dexter. “That felt so good.”
Nicky tried to smile but couldn’t find one. It took them another three hours to get Pike through Central Booking and into an interview room. Casey called her mother every chance she could, but she was part of the arresting team and her reports had to be typed and filed right on the spot. If she left before the process was complete, Pike’s lawyers could make mileage out of her absence later. She had to stay.
Pike sat in the chair in the interview room with his arms folded across his chest and a polite but disinterested smile on his face. Through the window he could see Casey on the cell phone, her face tight and drained. He imagined her listening to the line ringing and ringing and ringing. He imagined how unpleasant it would be. He watched then as the two male cops stood together in the hallway, Nicky Cicero and the biker-looking cop named Dexter Zarnas. He could not hear what they were talking about, but he could speculate, and the possibilities amused him very much.
Pike’s guess was a good one.
Out in the hall, Nicky was talking about Casey Spandau.
“Dexter, Casey needs to do something. Can you and I run this mutt on our own?”
“She’s part of the package. She knows this mutt. I’d like her to do the talking. I think she knows how to get under his skin.”
“Dexter, Casey has a … domestic thing. She needs to go home. I mean, she really needs to go home. Now.”
Dexter knew nothing about Casey’s home life, but he could tell from the intensity in Nicky’s voice that whatever it was, it was bad.
“What is it, Nicky?”
“Dexter, she can’t say. It’s personal.”
Dexter glanced across the hall to where Casey was standing, holding a cell phone, looking down at the wooden flooring.
“She got her paperwork in?”
“All done. Me too.”
Dexter thought it over, watching Casey.
“Hey, she wants to miss the party, be my guest.”
He called her over, spoke to her briefly out of Nicky’s hearing. Casey looked over at Nicky once and then back to Dexter. Then she came over to Nicky and kissed his cheek.
“Thank you, Nicky.”
“Hey, get going. Call me when you get home?”
“I promise.”
She left at a fast walk. By the time she reached the front door she was running. She got a cab at the corner of Canal and was on the Manhattan Bridge a minute later. She had made three more calls by then and could not draw a steady breath. The phone rang and the phone kept ringing. She thought about calling an EMS truck. They could be there in minutes. It was going to take her at least an hour in this damned Sunday traffic. And what would they find there? If they got there first, what would they see? A cop’s briefcase packed with double-doctored drugs? An overdosed mother? A dead overdosed mother? How could she ever explain it? There would be no way. None. So Casey never made that call.
HIGHWAY 22 NORTHBOUND
AUSTERLITZ, NEW YORK
1600 HOURS
Fabrizio Senza took every back road and byway in the state and all the way north Jack lay in the backseat and watched the treeline blurring past the windows and thought about what was going to happen. Senza was listening to a big-band station, the music turned up loud because he was slightly deaf, and chain-smoking menthol cigarettes that reminded Jack of Buster and Deputy Callahan and how she had looked at Jack as she died.
Just outside of a little town called East Chatham, close to the Massachusetts state line, the news came on. Jack listened to it for any sign that he was being pursued, but other than a short statement from a Special Agent Derry Flynn of the ATF that the hunt for escaped killer Jack Vermillion was ongoing and an arrest was expected soon, the news was mostly concerned with baseball and the race for the mayor’s position in New York City. It closed with a wrap-up of police beat stories from around the state, which began with this item.
“And from New York City, the AP is reporting that an arrest has been made in what New York State troopers have been calling the Road Rage Murders. Detectives with the joint task force of the NYPD, along with officers from the State Police CID, today arrested ex–army officer Earl V. Pike as he was leaving the offices of Assistant United States Attorney Valeriana Greco on Water Street. Pike was allegedly connected to the deaths of two young people in a wooded area near Blue Stores last Wednesday after an intensive investigation by law enforcement officials. Officials will not release any information at this time, but sources close to the case are saying that DNA evidence collected at the scene led directly to the arrest. Pike is a full partner in Crisis Control Services, a Maryland-based consulting firm made up of retired military officers. He is now being held in Manhattan pending an arraignment scheduled for tomorrow at the Albany courthouse. In other news, authorities are still searching for survivors in the deep waters off—”
Senza shut the radio off and drove in absolute silence for at least ten more miles. Jack tried to make sense of what he had just heard, and failed miserably. He vaguely recalled hearing a news report about some sort of road rage killings in the upstate area, but that was shortly before his life got ripped apart
and he had other things to worry about. The Pike connection confused him.
He considered asking Senza what he made out of it, but the silence coming from the front seat was a blank wall, and Jack decided to say nothing. Senza had spoken very little on the trip up and not at all after the newscast. It was clear to Jack that the old man had a lot on his mind. They had talked very little about Creek, mainly because Jack found the idea too damn depressing to think about. Creek was half his life, the only true thing in it, other than the business. They’d known each other for almost forty years.
But the pieces fit. There was even a Canadian connection. Back when they’d had their steaks on the roof of his condo, Creek had mentioned a student he had met, some sexy number, a lit major. The deconstructionist. Yes. She was from McGill. Jack was pretty sure that McGill was the name of a university up in Montreal. And Frank had told him about the cars, the turquoise ’56 T-bird he was buying for Claire. Flannery too. It was all right in front of him. But why? Nobody could tell him why. What reason could Creek have? All Jack knew was that he’d ask him that very question. In person. And soon. When he had Creek’s answer, he’d know what to do about him. He tried for a breath and felt the pain.
Jack knew what the feeling in his chest was, the tightness and the cold. It was a kind of heartbreak. Senza seemed caught between loyalty to Frank and his suspicions about Jack and Creek, and the closer they got to home the more it looked like loyalty was winning. Jack had asked the old man several times to tell him where they were going, but all he did was grunt and keep driving. Jack could feel the big gray Glock digging into his ribs. He had loaded the magazine with the last of Sharon Callahan’s nine-mill rounds, seventeen in the box, one chambered up and ready to go. He took whatever comfort he could get out of that. About where they were going, he found out a few miles later, when they pulled into the same park in Kinderhook where he had met Earl Pike the week before, Riveredge Park, right on the Hudson. Senza parked the Crown Victoria under a stand of willows and turned around in the seat to look down at Jack.
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