Driscoll went to say something further when he caught a glimpse of a familiar figure. “Goddamn it, Moira. What the hell are you doing here? I thought I made it clear I didn’t want you within a hundred miles of this place. How did you get here?”
“I took the bus.”
“You took the bus.” Driscoll was ready to explode. He turned his attention to his two detectives, Butler and Vittaggio, “You guys can go. Grab a bite to eat and meet me back at the house.” The two cops did an about-face and walked away. “Now, young lady-”
The crackling of the radio interrupted his tirade. It was car number four.
“Lieutenant, are we good to go?”
“Bring the car over here,” he said.
As the car pulled up in front of Driscoll, he grabbed Moira by both shoulders, opened the sedan’s rear door, and pushed her inside.
“Take this young lady home,” he ordered.
“Will do,” said the detective seated behind the wheel.
Driscoll and Margaret watched as the unmarked police sedan pulled away.
“I’m gonna kill her. What if he had shown up and somehow grabbed her?”
“Let’s be thankful he didn’t.”
Driscoll slowly shook his head.
“I’m hungry,” said Margaret. “And my feet are killing me. Let’s go sit down somewhere and eat.”
The pair climbed in behind Danny. As they made their left turn out of the parking lot, neither of them noticed the slow-moving van that had pulled up behind car number four.
Chapter 60
It had been hours since the failed attempted capture at Toys R Us. A frightening thought occurred to Driscoll. What if the killer could track down Moira through her computer? He reached for his desk phone and punched in Thomlinson’s extension.
“Cedric, contact the Tiernans and arrange to pick up Moira and bring her in. I have some technical questions for the little miss.”
“Consider it done.”
Meanwhile, on the other part of town, Pierce sat patiently behind the wheel of his van. He stretched his back and narrowed his eyes to tiny slits. Waiting was not a favorite pastime. His mind hit upon the details of the day’s activity. The siege at the toy store. The interminable wait. The arrival of the girl, and his following the unmarked police car to her home, outside of which he now sat. It was a quiet, tree-lined street, and his van was not out of place parked where it was, behind a Volkswagen beetle.
Cedric pulled a set of keys from the pegboard, signed out using the log, and walked down the back steps of the station. He began to look for unmarked department auto number 238. The car could be parked anywhere. There were two things detectives never did. One was to put gas in the car, and the second was to leave a note with the keys indicating where the car was parked.
Thomlinson walked north on Yellowstone Boulevard, searching for the car. As he walked he noticed a line outside a local bodega. Curiosity got the better of him, and he made his way over to the store to see what was going on.
“What’s up?” he asked the last man on line.
“Two hundred fifty-two million dollars is what’s up, my brother.”
Of course! The Mega Millions lottery, he thought. One of the biggest payoffs in history, and he’d almost walked right by it. He took his place in line, figuring Driscoll wouldn’t mind. Hell, if he won, he might give Driscoll a million or two. It was the Lieutenant who had stood by him when all the others had turned their backs on him.
As the line slowly shuffled toward the store’s counter, Thomlinson began to dream about what he would do with all that money. It would mean a new life for him. He could finally go home. For good. Home, where it was warm. Home, where he could escape New York City and its cold, relentless winters. He had always longed for the sun and the glistening sand of his native Trinidadian beaches.
It would also take him away from all the stares, the whispers, and the looks. Away from the accusing eyes and the contempt that was directed toward him. Hell, the city could keep its pension. As a big winner he would walk into the Commissioner’s office, throw his shield on the desk, and, without a word, turn and walk out the door. It was every cop’s fantasy. So, why not his?
The line moved forward slowly, and it was twenty minutes before he got to play his numbers. He shoved the tickets into his shirt pocket and resumed his search for the car.
The car was parked in a bus stop 200 feet from the bodega. He got in, started her up, and turned on the radio. Bob Marley’s “I Shot the Sheriff” blared from twin speakers. That’s it. It must be a sign, he thought to himself. Yes, Mr. Lottery Director, I’ll take the full cash payout, no installments for me, thank you.
As he pulled away from the curb, three uniformed cops stopped to stare at the crazy detective who was singing at the top of his lungs.
Chapter 61
Moira slammed the door behind her, bound down the steps, and ran past the hedges onto the sidewalk. She looked up and down the street, but didn’t see the car she was expecting. She paced back and forth. Her thoughts were of Driscoll. He had yelled at her in front of his men and had embarrassed her. And now he needed her help again. This time, it’s gonna cost him big time, she thought.
Pierce couldn’t believe his luck. There she was, right out in the open. He could tell by her actions that she was waiting for a ride. But from whom? Caution flags unfurled in Pierce’s brain. After a couple of minutes of hesitation, he seized the moment and acted.
He waited until she turned her back on him and then eased the van out of its parking spot and slowly made his way down the street. As he pulled up next to Moira, he rolled down the window and smiled. He would follow her lead.
“Driscoll send you?” she asked, visibly puzzled.
“That he did. Hop in.”
“I was expecting Cedric.”
“He got called away, so they sent me instead.”
He was a nice-looking man in a tailored suit. Moira decided he looked the part and got in.
“I’m Detective Sweeney,” Pierce said, as he stuck out his hand.
“Moira,” said the girl as she shook it.
Pierce eased the van away from the curb and stopped at the corner. He turned to face his prize. “Moira, I dropped my cell phone, and I think it slid behind your seat. Could you reach around and grab it for me?”
“Sure,” said Moira, bending her body away from Pierce.
With a rag soaked in Halothane, Pierce smothered the girl’s face. Moira quickly succumbed to the powerful elixir, and a gleeful Colm Pierce now had a new toy to play with.
Chapter 62
By the time Thomlinson got to Moira’s house, the girl was nowhere to be found. He rang Moira’s bell. Her mother told him the last time she saw her daughter was when she was pacing the sidewalk waiting for her ride. That was twenty minutes ago.
Thomlinson used the car’s police radio to contact Driscoll. “Lieutenant, I’m outside Moira’s house, but the girl’s not here. Her mother says she was waiting outside the house for me. She call you?”
“No. I haven’t heard a word from her.” A feeling of dread came over Driscoll. “Cedric, start knocking on doors and see if anyone saw her in the last half hour or so. Get back to me, pronto.”
“OK. Anything else?”
“Yeah. What the hell took you so long? It’s a half hour ride, and it took you close to an hour.”
“I hit construction on the Belt. It was backed up solid,” Thomlinson lied.
“OK. Start knocking on doors and get back to me.”
Within ten minutes Thomlinson was back on the phone to Driscoll. “Lieutenant?”
“What have you got?”
“A lady down the street saw Moira get into a van and leave about a half hour ago. She says she wasn’t really paying attention, but she’s sure it was a van. Nothing else. Just a van. She doesn’t even remember what color it was.”
Driscoll felt sick in the pit of his stomach. He has her. His policeman’s instinct told him so.
&nb
sp; “Detective Thomlinson, get your ass back here now!” Driscoll hung up without another word.
As he drove back toward the precinct, Cedric pondered his fate. He was far too good a detective not to know the girl was in danger. For the second time in his life, his mistake had put another human being in harm’s way. He retrieved the Lotto tickets from his shirt pocket, ripped them in half, and tossed them out the window. There would be no warm winter back home, no early resignation, and no escape from his fellow officers’ looks of disdain.
He saw the sign for KELLY’S BAR up ahead. Veering the car toward the curb, he pulled into a spot out front. Stepping out of the car, he opened the wide oak door and slipped inside. Wordlessly, Detective Second Grade Cedric Thomlinson stepped out of the light and into the shadows that were his past.
Chapter 63
Twice that night, Driscoll’s sleep was shattered by the whine of distant sirens. Each time he had dashed to the window, only to stare at a deserted shoreline. Sleep starved, he pondered what Margaret had reported to him concerning the DA’s daughter. She had interviewed Doctors Astin, Galina, and Pierce, along with the ICU nurse, Susan Dupree. What Driscoll found curious was that Nurse Dupree had indicated that Doctor Pierce, a radiologist, had tried repeatedly to revive Clarissa using defibrillator paddles. Now what was a radiologist doing in a pediatric ICU with defibrillator paddles? Margaret further reported that all three doctors were at the girl’s side when she suffered a massive heart attack and died, despite the extreme measures exercised to bring her back. Had the cardiac arrest been a result of the injuries she had sustained? None of the physicians believed so. Her autopsy indicated no link as well. So why the heart failure? And what about the conversation she had had with Godsend over the Internet? Where did that fit in?
Driscoll had dozed off with the TV on, tuned to New York 1, an all-news channel. His eyes became fixed to the screen as Aaron Miesner announced breaking news: “This morning, at 4:32 A.M., security officers at Pinelawn Cemetery reported that a mausoleum had been desecrated, and a body interred in its white marble chamber had been mutilated. The butchered remains have been identified as those of Clarissa Parsons, the daughter of Manhattan’s District Attorney, Jack Parsons-”
The telephone rang. Driscoll answered it. The DA’s voice roared in his ear.
“Jesus Christ, John. If you can’t defend the dead, what am I paying you for?”
A beep interrupted the verbal assault.
“Jack, that’s call-waiting. It’s gotta be someone from the squad. I gotta put you on hold.”
“Don’t you-”
Driscoll cut off Parsons and depressed the “talk” button. It was Thomlinson.
“The motherfucker mutilated the girl’s body, and now Parsons is on the warpath. He went up one side of me and down the other. Called me an incompetent drunk! Said I was the reason for the fuckup. And now he’s after you. I tried to head him off, but he’s bearing teeth.”
“I know. I got him frothing at the bit on the other line.”
“There’s more. The son of a bitch has got Moira! We just got word by e-mail.”
“Read it to me!”
Centurions in Blue,
Hail to you all with the thankless task of apprehending us lower demons. Your sweet lamb is now in the wolf’s den. I relish the thought of the nearing orgy. Such fresh flesh, inviting canine claws. Such unblemished skin soon to be lacerated by bestial talons. Such delicate bones holding such moist meat. Moira is her name.
Adieu
Chapter 64
When Moira came to, her palms and ankles were nailed to a pine chair. The slightest stir delivered infinite suffering. Perfect stillness temporarily kept the agony at bay. The nails had lacerated cartilage and tendons, perforated muscle tissue, and pulverized her bones. She had ceased screaming long ago. Now, no sounds could escape her mouth, sealed as it was with plumbing tape. No tears could secrete from her eyelids-they were clamped together with globs of Krazy Glue.
“I knew you’d come,” the voice lumbered. “The certainty never wavered. Curiosity is such a stimulating elixir, don’t you think? I also knew you’d be naive. It’s quite amazing how both traits coexist so comfortably within one’s mind.”
He had an educated voice. The realization struck Moira as odd.
Someone moved what she thought to be a metal chair. She imagined her torturer shifting his weight as he sat there, watching her.
“I knew you had to be young. And my guess was right. Only a youthful mind would waste its precious resources trying to catch a demon like me. That’s because the young believe in Satan and all his minions and the power of the magician’s wand. Therein lies my realm, dear one. My element. It’s funny. But, somehow I knew sooner or later a heroine dressed in Buster Browns and a double A bra, barely past the onset of menstruation, would come traipsing into my lair. Yes, curiosity is a dreadful yet divine commodity, don’t you think? I had a hunch it was you when I saw you approach that group of detectives. I was at a safe distance, watching your every move through my field glasses. And such a legion of policemen they had brought with them. My, oh my! Of course, I wasn’t playing by the rules. Not being there in aisle three wasn’t quite fair, but sometimes we demons lie. But then, so did you. Your Donny was a fraud. Remember?”
She heard the creaking sound. He had moved again.
“At first, I thought your makeup a bit excessive for your seraphic face. I wondered about that. And that brown suede miniskirt? ‘Heavens,’ I cried. ‘That’s how she’s dressed for our date?’ In case you were wondering, my plan was a simple one. I simply followed as the policemen took you home. They left. You eventually came out. And now you’re here.”
The chair creaked again. She heard the sound of his footsteps.
Chapter 65
The decoy police sedan worked very well, parked beside the row of hedges lining the shoulder of the Palisades Interstate Parkway. Inspector Tom Mueller at Highway Patrol 17 may have been short staffed, but he believed it was senseless to let an extra police vehicle sit dormant in the precinct’s garage. He ordered the marked cruiser to be situated at a strategic location along the Parkway. It was unmanned, but a speeding motorist wouldn’t be able to tell; the motorist would slow down at the first sighting of the highly visible dark blue vehicle with its colorful array of emergency lights.
It was nearing 10:00 P.M., time to retrieve the decoy, when Highway Patrol Officer Bill Simmon’s patrol car #643 pulled in behind the parked cruiser. Officer John Masterson, his partner, stepped out onto the shoulder of the road. Three steps from the decoy’s door, he unfastened the safety on his 9-mm automatic. He had realized the vehicle was occupied.
A girl’s body leaned against the passenger door. The smell of regurgitation and human excrement singed Officer Masterson’s sinuses. His flashlight illuminated blotches of dried blood staining the girl’s blouse and miniskirt.
“You’d better forget the card game, partner,” he grumbled. “We’re gonna have one helluva night.”
Chapter 66
Colm had never boned dead virginal flesh before. The audacity of the feat intoxicated him. To celebrate Clarissa’s desecration, he visited his wine cellar and lingered before the bins. He finally selected a 1975 Chateau Latour.
Whispers of adulation, murmurs of delight oozed through the concrete flooring. Soon he would join the cheering party gathered beneath him with his prize. He would rattle Clarissa in the face of his parents. How dare they think she would have gotten away? But for now, he would savor his trophy in seclusion.
When he had had his fill of the wine, he descended to the lower level to meet with his tenants. At first, they could not contain their exaltation. But at the sight of the new skeleton, the assembly became silent, resenting that their cramped quarters would be shared by yet another.
Clutching the child’s bones, Colm eyed the shelves for a suitable place to deposit them. He would need time to build her showcase. The residents groaned in unison. He understood their grievance
. It was crowded enough already without another relic. He would renovate the atelier, he thought. It would add another one thousand square feet to their catacomb. It meant he would have to cease his killings, for the time being, but he could resume his sport once the expansion was underway.
Maybe he would apply to the New York State Council for the Arts for a grant to back the project. After all, these were former residents of New York City, now inhabiting Nassau County. It would be a form of income-maintenance subsidy to guarantee proper lodging for these former taxpaying members of the community. He filed the thought for consideration at a later date.
The ground suddenly shimmied, followed by stillness. A second tremor was more pronounced. It displaced a clavicle, which tumbled from its shelf and shattered on the terra-cotta-tiled floor.
Earthquake! he thought. He wedged himself into the lift.
Reaching the ground floor, he bolted out of the house, expecting an apocalyptic landscape of shattered houses and burning cars. But the street was intact. A diesel breeze fumigated the thoroughfare; smoke billowed from a bulldozer with a spider arm, its jackhammer pulverizing the asphalt. Huge steel pipes lay nearby, awaiting installation.
Colm envisioned the bulldozer causing the walls of his precious trophy room to cave in, entombing his possessions in mountains of rubble. Then a worse fear crept into his consciousness. What if the vibrations didn’t bury his guests? What if it unearthed them?
Chapter 67
A grief-stricken Eileen Tiernan straddled the chair, hugging her son, Timothy, close to her bosom. Ryan was clamped to her leg. Her husband sat at her side. They all glanced up as Driscoll and Margaret stepped into the pediatric ward’s corridor.
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