She brought out her everyday plates that she’d found at a pottery shop on an excursion to Vermont. Simple and functional. Max knew she was attached to her things because she’d never had anything she was allowed to keep for the first ten years of her life. And even when she moved in with her grandparents, it had never felt like her home. Everything inside was theirs. This was the first place Max knew, in her heart, was all hers.
Max poured herself a second glass of wine while David dished up.
“Beer?” she offered.
“Thanks.”
She was mildly surprised. David wasn’t much of a drinker. She pulled out a bottle of Harp. She didn’t care much for beer, but Harp Lager was David’s favorite so she always had some around.
She sat down and took a couple of bites, forgetting how hungry she’d been. “I haven’t eaten since a hot dog at the courthouse,” she said.
“I figured. Where’s Riley?”
“Not here. She doesn’t work twenty-four hours a day.”
“Hmm.”
“Did she do something?”
“Not yet.”
She caught his eye. “Cut her some slack.”
“I don’t cut anyone slack. You should know that by now.”
She laughed. “Okay, you win. Besides, your blatant animosity toward her will keep her on her toes. Now, what happened that kept you in Queens all day? I knew O’Hara would talk to you, I just didn’t expect her to keep you so long.”
“She wanted me to tell you that after this she owes you nothing and, in fact, you owe her.”
“Now you’ve got me very curious.”
“You already knew half of what she told me.”
“You mean that she was searching for the Palazzolos in the area where the witness spotted their car.”
He nodded. He drank half his beer, put it down. “O’Hara made it clear that she thinks that the Palazzolos are dead, that they were murdered in a robbery, and their bodies hidden with their car. She also found an empty twenty-five gallon container that had once contained sodium hydroxide, a chemical used to make soap.”
“Lye.” Her heart skipped a beat. Bachman’s voice came back to her.
You’ll never find them.
“She traced the lot numbers and learned that the container was shipped with two other identical containers to an address in Brooklyn where the resident knew nothing about the shipment, nor did she speak English. She went back to the original witness, who doesn’t remember calling the police, but he’s elderly. I asked—very nicely—for her to take me to where she found the container and to let me look at the records.”
“I knew she’d let you.”
“She let me because I am persuasive and diplomatic. When she learned what army unit I was in, she opened up.” He sipped his beer, caught her eye. “Why do I think you planned this all along?”
Max smiled, though her mind was still partly back at the interview with Bachman. “I’ve known Sally for years. Her dad was career military. She trusts you more because so were you.”
“Ten years doesn’t make a career.”
“Long enough.”
“I got her to consider other possibilities. Not that Bachman killed them, but that maybe whoever did made that call about their car. The sodium hydroxide was ordered the day after the Palazzolos disappeared, and it was delivered the day before the witness call.”
“Both were Wednesdays,” Max said from memory. “Bachman always took Tuesday and Wednesday off. Did they record the witness call? Have a phone number?”
“No on the recording, yes on the phone number. After a lot of persuasion, Sally let me trace it. It was a burn phone. The name and address of the person is real, only we don’t think he made the call.”
“Why?” Max asked, mostly to herself. “Why make the call in the first place? Did they want the bodies to be found? But if they did, the police would have found them. The search was competent.”
“Competent?” David almost smiled. “High praise from you.”
“Meaning, the police did due diligence—until they refused to consider that Bachman was responsible. Why would Bachman—or his partner—call the police with a false witness sighting?”
No longer hungry, she put her fork down and sipped her wine.
“The car was tagged in every police system from the minute their kids filed the missing persons report,” she said. “If it had been abandoned on a street, it would have been found. That means a private garage or the bottom of a lake.”
“The lye container had been there for a while, but there were no prints, nothing to help us ID when it was left or who left it. We searched the abandoned train station, found nothing. Sally had already been through it. But we have an idea, and she’s going to follow up on it.”
“What idea?”
“That the bodies are in the car, and the car is in a place that wouldn’t have been searched.”
“You’re sounding cryptic, dear David.”
“Two ideas. The first is that the car is parked inside an abandoned building.”
“For nearly a year.”
“It’s possible. We identified the abandoned buildings within a one-mile radius of where the car was allegedly spotted and Sally is going to tag some cops to help with the search.”
“And the second idea?”
“That the car is deeper down one of the underground tunnels, many of which were sealed off by the city after the last major hurricane flooded them and created a bigger hazard.”
“How well sealed?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is it possible to hide a car down there?”
“Yes.”
“If the bodies were destroyed with sodium hydroxide, we won’t find anything. That’s exactly what he meant.”
David put down his fork and looked her in the eye. “What do you mean?” he said in a far too serious tone.
“Bachman didn’t admit to killing the Palazzolos, but he said I would never find them.”
“Exactly what did he say?”
“‘You’ll never find them. And it’ll eat you up forever.’” She shook her head.
“Max—”
She cut him off. “And you know something else? This all connects.”
She got up and motioned for David to follow her upstairs to her office. She climbed up her footstool and added to her time line when the lye was ordered and when it was picked up. She then got down, moved the footstool to the end of the time line, climbed back up and added the day Sally found the lye.
“Shit,” David muttered.
Sally had found the lye the day before Adam Bachman sent the letter agreeing to interview with Max.
“This is it,” Max said. “This proves that Bachman is working with someone. He watched that area and saw the police return.”
She paced. “Except, it’s not going to prove anything to the D.A,” she argued with herself. “If I take this to Richard, he’ll make Sally’s life hell for talking to me, and he won’t do anything.” He would table it until after the trial. And then would he pursue it? If it could give Bachman grounds for an appeal?
“Can you blame him?” David said. “He wants Bachman in prison for killing five people.”
“And I want to find the Palazzolos.”
“Bachman might tell you the truth after the trial is over. When he’s convicted and sentenced.”
She doubted it. “Do you think Sally can find them?”
“Your call two weeks ago jump-started her into action. She’s motivated, and she has a plan. But it’s going to take her time to search all the places she has in mind.”
“I can—”
He put up his hand. “She said if you offer to help, in person or by hiring anyone, to respectfully decline.”
She wasn’t upset by Sally’s comment. There was a chain of evidence issue, and while Max didn’t always abide by law enforcement rules, with this one—where evidence was tenuous at best—she would. Because she knew and trusted Sally.
&nb
sp; For the first time she thought they would finally get answers as to what had happened to the Palazzolos.
“Will there be any evidence of their bodies left?” she asked.
“Depending on the environment, the chances are that there will be some remains. Unless the killer kept the chemical reaction going over a day or two, or stored them in a small, airtight space, there’s going to be something to test. Bone will dissolve, but not completely. Teeth are especially durable. DNA can be extracted from teeth.”
“How do you know all that?”
He tilted his head. “I’m well-read, dear Max.”
She smiled, then sobered up when she looked back at her time line. At the photos of the Palazzolos and the other five victims.
“Maybe something in their car will point to Bachman as the killer.”
“Maybe he didn’t do it.”
“He did.” Max was certain. Bachman and his unknown partner.
“If the police can’t prove it, at least the family will know for certain what happened to their parents.”
“That might be all we can get.” Max sat on her couch, staring just beyond David at her wall.
“You don’t say that like you mean it.”
“I’m not going to let it go that easily.”
He leaned back against her desk and crossed his arms. “I didn’t think you would.”
“When we find the car, I’ll find a way to twist Bachman around until he spills it.”
David said, “Play me the tape of your interview with Bachman.”
Max got up and walked over to her desk. She’d downloaded the file earlier to her computer. She enhanced the sound, hoping David could catch all Bachman’s whispers. But without his facial expressions, his voice was flat.
Still, David didn’t say anything as he listened.
When the interview was over, Max had the same impression she had while she’d listened to Bachman in person: he was smart, manipulative, and hadn’t acted alone.
“Max,” David said, “promise me you won’t go anywhere alone.”
“For the rest of my life?” she said flippantly.
“If that’s what it takes. You’re right about this.”
“I usually am,” she teased. She didn’t like the dark look on David’s already hardened face.
“Dammit, Maxine, I’m serious. We’ve gone round and round about whether Bachman had a partner, and while your theory made sense, there was no evidence. None. But he knew the sodium hydroxide container had been found, and the only way he could know is if he had someone on the outside who saw the police in the area. He knew when to call you for the interview. That makes him a lot smarter than I gave him credit for.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I never underestimated him. Had he not been slowed down by the accident on the Queensboro Bridge, Ava Raines would be dead today, and no one would have suspected Adam Bachman.”
“But the police don’t believe he worked with anyone, and unless I can convince Sally O’Hara—who seems to be the only person in the NYPD who doesn’t hate you—that he has a partner, the partner gets off scot-free. He could see you as a threat, especially after you air the show on the murders.”
“I’m sure I have one or two other friends in NYPD.”
“For shit’s sake, Maxine!” He slapped his hand on her desk. “Take me seriously!”
She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. Finally she said, “David, I do take you seriously.”
“They drew you in.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that if that time line is accurate, and Bachman called you because the sodium hydroxide had been found, that means they intentionally drew you into whatever game they’re playing.”
“I was already invested in the Palazzolos. Long before I sat down with Bachman. Before I even suspected he was responsible.”
David’s face was still firm, so she added, “The good news is I’ll be safe at the courthouse all week and Sally will be searching for the Palazzolos, and maybe by Friday we’ll have answers.”
David didn’t comment. He stared at her board. She didn’t know exactly what he was thinking.
“I have a change of plans for tomorrow,” Max said.
“No.”
“You can come with me.”
“Oh, I can?”
She ignored his sarcasm. “I scheduled a meeting with Dr. Arthur Ullman here at two in the afternoon. I’ll bail on court, let Riley have my credentials. It’ll be good for her, and I saw the docket. Tomorrow afternoon it’s the forensics reports, which I’ve read and much of the information is dry and boring. So right after my noon report with Ace outside the courthouse, we’ll grab lunch and head back here.”
“That’s a change I can live with,” David said. “What do you make of his comment about not being violent?”
“You’re getting really good at this,” Max said. “Soon you’ll be the investigative reporter.”
David shot her a nasty look as they walked back downstairs to finish dinner.
“He said it twice,” she said. “‘I’m not violent.’ He’s a hands-off killer. He likes watching his victims die, almost passive. I think Arthur will steer us in the right direction.”
“I’m serious about your security measures,”
“I know you are. And I promise, I’ll be just as serious.”
“Don’t pursue his partner without me.”
“I wouldn’t think of it.”
Chapter Seven
When the door opened, Riley held up the six-pack of Blue Point Summer Ale from the local brewery on Long Island.
“Oh, God, Riley, you want something.” Kyle groaned. “It’s ten o’clock. I have class in the morning. At nine.”
“Nine? That’s early? Wuss.” Riley walked in before Kyle could shut the door on her.
He grabbed the six-pack and frowned. “I’m not sharing.”
“I got them all for you,” she said. “Besides, I have to be up at six to meet my boss at seven. So don’t complain about a nine A.M. class.”
“I’ll give you an hour.”
“If you’re good, that’s all it’ll take.”
He rolled his eyes and put the six-pack in the refrigerator. He pulled two out, grabbed the bottle opener that was attached to the refrigerator, and opened them up. He handed one to Riley. “You know I always share.”
She clicked her bottle to his and sipped. “Thank you, sir. I’m hoping this will be easy, but I’m kind of stumped on where to start.”
Riley had met Kyle Callahan at Columbia when she was a senior and he was a junior. He started dating her roommate and the first time they met, Riley had seen far more of Kyle than she wanted when she walked into a romantic tryst in the dorm. Kyle and her roommate had broken up after a semester, but Riley and Kyle remained friends. He’d graduated last month, but was taking summer classes toward his masters in communication. He was a computer genius, as far as Riley was concerned, and she didn’t know why he hadn’t gone into the field. She’d asked—often—but he’d never given her a straight answer.
“One hour,” Kyle said. “I need my beauty sleep.”
She snorted a laugh, then explained what she wanted. “I have a list of all mental health facilities, public and private, within a seventy-mile radius of Hartford, Connecticut.” She’d narrowed the list down by putting herself in Bachman’s shoes—if he was truly having difficulty adjusting to college, then he would want to be closer to home. That was her guess. According to all of Max’s notes, he was still close to his mother. There would be a comfort there, she thought. If her idea didn’t pan out, she had a second list of facilities closer to Boston.
“I need to find out if someone was a patient there, but patient records are confidential. So the best thing is to narrow down to the type of facility, and then when I get a workable list—under ten—to run a search for disgruntled employees or someone on the staff who might talk.”
“Is this about Adam Bachman?”
“That’s confidential.”
“It’s just you and me here.”
“I’m not supposed to talk about the case.”
“This is me, Riley.” He pouted. “We’ve been friends for three years. You’ve seen me naked.”
“God, don’t remind me.”
He snorted. “You’re blushing!”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Fine, it’s about Bachman. But that’s totally confidential, okay? It’s a small little thread I’m following up on. Can you help me?”
He sighed, reached for his laptop, and started typing. Riley was fast on the keyboard, but Kyle could type circles around her.
“Basically,” he said, “we need to find out exactly what records are available online. They won’t have patient records, but each of these facilities will be licensed, public or private.”
“I want to narrow it down to a facility that doesn’t take criminal cases.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, where people are sent because of a court case or trial or something. Max thinks he wouldn’t have gone to a criminal facility. Also, it needs to be both in- and outpatient.”
Kyle continued typing, running different types of searches. He dismissed a variety of leads faster than Riley could see what had come up. “Okay,” he said after a few minutes. He drained half his beer. “Basically, each of the facilities is licensed by the state. I can easily cull a list of all facilities by when they were first licensed and whether they’re still operating today. The hard part will be if a facility is no longer operating—if I have the name, I can look it up that way, but it won’t be on the active list.”
“I’m going to have to assume that it’s a facility that’s still around. This would be only six to eight years ago.”
“Probably a safe assumption. And you said no criminal?”
Riley hoped she was right about that. “Yes,” she said. “And his family didn’t have a lot of money, so it would need to be a place that takes insurance.”
Compulsion (Max Revere Novels Book 2) Page 8