Shelby cut his own throat? Won’t let what happen? Let me be killed? “I can’t stay here. You don’t understand.”
“Then make us understand.”
He raised up an inch.
“The police aren’t looking for you,” his wife continued. “We’ve taken care of all that. You don’t need to worry. You’re safe.”
43
“Tell me you are not goddamn serious,” Deputy Chief Alonzo said.
His boss’s boss, the Suffolk County police commissioner, remained seated behind his vast mahogany desk. It was an appointed civilian post, not filled by someone who came up through the ranks; thus, it came with all the attendant concerns about reappointment. Commissioner Basilone didn’t like to get involved in the nitty-gritty details of police work, but he liked it even less when those details threatened his chances at climbing the political ladder.
Basilone growled, “We bust open the biggest unsolved serial-killer case in thirty years. We got maybe twenty bodies, and it was discovered through an illegal search?”
In front of the commissioner, also seated, was the borough president of Manhattan. He was a shoo-in for mayor when the billionaire businessman currently in office retired next year. Borough president was three steps down from the mayor’s office, but senior enough for his presence to be a little unusual. Two men in expensive-looking suits—obviously lawyers—flanked him. Behind them, almost hidden, was Dr. Danesti, and Captain Harris of the East Hampton Police stood to one side of the pack.
Del and Coleman had just been called into the commissioner’s office. No one was ever called in there except when something was about to hit the fan.
It just had.
Alonzo glowered at his subordinates and said, “If this ever goes to court somehow—”
“Technically, it wasn’t illegal.” Del had been anticipating this. She was studying law, after all. “We were doing a facial recognition—”
“Breaking into a home without a warrant isn’t illegal?”
Ah, that. “We had reason to believe—”
“That Mr. Royce Lowell-Vandeweghe was there?” Alonzo finished her sentence for her. “Is that what you were going to say?”
Del shook her head. “I believed that a crime was in progress. I’d like to add that Mr. Lowell-Vandeweghe is not a suspect in what we found at the storage locker. It’s just—”
“What? Just what?”
When pressed earlier, Del had to explain that they had found the papers that led to the storage locker, by tracking down Roy against express orders not to. But Del hadn’t actually seen Roy in that basement. She didn’t have an explanation, so she kept quiet.
One of the lawyers stepped forward and laid a paper on the commissioner’s desk.
“The FBI has interviewed the owner of the building, Mrs. Rivera, who says that Detective Devlin and Officer Coleman were showing around a picture of Mr. Lowell-Vandeweghe. She said she told them it looked familiar, but now she’s saying it definitely wasn’t him.”
Not what she told us, Del thought. “As I said, we had positive facial recognition—”
“Of our client going into the convenience store on the corner of that street.” The lawyer produced another sheaf of papers: photographs from surveillance cameras.
They were the same pictures Del had used to narrow down Roy’s location. The only way they could have gotten those was through Esposito. These guys moved fast.
“Is that true?” Commissioner Basilone asked.
“He assaulted two police officers,” Del said. “My partner and me.”
“Who is ‘he’?” the lawyer asked. “Did you get a positive ID? Because the owner of the building has no record of our client. The FBI is doing a thorough forensic examination of the apartment, but there are prints and DNA from a dozen different people, none of which match our client. Someone may have assaulted you, but I can assure you it wasn’t Mr. Lowell-Vandeweghe. Your only way of coming to this conclusion was some illegally obtained images of him buying milk at the convenience store nearby.”
“Is that true?” Commissioner Basilone asked again, his voice getting higher and louder.
Del gritted her teeth. Bending the truth was one thing, but outright lying was another. “That is true, sir.”
“I might add,” the borough president of Manhattan said, “that this is outside the jurisdiction of Suffolk County and that a dozen different statutes of our citizens’ rights to privacy have been—”
“With all due respect, sir,” the lawyer cut in, “we don’t need to go there.”
He looked directly at Del, made sure they held eye contact. “Today is a day to applaud the diligence and intelligence of our fine men and women in blue. And Detective Devlin, despite”—he pursed his lips—“bending some rules, has, whether unwittingly or by pure instinct, led to the uncovering of the Fire Island Killer. She should be commended. All we’re saying is that any media or files involving our client, Mr. Royce Lowell-Vandeweghe, or any ongoing investigation into him, must immediately be stopped and expunged.”
“You’re trying to tell us who we can and can’t investigate?” Deputy Chief Alonzo said.
Del’s scalp tingled. Alonzo was defending her right when she thought she was about to be thrown to the wolves.
The lawyer gave an ingratiating smile. “I’m saying that this has been a breach of my client’s rights, but that we won’t pursue the matter if it is rectified immediately.”
“I think Roy was involved in the Plaza attack,” Del blurted out. “Angel Rodriguez was working for him.”
“Mr. Rodriguez was working for a lot of people, and we anticipated this conclusion from Detective Devlin, given her intense focus on our client.” The lawyer produced yet another paper from his folder and dropped it on the commissioner’s desk. “We released DNA samples, videos, and images of our client to the FBI, and a gait analysis of the video of the Plaza killer is not remotely a match to Mr. Lowell-Vandeweghe.”
Gait analysis. Del hadn’t even thought of trying that.
She said, “But the clerk at the self-storage facility said that someone paid for that locker just a few days ago.” Why was nobody even talking about the gorilla in the room? “Roy just underwent surgery with Dr. Danesti, attached to someone else’s body. Primrose Chegwidden is missing, and one of his neighbors is missing. Angel Rodriguez was working for him. He’s still out there. I think he thinks he’s attached to—”
“Our client is at home; he is not ‘still out there.’ I honestly do not understand how Detective Devlin is making this connection.”
Captain Harris said, “One of my officers met Mr. Lowell-Vandeweghe on his morning walk, just a few hours ago, in East Hampton. Getting some exercise, no doubt, to help heal from his surgery. We have a video log and time stamp.”
Del’s face must have dropped, because the lawyer’s smile became that much more vicious. “And our client is currently having lunch at his close friend Samuel Phipps’s house, together with his mother and wife. Right now. Would you like to call them? Talk to him?”
He produced his cell phone for theatric effect.
“That won’t be necessary,” Commissioner Basilone said.
The lawyer said, “I didn’t want to be forced into this, but Detective Devlin’s apparent overenthusiasm has forced our hand.” He held his phone up.
Del wondered what he was about to do, when Coleman’s voice began playing from a recording: “Yeah, I’d like to report seeing a missing person I saw on your website. Up by the sixteen-mile marker of Ditch Plains Beach.”
Her partner’s face went bright red.
“This is Officer Coleman calling in a fake report so that Detective Devlin could illegally enter onto the private property of the Chegwidden estate,” Captain Harris said. “And this was after her senior officer had given her a direct order to stand down, according to what Deputy
Chief Alonzo told us.”
* * *
They left the top floor quietly after Commissioner Basilone assured the lawyers that Mr. Lowell-Vandeweghe’s rights and civil liberties would not be infringed on in any way, and that his name would be removed from any association to the investigation. Deputy Alonzo shepherded Del and Coleman downstairs and into his office, where he all but grabbed them by the ears.
Del stood at attention in front of her boss’s desk. “Chief, something is going on here.”
“You’re right about that.” Alonzo hadn’t even bothered to sit down yet; he just stood there scowling at his charges. “You just got that detective badge, and you were supposed to be helping Coleman get his. Now you’re about to lose your badge, and Coleman maybe his job.”
“It was my fault,” she replied. “I asked him to do it. I’ll take the blame.”
“I did it,” Coleman interjected. “It’s my responsibility.”
“I’ve got a lot of respect for your father,” Alonzo said to Del. “Why didn’t you just hand whatever you had over to him? What were you thinking?”
“It was just a hunch, sir. Instinct.”
“You’re both on suspension.” Alonzo’s head sagged. He looked at the floor and said, “Just take it as a vacation for the holidays. You’re off tomorrow anyway. Two weeks. Full pay. I’ll handle Basilone.”
Del didn’t protest. It could have gone much worse.
She said, “I’m sure Royce was involved in the Plaza attack. He might have changed the way he walks. How can they even know how he walks? The guy has a new body.”
She suspected that Roy was losing his mind. Transplant recipients sometimes took on the characteristics of their donors or, at least, thought they did. In Roy’s case—a whole-body transplant—that sensation had to be amped up a million times.
Alonzo still stared at the floor. “Mr. Angel Rodriguez is a real war hero, and we all thank him for his service, but from what I read, that kid did a lot of bad things to a lot of bad people in a lot of bad places in the world. Who knows why someone tried to gut him in front of NYPD headquarters? Someone was sending a message, that’s for sure.”
“But you know something is going on,” Del repeated.
“I’m not stupid, whatever your opinion of me might be.”
“I met him,” Del said. “This Royce guy is not right in the head. We have to keep some kind of watch out for him.”
“Now I’m thinking you’re stupid,” Alonzo said. “Do you know who those people are? The people those lawyers represent?”
“Rich people?”
“‘Rich’ is when you can buy a nice house in the country. These people are the kind that get presidents of the United States elected. Multibillionaires. They might look like normal people, but they’re not, and Dr. Danesti is their golden goose.”
Del said, “I’m sure Danesti is involved in whatever is happening. He’s at the center—”
“Do you know,” Alonzo said, “that the prime minister of Russia is coming to Eden’s Manhattan office for a treatment next month? Meeting personally with Danesti? The prime minister of goddamn Russia. It’s a diplomatic field day, and Basilone is trying to get in on that action. There’s stuff going on here that’s way above our pay grades.”
“Murder is murder,” Del said. “Royce is dangerous, and he’s on the loose.”
“He’s not on the loose. Didn’t you hear them? You’ve got that special skill of yours, right? You tell me. Do you doubt what that lawyer just said?”
Del didn’t. She had watched the lawyer’s face. It hadn’t changed color, not the way a liar’s would, even a really good one. Everything the lawyer had said in there was true—or at least, he thought it was—and it knocked down her theory that Roy was on the run. “I think he thinks he’s attached to the body of Jake Hawkins.”
Alonzo didn’t even know how to respond to this. “Look, this is all someone else’s problem now. The FBI has taken control.” He pointed at a file on his desk. “Remember the DNA match of that hiker you were looking for? It matches Jake Hawkins. They say the woman had an aunt near there who used a lawn service. Hawkins did landscaping. That’s how they’re saying he cased his victims.”
“But most of the Fire Island victims were prostitutes,” Del said.
Alonzo closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “You applied to the FBI, right? That’s where you want your career to go?”
“Yeah, I did,” Del admitted. It wasn’t a secret.
“Then let me help you by convincing you to let them do their job.”
* * *
The sky was a brilliant, almost royal blue. It was always colder on cloudless days in December. New snow squeaked underfoot as Coleman and Del left the building.
“You okay?” Del asked her partner.
“Yeah, I’ll just tell the wife I got some extra time for the holidays.”
“Let the chief cool off. Basilone will be onto bigger and better things in the New Year. It’ll blow over. Trust me.”
“Sure.”
“Did you notice one thing?” Del asked. “At that bigwig meeting upstairs?”
“I noticed a cool breeze blowing in my asshole.”
“Atticus Cargill—where was he?”
“The old guy? Did you ever talk to him?”
Del shook her head. “Cargill is Roy’s attorney. Was one of his dad’s best friends. He’s been the Lowell-Vandeweghe family lawyer since Roy was in diapers. Why wasn’t he in that meeting? How did Roy suddenly become the ‘client’ of those slick bastards without Atticus making an appearance?”
“I don’t know, but I’m not sure it’s a good thing for you to find out.”
“We need to find a way to put out watch alerts for Hawkins.”
“Why?” Coleman stopped at his car, his hand on the latch. “Jake Hawkins is dead.”
Del shielded her eyes from the bright sun. “I’m not so sure.”
44
“Whatever you did or think you did, we’re going to protect you,” Penny said to Roy.
Her face seemed younger than the last time he saw her. Her hair was done up in a new style. She wore a cream silk top and the string of fat pearls that he’d given her for their first anniversary. This close, she smelled of sandalwood and musk. That distinctive perfume from India that she so loved. A thousand dollars a bottle, he remembered.
Always follow the money.
They all had moved into the dining room, with Roy in the middle, one of the big men across the table, two behind blocking the patio doors, and one blocking the exit to the entryway.
Roy’s wife sat facing him on one of the dining room chairs, holding his hand.
Except that it wasn’t his hand. It was Jake Hawkins’s.
The big men had taken his scarf and hat. Now his neck scar was in the open, exposed for all to see. He hated the feeling. Penny had applied some antiseptic and gotten some Band-Aids to cover the wounds on his forehead and temples and over his ears.
They had taken his coat, too, and found Jake’s passport, his stash of drugs, and the knife.
“Did you do the incisions yourself?” Roy’s mother asked. Virginia didn’t sit but wandered the perimeter of the room. She already had a gin and tonic in hand. “That is some nasty work.” With one finger, she touched the left Band-Aid on his forehead. “But nothing that can’t be fixed with a little plastic surgery.”
Roy didn’t reply.
“Who was that woman who called?” Penny asked. She squeezed his hand. “Hope? She said her name was Hope? Was that some kind of payback? You’re having an affair?”
She had obviously talked to Roy’s mother. The truth was in the open about her own indiscretions. “I gave her Sam’s number. I was trying to help, even if I didn’t understand what was going on.”
“And who is Jake Hawkins?” Sam asked. He s
at at the head of the table.
A large oil painting of a sea battle hung over the side table. Sam hadn’t changed the decor since he took the place over from his parents ten years before. He thumbed through Jake’s passport. “What have you been doing, buddy?” he asked as he put the passport back into the coat pocket.
“I hope you haven’t been visiting Shelby Sheffield,” Virginia said. She took a sip of her drink. “Now, that would be awkward, if that knife of yours made it into the hands of the police.”
Roy squeezed Penny’s hand, but not because he appreciated her patience—even though she had just accused him of having an affair, without seeming to care much about it. He squeezed her hand at the thought of Shelby Sheffield; it made him tense up.
What happened that night?
He remembered being in the apartment, remembered speaking to Angel. Angel said he had something that Roy had to see. More flashes of half memories. It wasn’t just the papers about his mother; there was something darker.
He remembered blood.
Angel hadn’t called him back. Hadn’t answered any of Roy’s calls.
Thinking about Rodriguez triggered a shooting pain in the bottom of his stomach.
Penny’s cell phone rang, and she let go of his hand to stand up. She said hello and walked away a few paces. The big man near the door let her pass, keeping his eyes firmly on Roy.
“Nicolae will be here soon,” Penny said to Virginia. She meant Dr. Danesti. To Roy, she added, “They’re going to take care of you, dear. Don’t worry. We’ll get past this. He’s bringing his people.”
His people. The words seemed to echo.
Two heads are better than one, said a voice in Roy’s mind. Two brains in the human body. An ancient brain in the gut. What should we do? Stay here?
If Danesti’s people get their hands on us, we’re never getting out again, the voice answered. Or worse. Shelby Sheffield. The image of his leering eyes came out of the darkness at the back of Roy’s mind. He closed his eyes and tried to quiet himself.
What did his gut tell him? He glanced at Sam. His stomach twisted again, even more painfully.
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