“Robin’s in there with the doctors now, and it sounds like encouraging news,” Adelman said, a smile lighting up his hound-dog face. “The bullet missed all major organs. The surgery went well. They just upgraded his condition from critical to serious.”
Melanie exhaled and met Dan’s eyes. “Thank God.”
“You don’t know how bad I felt for not accepting your offer of protection,” Adelman said.
“Don’t blame yourself, Bob,” Melanie said, although of course she’d been blaming herself.
“I felt that way at first, but then I found out what time Dave was shot. When you and I were chatting over drinks last night, this had already happened. So even if I’d taken you up on the bodyguard offer, it wouldn’t’ve changed the outcome. I know that doesn’t make Dave getting shot okay, but at least I don’t have to feel like a total schmuck.”
“What time was he attacked?” Melanie asked Adelman.
“Around nine.”
If David Harris had been shot during the fund-raiser, then neither Rockwell Davis nor Clyde Williams could have been responsible, Melanie realized. Dan was supposed to have been looking into their alibis.
“Can I ask you something?” Melanie said to Dan, pulling him aside so they were out of earshot. “Were you able to confirm alibis for Clyde Williams or Rockwell Davis?”
“Yeah. They’re both in the clear. Things have been so crazy, I didn’t get a chance to tell you.”
“That’s a relief. At the fund-raiser last night, Davis acted so intimidating that I was starting to think we’d missed the boat on him, and that he was our man. That maybe Clyde was too smart to commit murder, but Davis wasn’t. But neither one of them could have shot David Harris, because they were at the fund-raiser.”
“They didn’t kill Suzanne, either,” Dan said. “They were both otherwise engaged. We can cross ’em off the list.”
“Where were they?” Melanie asked.
“Rocky Davis was at Rao’s schmoozing some potential contributors on Wednesday night. A lot of people saw him. And Clyde, you’re not gonna believe.”
“What? Tell me.”
“He was in a hotel room with Emily King,” Dan said.
“No way!”
“I kid you not. I pulled Emily’s phone and credit-card records myself. She had a charge on her AmEx for a Marriott in midtown that night, and a bunch of calls back and forth with Clyde’s cell. I went to the Marriott, and an employee remembered seeing Clyde come through the lobby at the relevant time. So I confronted the girl and she gave it up. She claims they only met to talk about how to manage the scandal. Swears they never slept together. But the timing makes Clyde a no-go for the murder.”
“Did you believe her? About them not having sex, I mean?”
“If all you’re gonna do is talk, why get a room with a king bed and a minibar?” Dan said.
“Going to a hotel with her after their affair got outed on national TV? How could he be so reckless? It’s almost like he’s begging to get caught.”
Dan shrugged. “Some people are danger junkies. But at least we know Clyde’s not the killer.”
“Now I understand why he stonewalled when we asked about his alibi,” Melanie said. So Joe’s father wasn’t a murderer; he was just a womanizing louse. She could live with that, though barely.
The crowd of doctors that had been in David Harris’s room came spilling out into the hallway. Melanie saw Robin Harris emerge to a hug from Bob Adelman.
“Let’s see if they have an update on Harris’s condition,” Melanie said.
Adelman introduced them to Robin, who was wearing sweatpants and a crumpled T-shirt and looking utterly exhausted.
“We were lucky,” Robin said. “A couple of millimeters in either direction and my David would be dead. He was shot in the back while jumping out the window of the moving car. Luckily he’s strong as an ox. He served in the Israeli army, you know.”
“Mrs. Harris, I am so sorry about what happened,” Melanie said. “And I want you to know, we’ll be putting a twenty-four-hour guard on his door.”
“A little late, isn’t it?” Robin demanded. “Where were you people last night when David was attacked?”
“We tried to assign protection sooner, but we were told that Mr. Harris didn’t want it,” Melanie said.
Robin threw Adelman a shocked look. “Is that true?”
“It’s complicated,” Adelman replied. “It has to do with the obstruction charges. Let me buy you a cup of coffee and explain, Robin.”
But Robin had already turned on Melanie. “Wait a minute, you’re the woman who charged my David with a crime? Where do you get off jeopardizing his career like that? He has a family to support.”
“Robin, please. You’re upset,” Adelman said.
“My husband gets arrested and then he gets shot? You’re damn right I’m upset!”
“Mrs. Harris, just so you understand, I charged your husband because he lied to us about being in the Ramble on the night of Suzanne Shepard’s murder,” Melanie said.
“He likes to jog after work. Big deal. Why would he lie about that?” Robin said. But her beet-red blush and veiled eyes made Melanie wonder how much she actually knew about her husband’s extracurricular activities.
“Let’s not get into the obstruction charges right now,” Melanie said. “There’s a good chance we’ll be dropping them anyway. We should be helping each other instead of arguing. I want to catch the man who shot your husband, and in order to do that, I need to be able to interview him. Do you know when he might be ready to speak to us?”
“Speak to you about what?”
“We need to show Mr. Harris some pictures, maybe bring a sketch artist in, that sort of thing.”
“You want to interview Dave? Make him relive his nightmare? I can’t allow that.”
“Don’t you want the shooter caught? After all, he might be the Butcher himself, and he might try again,” Melanie said.
“Of course I want him caught!” Robin cried, tears welling in her eyes. “We have three children. I’m living in fear.”
“Then we need to interview your husband. He’s the main witness.”
“He’s not well enough to talk,” Robin insisted stubbornly.
“We understand that,” Adelman said. “She’s asking when he will be.”
“I don’t know. He’s fucking unconscious, okay?” And Robin burst into sobs.
“Come on, honey, let me buy you that coffee. It’ll do you a world of good.” Adelman took Robin’s arm. “She’s a wreck,” he whispered to Melanie behind his hand.
“Call me as soon as Harris wakes up,” Melanie called out as the lawyer pulled the sobbing woman toward the elevator.
Dan and Melanie cornered one of the detectives who’d responded to the David Harris shooting last night and asked him for a report. His name was Wayne Gallagher; he was sweaty, paunchy, and plain-spoken, wearing thick-soled shoes. Gallagher had come to the hospital in the hope of interviewing Harris himself, and when he learned that wasn’t possible at present, he was glad enough to brief them so his trip wouldn’t be a total bust. Unfortunately, the news he had to share was worse than Melanie had anticipated.
“Driver still hasn’t been found,” Gallagher said curtly.
“What driver?” Melanie asked.
“The one the shooter grabbed in order to get your witness. Name of Stanislaus Wyszinski. Polish immigrant. Green card. Fifty-three YOA. Married, no children.”
“I don’t understand. I thought Harris was attacked in front of his law firm.” But now that she thought about it, Robin had said something about a moving car.
“Harris was kidnapped from in front of his law firm by a man posing as his regular car-service driver,” Gallagher said. “Harris walked out and got into a town car thinking he was gonna get a smooth ride home, but the perp was sitting in the front seat instead of the driver, and he headed for Jersey instead of the Upper West Side. At some point, Harris figured it out and tried to escape.
The perp shot him before he made it out of the car, on the ramp leading up to the Holland Tunnel.”
“How could this happen?” Melanie asked. The question was rhetorical, more like a cry to heaven, but Gallagher answered matter-of-factly.
“Well, for starters, this perp is very cunning. He staked your boy Harris out. He learned which car service Harris used and who his regular driver was, and he was ruthless enough to make the driver disappear. We found Wyszinski’s bloodstained jacket with his wallet still in it lying near a Dumpster in close proximity to the law firm. We think the shooter might’ve chucked the body in the garbage. Not an unusual disposal method after you whack somebody. We’re sending teams out to Fresh Kills and some of the other landfills to search.”
“You’re saying the driver’s dead?” Melanie asked.
Gallagher shrugged. “I can’t be sure, but when they’re raking the landfills for you, things don’t look too good.”
Dan had his notebook out and had been taking notes. “Any eyewitnesses?”
“Nobody noticed anything when the kidnapping went down, but I got a coupla Dutch kids who were in the vicinity looking for a youth hostel at the time of the shooting. They heard the shots fired, saw Harris hit the pavement, and saw the town car speed off. The kids called 911 right away. Probably saved Harris’s life. They didn’t get a look at the perp, though.”
“Have you found the town car?” Melanie asked.
“Hasn’t turned up yet, but it will,” Gallagher said.
“You’ll call us if you learn anything new?” she asked.
“Sure thing.”
They exchanged cards. Dan and Melanie went to the elevator. It took a while for it to come.
“You look worried,” Dan said as they waited.
“I am. Think about what happened today, Dan. We’ve ruled out almost all of our suspects. We know David Harris didn’t kill Suzanne. Neither did Clyde Williams or Rocky Davis. Miles Ortiz was so eager to get his cheek swabbed that I’ve got to assume the DNA test will clear him. And Benedict Welch, as guilty as he looks, appears to have a valid alibi. Maybe he ordered Suzanne killed, but unless those doctors are lying, he didn’t personally rape her and carve her up.”
“So you’re saying we’re nowhere?”
“No,” Melanie said. “I wish we were nowhere. But unfortunately, we have one guy left on our radar screen.”
“Who’s that?”
“The one who’s been e-mailing me about how I look naked.”
35
Melanie— [the e-mail began], Show some respect and write back or it’ll go hard for you when we meet. You’re wearing black pants and a black sweater today. The sweater is nice and tight and shows off your tits. What kind of noises do you make when you’re scared? It won’t be long now. Don’t believe me? Think I’m playing? You saw what I did to Harris last night. He didn’t see it coming. You won’t either.
She was alone in her office when she read the message. The team meeting was scheduled to begin in fifteen minutes, and the hallway was full of cops. Just to be sure, Melanie got up and walked over to the door. Lieutenant Deaver stood not twenty feet from her, conferring with two large detectives. The sight of their guns calmed her down. No way could this psycho get to her here.
Melanie went back to her computer and read the message again. She realized that up till now, despite her own better judgment, she’d nursed a faint hope that her stalker wasn’t involved in the crimes she was investigating. That he was just some loser who got off on scaring women. Well, that hope had just died a painful death. He had to go and tell her he’d shot Harris.
Wait a minute, should she believe him? Or was this a con? The David Harris shooting had been all over the news today.
But no. Wishful thinking again.
Melanie’s mind was a muddle. Soon it would be time to go to the meeting, and she couldn’t decide what to do. Maybe she should print his message out and show it to everybody. Or maybe she should write back to the creep and try to get more information out of him. She could try to confirm that he actually was the killer, and not just some wannabe attention seeker. That would be a coup—walking into the conference room with an e-mail from the Central Park Butcher describing some overlooked detail of the crime.
Melanie’s eyes fell on Maya’s picture, and she lost a couple of moments to a reverie about her daughter, intensely relieved that the little girl was on her way to safety at Melanie’s mother’s apartment. After hearing about the way David Harris had been watched and stalked, Melanie had taken precautions, insisting that Dan drive Maya to Forest Hills himself, alone, without Melanie in the car. Dan was trained in countersurveillance driving, and he knew how to make sure he wasn’t being followed.
But Dan hadn’t come back yet, and he hadn’t called.
Melanie had just picked up the phone to dial Dan’s cell when a sharp rap sounded on her office door. She looked up, her heart pounding. But it was only Susan Charlton. Standing beside her was Mark Sonschein, the deputy chief of the Criminal Division, the one Melanie found so intimidating.
“I come bearing tidings from the front office,” Mark said.
“It’s really not a good time,” she said.
“I know you’re about to start a meeting,” he replied, “but this can’t wait. It’s about the Shepard case.”
Mark and Susan both wore grim expressions. Behind Mark’s back, Susan caught Melanie’s eye and mouthed, “Sorry.” Something bad was coming. Melanie put the phone down.
“I’m taking over as lead prosecutor,” Mark said. “You should not take this as a vote of no confidence. You can continue to work the case as my second seat. With the two new murders—”
“One new murder if you’re referring to the limo driver. David Harris will recover,” Melanie said. Her voice was flat. She felt numb more than angry. Too many difficult things in a short period of time.
“One new murder is one too many,” Mark said. “The point is, the press is going apeshit. The Butcher case is the biggest investigation in the office right now by far, and it’s too much for you to handle alone. That is not a criticism of you or your work.”
“I’m not alone. Janice Marsh from the D.A.’s office is assigned to help me. She would have been at the meeting today, but she had to go to a wedding in Cape May.”
“A.D.A.s have no work ethic,” Mark said. “You just proved my point. Who goes to a wedding in the middle of a murder investigation? You need somebody federal. Somebody proven and senior. If I blame anyone for the lack of progress, I blame Bernadette for leaving you poorly supervised.”
Of course, Bernadette herself was getting married in a couple of hours, and Melanie intended to be there. Minutes ago, she would have been spitting mad at Mark for speaking to her like this. But now her thoughts were taken up with a more pressing concerns.
“No point in arguing,” Mark insisted, though Melanie wasn’t putting up much of a fight. “The decision’s been made. I’ll attend the team meeting with you and introduce myself to the troops. I still need you to run it, since I’m not up to speed on the facts. You’re okay with that?”
“I guess so. Yes.”
“Glad to hear it. Well, I’m looking forward to working with you.”
Melanie didn’t reply. Mark looked flustered.
“Uh, well, all right, then. I’ll…see you in there.” He flashed her a big phony smile and backed out the door.
“Don’t feel bad, Mel,” Susan said when he was gone. “This really isn’t about you. It’s about a million things other than you, in fact. Mark’s shouldering two private school tuitions and he needs some good press to help him get a law-firm job. Bernadette’s at war with the front office, and putting Mark on the case is a way for them to slap her. The press is on a rampage, so the higher-ups want somebody with an impressive title doing the news conferences instead of a line assistant like you. I could go on and on.”
Melanie stared back at Susan in stony silence. If she could’ve mustered a drop of real indignati
on over this turn of events, she might have directed some of it at the woman standing before her. Susan was a political animal. Who knew what she’d said about this decision behind closed doors? As much as Melanie liked and admired Susan, she never fully trusted her.
“Are you okay?” Susan asked.
“I have a lot going on right now,” Melanie said.
“I understand. All the stress. And this can’t be welcome news.”
“It’s not.”
“One more thing and I’ll get out of your hair. You should know that this isn’t Mark’s fault. The higher-ups asked him to step in. If he comes across as a dick, it’s because he honestly feels bad about cherry-picking your investigation but he lacks the social skills to communicate that to you. Underneath his pompous exterior, he’s a good guy, really. And a fine prosecutor.”
“If you say so,” Melanie said.
“I do. Give him a chance. Try to make friends.”
“All right.”
“At the end of the day, I know you two will hit it off. You’ll catch the bad guy together, and he’ll reward you. I’m sure of it. Then we’ll get what we’ve been after. Me as chief, and you as deputy.”
Susan smiled at Melanie brightly, and then turned and left.
“If I’m still alive,” Melanie said under her breath.
Melanie considered her predicament and decided there was only one thing for it. She needed to deliver up this stalker creep with his head on a platter and prove he was actually the Butcher. Then she could kill two birds with one stone. One, revive her career. Two, save her life.
She turned back to her computer and clicked reply.
Why should I believe you when everything you say comes straight from the TV news? You’re a big liar. If you were the real killer, you’d tell me something I don’t already know, she typed.
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