by Ed Markham
“Can you orient us here?” he asked Omar.
Omar took a look at the notes he’d jotted based on his conversation with NYPD. “This camera is positioned on the third floor of the Empire State Building. The door well where the murder was committed is in the middle-right section of the screen. You’ll see a flash of light from the door opening when Torowitz exits, and then we’re going to see the figure enter from our left.”
Even as he said it, David saw the flash and then—almost immediately—the figure. The person had been there all along, he realized, standing and watching the entrance from the vestibule of a building across the street.
The figure wore a long raincoat. The angle of the camera made it almost impossible to see the person’s legs, and so the figure appeared to float swiftly across the street, hands in pockets, face and hair hidden beneath the brim of a hat. It was impossible to be sure of the figure’s sex from the video, though David thought the way the person moved was distinctly feminine.
The figure stopped just before it reached the Empire State Building’s entrance, and stood absolutely still for a few seconds. David was about to ask if the video had frozen when the figure moved into the vestibule and out of sight. A second later, he saw two bright flashes of light. The figure reappeared and took two backward steps away from the door well, then turned to the street.
“This must be when she called for help,” Lauren said.
A few seconds later, several people entered the screen, all running to join the figure near the building’s entrance. As the cluster of people grew to eight, the figure turned and walked down the street and out of the camera shot.
“That’s it?” David asked.
Omar nodded. “That’s the best shot we’ve found so far.”
“We can’t even tell if that’s a woman,” Lauren said. She looked annoyed. “There have to be 10,000 cameras in New York City, and that’s all we’ve got?”
“There are four other cameras on that block, but none of them give us a clearer look,” Omar said. “There are also half a dozen cameras in the Empire State Building’s lobby, but the reflection on the door glass from the lights inside make it impossible to see what’s happening to Torowitz.”
“Where does she go?” Martin asked. “It’s the center of Manhattan. There are cameras on every block.”
“We have the figure walking down 33rd almost to Dyer, but then it disappears.”
“Like, in a puff of smoke?” Lauren asked.
“Like, beneath an overpass that crosses Dyer Ave,” Omar said. “Cameras lose her. The video shows lots of taxis passing through there, and NYPD has been checking with every one of them that they could identify. So far they’ve got nothing.”
“What about the NGI scan?” Lauren asked him. “Any luck matching her face from the gas station video to something on file?”
Omar shook his head.
David was about to ask him about the people they’d sent down to UVA to pass around the gas station photo, but he was interrupted when his cell phone rang. He saw the call was from Carl Wainbridge.
Carl sounded strange, and David had the impression his boss was speaking in front of other people.
“I know you’re probably preparing to head up to New York, but you’ll have to cancel those plans,” Carl said. “Deputy Director Reilly has requested a joint briefing this afternoon at two, which will include NYPD, NJSP, and some of the other law enforcement agencies assisting on our investigation.”
David wanted to protest, but he knew Carl would already have done so on his behalf. “All right,” he said.
There was a pause on the line, and then Carl said, “Listen, David. I think you should spend every free minute you have preparing for this briefing.”
Chapter 44
THE VOICE OF the NYPD Commissioner burst from the conference phone, the consonants slamming down like hammer blows. “So you’re telling me we’re chasing a woman? Bullshit.”
David stood with his hands on his waist at the end of the long table, which was surrounded by more than a dozen federal agents and administrators, among them Lauren, Martin, Carl Wainbridge, Tim Thompson, and FBI Deputy Director Jonathan Reilly. Nine other state and federal law enforcement agencies were participating in the briefing by phone. Omar sat near the room’s projection monitor, running the presentation as David related the details of his investigation.
“No it’s not bullshit,” David said flatly. If he minded the looks some of the suited people around the table were giving his T-shirt and trousers, his face didn’t show it. “We’ve sent this photograph to all of your offices,” he continued, “and we’re planning to disseminate it to the state and local PDs involved in the search. At this time we don’t have a name to go with this face, but she’s our principal.”
“And you’re sure about it this time?” a voice asked from the conference phone.
This question, David was sure, had come from a member of the New Jersey State Police. There were no chuckles, but David could almost feel the smirks coming through on the conference line. That didn’t bother him. What bothered him was the way Deputy Director Reilly was tapping his pen on his notepad.
David ignored the wisecrack from the NJSP and said, “We’re not planning to disclose this image to the media, at least not at this time.”
He’d discussed this decision with Wainbridge, and had lobbied for the photo’s immediate publication. But Carl had received a firm “no” from the deputy director’s office. David had also learned that Reilly was withholding from the press details linking the murders of Deb Pepper and Mitchell Cosgrove to the others in an effort to temper public outrage.
The NYPD commissioner now asked the same question David had put to Carl—“Why?”—and David related Reilly’s objections, which he found both nonsensical and irresponsible.
“The public is aware of the general scope and geographic breadth of these murders,” David said without betraying any of his own disdain for the command. “But the bizarre nature of these crimes coupled with the fact that our suspect is female leads us to believe we’ll create more hysteria and fear than is worthwhile by releasing the image. We also don’t want to alert the suspect to our knowledge of her appearance.”
He believed—and had said as much to Carl—that Reilly’s PR concerns were bullshit and that it was a public disservice not to publish their suspect’s photograph. But Carl had told him the deputy director wasn’t convinced the pale woman was a legitimate suspect, despite the print match and the eyewitness accounts from the Empire State Building murder site.
“You might have been able to convince him otherwise before Carmichael’s false arrest,” Carl had said. “But now he requires more than a partial fingerprint match.”
“Since when does the deputy director make the call on this?” David had asked.
Carl hadn’t had an answer for that question.
Now David nodded to Omar, who brought up a graphic depicting the location of each of the murders.
“Based on the pattern I described,” David said, “we believe our subject is most likely to surface next in one of the following states: Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, Connecticut, or Rhode Island.”
“We can’t narrow that down any further?”
This question came from Reilly, who had stopped tapping his pen and was looking at David with a slightly exasperated expression.
The room grew very silent. Most of the assembled agents stopped taking notes and focused their attention solely on either David or the deputy director. Lauren and Martin shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
“No, we can’t narrow it down,” David said calmly, addressing Reilly directly. He knew Carl and the deputy director had already discussed this, and he was sure he understood why Reilly would purposely highlight one of his investigation’s shortcomings. “Her movements thus far have been somewhat linear, but she’s jumped around.”
“And we still have no idea who she is—assuming it is a she?” Reilly asked.
“N
o we do not,” David said.
“What about motive?”
David related to him the links they’d established to the Constitution’s authors and the victims’ publicized acts, but Reilly didn’t seem interested.
“That’s all then, Agent Yerxa?” he asked.
“Yes,” David said. He knew what was coming, and he’d already begun to brace for it.
Reilly nodded and looked pointedly at Carl, then he wrote a few notes on his yellow legal pad.
As David concluded his briefing and ended the conference call, he caught concerned glances from his father and Lauren. The room began to clear out, but David saw Carl wasn’t moving from his seat at the table. Reilly wasn’t going anywhere either. He sat leaning over his legal pad, writing notes.
Lauren and Martin lingered, but Carl said to them, “Would you two please excuse us?” He waited until they’d gone, then stood and shut the door to the conference room.
The moment the door was closed, Reilly dropped his pen onto his notepad and sat back in his chair. “You’re done, Yerxa. You and your team. Off this case as of this minute.” He said it angrily, as though he considered the investigation’s progress a personal affront.
David didn’t answer. He looked at Reilly, mindful to keep his expression calm though he felt like his insides had been torn out.
“Would you like to know my reasons?” Reilly asked, obviously fired up for a confrontation.
David already knew them. Reilly was more worried about covering his own ass than he was about stopping the murders. He could tell the deputy director wanted to enumerate his gripes—to justify his decision. But he didn’t feel like giving him the satisfaction.
“I think you’ve already made your reasons clear,” David said without emotion in his voice. “You’re dissatisfied with the progress of the investigation under my leadership. So am I. People are dying, and that’s unacceptable. I also take full responsibility for yesterday’s false arrest, which I realize has besmirched the FBI’s reputation and probably caused you a significant amount of grief.”
Reilly seemed taken aback by David’s forthrightness. “It’s completely unacceptable,” he said loudly, trying to maintain his indignation. “And dissatisfied doesn’t begin to cover how I feel about the progress you’ve made—or rather, the progress you haven’t made. We have six dead in a week, including a senator and an NYPD officer, and all you have for me is a paper-thin theory about a Constitution-obsessed Jane Doe, which you’re asking me to swallow whole based on one partial fingerprint.” He shook his head. “You and your dad are making our agency look inept, Yerxa. If you haven’t noticed, every news outlet in the country is talking about the Colony Killer all day, every day. And some of the more radical political pundits are even starting to blame Congress and politics for this kind of nut job behavior. Couple all that with the false arrest you made yesterday, and I’m way beyond dissatisfied. Do you have any idea how foolish I looked trying to explain to Speaker Farnsworth why you hauled in that poor son of a bitch from Towson?”
As soon as he said this, Reilly cleared his throat into his fist, realizing he’d given something away. He looked from David to Carl, and both men stared straight back at him.
David thought of the photograph he’d seen in Reilly’s office; the deputy director and Spencer Farnsworth, the Speaker of the House, dressed in their military uniforms alongside their wives.
“It gives me little pleasure to pull you off of this assignment,” Reilly said now, absurdly. Some of the edge had worn off his tone, and he stood and began to collect his notes from the briefing report. When he’d scraped everything together, he looked up at David, expecting a reply. But David said nothing.
Reilly gestured toward Carl. “Section Chief Wainbridge will fill you in on the next steps. I’ll expect you to give your successor your complete support.”
He held David’s gaze for a moment, and then his eyes busied themselves on the tabletop as though he were worried about leaving something behind. A minute later he strode purposefully out of the room.
When Reilly had gone, Carl walked to David’s side. “You handled that well,” he said.
David nodded but didn’t respond.
“I want you to know I argued vehemently on your behalf, but the deputy director would not be swayed.”
“I appreciate that.” David could hear himself speaking, but he felt very far away from the conversation.
The two men looked at each other for a moment, and neither had to say what he was thinking. It was understood.
After a few seconds, Carl stuffed his hands in the pockets of his dark slacks and said, “I’m afraid I have some more bad news to deliver. The deputy director has ordered that I suspend you for two weeks without pay.”
David looked at him.
“It’s ridiculous, and I told him so,” Carl said. “But my input was ignored.” He took a few steps away from David and began to pace. “I think we both recognize the deputy director is taking a great deal of heat on this from very influential people. Unfortunately, that heat has wilted him.”
David didn’t trust himself to speak, so instead he walked to the conference room’s lone window and drew up the shade, letting in the afternoon light. Outside, he could see a small group of FBI trainees working out on one of the compound’s obstacle courses near the woods in the distance.
Carl said to his back, “I was able to convince him not to add any kind of formal censure to your file. I know that doesn’t mean a thing to you right now, but it could mean something later in your career.”
David thanked him, though he wasn’t really listening anymore. He was trying to imagine what he’d do for two weeks at home, away from the investigation. It was unthinkable. He leaned forward on the window ledge, feeling the weight of his body in his upper arms and shoulders. He felt off-balance, as though the poles of the Earth had suddenly shifted.
“I know this won’t offer you any comfort, but try not to take this too hard,” Carl said. “I believe now that I doomed you from the start by assigning you as the lone primary on something this volatile. Had I known the deputy director’s mindset, I might have made a greater effort to spread responsibility. At the time, I just wanted my best man working on this.” He took a few steps toward David and added, “I don’t believe anyone at the Bureau could have made faster progress. We only know who we’re chasing because of you. When we track her down, it’ll be because of your team’s work.”
“Who are you assigning to take my place?” David asked.
“Jared Campbell.” Carl paused. “Listen, a little advice, David. Whatever you’re thinking or feeling, try to stay on your feet while you’re on leave. I know the FBI’s Special Affairs people like to keep tabs on agents while they’re on suspension—however unjustified that suspension may be.”
David turned away from the window abruptly. “What do you mean, keep tabs?”
“I mean they may assign someone to keep an eye on you. It’s part of their protocol. They won’t monitor you at home, but they may have someone on you when you’re out of the house—just to ensure you don’t do anything rash, like trying to continue the investigation on your own.”
David shook his head and a mirthless smile cracked his cheeks and forehead.
Carl nodded to show him he understood. “In time, this will all be forgotten.”
When he’d gone, David stood alone looking at the projection monitor on the far side of the conference table. The enlarged photograph of the pale woman was still there, staring back at him.
Chapter 45
“THIS IS A joke, right?”
Lauren was worked up. David thought there was something almost violent in the way she was pacing back and forth in front of the conference table.
He sat watching her while his father stood with his white shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows and his thick forearms crossed over his chest. For once, Martin was silent. He hadn’t said a word since David had informed him and Lauren of the news. He just stood wit
h his eyes on the floor, his lips curved down in a contemplative frown.
The assembled files and printouts related to their investigation littered the long table, and Martin’s hand-drawn map still occupied one of the room’s dry-erase boards.
“I mean, this has to be a joke,” Lauren said. “I don’t believe Carl would spike us like this. We’ve made serious progress in the last twenty-four hours, and he decides to bench us now, when we’ve identified a suspect? What the hell is he thinking?”
“You didn’t let me finish,” David said. “This order came from the deputy director. Carl made it clear to me he disagreed with Reilly’s decision.”
“Since when does the deputy director step in and make personnel decisions?”
Now, for the first time, Martin spoke. “Since the deputy director started taking shit from his boss and from people on Capitol Hill. That’s what happens when a senator is murdered.”
Lauren scowled, and David exchanged a wordless look with his father.
“Who’s taking over for us?” she asked.
“Campbell.”
“Jared fucking Campbell?” she nearly shouted. “Is Carl trying to make Reilly regret this decision?”
“Campbell would have been my choice if I were in Carl’s place,” David said. “He’s meticulous to a fault, and he doesn’t make a move without having his people run some type of risk analysis. He’ll work hard and keep everyone happy and informed. If he asks for your help connecting dots while I’m on suspension, give him what he needs.”
“What do you mean, suspension?” Lauren said, her eyes widening.
“Two weeks. It’s part of being pulled off the lead.”
“That is fuck-ing bull-shit!” She realized she was shouting, and she closed her eyes and rubbed the heels of her palms against her forehead, working hard to regain her composure.