At Nancy's direction, they pulled up to a brownstone in Harlem.
"Brandon was subletting from a Broadway actor friend who was doing a show in London for eight months. Eight months turned into two years, and he would stay forever if he could. He loves this place to pieces."
Nancy led them up the walkway and then paused, slumping against the door for a second before pulling out a key ring from her pocket. "I'm going to open the door and let you in to look around, but I'm going to sit on the stoop for a moment, all right?"
Lucky felt the woman's sadness in her bones and nodded, gently tugging the keys from the woman's grasp.
"Go ahead and sit. We've got it."
Nancy turned, but not before Lucky saw her face crumple.
"I'll hit the computer and see if I can locate the email, you look around for a calendar, maybe a journal, and then see if you can find his cell phone," Lucky said to ‘Los.
The latter was doubtful, seemed that no one really left home without their phones, but it had to be said. Having one big break right now could change the whole momentum of this case and potentially save their killer’s next intended victim.
The last of the locks tumbled and Lucky swung the door open. She stepped inside, noting the scent of lemons as she did.
It was meticulous. Everything was in its place. Books neatly lined up on a massive, walnut bookshelf, not a one out of place. Gleaming wood furnishings, polished to a mirror finish with citrus furniture wax. Nancy was right. Brandon obviously loved this place. It was evident in every corner.
She headed for the laptop, plugged into the wall on a desk in the far corner of the living room. There was a neat stack of mail next to it with a post-it note on top, declaring that pile, "Bills to be paid”.
That was good. Order made things easier to find.
‘Los drifted toward the bedroom and she took a seat at the desk, tugging the laptop open. She glanced around at the pictures dotting the walls and sitting over the mantle as the machine whirred to life, booting up.
She cocked her head in surprise as the screen opened a second later without requiring a password. The past few years, they'd rarely come across a vic who didn't have one set. Their vic was either too trusting, didn't have anything to hide, or both.
She scanned the open tabs at the top of the screen and saw one for Brandon’s Facebook page. When she clicked, the first image was of Brandon himself as Vanity. A gorgeous, smiling woman stared back at her, with dimples so deep Shirley Temple would've been envious, and wide green eyes the color of the old, glass ginger ale bottles Lucky’s mother used to buy when any of the kids had a stomach ache.
She clicked on the section labeled photos and found other, more candid shots. Brandon, dressed as a man, head thrown back, laughing at something only he and the person on the other side of the camera would ever know about. A group of people seated around what appeared to be the aftermath of a traditional Thanksgiving meal, along with Nancy, looking stuffed and sleepy and happy.
Nancy had been right. Brandon loved life, and this monster had done his damnedest to snuff that life out. She didn’t know when, but Lucky knew one thing for sure.
Come hell or high water, she would make him pay for that.
She traced her fingers along the trackpad and clicked on the little mailbox in the corner of the screen. Then, breath suspended, she scrolled down the line of emails. It took less than a minute to find. It had been the only one visible that was “starred” as important.
Lucky opened the message and scanned it quickly, her senses humming.
“Well, Mr. Maxwell Connor. Let’s see if we can’t connect these dots and figure out who you really are.”
29
After one more stop to talk with their hotel witness, she and ‘Los were back in the conference room with the team, minus the detectives who were still conducting interviews.
She and ‘Los made their way to the board and she took point.
“We spoke to Brandon’s mother and were able to access his emails. Here’s what we’ve got so far. We know he worked at the Kitty Kat Lounge last night until around nine PM. According to an email between the parties, Brandon was scheduled to leave work early and meet a man going by the name Maxwell Connor, here, at Mirage Bar and Restaurant, which sits on the block just past 50th and 6th, which is one block south and one block west from Mel’s shop, here,” she said, as ‘Los pushed a green pin into the board on that spot. “We know that they left and went to The Luther hotel, which is four blocks north and four blocks east of Mirage, on the block just past Lexington and 54th.” ‘Los pushed an orange pin into the spot. “That’s where Brandon was discovered in a hotel room, unconscious and bleeding out. A maid named Angela Posetti had been delivering towels to a nearby room and heard a scuffle. She went and banged on the door. When no one answered, she was just about to use her key to gain entry when the door swung open. She was shoved to the ground hard and broke her wrist in the fall. Unfortunately, it happened very quickly, and all she saw was a flash of the man who’d pushed her. Suspect is a white male, in his early thirties to mid-forties. Slight build, but fit and strong, which fits the description of Mel’s killer, as well as the driver who picked up Moncrief. He had dark brown hair and a mustache.”
Lucky jerked her chin at ‘Los and he took over as she snagged a bottle of water from the table in front of her and took a long gulp.
“According to the report, the responding officers learned from hotel management last night that the room was reserved by an Anthony Leonides. He was attending a three-day conference at the hotel itself, and scheduled to the teeth since he got here, from late morning until almost midnight each night. We believe our perp stole his key at some point, with the knowledge that Mr. Leonides would be out of his room when the crime was committed. At this time, he is not a suspect, nor do we believe he is acquainted with our guy,” ‘Los said, his toned clipped and all business. “We need someone to head to the Kitty Kat Lounge and interview co-workers of Brandon’s who spoke to him last night. See if he shared any more details about Maxwell Connor. Stevens, that’s you. Then, we need someone to liaise with the staff at the hotel and at Mirage, oversee gathering any video footage and getting contact information for anyone on duty last night at the desk, the bar, or in the restaurant. Flynn, that’s you. Once you’ve gotten a lineup of potential witnesses, delegate those interviews to the detectives on the team to handle. Any updates?”
He glanced around the room and Maryanne stood, a thin sheaf of papers in hand.
“Officers were called to a scene late Monday night on 52nd and 7th. A horse from the Carriage House Stables was found dead, the driver incapacitated. He was released from the hospital the next morning. Addresses sit squarely on our board.”
Lucky nodded, adrenaline pumping again.
“Also bears mentioning, at this time, everything supports a one-sided game,” Abbott added. “White moves only. We have more data to comb through, to be sure, but that’s what everything is pointing to. Now that Brandon is confirmed as part of the mix, and we know where they started before heading to The Luther, we’ll know where he’ll make his next move as soon as we add it to the simulation.”
Fielding’s expression was grim as he shook his head. “I don’t know if it’s going to be that easy. The queen moved, but now Brandon is off the board. My money was on the queen to move again and put the king in checkmate if there were no black moves to block. This is going to put a wrench in the works.”
She set the water bottle down and voiced her biggest fear.
“Which was my thought, as well. We have to assume our killer knows he’s on borrowed time, now, and will start to move more quickly in order to ensure he finishes the game. He failed and almost got caught, to boot. I’m concerned that he’s going to go off the playbook here and call an audible. Will he find a new queen? Or will he change his strategy altogether? We have no way of knowing. Best case is we get a positive ID and stop him before he even goes to make his next move. ‘Los
, can you call the lab and put some pressure on them about the potential prints and DNA found at the hotel? And then Angela should be here shortly. If you can sit with her and the sketch artist, I’ll head to the stables and interview the carriage driver. See where they started their ride and what he saw. Maybe he got a good look at him.”
“Roger that.”
“Okay,” she said with a grim nod. “We’ve all got our work cut out for us. And if we do it right, this could all be over in a matter of hours.”
Or they’d be too little, too late, and they’d have another body on their hands by morning.
She shoved the thought away as she strode from the room, on a mission.
30
Lucky stepped into the Carriage House stables forty minutes later and instantly recoiled. Sad state when the smell of a dead body barely phased a person but horseshit made them gag.
She swatted at the buzzing flies as she crunched her way through the bits of hay scattered across the floor before slowing near the double row of stalls.
"Hello?" she called.
A couple of unseen horses whinnied in response and then a muffled, male voice called back.
"Sorry, be right with you."
She waited, taking in the setup of the place around her. Lots of unfamiliar equipment hung on various hooks, and the longer she stood there, the more other scents came rushing at her. Worn leather and leather polish. Damp hay. And then, quite suddenly, Irish Spring.
She turned to see a dark-haired man dressed in worn jeans and a sweaty t-shirt standing before her.
"Didn't hear you come in." He stuck out a hand and she took it. "Jimmy Davenport.” He waved her over to a pair of stools in the corner of the barn and gestured to a sweating water bottle on a rickety table next to her seat. "Brought that out for you. Drink up. This weather, hydration is key."
She plucked it off the table with a murmured thanks, noting Jimmy’s voice still held a hint of an Irish brogue.
"Tell me, how can I help? The boss says you had some questions about the other night and poor, old Fat Chance?"
Jimmy's face was open, his posture easy, but there was no mistaking the sadness lingering in his eyes. These animals meant something to him.
She tugged out her notebook and pencil and rested it on her crossed legs. "What time does your shift start, Jimmy?"
He chuckled at that and swiped a grimy hand over his sweaty brow. "That's a question, innit? My shift starts whenever the other assholes that work here don't come in or decide to leave early. I guess you could say I'm on call."
She jotted that down and continued. "What about this past Monday, in particular?"
He scrunched his face as he scratched at his bristly jaw. "I think I worked from noon until about ten PM."
"And during that time, can you tell me about Fat Chance’s scheduled rides?"
He nodded. "Yeah. When it’s hot like this, we don’t have a lot going on. Fat Chance wasn't scheduled at all. Then, about maybe six PM, a fella called and asked if he could have a carriage pick him up at nine and take him for a ride around Central Park. I was the only one round, so I took the booking. Hooked up the carriage when it was time and headed out."
"The man that called, did you note anything in particular about his voice? An accent, maybe, or a sense of urgency that seemed abnormal?"
He scratched his lightly scruffed chin and shook his head slowly. "I didn't. I was in the middle of watering the horses, took down the address he gave me and never thought on it again until it was time to go."
"And what was that address? I’m guessing 50th Street…"
He nodded. “Just past 50th and 8th.” He rattled off the exact address without checking. "I remember because I used to have a friend that lived one building over.”
"Anyway, I pulled up and he was waiting outside for me."
"Was he alone?"
"He was."
"Did you get a good look at him?"
"Decent one, anyways. Slim build. Average height. Dark hair and a beard. He was wearing a ball cap and it was nighttime, so I didn't notice his eyes." He let out a sigh and shrugged, his mouth curling into an apologetic smile. "I hear myself talking and I know I'm of no help. If I'd have known, I'd have paid more attention..." He trailed off and stared down at his hands for a long moment.
It was times like these she wished Carlos could be two places at once. In her mind, she wanted to make this guy feel better, utter a comforting word. But more than that, she wanted to get away from his sadness before it started to slip over her like an inky cloak that she couldn't shake.
She cleared her throat and uncrossed her legs, suddenly needed her feet on solid ground. "You're doing fine, Jimmy. Let's keep going because you never know what might end up being important." At his nod, she pressed on. "So he spoke to you again, there?"
"He did. He said there'd been a change of plans, and asked if I could take him to 52nd and 7th. That he had something to pick up, and then we'd continue to the park. That was fine by me so on we went. The ride was a total of, maybe, ten minutes. I stopped in front of Times Square Church, and that's the last thing I remember. There was a stinging pain in my neck. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in an ambulance headed toward Mount Sinai."
There was no need to tell him how lucky he'd gotten. She could see it in his face, as he relived those moments, that he already knew.
“Fat Chance was an old fellow. He had maybe another year in this biz before he was put out to pasture and living the good life.”
Had their killer somehow known that and found a way to ensure Fat Chance was the only horse available that night?
She pushed herself to her feet and tucked her notebook in her back pocket. "Can you show me the other horses?"
"Sure," he said, rising and setting his travel cup on the table. He led her deeper into the row of stalls and the smell grew sharper. The first few stalls were empty, but as they approached the center of the room, a chuffing sound accompanied the clop of hooves.
He slowed and gestured to the massive animal in front of her. "Here's one of the girls for you."
The beast was massive, its head the size of an anvil. She was a gorgeous shade of cream splashed with large, amber patches, one that sat sassily over her right eye. Her intelligent gaze seemed to size Lucky up and, finding her lacking, she tossed her head back and snorted.
"I don't think she likes me," Lucky said softly, not wanting to rattle the horse further.
Jimmy chuckled, his eyes lighting with good humor that seemed at home on his pleasant face. "This old tart doesn't like anyone. Good thing she’s a show off, so when she’s out on the town, she right prances about. It’s all an act, though."
She shot a glance at the plaque on the side of the horse's stall. Some of the letters in the name Satin Paint had been scratched out and altered, leaving behind a sign that read "Satan's Taint."
She pointed at it.
"Do you guys get a lot of vandals in here, or is that new?"
He tossed his head back and laughed outright, now. "Oh no. I'm ashamed to say I did that in a fit, last week sometime."
As if on cue, old Satan's Taint jerked her head hard right and tried to take a chunk out of Jimmy's shoulder, but the Irishman moved too fast.
"Jesus Christ," Lucky muttered, taking another step back. "What the hell is the matter with her?"
"She doesn't like me talking to other women."
She waited for him to grin again, or tell her he was kidding, but his face was solemn.
“I'm happy to answer any other questions that might help, but maybe we can do it when I get off? I've got to prep for a booking..."
"I think we're set, for now." She sidestepped a yard or so before turning her back on Jimmy's jealous horse, and then led the way toward the exit.
She turned to face him and stuck out her hand. "I appreciate your time, Mr. Davenport." He gave her hand a firm shake and then took the card she offered. "If you think of anything else, don't hesitate to call."
&nbs
p; "It’s Jimmy. And, eh, I was trying for subtlety before, but I'll come right out and ask it. If you'd like to meet for a drink sometime..."
Her cheeks burned as she realized he was asking her out.
“Sorry. You seem like a nice guy, and I appreciate the offer, but I can’t.” She tried to think of something that might pass for a good reason, and came up empty. “I don’t date.”
Jimmy flicked the card with his finger and smiled. “Don’t blame you, there. It’s terrible, yeah?” He took a step back and shrugged. “Anyway, I hope you catch our man. Only the worst kind of person would hurt an animal like that.”
His relative disregard to his own scare and subsequent trip to the E.R. almost made her wish she could say yes to his offer.
Almost, but not quite.
She thanked him again and headed back toward the street, pulling out her phone as she went. After a quick glance to ensure she didn’t miss any texts or emails, she called ‘Los.
“How did it go?” he asked after answering on the second ring.
She quickly relayed the info she’d learned from Jimmy and the route he’d taken with their killer. “Definitely the same guy.”
“I’ll have Abbott add the info to the algorithm. They’ve run a bunch of simulations, and come up with four of the likeliest moves, depending on if he replaces the queen or continues the game without that ‘piece’. Cap is working on getting enough plain clothes cops in place before nightfall, if need be. Lab got a good print off a pack of Rolaids they found at the scene. It did not belong to the vic, which means, it was likely his attacker’s. Now, we’re just waiting for IAFIS to do its thing and see if we get a hit. Already been over an hour, so any time now.”
Four blocks. It was still a lot of ground to cover—too much—but it was a damn sight better than searching most of Midtown.
“If you can manage without me for another half hour, I’m going to stop by the park while I’m over this way. Maybe one of the old guys playing chess will talk to me and have some insight that will help us narrow it down even further.” Computers were great, but sometimes people had insight that a machine just couldn’t provide.
Lucky Break (Lucky Strickland) Page 19