by C. E. Hansen
After the cursory greeting, the captain inquired as to the reason for Gil’s visit.
Gil informed the captain he was investigating an arson/murder, which occurred during same timeframe his department had several issues with a young man named Joseph Kuzlow. Gil asked if the captain had any information on Kuzlow. The captain remembered the name and provided Gil with the records his department had on Kuzlow, but explained to Gil if he wanted credible information on Kuzlow he would do better to contact Detective Montelano.
Gil asked for the contact information for the retired detective, who now resided in Florida.
“Mind stepping out, I need to make a phone call,” The captain asked.
Gil stepped out, hearing the captain on the phone.
Captain Maloney called Detective Montelano, asking permission to give the investigator his phone number. Gil watched as Maloney scribbled on a note pad and hung up the phone. Maloney looked up and gestured Gil back inside.
Gil sat. The captain handed him the retired detective’s phone number.
“That’s Montelano’s cell, said to call him after 6:30. He and the wife are heading out, early bird special.” Captain Maloney laughed, shaking his head.
Gil thanked him for his assistance and after shaking hands turned to leave.
“Good luck with that, Roberts. I remember that fire, whole family died...except for the one kid. Shame.”
From his room in the Sofitel in Philadelphia, Detective Gil Roberts looked down at his watch. 6:45. Opening his cell, he called the retired cop in Florida.
“Yeah, I remember him. He’s one bad apple,” the retired detective confirmed.
“Can you tell me anything that might help me find this bad apple today?”
“A really fucked up kid, that one. Did all those things to those animals, set all those fires, it was him for sure. I was sure then and I’m sure now. I remember hearing years later he went into Philadelphia, stayed in some shelter for a while.
“I had a buddy, another cop worked in Philly. I used to have a drink with him on occasion. Had a run in with this fucked up kid. My buddy’s name is Ryan, Detective Paul Ryan. Told me the kid I thought was good for killing the animals and setting those fires near the boys’ home in Manayunk was picked up for solicitation. No charges filed. Got a slap on the wrist and released. Funny thing is when I saw my buddy a few years later, he said ‘Strange how that little prick we had all that trouble with a few years back ended up some big-time model in New York City, or some shit like that.’ Turns out some agent found the kid on the street and liked his look or somethin’ so he put him on billboards. Now I don’t know this for a fact. Just what my buddy said. Wish I could help you.”
The detective took a swallow and then started talking again.
“So you think this kid could be good for that fire that killed that family? I remember that, shame that was.” He paused, another gulp. Gil was wishing he had a cold beer now.
“Yeah, it was aroun’ the same time as Kuzlow was in Manayunk. Heartbreaking. Whole family burned...except one boy, if I’m rememberin’ right.”
Gil thought, yes one boy, now a very angry, vengeful man.
“We looked at him, for the fire, turns out he was out with his friends fucking around. Harmless kid shit. His buddies vouched for him, some neighbors saw him. Said they were together in one of the kids’ garage. Always wondered what happened to that kid. Damn shame.”
“Since you handled the Kuzlow case, you think he could have set that fire?”
“We never looked at him for that. Probably dropped the ball on that one, should have. Kid fits the profile.” He paused then added, “That kid had something missing, you know, like no soul. A bad fucker. You know psychiatrists say it usually starts with animals”—Gil heard him take a drink again—“then they get all kinds of crazy and it escalates to people, you know? Sick fuck, that kid. Well...” Another gulp. “that’s all I can remember.”
“Thank you for your time, Detective.”
“Hope I helped.”
“You have, thank you.”
They both hung up. Gil had received his next lead and was on his way to the Big Apple.
Chapter 34
Cole’s cell rang. Looking down at the caller ID he glanced up, and stared right through the two individuals sitting at the conference table. “I’ve got to take this call.”
Cole stood up without excusing himself and walked into his office.
Sandra Thompson and Ty McCormick looked at each other. Sandra opened her laptop and started typing. Ty took his iPhone out of his jacket pocket and began scanning his email.
“He’s had his mind on something other than the New York acquisition,” Sandra explained, sounding worried.
They heard the door to Cole’s office close.
“Grayson.”
“Mr. Grayson, Gil Roberts here.”
“What do you have for me?”
“Mr. Grayson, I want to advise you I’ll be heading to New York City following a lead. I got new information and have it on good authority that Kuzlow, who I believe is responsible for the arson and murder of your family, is living and working in New York City.”
Cole’s resonating growl disrupted the conversation. Gil paused a moment then continued.
“It seems that Kuzlow, a street kid in Philly, had a couple of brushes with the law, solicitation, simple assault, all minor. He worked a few odd jobs then was discovered up by some modeling agent and taken to New York to become his new poster boy. Now he’s some sort of highly sought after model. I have more to look into, but wanted to update you on what I’ve found.”
“Good work. Do you need anything from me?”
“No, I’m still pulling from the retainer you provided. I won’t need any additional money at this time.”
“You let me know what you need.” Giving his next comment some thought, he continued, “And Roberts, if you find him, report directly to me immediately. Maintain surveillance, no action. He’s mine. Understand?”
“Yes sir, I’ll keep you up to speed.”
Cole hung up the phone. His blood went cold and he shuddered. He walked the length of his office several times, his mind racing, his fists flexing. It was a distinct possibly this fucker was living in New York. Now wasn’t that convenient?
Cole immediately made arrangements to fly to and spend the next several weeks in Manhattan. He was adamant Grace not find out he was in New York. He wanted her kept away from this, safe.
Cole settled himself into his apartment at the Asbury. On his arrival, he informed his staff he wanted his presence there kept confidential, revealed to no one under any circumstances. He sensed he was getting close. Roberts was following a good lead that looked promising and after eighteen years, Cole was extremely anxious.
Cole stayed in his apartment for eight days awaiting news from Roberts, his patience finally rewarded Friday. His cell rang; his grip tightened. He looked down at the caller ID. Goddamn it…Grace. He closed his eyes and threw his head back. Of all the times to call him. He was on the edge of a knife, leaning from side to side, trying to maintain his balance. It rang for what seemed an eternity and with a final beep went to voice mail.
He’d call her back later, tell her he was in a meeting. He told himself he would make it up to her somehow. Placing the phone on a nearby table, he went to pour himself a scotch, throwing it back then quickly pouring another. His phone vibrated and beeped, alerting an incoming text. Opening his phone, he read the message from Grace.
“Of course I got the voicemail…this your way of staying in touch? I haven’t heard from you in so long. I wonder if it was just sex for you. If I was just a good lay.”
He quickly responded.
In meeting. You couldn’t be more wrong. Trust me, Grace. It will be over soon. I promise.
Looking for a distraction, he opened his laptop and read the news. He looked at the stock market, trying to keep his mind active; his investments were doing well. He couldn’t do any wrong when
it came to making money. That part was easy. He wished the rest of his life were as easy. He walked into the kitchen and grabbed the plate with the sandwich Jason brought up for him earlier. His cell phone rang again and he walked to the table, picked it up, and looked down at the caller ID, relieved it wasn’t Grace, but Roberts.
“Grayson,” Cole answered, sounding abrupt.
“Mr. Grayson, Gil Roberts. I did more digging and I think we have a major break.”
Cole sucked in air, causing Roberts to pause. “What do you have?” Cole was brusque.
“I spoke with several people, keeping it low-key as instructed, and found some information I think will break this wide open.” He paused; Cole was strung tight. His life was barely-managed chaos at best. He hoped Roberts had the information he’d been searching for the past seventeen years.
“Go on.”
“I drove back to Philadelphia and checked the public records during ninety-five, six and seven and found the public record where Kuzlow petitioned the courts and was granted a name change. He changed his name to Jonathan Kaplan. I called a service I use and they got me an address for Kaplan. He is living in New York City, modeling for ‘Unique Modeling Agency.’”
Cole’s blood turned to ice.
“Mr. Grayson?”
“I’m here.” It took Cole a minute to grasp what he’d been told. His hands began shaking, his heart rate quickened, adrenaline racing through his veins. He cleared his voice, “Good work, Roberts. Keep poking around. I want to know his phone number, where he is, where he lives, works, fuck, I want to know what size his shoes are.” Cole’s voice rose dramatically. He had to calm down and think. “You understand?” He paused. “I want to know everything you can find out on Jonathan Kaplan,” Cole said with a sneer.
“Yes, sir. I’ll be back.”
“I don’t have to tell you I need this intel as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, I’ll get on it right away.”
Cole hung up and walked to the couch. Holy Fuck. I had my hands on the son of a bitch and didn’t even fucking know it. He sat, his legs momentarily weak. His mind racing in six directions. This “Jonathan” was Grace’s ex-boyfriend, and he looked good for the fire that murdered Cole’s family. The coincidences were astounding and adding up quickly. Cole’s next thought chilled his blood…
Women, blonde women, all having a strong resemblance to Grace…were being murdered. Cole’s blood turned to ice. Could Grace be his next intended victim? This guy was past insane.
He immediately grabbed his cell and dialed. “Yes, sir,” a man’s voice answered in a commanding tone.
“Tom, I want the 24/7 on Grace Preston to be your number one priority. I want an armed man on her at all times.” He paused; he had to think it through, had to remain calm. “Do you understand me?”
“Yes sir, I’ll get Hendricks on it right away.”
“I have good intel pointing to her as the target for the Blonde Murderer. DO NOT LET OUT OF YOUR SIGHT.”
“She just went into a bar, sir. Hasn’t come out yet.”
“DO. NOT. LET. HER. OUT. OF. YOUR. SIGHT! Are we clear here, Tom?”
“Crystal,” Tom replied.
“This guy is tall, about 6’2”, blond hair, slim build. I don’t know if he’s wearing any sort of disguise.” Cole took a deep breath. “I had him...”
“Sorry, sir, I didn’t get the last thing you said.”
“Never mind. Do you have a visual on her now?” There was a brief pause.
“Affirmative. She is still in the bar. I have her in my sights now.”
“Good. Exactly where are you?” Cole demanded.
“A bar, Luke’s. It’s located on 72 Street, Central Park West, the NW side of the corner—”
“I know it,” Cole interrupted. “On my way. Don’t let her out of your sight.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chapter 35
I sat down in a booth and ordered myself a bourbon, waiting for Michelle. I laughed at the irony, sounding shrill.
I am losing my mind.
The bar was empty tonight, unusual for Luke’s. There were nine or ten people total. Michelle texted she was on her way and would be a few minutes late. Sarah walked my drink over herself and placed it down on the coaster she dropped in front of me, and stood there, an inquisitive look on her face.
“Was he as tasty as he looked?” A sly smirk curved her lips.
“Sarah.” I looked up, trying to concentrate. My mind wrapped around thoughts of Cole. Much too personal to discuss with Sarah. “Um, he was…Fuck. Where is everyone?” I looked around.
Sarah looked disappointed and turned her head. I wasn’t giving her the information she was dying to know.
Michelle half walked, half ran toward Luke’s, knowing she would have to deal with Grace’s craziness because she was late. Her boss had crossed the boundary between boss and worker bee, and needed to be put in his place. She knew Grace was stressing, but Michelle would coax her into talking about Cole and what was bothering her. Then Grace would forget all about her being late and they’d grab a bite to eat and go home.
Michelle turned the corner. Luke’s was another two streets down.
A hand roughly slapped hard over her lips, preventing a sound from escaping, and dug into her mouth. A large strong arm encircled her midsection, dragging her backward. At first, she thought there were two men. Michelle lost control of her fear, peeing herself; the heated liquid ran down her legs.
If this was someone’s idea of funny…Jeff…
Michelle was getting really pissed off.
Then she was dragged into the park. One of her shoes fell off as he pulled her over the short concrete wall, scraping the skin on the underside of her legs. She thought ironically—you really don’t feel pain when you are in shock, and this was not a joke. She started clawing and kicking at him. She couldn’t see him.
Unable to scream and pull his hand free from her mouth, her lungs burned as she fought for air. Reaching behind her, she clawed his face. He pulled her arm and spun her around, and reaching back he punched her full force in her face. She crumbled in a heap to the cold damp ground.
Jonathan knelt down beside Michelle’s unconscious body. He removed the razor from his pocket. He opened it and held it up then pressed it to Michelle’s throat. He was agitated and quickly swiped the gleaming blade across her neck. Satisfied, he saw her bleeding. Too bad there wouldn’t be time to watch her die. He heard someone behind him and stood up, kicking Michelle in the ribs.
“That’s for scratching my face, you fucking cunt.”
He grabbed the piece of cloth he carried in his pocket and wiped the blade clean then shoved both back in his pocket.
Jonathan jogged deeper into the park, deciding to take the long way, passing the Museum and coming up on the other side of Luke’s. He had heard Michelle on her phone telling someone she was in a hurry and late meeting Grace at Luke’s.
He got excited. His face flushed, his heart rate increased. It was finally his time. He rubbed at his jacket pocket, making sure the blade was still there. Frustrated at having to waste his time on Michelle, he wished he could have told her he’d always hated her. Nasty cunt. He had to focus on the blonde waiting inside the bar.
Chapter 36
I was getting seriously irritated with Michelle. Damn it, Shelle, where the fuck are you? I called her cell about twenty times; each time it went straight to voicemail. And you always complain to me about not answering.
I decided to leave. I’ll tell Sarah I’m going home, to tell Michelle I’m really pissed off. She’ll get the message. I’ll give her hell later.
“Sarah,” I called out.
Sarah turned her head and lifted her finger, acknowledging she heard me. When she finally reached me, I stood.
“Hey, can you put that on my tab, add ten for yourself, and when Michelle gets here, if she gets here, tell her I went home and I was really pissed off.”
“Sure...and thanks.” She turn
ed to leave but spun back around.
“Just tell me one thing...”
I looked at her.
“Was he as delicious as he looked?”
The tear in my heart widened. “No, Sarah, he was all show...no action.”
She half smiled at me. “I thought there was that chance. Well, night. See ya soon.”
I slipped my coat on and wrapped my scarf around my neck. Picking up my pocketbook, I headed for the door. I stopped and turned around, deciding to go to Starbucks to get myself a hot chocolate. It was cold and damp and I craved one. Besides, cocoa was my comfort drink and God knows I needed a little comfort. It also goes good with bourbon. I walked out the side door. Starbucks is at the top of 72nd street. I walked through the “smoking area” to the gate on the other side of the courtyard and turned onto 72nd street, walking quickly.
Suddenly something pulled me hard by my scarf, yanking me back. I stumbled and was falling when a pair of strong arms kept me from hitting the sidewalk. I felt, but never saw the punch that hit me in the temple. I was dizzy, I swayed. What…Who the fuck…? Before I could regain my balance, that same fist found my jaw, hitting me again. I must have passed out.
Cole ran from Luke’s over to the white van parked across the street. He banged violently on the side door. The door quickly slid open, revealing two men in the front seats, one man in the back working with the equipment. They all turned to look at him.
“Still have that visual?” Cole demanded.
“We’ve been watching that door ever since she went in there. No one showed up to meet her. No one came out.”
“You have a man on the side door too?” Cole asked.
“Side door?”
“You fucking asshole!” Cole took off running to Luke’s. Panic took over, adrenaline kicking in. He ran inside the bar like a maniac, not caring about anything or anyone except for Grace. Needing to find her, he rushed through the door and promptly stopped inside. Quickly he scoured the bar and seating areas. He spotted Sarah toward the end of the bar and ran toward her. She smiled, her eyes lighting up.