Duncan turned, a packet of cigarettes still in his hand, and offered a conciliatory smile. “Hope everything’s okay.”
“Nothing this won’t fix.” The customer held up the paper bag and gave a wry smile. “Thanks, pal.”
As he watched the man leave, Duncan did his best to fight the urge. He knew rushed action wasn’t smart, but he couldn’t resist. After a few seconds, Duncan locked the cash register and fumbled in his pockets for the keys to the store. He rushed toward the front door, flipped the ‘back in 15 minutes’ sign over and locked up. Duncan caught sight of the man and followed him.
Five minutes ago he’d felt like he was in the clouds. Now, he felt like he was back in the dirt. He had the itch again. His euphoria had been ruined by another red-haired woman treating her husband like shit. It was possible she needed to be punished, but first he had to confirm she fit the bill. He followed the man for three blocks to the nearest subway station.
He usually liked to research his target thoroughly before he started work. From there, he’d slowly dismantle their lives. At first, he’d cause small wounds, enough that they’d notice, but wouldn’t think anything was awry. Then he’d slice deeper, until they realized there was more to the story.
That’s when Duncan would strike like lightning.
Methodical preparation, controlled execution and meticulous self-preservation were key. That was the only way he could stay safe enough to continue his vital work. Despite that, sometimes targets came to him by chance and he couldn’t turn away. The feeling, the urge, the need to act came as naturally as breathing. That’s how he found himself on a subway platform, waiting for an uptown train, following a man he’d only met a few minutes ago.
As the train pulled up, Duncan clenched his hands into fists and boarded.
9
Chris
Chris eased his foot off the accelerator and brought the car to a stop a few doors down from the townhouse, a beautiful old brownstone that was very close to Columbia University. The house was on a quiet street in a relatively quiet part of Manhattan. It was the sort of place nobody working in law enforcement could ever afford. It wasn’t the sort of place he’d usually have to stake out, but here he was.
Chris flicked on the interior light and glanced at the piece of paper he’d scrawled a dozen addresses on. Each was the home of a woman who fit the profile of the murder victims: red-haired, early-thirties, beautiful and successful. The brownstone was third on the list, The woman who owned it fit the profile closely. Close to making partner at a major law firm, she was a potential target of the killer Chris knew was out there.
Then again, so were the women at every other address on his list. To find them, Chris had searched the DMV database for women with red hair between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five. He’d then dug deeper, researching them online and using that information to refine the list. Although it had taken a long time and his list wasn’t perfect, it was something.
He’d made two other stops that night, adding to the dozens in the past few weeks, yet he’d seen nothing. Staking out the homes of potential victims was like shining a beam of light into an almost infinite darkness, hoping to be in the right place at the exact moment the killer struck. Though he knew the likelihood of stumbling across the killer this way was slim, it was the best he could do given that nobody else believed there was a serial killer out there.
If anyone knew what he was doing, they’d think his actions were crazy. Hell, he thought his actions were crazy, but he couldn’t stop. As the bodies stacked up and the similarities grew, so too had his conviction that these were serial cases. His warnings had fallen on deaf ears, his superiors more interested in closing cases and winding up the JTF than admitting a serial killer was on the loose.
Chris had almost accepted it, until Tamara had died. They’d only been dating for a few months, but every moment he’d spent with her had made him feel alive. A gorgeous redhead with a career in law far more impressive than his own in law enforcement, they’d first hit it off over a cup of coffee. Their relationship had blossomed, and it was starting to feel like forever…
Until Chris had found her dead.
Chris could smell food cooking, too. Tamara must be home. He smiled, put the flowers down on the hallway stand, pocketed his keys and advanced down the hallway…
Chris blinked. A car horn had blared in the street, interrupting Chris’ reverie. With a sigh and a sniff, Chris shifted in his seat and wound down the car window. The biting winter cold penetrated the car, waking him up. Chris rubbed his eyes and reached for his keys. Though he’d only been here a half-hour, he was struggling to stay awake. It was time to go home.
“Help!”
A woman’s piercing scream broke the silence of the night. Chris scanned the darkness and his ears strained to hear more. After a few seconds, Chris saw someone burst from the door of the townhouse he’d been staking out, leaping down the front steps and sprinting down the street. After only a moment of consideration, Chris exited the car and gave chase.
By now the suspect was a few dozen yards ahead. They raced down well-lit streets until the suspect cut down a dark alley and out of sight. He couldn’t have gone far, because there was nothing but a chain-link fence halfway down the alley. Chris looked around, wishing he had backup. This clown probably wasn’t the killer, but he couldn’t blow the chance if he was.
Chris drew his pistol, then pulled out his phone. He dialed the JTF and the call was answered. “This’s Agent Horan. I’m chasing a murder suspect on foot and need support.”
Chris explained where he wanted units sent, hung up and pocketed his phone. Raising his pistol and grabbing his flashlight, he shone the Maglite Mini down the alleyway. The suspect was nowhere to be seen. Chris advanced slowly, flashing the light into all the dark corners until the suspect emerged from behind a dumpster with a knife in his hand and a scowl on his face.
“Who the fuck are you, pal?” The suspect took a step forward. “I don’t know why you’re following me, but I suggest you fuck off.”
“FBI.” Chris flashed the light into the suspect’s eyes, causing him to pause. “Don’t move.”
The other man turned and ran. Chris shouted at him to freeze, but the man ignored him. Chris was tempted to take the shot, but he wasn’t willing to stake his career on this guy being his killer. With Manny and his superiors’ warnings ringing in his mind, he gave chase. By now the man was nearly over the chain link fence, but Chris leapt after him and got a hand on the man’s ankle.
“Let go of me!” The suspect kicked out at him.
Chris yanked on the ankle, nearly dislodging him. “You need to—”
The boot caught Chris right on the nose. His vision flashed with stars and pain flared in his head. He lost his grip on the man’s ankle and slumped to the ground, landing heavily. Chris cursed, only vaguely aware of the suspect making it up and over the fence, and carefully felt his nose. It wasn’t broken, but it hurt. Worse, the suspect was long gone. Chris had a good description, but if the kid was the killer he’d go to ground.
“Hold it there, buddy.” A commanding voice boomed down the alley. “NYPD. I need you to stay calm and not make any sudden movements.”
Chris held his arms out, showing he was no threat. “I’m an FBI agent, officers. I was chasing a suspect.”
“Show me your identification. Slowly.” The officer flashed his light in Chris’s eyes, just as Chris had done to the suspect a moment ago.
Chris reached into his pocket, pulled out his badge, opened it and pointed it at the officers. The light was immediately directed away from his face and he could see the officers, weapons drawn but lowered. He took this as a sign he was free to move and got up. He reached for his flashlight and switched it off, then turned to the officers.
“I need you to call it in.” Chris had second thoughts even as he said it, but he proceeded to describe the suspect. The kid had a knife, so there was a chance he was the killer.
“You g
ot it.” One of the officers reached for his radio and the call went out. Officers across the city would be on the lookout.
Chris closed his eyes tightly and took a long breath. Now that he’d initiated a manhunt, there’d be no hiding the fact that he’d been staking out the homes of potential victims. If he’d really disturbed the killer and come close to catching him, it’d be worthwhile. But he knew what the consequences would be if he’d screwed up.
His bosses wouldn’t tolerate more noise from him.
10
Ashley
“How much longer?” Ashley asked the US Marshal sitting next to her in the back of the black SUV with tinted windows.
“Almost there.” The Marshal was kind, despite the fact she’d escaped from him to go get Lucy. He was an older man with a salt-and-pepper moustache. “It’ll be fine, I promise.”
Ashley hoped he was right, because her nerves weren’t holding up very well. She was being ferried by three US Marshals to the courthouse, where she’d be led through a back entrance. That was the plan, anyway. Ashley wasn’t certain it’d work, but she hoped it would keep Saul Laverri’s allies from putting a bullet in her.
She gave the kind Marshal a weak smile as she settled back into her seat. She just wanted her testimony to be over so she could get her life back. Her well-being hinged on this day. She needed to get it out of the way so she could focus on Lucy. That thought was the glue holding her together.
“Damn it.” The Marshal in the front passenger seat cursed as the car took the last turn toward the courthouse. “We’re compromised.”
Ashley craned her head to look out the front windshield. The back entrance to the courthouse was supposed to be cordoned off. Instead, there were dozens of people pressing against the NYPD cordon. Ashley’s eyes widened as she turned to the Marshal beside her and stared at him.
“We’ll get you inside, don’t worry.” The Marshal did his best to reassure her, but his voice was laced with doubt.
The SUV stopped, then a cop stepped forward and opened the door. The cacophony of noise that erupted felt like a shockwave. The Marshal grabbed Ashley’s hand and she followed his lead, climbing out of the car and heading for the courthouse. The Marshals formed a protective ring around her. It was little comfort. Cameras flashed and journalists shouted questions at her.
Finally, she made it inside. The noise and fury from outside stopped as soon as the doors were shut. Ashley slumped into one of the benches by the door and put her head in her hands. She was shaking and her breathing was rapid as she tried to calm herself. The Marshals had timed her arrival for exactly when she was due on the stand, so she had to get it together.
“Hi Ashley, it’s good to see you.”
Ashley took her head out of her hands and looked up to see Manuel Rodriguez, the FBI agent who’d arrested Laverri. Ashley stood and hugged him. “Hi Manny.”
Manny wrapped his arms around her. “We’re finally here.”
Ashley nodded. Manny was one of the few people who knew what agreeing to testify had cost her. Others, like Obrist, had done only what they’d needed to do to get her to testify. Even her own husband had cracked and walked because of the stress. Manny had been a huge support, a friend and confidant through it all.
“Ms Wheeler?” A man in a uniform interrupted them “We’re ready for you. Come through.”
Ashley nodded at the man and then looked at Manny. “I’ll do my best in there.”
“Just do what you can, Ashley.” Manny gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Now go get him.”
Ashley followed the uniformed man into the courtroom. Her heart rate quickened and her palms started to sweat. Whatever calm she’d felt while talking to Manny outside the courtroom shattered like glass, and now it felt like she was in a haze. As she approached the witness stand, she was aware of someone speaking, but she didn’t hear the words.
Then she saw Laverri. He smiled at her and said something under his breath. She flinched, slowed to a halt and then stared at him, her mouth agape. Only when the uniformed officer placed a hand on her back and pressed her forward did her attention snap back to the courtroom.
“Thank you for agreeing to testify, Ms Wheeler.” The judge looked down at her from the stand. “Please take your place on the stand.”
Ashley realized the judge and the jury were staring straight at her, and felt a pang of embarrassment. In a daze, she moved to the stand, where she was sworn in. Then the US Attorney for the Eastern District of New York, Ben Obrist, stood and began the questioning they all hoped would seal Laverri’s fate.
Ashley had met Obrist one other time, when he’d travelled to Connecticut to discuss the case. At that meeting, Ashley had felt like he was testing her, making sure she was reliable. He’d told Ashley how the case would work and she trusted him to protect her on the stand. She waited while he stood and gave a summary of the incident, for the benefit of the jury.
Then he asked his first question. “Ms Wheeler, can you tell us where you were and what you were doing on the evening of the incident?”
Ashley nodded. She’d rehearsed this. “I was working a noon to midnight shift at L’uccellino Pizza and Pasta on 108th Street.”
The questions continued and Ashley tried her best to stay calm. They’d rehearsed this, and there were no surprises. She avoided looking at Laverri, and after a few dozen questions, Obrist was done. Once he’d established that she saw Laverri shoot Grossi dead, he told the judge he had no more questions and returned to his seat. Now came the hard part.
Paul Stoudamere – Laverri’s lawyer – stood and locked eyes with her. “Miss Wheeler, what’s your current occupation?”
Ashley hesitated for half a second. “I’m—”
“Objection, your honor!” Obrist called out from his seat. “I’m not sure what relevance Ms Wheeler’s occupation has to this matter.”
“Denied.” The judge’s voice boomed across the court room. “There’s no harm I can see in having her answer that question, Mr Obrist.”
Ashley looked at Obrist. When he nodded, she looked back at the defense lawyer. “I’m currently unemployed.”
“Right.” He nodded and turned to glance at the jury. “Can you tell me if you’ve had any trouble with the law since the night Mr Grossi was shot?”
Ashley looked to Obrist for help, but he shook his head. Clearly he thought the judge would disallow an objection. He’d also told her that if he objected too many times, the jury would think they had something to hide. She looked at Stoudamere. “I haven’t been arrested, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“That’s only a part answer.” He held her gaze. “Can you elaborate on any contact you’ve had with the police in that time?”
Ashley sagged. Stoudamere had done his homework. “One caution for attempting to take my daughter.”
“Thank you for your candor, Ms Wheeler.” Stoudamere smiled like a hyena. “I’d now like to move to the night of the incident. You’ve stated you saw my client.”
Ashley saw a chance to get one back. “I saw him shoot and kill a man, yes. He shot him lots of times, took a slice of pizza and left.”
Stoudamere ignored the barb. “And can you tell me what he was wearing that evening, when you claimed to see him shoot Mr Grossi?”
Ashley made the mistake of looking at Laverri. It was almost as if he’d been waiting for her to do so. He pretended to scratch his neck, pulling his index finger across his throat as he did so. His eyes bored into hers, the message clear. Ashley flinched and looked away. She closed her eyes as her breath quickened.
“Ms Wheeler?”
Ashley blinked a few times. “What?”
Stoudamere shook his head. “Can you tell me what my client was wearing?”
“A suit. White shirt.” Ashley did her best to remember.
“That’s all?” Stoudamere raised an eyebrow. “No hat? No tie?”
“That’s all.” Ashley racked her memory, trying to recall. “Yes.”
Stoudamere sm
iled, like she’d given him everything he wanted. “I’d like to admit into evidence video footage from outside the restaurant, time and date stamped, that shows my client wearing both a hat and a tie as he entered that night. The footage also clearly shows him wearing a blue shirt.”
Ashley gripped the edge of the box and her knuckles went white. Stoudamere had found holes in both her character and her testimony. With each additional question she struggled to hold onto her story. She shouldn’t have looked at Laverri or trusted Obrist to protect her on the stand. The dogfight continued for another ten minutes.
“Ms Wheeler, you can leave the stand now.” The judge’s voice was insistent. He clearly wasn’t impressed.
Ashley nodded, feeling like she’d been assaulted. She stood and stumbled, catching herself on the edge of the witness box. It felt like all the loss she’d endured since agreeing to testify had been for nothing. As she left the box she looked at Obrist. He had his head down and was making a point of not looking at her.
She’d blown it.
11
Duncan
Duncan paused outside the bar as he looked through the window. It was busier than he’d anticipated, but he decided to push ahead. He opened the door, stepped inside and was instantly assaulted by the smell of alcohol and the buzz of conversation. There was an empty stool near the bar and Duncan made a beeline for it.
The bartender spotted him within a few seconds. “What’ll it be? Happy hour ends in five minutes.”
“Soda and lime.” Duncan smiled and put down a fifty, then nodded toward a woman seated at the end of the bar. “Plus whatever she likes.”
“You got it.” The bartender smiled at the sight of the fifty. “Just a heads up, though – she’s got a husband.”
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