Nine
Alex watched Zach as he digested the information she’d given him. He looked tired, as if he wasn’t getting any more sleep than she. That would be understandable if it were true. It wasn’t his case, but he worked it. If he was as conscientious now as he was when she had known him, that must weigh on him.
But it wasn’t her job to soothe him. Surely there was a woman somewhere whose place she’d be usurping if she did. He didn’t wear a ring, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a woman in his life, or perhaps women. Her father used to call him Casanova in a way that was both censorious and approving. She didn’t expect that he’d changed much in that regard.
She shook her head, as if clearing it. She didn’t want to think about Zach, his women, or even her own relationship with him. There had been a time when if he’d asked her a question, she wouldn’t have lied.
Alex stood and crossed to her desk to retrieve a file she’d left there. “There’s something else.” Better to focus on the case than the way her mind had been going. “I did a little checking on the Internet about Amazons. I haven’t read through all of it yet.”
She handed a stapled sheaf of papers to Smitty. “They were purportedly a race of women living in Asia Minor in the Third Century B.C. They pinched off or cut off the right breast for ease in hunting but kept the left in order to suckle their girl children, which they kept. The male children were given to the neighboring tribe of men, the Gargarians, with whom the Amazons coupled. They raised the girl children themselves. By killing these women he may see himself avenging himself against some powerful woman who abandoned him, probably his mother.”
Smitty passed the papers to Zach. “Talk about your twisted Oedipal complexes.”
That wasn’t quite accurate, but she wasn’t going to argue about it. “That is, if mythology plays a part in this at all. He may have some other motivation. The press named him the Amazon Killer because of what he did. Only he can tell us definitively why, and only if he wants to.”
Even then, who knew how much of what a psychopath said could be believed? Berkowitz had claimed some dog had told him to kill, part of his “crazy act” that he hoped would lead to commitment to a mental hospital rather than incarceration. It was only later that he’d revealed that claim had been a sham. Currently he was pretending to be a born-again Christian. Only God knew whether that was another scam.
Zach’s cell phone rang. He excused himself and rose from the sofa to stand off to the side to take the call. Though he spoke too softly for her to make out his words, his posture and the timbre of his voice suggested he was talking to a woman.
Whether he was or not wasn’t her business. She turned her gaze away from him, back to Smitty, who’d stood. Again, she was struck by the familiarity of his face.
As if to answer her unspoken question, he said, “I knew your father, years ago. A good man. A bit of a hard-ass.”
It didn’t surprise her that this man knew her father. Everyone knew him. She couldn’t count the times some cop or other person related to law enforcement had found out she was the Bull’s daughter and insisted on relaying some story of her father’s exploits, particularly back when she had her maiden name. Part of the reason she’d kept Devon’s name was to discourage the association. But saying her father was a bit of a hard-ass was like saying Mussolini had been a bit of a dictator.
Her gaze drifted to Zach, still on the phone, then back. “So are you two going steady?” she asked, referring to them partnering on this case.
He winked at her. “Only until I find someone with better legs.”
She smiled. She liked Smitty, especially since he’d been her only champion in that disastrous conference room meeting. Without her meaning to, her gaze slid back to Zach, who seemed to be wrapping up his conversation.
“Not to worry,” Smitty said, drawing her attention. “I’ve got my eye on that one.”
For a moment she wondered what he’d read in her face to prompt that comment. Usually she wasn’t that transparent. But Zach abruptly closed his phone and turned back to them.
He looked from her to Smitty, then back. “So where does that leave us?”
She wondered if he was referring to the case or her conversation with Smitty. She chose to believe the former. He’d been all business since he walked in the door, aside from that one “personal” question he’d asked, which anyone who knew her as a girl might have asked out of simple curiosity. Even when they were alone, he’d never mention their past or whatever it was that had driven him to seek her out that first night. She wondered, with a touch of bitterness, if the woman on the phone had anything to do with his willingness to take no as an answer from her.
Alex shrugged, returning her mind to the man they all sought. Up until now, this guy had operated like clockwork. Even when he didn’t make a kill he stuck to his schedule as if he had. But he had deviated from his pattern, picking a woman who didn’t fit his usual victim profile. He was upping the ante, making sure the police and the media paid attention to him. She wished she knew what had caused him to skip those two months—maybe illness or unavailability to his hunting ground. Barring that knowledge, she made the best guess she could.
“Considering he’s off his pattern, what he does next is anyone’s guess. At the most you’ve got twenty-four days before he strikes again.”
“Who was on the phone?” Smitty asked once they were back in the car and out of the reach of the reporters.
From the tone of Smith’s voice, Zach figured he didn’t think it was an official call. He was fishing. Since Zach had nothing to hide, he said, “My sister-in-law. My niece is staying with me a few days. She wanted to make sure she got to school all right.”
“Jon got married?”
Zach had forgotten Smitty and his younger brother must know each other since both worked homicide in the same precinct. “My older brother Adam’s wife.”
Smitty shrugged and settled back in his seat, as if it made no difference either way, which it didn’t. “Where to next?”
“I’m thinking of going to see the girls’ parents. Alex got me wondering if there’s some connection between the girls that no one has explored yet.” It had bothered him from the beginning that no witness could be found who had seen either Thorpe or the cars he’d stolen driving around. The spot where he’d left the car was deserted save for a few businesses on the block east and a series of private houses one block south.
How did he know the girls would be there? There wasn’t even anywhere from which to observe the area, unless maybe the overpass that served pedestrians crossing over the highway into Co-Op City. But then, he would have to be on foot. Then again, he could have stashed his car in one of the motel lots and waited for his prey to show up. But wouldn’t it have been easier to lure someone there, maybe to one of those motels than to lie in wait? Otherwise, there was no guarantee of keeping his schedule.
The bodies of the first two girls had been claimed by families out of state. The third girl’s body had never been claimed. Her identity remained a mystery, since no one responded to the missing person’s bulletin and her prints yielded no hits. The fourth girl lived on the west side of the Bronx, off Orloff Avenue. They headed there first.
Like the apartments in Co-op City, the building they went to was part of the Mitchell-Lama housing initiative that provided affordable co-ops to Bronx residents. The buildings were well cared for and the apartments were spacious.
Veronica Hassler’s mother answered the door to their knock. “Yes.”
Looking at Magda Hassler, Zach could imagine from whom the daughter had gotten her figure. She was tall and what his father would kindly have referred to as big-boned, not obese. He’d put her in her midsixties, a bit on the late side for having a fourteen-year-old daughter. There was a hardness in the woman’s green eyes Zach didn’t expect considering they’d already announced they were the police, the ones ostensibly working to find out who’d killed their daughter.
He showed th
e woman his badge, in the event that would help. “I’m Detective Stone. This is Detective Smith. We’d like to talk to you about your daughter.”
“We’ve already spoken to the other detective.”
The way she spoke the word “detective” clued him in to the problem. Damn McKay, was there anything about this investigation he hadn’t screwed up yet? “We’re here to follow up,” Zach said in a tone that suggested they were there to clean up his mess rather than exacerbate it.
The woman hesitated a moment. “All right.”
She led them to a large living room just off the front hall. It was decorated in shades of cream, pastel green, and gold. She gestured toward the brocade sofa. “Please, sit down.”
They did as she suggested. The plastic slipcovers crinkled as he and Smitty settled down.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hassler,” Zach started. “First let me say we’re sorry for your loss. We don’t want to take up too much of your time.”
“It’s all right. Just so you understand, my daughter was no prostitute like they’re saying in the papers. She was a good girl. She didn’t even have a boyfriend.”
Zach said nothing to that. He’d seen the autopsy report. Her daughter had been found with cocaine in her system. From the condition of her nasal cavity it wasn’t a new activity. He was no Pollyanna, but if the girl was doing drugs, he’d bet she was into other things as well. He’d also bet mom and dad had no clue about any of them.
“Do you know what Veronica was doing in that neighborhood?”
As he expected, he shook her head. “As far as I know, she didn’t even know anyone in that area.”
“Had you noticed a change in her recently? New routines? New friends?”
“She’d started staying out, late, you know?”
Zach nodded.
“It was those girls. She’d started a new school. Things were different. We bought her a computer for her birthday. When she was home she was on that thing.”
Zach swallowed. If the killer had contacted her on the Internet, it wouldn’t be the first time some naive girl had been drawn into a situation with a person she didn’t expect. “Can I see her room?”
An uncertain expression came over Mrs. Hassler’s face, as if the request surprised her, but she stood. “All right.”
Zach followed her down a narrow hall, irritation rising in him, wondering if McKay had gotten this far or if he’d stopped at making the notification.
Mrs. Hassler stopped at the third door down the hall. “This is Ronnie’s room.”
She opened the door, turned on the overhead light, then stepped back for him to enter.
He crossed the threshold, examining the room. A four-poster bed covered with a pink comforter and pillows in matching shams rested along one wall. A dresser with a circular mirror took up the wall perpendicular to the door. A rolltop desk sat at the opposite end of the room. An Apple laptop sat on its surface.
The maple furniture smelled of lemon polish and the curtains had been opened, letting in warm late morning sunshine. The girl had been dead since October, but the entire space looked as fresh as if its owner were expected home later in the day after school.
“Ronnie always keeps her things neat.”
This is Ronnie’s room. Ronnie keeps her things neat. Her mother spoke about her as if she were still alive. He felt sorry for the woman, not only because her only child was gone, but because she hadn’t dealt with it in any meaningful way. He’d seen it a million times—parents who couldn’t deal when death or harm came to their children. He couldn’t fathom the depth of their grief and didn’t pretend to. All he could provide them with were answers, and he did his best to find them.
He was grateful though that she hadn’t been observant enough to notice that Smitty hadn’t followed them, leaving the other man time to scope out what he could of the rest of the apartment without being intrusive. Zach intended to keep her here until Smitty surfaced, then give her something to do to get her to leave them alone.
“Did Veronica have an address book that you know of? Did she keep a diary of any kind?”
“She had one of those Palm things, you know, an organizer. She probably had it with her when ...” Mrs. Hassler’s eyes brimmed and she lowered her head. “I’m sorry.” She sniffled. “I didn’t find a diary.”
Smitty chose that moment to make his appearance. “Do you think one of her friends might know if she kept one? It might be helpful.”
Mrs. Hassler turned in Smitty’s direction. If she found anything strange about his rejoining them, she didn’t show it. “Eleny might know. They were friends since they were girls. She lives two floors down.”
“Can you write down her name and apartment number? And any of her other friends you know of?”
Mrs. Hassler nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
As Smitty came into the room Zack walked to the window. He brushed aside the sheer white curtain to look out. There was a tree outside the window, but not close enough for someone to get into her window or for her to sneak out. To Smitty, he said, “Did you notice anything?”
“Only that this place feels like I’ve slipped into a time warp. When was the last time you saw plastic slipcovers? I think my grandmother got rid of hers in ’73.”
Maybe that was the problem here. Too many generations separated mother and daughter. He couldn’t imagine the woman he’d seen knowing how to manage an out-of-control teenager. Hell, he was the cool uncle, and he couldn’t get Stevie to go to sleep.
They spent a few moments checking the room, finding nothing of note, before Mrs. Hassler came back holding a sheaf of paper in her hand. She extended it toward Zach. “These are all the names I can think of. Will that help?”
“Thank you.” He gestured toward the desk. “We’d like to take a look at what’s on her computer, if you don’t mind.”
“No, take it. Neither my husband nor I know how to use it.”
Smitty, who was closer to the desk, picked it up. “We’ll get this back to you as soon as we can.”
They left after that, with a promise to Mrs. Hassler to keep her and her husband informed of their progress. Once they were back in the car, Zach said, “Where to next?” in imitation of Smitty’s earlier words.
“What say we drop the computer off and head over to Lilly’s? There ought to be enough time for a quick bite before we need to go to the autopsy.”
“A meal and a show,” Zach said, though he wasn’t looking forward to either.
Ten
About five o’clock Alex decided to call it a day. Usually she kept Wednesdays light, not accepting any appointments after four o’clock. She used the rest of the day to transcribe notes, fill out paperwork, and take care of other drudgeries. She could just as easily do these things from home on her laptop.
Only a few stalwart reporters were waiting for her when she left the building. Apparently not every media outlet in the city had the wherewithal to keep a crew all day on a story that wasn’t producing results. She got into her car with a minimum of fuss and went home.
Dressed in a short apricot nightgown and robe and eating a dinner of reheated Chinese food from two nights ago, Alex quickly finished the work she’d brought home from her office. But as she turned her attention to the printout she hadn’t finished reading, restlessness set in. She knew it wasn’t the case or even Zach’s reappearance in her life, though both weighed on her mind. It was this house.
It had been a mistake to move back in here after her marriage dissolved. There were too many memories, both good and bad, clinging like ghosts to this place. She’d known that almost from the beginning, but she’d held on. This house was the only place on earth that for her held the memory of her mother.
But before, those memories had been mostly dormant, an underlay to her conscious mind. Zach’s reappearance in her life breathed new life into them, making them stronger and more potent. She didn’t want to remember, but apparently she had no choice. Even her dreams were swamped with images she th
ought she’d forgotten.
Brushing her papers aside, she stood and walked to the piano. Maybe part of her malaise was her own fault. The same photos still stood on its surface as a visual reminder of what was. She picked up a photo of herself and her father taken at her high school graduation. Zach had held the camera.
The picture itself was an oddity, one of the few in which she’d been smiling. She’d known then that freedom was only a few months away. She’d be going to Adelphi in the fall, much as her father hated that. She’d learned from the master. When the time came she’d blackmailed him into letting her go. Her grades ensured her a full scholarship; he only had to pay for room, board, and books.
She’d loved being at school. For the first time in her life she had friends and freedom, and she flourished. She hadn’t worried about how her father was faring in her absence until the last night she was home during Easter break.
For no reason she’d woken in the middle of the night. The sound of the TV playing low drew her to the living room. Her father was sitting on the sofa wearing his robe loosely tied over a wife beater T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts. His feet, encased in a pair of leather slippers, rested on the coffee table. He looked disheveled, exhausted, and, beyond that, ill.
“What are you doing up, little girl? Don’t you have to go back to school tomorrow?”
“The TV woke me.” It was a lie. The skeptical look he cast her told her he knew it, too. But she wasn’t the only one telling untruths lately. In the last week her father had taken to having a “lie down” after dinner almost every night, and particularly those nights when Zach was here. That wasn’t like him, and as domineering as he’d always been it surprised her that he’d leave her alone in the same room with any man for that long, regardless of the fact that he was in the house and the man in question was his partner.
She’d never asked him about it directly, but she did now. “What’s up with you? Why do you keep leaving me alone with Zach?”
Body of Lies Page 8