Heart Break: An Isabel Swift Novel (The Isabel Swift Detective Series Book 1)

by MF Moskwik

  “Captain?” she asks as she knocks on his open door.

  “Swift?”

  “Captain, I got a problem.”

  He motions for her to enter his office. “Have a seat.”

  “Forensics came back on Mr. Lennox and on the crime scene. Like the preliminary prints last night, fingerprints that match the ones found at the crime scene are present at the house.”

  “Sounds like we booked the right guy,” says Williams.

  “That’s the problem—the prints that match? Don’t belong to Lennox.”

  Captain Williams whistles. “I was not expecting that.”

  “Also, DNA at the crime scene doesn’t match Lennox’s. At least, not fully.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Jenkins says that the samples are only a partial match, about 25%. Which means that either CSI contaminated one of the samples or that—”

  “The senior Mr. Lennox is only a relative of the thief who stole our device and not our actual thief,” says a voice from the door.

  Izzy and Williams turn to look at the intruder.

  With a polite knock on the still-open door, Jameson enters the office. “Captain. Officer.”

  “Where the hell have you been?” asks Izzy.

  “Nice of you to finally join us, Detective,” drawls Captain Williams. “Your partner here was just telling me that the guest we have locked up in our cell downstairs is not our murderer cum thief.”

  “And she would be correct . . . about the fact that the thief is not Mr. Saul Lennox and also about the fact that it was premature to arrest him for the murders.” With a long glance at Izzy, Jameson sits on the chair next to her and pulls his tablet from his messenger bag. “This morning, another article pinged my data analysis program. Last night, a police lieutenant in the Bronx by the name of Vasquez died of heart failure. His obituary was printed in this morning’s press.”

  Izzy retrieves the tablet from Jameson and scrolls through the article. “Twenty-five year veteran of the police force. Died of a heart attack yesterday afternoon. Survived by his wife, Honor Vasquez, and their two children.” Izzy hands the table to Williams. “Sir, if this is happening, that means whoever the real thief is, he’s still out there.”

  “And the lives of all the police at the reunion tomorrow are still at risk,” concludes Jameson.

  “What about the plan? And Rodriguez?” asks Williams.

  “Yesterday, he contacted all the guests, so if this thing is a go, they know what the risks are. But sir, we need extra police and EMTs at the reunion. In civilian clothes. We are putting lives at stake with this plan, and I want to be prepared to take care of our veteran cops if we have to.”

  “Done—I’ll take care of that. Meanwhile, you and Sherlock here, you have to find the person who’s doing this. We need to stop them before the reunion tomorrow, the sooner the better.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Oh, and Swift? Let me know where you are at the end of the day. The people we’re protecting are our own. Let’s make sure we do right by them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Izzy and Jameson leave. As soon as they are out of the office, Izzy turns to Jameson. “Where have you been? And how did you know about Lennox?”

  “You were not convinced of Mr. Lennox’s guilt, so I spent last night and this morning gathering evidence. Evidence, Officer Swift, based on the testimony you procured from our suspect yesterday and that, indeed, must clear him of the crimes of which he is accused.”

  Jameson walks with Izzy toward her desk. “As you guessed last night, a heart condition does exist within the Lennox family, however, it is the senior Mr. Lennox, and not his wife who has the condition. According to his insurance company, he procured a pacemaker in the year 2002.”

  Izzy blinks with surprise. “Mr. Lennox has a pacemaker?”

  “Making it impossible for him to wield our stolen tech in the way we think it is being used.”

  “But the set of matching prints? The DNA?” asks Izzy. “Someone in the Lennox house was at our crime scene.”

  “And by the genetic evidence, someone related by blood to Mr. Lennox.” Jameson pauses. “A 25% match to Mr. Lennox would indicate a half-sibling, an uncle, aunt, niece, or nephew or a—”

  “Grandson?” finishes Izzy.

  Jameson nods. “Robert Lennox, grandson to Saul, son of Aaron.”

  Izzy sits in front of her computer and logs into the police database. “Robert Lennox. Robert Lennox. His mother said he was a baby when his father died, so born around 1987 or 1988?” With a broken rhythm of staccato key strokes, she searches the database. “Robert Lennox. Age 26. Born 6/10/1988. First driver’s license in 2004. No car in the DMV though. A couple of misdemeanor driving offenses. Misdemeanor possession. Pleaded no contest. Then nothing.” She pauses. “After he turns 21, it’s like he falls off the map. Nothing.”

  “Does it have a current address?” Jameson asks.

  “No, but I’m guessing from the college textbooks, prints, and DNA, he’s been staying with his grandfather.”

  “We must station officers outside the Lennox home in case he should go back to it.”

  “We should also put a BOLO out for his arrest.”

  “Ah, but do we have a picture of young Mr. Lennox?” asks Jameson.

  “No, but I know someone who would.”

  ***

  “Officer Swift? To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Dr. Lennox, we need to talk to you about your son,” Izzy says by way of introduction. “Do you happen to have a current picture of him?”

  Susan ushers them into her office. “The one I have is five or six years old, but sure, I can get you one.” Susan opens a cabinet, digs out her cell phone from her purse, and sends the picture of her son to Izzy by Bluetooth. “I just sent you a picture of Robert. But if I can ask, what do you want with it?”

  Izzy and Jameson look at one another. “He’s wanted in connection with the theft of equipment from a local university,” explains Izzy.

  “Theft?”

  “We think the stolen equipment is tied to a string of deaths of police officers,” continues Jameson.

  “Deaths?” Dr. Lennox asks. “You think he’s murdering people?” she asks. “Oh my God.”

  Izzy catches the scientist’s attention. “Dr. Lennox? We’re trying to find your son so we can stop him from hurting other people. Do you have any idea where he could be? Any place he might go?”

  “His grandfather’s? After his arrest a few years ago for possession, I kicked him out of the house—I was trying to give him tough love, let him experience the consequences of his decisions, but he went to live with his grandfather. Rebekah, my mother-in-law, had just died, so I thought it would be good for both of them.”

  “He was staying with his grandfather, we think, but he’s not there now, and we’re not sure if he’ll return anytime soon. Is there anywhere else, anything else you can think of that would help us?”

  Susan shakes her head. “No, I can’t, Officer.”

  “Any friends? Girlfriends? Schoolmates that he might have hung out with?”

  Susan shakes her head again. “No. He was in a lot of clubs in high school, had friends. He was on good terms with his teachers too, but afterwards, in college, he had a hard time. He was kind of a loner, kept to himself.”

  Izzy gives the woman her card. “If you can think of anything that may help, or if you hear from Robert, please let us know.”

  “I will, Officer Swift,” Dr. Lennox says.

  Izzy and Jameson turn to leave the room.

  “Officer Swift?”

  “Yes?” Izzy asks.

  “I’m very, very sorry for what my son has done. I don’t know why he’s doing this, but it’s terrible, and I’m so, so sorry,” says Dr. Lennox.

  Izzy nods to acknowledge her statement. “Please call if you hear anything.”

  Izzy and Jameson leave, and Izzy’s last view of Susan Lennox is of the professor col
lapsing into her chair, her hand covering her face.

  ***

  “Wendy? Hi, it’s Swift. Yeah. Could you please put a BOLO out on one Robert Lennox? I’m sending you the picture now. Caucasian, 26 years old, blond, hazel—no, amber eyes—average height, weight, and the usual tip line information. Yeah. Thanks.”

  Izzy hangs up her cell phone. “They’ll get a BOLO out this afternoon. Meanwhile, we have less than 24 hours to find and stop this guy before he kills someone else. So if you have an idea, now’s the time to say it.”

  “Unfortunately, I have none, save that we must find the junior Mr. Lennox and stop him before tomorrow’s event,” says Jameson.

  Izzy fights the urge to roll her eyes. “Helpful.” She turns on her heel and begins to walk to her car.

  “Only . . .”

  Izzy turns back to Jameson. “Yes?”

  “Well, we are seeking the whereabouts of one junior Mr. Lennox, correct?”

  “Yes, Jameson.”

  “And we have the senior Mr. Lennox at the station, also correct?” Jameson sprints past Izzy toward the building’s exit.

  “You heard him last night? How angry he was? Somehow, I don’t think he’s going to give up his grandson, Jameson. Jameson?”

  He halts and pivots to address Izzy. “No, but if I were a loving grandfather, arrested for a crime committed by my beloved grandson, if I had one phone call, Officer Swift, I must ask—would it be to my lawyer? If it were me, an officer though I may be, I’m afraid I would use the opportunity instead to—”

  “—warn my grandson,” finishes Izzy.

  “Correct. And if that grandson were contacted by cell phone?”

  “Then we could track the pings and find his location.” Izzy walks slowly and then breaks into a sprint toward Jameson. “Shit, Jameson.” As Izzy runs past Jameson toward the car, she gives him a wary look of approval.

  At her look, Jameson grins. “Indeed,” he says as he breaks into a full run.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Chang!” exclaims Izzy.

  “Swift. Jameson. What can I do for you?” the young woman asks from behind the desk in the records room.

  “Last night, when we booked Saul Lennox? Did he use his phone call?” Izzy asks.

  Chang nods, stands, and pulls a logbook from the locked drawer on her right. “When did you guys end up booking him?”

  “Between 8 and 9 p.m.,” answers Izzy.

  “Uh, around 8:40 p.m., more precisely,” Jameson amends.

  “Yeah, okay,” Chang says as she looks up from the logbook to give the Detective Inspector a dubious stare. “8:07. 8:19. 8:37. Oh, here. 8:37—a Mr. Saul Lennox. Booking officer, Izzy Swift. Is that it?” Chang lifts the book to the counter between them and points to an entry.

  Izzy looks and nods. “Yup. That’s us. You got a note about what number he called?”

  “Sure do. Let me get the other log book.” With a set of keys dangling from a bungee cord on her wrist, she opens another set of drawers. “Let’s see. 8:10. 8:20. 8:30. 8:40. Here it is—8:50 p.m. 914-555-0421.”

  Izzy types the numbers into her phone and clicks ‘save.’ “Thanks, Chang.”

  “No problem, Iz. Jameson.”

  “Officer Chang,” greets Jameson as he and Izzy leave Records.

  Together, Izzy and Jameson sprint down the hall from records, past the briefing room, and around the corner to a small, windowless office in the center of the station.

  Izzy knocks on the door. “Ed?”

  “Come in!” calls a voice on the inside.

  Izzy turns the doorknob, and with a twist and a pull, the door gives, and Jameson and Izzy walk inside the room.

  Two steps into the room, they are hit with a wall of warm air that smells strongly of plastic. Around them, a loud buzz swarms the room, making it difficult to talk or hear anything.

  “Ed?” Izzy calls out.

  “Back here!” Izzy steps around rows and rows of buzzing, whirring equipment that stretches from floor to ceiling until she comes to a clearing in the room and a semicircle desk with three different workstations.

  A short man with spiky black hair, large brown eyes, and a bright smile greets them. “Hey, Iz.”

  “Hey, Ed.” She gestures at Jameson. “This is my partner for my current case, Mark Jameson.”

  “Hi, there. Ed Long. Nice to meet you.”

  “And you as well, Mr. Long,” replies Jameson.

  “What can I do for you both?” Ed asks.

  “We’re working the burglary case, and we’re looking for someone, Robert Lennox, the grandson of the suspect we arrested last night, Saul Lennox.” Izzy pulls out her cell phone, punches a few buttons, and hands the phone to Ed. “We think we have a number for Robert and wanted to know if we could get an address.”

  “Well, if it’s a landline, that’ll be easy. If it’s a cell, best we can do is track the pings off the tower, and that’s if, and only if, the cell is on.”

  “That would be great. Anything would be helpful,” admits, Izzy.

  Ed hands her cell phone back, goes to the desk, and sits at one of the workstations. “Well, it’s not a landline, I’m sorry to say. That would have made it easier.” A few more clicks. “Okay, it’s a big-three cell phone company, which means it should be no problem once we’ve gained permission. Give me ten minutes with the company, and I’ll get you the last tower pinged in the last three hours. Sound good?”

  “Thanks a lot, Ed. We appreciate it.”

  ***

  Jameson and Izzy step out of the warm, buzzing room and into the main hall of the precinct.

  “Cell phone tower location will give us an approximate location. Depending on when it last pinged, we can at least get an idea of where he is.”

  “But it is unknown whether the junior Mr. Lennox travels by foot or by car. Depending on his mode of transportation, his current location could be quite near or quite far from the cell phone tower,” replies Jameson.

  “Then we have to be smart. If I was a 26-year-old man on the run, where would I go?”

  “Where could he go? His grandfather’s house?” asks Jameson.

  “Last place he would go. Cops were all over the place last night. He wouldn’t have had a chance.”

  “Parents?”

  “His mother kicked him out. And you saw her—if he came to her, she would turn him in, and if we know that about her, I’m sure he knows that about her,” reasons Izzy.

  “He has neither girlfriend nor friends, as stated by his mother. He most likely desires to stay in town because he cannot leave before the denouement tomorrow. Where could he go?” asks Jameson.

  Izzy shakes her head. “Somewhere he feels safe. Somewhere he could hide, unnoticed. Somewhere he could blend in because—”

  “He’s supposed to be there already?” suggests Jameson.

  “Or because everybody there is also a stranger,” finishes Izzy. She looks at her watch.

  “How much time is remaining?” Jameson looks at clock on the wall.

  “Less than twenty-four hours,” Izzy replies.

  The door to the IT room opens. “Guys, it’s no good. Cell phone company has no pings after midnight last night. Looks like once he got the call from booking, he turned off his cell phone so he couldn’t be tracked,” Ed says.

  Jameson closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “So now our criminal is a needle lost in a proverbial haystack.”

  “In a barn full of hay, on top of it.” Izzy drops her face into her hands and rubs her eyes. “Damn.”

  “But . . . I did track down his credit card activity for a set of purchases he made last night and this morning.” Ed opens the door to his office. “And, I think I have a location for you two to start looking.”

  Izzy opens her eyes and squares her shoulders. “Thank God.”

  ***

  “In Westchester County, there are at least two thousand cell phone towers.” Ed stands in front of the map in the briefing room and gestures t
o the whole county.

  Izzy whistles. “Wouldn’t know that from my crappy cell reception,” she mutters.

  Ed grins. “At 8:15 p.m. last night, the cell phone number you gave me pinged off a tower, here, in between Hardscrabble Wilderness Area and Rockefeller State Park.” He draws an X just above a patch of green near the middle of the map. “We have a record of the call Saul made to Robert at 8:37 p.m., but after that, there are no other pings. Now, he doesn’t have any credit cards, but a hit on Saul Lennox’s credit cards came up here and here, at 6:27 and 9:41 last night.”

  Izzy looks at the map on Ed’s computer screen. “With the cell phone ping and the credit card activity, it looks like all the points circle around this area, here,” she says as she circles a broad circle on the map. “That’s pretty good, Ed,” praises Izzy.

  Ed blushes and shrugs. “I have my moments.” He nods his head at the map. “But that’s not the best part.”

  “What is?” asks Izzy.

  “This morning, a third purchase was made using the same credit card, here, at the Mobil on the corner of Saw Mill and Taconic. Which means that as of today, your man is still in town,” Ed says as he caps the marker. “So, what’s the plan?”

  “To find the killer,” Jameson says distractedly as he peers at the small markings on the map. “There’s the state park on the south side. Someone could definitely hide there. His grandfather’s house is also near there,” Jameson suggests.

  “The park would take hours to search,” Izzy says. “The wilderness area on the north side would take days.”

  “My church is near here.” Ed points on the east side of the area. “A synagogue too. There are a couple of housing developments—mine’s here,” Ed says as he gestures to the east side of the circle. “And another here, to the north. Both have elementary schools. Two middle schools, one on the east and one in the center, and two high schools, again one in the east and another in the middle. There are also some old farms all around the edges of this circle.”

  Jameson taps the map thoughtfully on the west side. “And three libraries, here, here, and here,” he says as he points to the north, middle, and east of the circle.”