Alone with the Dead

by Robert J. Randisi

  LaGrange pushed his chair back from his desk and leaned back, eyeing Keough.

  "You know, Detective, a friend of mine speaks very highly of you." As he said it, Keough noticed the chief put his hand on top of a personnel folder. He had no doubt that it was his.

  "Does he?"

  "Yes, Truxton Lewis. Do you know him?"

  "We've met once or twice."

  "Well, you've apparently made an impression on him. Now I'm going to give you the chance to make an impression on me… but I warn you."

  "Sir?"

  "I've been burned too many times during this serial killer thing. Don't try to pull the wool over my eyes. There are some things in your jacket that don't speak well of you."

  "I tend to speak my mind, sir."

  "I understand that. I also understand that you're on suspension, but I'm giving you a chance here to explain yourself."

  Keough looked at his watch.

  "That might take a while, sir."

  "Do you have someplace else to be?"

  "As a matter of fact," Keough said, "I do, but why don't I just start at the beginning… "

  ***

  LaGrange sat quietly and listened intently, interrupting only to ask a question and have something clarified. If ever a man had his day in court, Keough was having it now, and he was taking full advantage of it. From time to time, he'd glance at his watch, but he kept right on talking. His entire presentation had to do with the serial killings. He did not say anything at this time about Len Swann's murder.

  When he was finished, he put the file he'd been holding in his lap on the desk.

  LaGrange rubbed both hands over his face briskly-so much so that when he took his hands away, his face was red.

  "Maybe I've been on this job too long."

  "Sir?"

  "I've made a lot of mistakes on this one, Keough. I see that now. I put too much faith in a man I knew was a fool."

  "Uh, Pollard, sir?"

  "That's right."

  "What was that about a, uh, black whore."

  "Oh, Pollard's got himself a little something going on the side with the daughter of a black minister and he thinks nobody knows about it."

  "So somebody who had a knack for picking up dirt would certainly know about it."

  LaGrange nodded. "You're talking about Lieutenant Slovecky."

  "Yes."

  "And that explains to you why he got the assignment as CO of the task force?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Another of my mistakes," LaGrange said. "I should have pulled Slovecky in here and interviewed him myself. I don't think I would have given him the job if I had."

  Keough remained silent.

  "It's decent of you not to ask why I didn't do that."

  "It's not my business, sir."

  "At the time, I was sitting in with the PC, trying to avert a strike."

  Keough remembered when rumors of a strike were rampant. They disappeared just as quickly as they appeared, though.

  "And I had a convention, and a… but you don't want to hear that."

  No, Keough thought, I don't.

  LaGrange leaned forward and with his right hand touched the file Keough had put on his desk. His left hand still rested on Keough's personnel file. For a moment, the man seemed to be weighing the two. Jesus, Keough thought, you urinate on one skell and people look at you funny for the rest of your life.

  "Is there anything concrete in here, Detective?"

  "I believe I have outlined the discrepancies between the Manhattan and Brooklyn murders in a concrete manner, sir."

  Keough had explained everything to the chief, but he had not yet told the man that he was actually in contact with the Lover. He was close to letting the man in on it, though, as well as telling him about the arrangement to surrender. What happened over the next few minutes, though, changed his mind.

  "Detective, I'm willing to admit that you got caught in some kind of a machine here. Everybody involved was willing to stuff those cases onto the task force rather than deal with them themselves. That's an attitude I intend to address myself to."

  Keough remained quiet and waited for the other shoe to drop.

  "I also intend to investigate further the possible connection between Inspector Pollard and Lieutenant Slovecky. I'll probably be removing Slovecky as whip of the task force and assigning someone else. I'll probably suspend Slovecky until the investigation is complete. I will also be lifting your suspension."

  "I hear a but in here, sir."

  "You've done a lot of work here, Keough, but I simply can't take your word for everything."

  "There's the word of Len Swann."

  "Who is dead and can't speak for himself."

  "So what are you going to do?"

  "I'm going to assign a new CO to the task force and have him look over this file."

  "And if he disagrees?"

  "It will be his job to proceed as he sees fit."

  "Let me ask you something, Chief, in all candor."

  "Go ahead."

  "If I was a lieutenant, or even a sergeant, would you give my opinion more credence?"

  "I sincerely hope that wouldn't be the case."

  "That's my answer, then," Keough said. "Even with Tru Lewis's recommendation, I'm not a boss…"

  "Don't become impudent, Detective. Truxton Lewis's intervention got you in to see me to tell your side, but I wouldn't push it…"

  "Why not? What have I got to lose?"

  "Your job, for one."

  "That doesn't seem so important in the scheme of things, Chief, I have to tell you."

  LaGrange frowned. "Is there something else you're not telling me, Detective?"

  "Not about the serial killings."

  "Then what?"

  "I'm not sure you'll want to hear what I have to say," Keough said. "It's my opinion, and after all, I am just a detective…"

  "You're pushing it, Keough," LaGrange said. "You said that you speak your mind, so speak it."

  "It's about Len Swann's murder."

  "What about it?"

  "I think Slovecky killed him."

  "What?"

  "Yes, sir, that's what I think."

  "A cop killed a cop?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Jesus," LaGrange said, looking ill, "if that gets out… Do you have any evidence?"

  "No, sir, I don't… yet."

  "Well, don't even bring it up to me again until you do. If this gets out…"

  "Yes, sir," Keough said, standing, "I thought that would be your attitude."

  "What are you saying?"

  "Just that you're part of that machine you said I got caught in."

  "Goddamn it, man, sit down!"

  "I don't think so, Chief."

  "Maybe I'll just leave you on suspension, Keough-how's that?"

  "I tell you what, Chief. Let's make a deal."

  "Now you're fucking Monty Hall?"

  Keough remained standing and remained silent.

  LaGrange sighed heavily and said, "Okay, what's your deal?"

  "I'll deliver the Lover to you."

  "That sounds like a tall order. In exchange for what?"

  "When I do deliver him, I want the task force kept together, and I want the Brooklyn killings investigated separately."

  "And?"

  "And I want Slovecky looked at as a serious suspect in Len Swann's murder."

  "That's all?"

  "That's all."

  "And in exchange for this, you say you'll deliver the serial killer?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "How will we know it's him?"

  "Once I deliver him, you can have him examined. I think you'll be satisfied that it's him."

  "And when would you be delivering him?"

  "Soon," Keough said, straining to keep from looking at his watch, "very soon."

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Keough was disappointed. Halfway into his audience with the chief of detectives, he had started to think that he and LaGrange were going
to be able to work things out. LaGrange had started to sound like a reasonable man, but then he reverted back to what he really was-a boss.

  In the police department, there were the cops and the bosses, and the bosses had a definite boss mentality. It started at the rank of sergeant, although the three-stripers were really straddling the line. When they got to lieutenant, that's when it really started, the conversion from cop to boss.

  When LaGrange had started admitting his mistakes to Keough, Keough had been impressed with the man.

  When the chief did his turnaround, Keough couldn't help but be disappointed.

  There had been a point during his two hours in the chief's office where he was almost prepared to tell LaGrange about the Lover surrendering to him and Mike O'Donnell. Now, as he left the chief's office, he was ready to let the chips fall where they might. When he and O'Donnell met with the Lover and his attorney, it was going to be a slap in the face to the police department. If allowed, the department would claim that since Keough was a cop, the surrender of the Lover was a triumph. Keough, however, with the help of O'Donnell, did not intend to give the department that chance.

  The meeting was to take place at noon, but O'Donnell was supposed to meet Keough at eleven. It was 11:15 when Keough came out the front door of One Police Plaza and saw O'Donnell standing there, waiting impatiently. In the distance, Keough saw a couple of TV vans, their crews milling about.

  "They didn't waste any time," he said to O'Donnell.

  "They'll keep their distance until we're ready."

  "It's a good thing we arranged to meet in the back of the building," Keough said. "Come on."

  They went around to the side of the building, where a stairway led to the back. They'd meet the Lover and his lawyer back there, then walk them around to the front, where the television press would be waiting.

  "We've still got half an hour," Keough said. "There's usually a coffee and snack van under the bridge. How about some coffee?"

  "What happened in the chief's office?"

  "I'll tell you over coffee. Come on, my treat."

  ***

  At 12:05 P.M. Chief LaGrange's secretary, Mary, came into his office.

  "What is it, Mary?"

  "Uh, you might want to turn on your television set, Chief."

  "What for?"

  Aware that in some ancient civilizations there was a custom of killing the bearer of bad news, she said, "You'll see."

  LaGrange picked up the remote control from his desk and switched on the color TV in the corner.

  "What station?"

  "Any network."

  He chose NBC. He liked looking at Michelle Marsh during the nightly news.

  "… shock to the city, but a relief as well, to know that the Lover, the notorious serial killer who has been spreading a reign of terror for months, has surrendered today to Detective Joseph Keough of the New York City Police Department, and Michael O'Donnell, noted author and columnist for the New York Post."

  "That son of a bitch!" LaGrange said. "That no-good son of a bitch." He looked at Mary. "Get me the PC."

  "It was his secretary who called me about it," she said. "He's already watching."

  "Great, that's just great."

  "Once again, this is a live shot…" the newsman continued.

  "Oh fuck!" LaGrange said, staring intently at the TV screen. He got up abruptly, went to his window, and looked outside. He could see down into the plaza, where a mob of television reporters was milling about.

  "That son of a bitch! He's doing it right in front of Police Headquarters."

  "Yes, sir."

  LaGrange put his forehead against the cold glass and said, "Mary?"

  "Yes?"

  "Get your pad and take a letter…"

  "Yes, sir."

  "… of resignation."

  She stopped, halfway out the door, and asked, "Sir?"

  Without turning, he said, "Never mind. Get me the PC on the phone."

  "Yes, sir."

  He breathed heavily on the glass until he had so fogged it that he couldn't see outside. It was going to take a lot more than that to make this nightmare go away.

  ***

  Keough had been surprised when the two men first appeared. Neither of them fit his picture of a serial killer. Either of them could have passed for a professor or a lawyer, but neither looked like a killer.

  He and O'Donnell had stood shoulder-to-shoulder as the two men approached through the drizzle that had started. Keough chose to think that the shorter, heavier man carrying the briefcase was the attorney. The other man was tall and slender, hair dark but graying at the temples. He wore wire-framed glasses and had the slight stoop of an academic who spent hours hovering over books. He did, however, appear to be in fairly good shape, and so he probably wouldn't have had any problem overpowering the women he had killed.

  For just a moment, Keough was worried. What if this was just some psycho who wanted to confess to the murders? But that couldn't be. He had known about the note, and he had been able to find Keough's home phone number. This had to be the killer-the first killer.

  He held his breath as the two men reached them. The man with the glasses smiled and asked, "Which of you is Detective Keough?"

  That voice-it was the same voice as on the phone.

  "I am," Keough said.

  The man gave him his attention and asked, "Would I be correct in assuming that you would prefer not to shake hands?"

  "You would."

  "Mr. O'Donnell?"

  "Yes."

  "Excellent." The killer turned to the other man and said, "This is my attorney, Stuart Buckingham."

  "Counselor," Keough said, "I've heard of you."

  "Detective," Buckingham said. "For the record, my client's name is Professor Anthony Dunston."

  "The Third," Dunston added.

  "Yes," Buckingham said. "He wishes to surrender to you and confess to being the serial killer this city has come to call the Lover."

  Dunston smiled at Keough, held out his wrists, and said, "I am all yours, Detective."

  ***

  The press crowded around them when they appeared and, as Keough and O'Donnell had agreed, it was O'Donnell who made the statement to the press and introduced both Anthony Dunston III as the Lover, and Stuart Buckingham, his attorney.

  "My client is here to surrender to Detective Keough and Michael O'Donnell of the Post."

  "Surrender for what, counselor?" a man holding a microphone with the number on it asked.

  "May I?" Dunston asked.

  "Go ahead," Buckingham said, and under his breath he added, "but just what we agreed to."

  Dunston smiled, spread his arms, and said, "Ladies and gentlemen… I am the Lover!"

  ***

  The surrender made all the networks and also the local station's newscasts. There were special reports throughout the day, and then the regular newscasts at night.

  O'Donnell was interviewed, as well as Keough, who kept his statements simple. He did not use the occasion to claim that there were two serial killers. He did not want to alarm the city, in the event that the second killer did indeed, as Nancy had suggested, cease his activities.

  Keough was in the middle of an interview in the lobby of One Police Plaza, sometime after Professor Anthony Dunston III had been removed, when he saw a man hovering on the outskirts of the mob. The man had the look of a cop, not a reporter, even though he was dressed in a suit.

  When the interview was over, the man approached.

  "Detective Keough?"

  "Yes?"

  "The PC would like to talk to you."

  Keough turned to O'Donnell and said, "I'll see you later."

  Before O'Donnell could reply, the plainclothesman said, "You, too, Mr. O'Donnell… if you would."

  "Is this an order?" O'Donnell asked.

  "No, sir," the man said. "The PC requests your attendance at this meeting."

  O'Donnell looked at Keough, who nodded.

  "Lead the
way," O'Donnell said.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  When Keough and O'Donnell were shown into Police Commissioner Steiger's office, Keough was surprised to see no one else there. He'd felt sure the room would be full of people. The chief of detectives, people from Public Information, Community Service, press liaison people, and more. Instead, there was only the PC, a portly man in his sixties with a great shock of white hair.

  "Sit down, gentlemen."

  They sat, Keough on the left, O'Donnell on the right.

  "It would seem that you gentlemen have done the city of New York a great service."

  "It would seem," O'Donnell repeated.

  "That is, if Anthony Dunston does turn out to be the Lover serial killer."

  "The Third," O'Donnell said.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Anthony Dunston the Third," O'Donnell said. "He insists on that."

  "I see."

  "He's the serial killer, Commissioner," Keough said. "I have no doubt about that."

  "I've just finished talking to Chief LaGrange, Detective Keough. He tells me that you and he made a little bargain."

  "That's right."

  "He seems to feel that the bargain was made under false pretenses."

  Keough spread his hands.

  "The bargain was a simple one, predicated on my delivering the Lover, which I did."

  "Obviously," Steiger said, "your deal with the serial killer preceded your deal with the chief."

  "I don't see where that matters."

  "Semantics matter a great deal at this level of the game, Detective."

  "I wasn't aware that we were playing a game, Commissioner," Keough said, "and even if we were, the chief made it very clear to me that I am not on the same level as you and he."

  "Nevertheless, if indeed you have delivered the killer, then you've done us all…"

  "A great service," Keough finished. "You said that. With all due respect, sir, is my bargain with the chief going to be upheld?"

  "Uh, yes, of course it is."

  "Fine." He started to rise. "I don't see what else there is to discuss."