Authors: C.E. Lawrence
Silent Kills (21 page)
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
“I hear there’s been a leak,” Sergeant Quinlan said, lowering his bulky body into a chair. “Do you guys have an idea who it could be?”
“Naw,” Butts said, biting off the end of a sesame energy bar. He still was eating compulsively, but at least it was healthier food. Sergeant Quinlan from the Bronx had asked to be part of the task force assigned to what had become a high-profile case. It was late Saturday morning, and the three men were meeting, along with Detective Krieger, in the conference room reserved for them at the Major Case squad house.
“Seems to me it could even be someone in the ME’s office,” Quinlan remarked. “I mean, plenty of people had access to the lab reports, right?”
“I guess,” Lee said.
“But what’s in it for them?” Butts said. “Someone finds out, their job is history.”
Krieger frowned and crossed her arms. She was wearing a khaki military-style skirt and jacket over a crisp white blouse, her red hair pulled up into a bun. The look was rather androgynous, and disturbingly sexy. “I still don’t understand what harm it’s done to the case.”
Chuck Morton entered the room and tossed a stack of photos on the table. “There’s your answer.”
The pictures were glossy eight-by-tens of a kid, late teens, early twenties—done up in full goth regalia, complete with black lipstick, nose rings, and other facial piercings. His makeup was smudged, however, because he had been badly beaten. He stared into the camera with a combination of surliness and sadness that was somehow familiar to Lee. He had seen that look before ... and then he remembered it was on his own father’s face, from the few remaining photos he had of Duncan Campbell.
“What happened?” Butts asked, leafing through the photos. In other shots, you could clearly see the boy was wearing a black silk cape with a red lining.
Morton looked at Lee. “Your boy Francois thought it would be fun to go beat up a vampire. Got his hands on the first goth kid he could find dressed as Dracula, beat the crap out of him. Name’s Billy Tobowlski. Just a run-of-the-mill East Village goth kid on his way to a party when Nugent lures him into an alley and attacks him.”
Krieger looked shocked. “What?”
Lee put his head in his hands. “Chuck, he promised me—”
“Tell that to Billy’s parents,” Morton snapped. “Had to have seventeen stitches, one for each year of his life.”
“Francois?” Quinlan said. “Is that the boy whose sister—”
“Yeah, that’s him,” Butts said. “I knew the kid was angry, but this is some hell of a way to act out.”
Morton scowled down at the photos. “Maybe those rich parents of his can cover this kid’s hospital bills.”
“Is his family going to prosecute?” Lee asked.
“Don’t know yet. Nugent is in lockup, but I’m sure his parents are posting bond as we speak.”
“Where is he?”
Chuck looked at his notes. “They put him in the Tombs overnight.”
“Christ,” Lee muttered. His right temple was beginning to throb, and the vision in his left eye was blurry. That was a bad sign. No food plus Xanax on an empty stomach was a bad combination—a migraine was on the way. He thought of asking Chuck for a couple of ibuprofen, but figured he could pick up a bottle after the meeting.
Morton turned to Krieger. “You asked what could happen if the media got hold of the details. Well, here’s your answer.”
She frowned. “But didn’t Francois already know how his sister died?”
“Nope,” Chuck said. “We kept that detail from the family. We just told them she was murdered by someone who was probably a stranger. And that she wasn’t sexually molested.”
Butts scratched his chin. “I recall the father’s behavior was kind of remote.”
“You’re right,” said Lee. “It struck me as odd at the time.”
“Why do you suppose?” asked Quinlan. “You think the father was doin’ her?”
Lee shook his head. “No. According to the ME, she was a virgin.”
Quinlan whistled softly. “Wow. Don’t see too many of those around these days.”
“I think her brother is too,” Lee said.
Chuck scowled and turned away. “He may not have had sex, but he’s no stranger to violence.”
Lee looked at the crime photos again. “I agree. He’s a very angry young man.”
“Hey,” Butts said. “Maybe this is way off, but could it be him? The killer, I mean?”
“Not likely,” Lee said. But for the first time, he thought seriously about the possibility of Francois Nugent as a suspect. In some ways it all fit. Francois was the right age, more or less, the right race and socioeconomic class, and he had most of the other attributes of the killer. Or maybe he had a doppelgänger wandering the streets of the city, and the choice of his sister as the first victim was random bad luck. Stranger things had happened—in the annals of crime, there were so many bizarre stories that, as cops liked to say, you couldn’t make this shit up.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
After grabbing a bottle of ibuprofen at a Bronx pharmacy, Lee took the train down to the court district. A visit to the Tombs in lower Manhattan was hardly his idea of a fun way to spend a Sunday afternoon, he thought as he threaded his way through Little Italy, passing the clam bars and tourist traps. As usual on weekends, the maître d’s were all out on the sidewalk in their black vests and suit jackets, doing the hard sell. A short, thick man with a waxed mustache saw Lee coming and broke into a broad smile, gesturing toward the entrance as though he had been expecting him and was delighted to escort him in as his honored guest. As Lee gave a quick smile and ducked past the restaurant, the man called out to him.
“Best calamari in Little Italy! Glass of wine on the house! Come check it out, my friend!”
He had never eaten at any of the dozens of Italian restaurants and pastry shops lining the narrow cobblestone streets. He always figured them for rip-off joints and mobster hangouts. Little Italy was probably hurting after the World Trade bombings—every other place downtown was. Turning down busy Mott Street, he walked into the heart of Chinatown, past the tea parlors and trinket stalls and card tables of old men playing mah-jongg on the sidewalk, the carved tiles clicking like loose dentures. South of Canal, he turned west on Bayard. The back entrance to the Tombs was at the intersection of Baxter and Bayard Streets, and he stood gazing up at the dirty concrete columns towering above the rickety buildings of Chinatown like the Death Star hovering over a captive planet. He caught a whiff of Vietnamese fish cooked in lemongrass and garlic as he entered through the security gate. He showed his ID to the bored-looking guard leaning against a pillar as though his feet ached. The man barely glanced at it before waving him through.
Once inside, the first thing he saw was a sign that read:
POSSESSION
OF
CONTRABAND
(WEAPONS)
RAZORS KNIVES SHANKS SHIVS BULLETS
and any other weapon capable of causing injury
and/or
otherwise endangering the safety of the institution
WILL RESULT IN YOUR IMMEDIATE
ARREST
OF
CONTRABAND
(WEAPONS)
RAZORS KNIVES SHANKS SHIVS BULLETS
and any other weapon capable of causing injury
and/or
otherwise endangering the safety of the institution
WILL RESULT IN YOUR IMMEDIATE
ARREST
The official name of the prison was the Manhattan Detention Complex, but everyone called it The Tombs, and the place seemed determined to live up to its name. Long grey corridors led to other long grey corridors, which led to cell blocks. He passed cops and plainclothes detectives drinking coffee from paper cups while their perps were being booked. Under the fluorescent lighting, everyone looked grey: the cops, their prisoners, and the overworked clerks at the booking stations.
When he reached Cellblock Twelve, he found Francois leaning against the wall of his cell, staring out of a tiny window that looked out onto dusty Columbus Park, Chinatown’s only park.
Francois glanced over his shoulder and gave a little snort.
“Well, if it isn’t Obi-Wan Kenobi. Stop by to see how my Jedi training is coming along?”
Even in the grim surroundings of the Tombs, Francois Nugent managed to hold on to his sarcasm and caustic wit. Lee wasn’t sure if it was a good sign or a bad one. In spite of the ibuprofen, his headache was getting worse—and the glaring fluorescent lighting wasn’t helping. He held two fingers to his right temple and pressed hard.
“This place suits you,” he said, gazing in at the boy through the thick metal bars of his jail cell. At least the kid wasn’t in with the general population. It must be a slow week, getting a cell all to himself. Or maybe Mommy and Daddy’s wealth and privilege worked in his favor even down here.
Francois shrugged. “Whatever.”
Lee crossed his arms and stared at him. “You lied to me.”
“Oh, come off it, man. Like I exist to obey you or something. Get real.” Francois threw himself onto the cot in the corner. The springs squeaked like frightened mice.
“You can’t be in rebellion all your life, you know. Mommy and Daddy may have neglected you, but that’s no excuse to go pummel a kid half your size.”
“First of all, he wasn’t half my size, and secondly, this wasn’t about my parents. It was about what some creep did to my sister,” he said, turning onto his side and facing the wall.
Lee’s right temple pulsed with pain but he ignored it. “Have it your way. This wasn’t misplaced rage directed at your parents, the kid deserved what was coming to him, and—”
“Oh, for Christ sakes, stop practicing your psychobabble bullshit on me, man!”
“Okay. Why did you do it?”
“Let me alone. I didn’t ask you to come here.”
“Nonetheless, here I am.”
Francois turned over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “Shouldn’t you be out lookin’ for the pervert who killed my sister?”
“What makes you think I’m not?”
“ ’Cause you’re here, dumb ass.”
“You know what?” he said. The combination of his headache and the kid’s stubbornness was making him angry. “Because of your shenanigans, we look bad. And that makes it harder for us to do our job.”
“Why the hell should I care?” he said, but Lee detected a softening in his tone. “What do you mean it made you look bad?”
“The detail that got into the press, about the blood. That wasn’t supposed to be released to the public.”
Francois sat up, engaged in spite of himself. “No shit? Someone in the department leaked that? Who?”
“I don’t know. We don’t even know if it was someone in the department. There’s a dozen ways something like that can get out. But it did, and then you go and do a stupid-ass thing like that, and all it does is muddy the water.”
The kid shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to look indifferent, but Lee could see he felt guilty. The pain in his temple evened out to a steady pounding.
“So what, man? What’s done is done. I can’t take it back, so why did you come here to give me shit?”
“Because maybe we can use your help.”
Francois couldn’t hide his eagerness. He stood up and came over to the bars, grasping them like a prisoner in a jail scene from a movie. “No shit? What can I do?”
“We need someone who knows the steampunk scene, who can move through it without sticking out,” Lee said as the pain slid around to envelop his entire head.
“Say the word—I’m there!”
“It’s not that easy. Now you’re facing a misdemeanor charge. You’re lucky they didn’t go after you with felony assault.”
“Okay. So make it go away.”
“It doesn’t happen that way.”
Pound, pound, pound ...
it was a symphony of pain, and Lee had to blink to focus his eyes.
Pound, pound, pound ...
it was a symphony of pain, and Lee had to blink to focus his eyes.
“How does it happen, then?” Francois asked.
“You own up, you plea bargain out—take community service, whatever they give you. You have a lawyer, right?”
Francois snorted. “My parents keep a whole firm on retainer for their little African Chia Pets.”
“You did
not
just say that.”
not
just say that.”
“Hey, I didn’t mean it racist, man. I just mean the kids are playthings to them.”
“I’d like to believe that.”
“Look, I wanna help you, I do. I’ll call my lawyer and tell him to bail me out of here ASAP, okay?”
“Okay. And Francois?”
“What?”
“You keep your nose out of trouble, or I swear—”
“I will—I promise. I just want to help catch this SOB.”
“We all do,” he said, as the pain laughed at him.
SOB,
he thought as the migraine continued to pummel his head.
SOB,
he thought as the migraine continued to pummel his head.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Lee and Laura were in a large urban park of some kind—not Central Park or any other one he recognized, but the kind of mosaic of known places that shows up in dreams. It was summer, and they were wandering along a stream in the woods, when they came to a chain-link fence. They were about to turn back when he spied a place where someone had ripped open the fence. He stepped through it and reached out a hand to help Laura through, but then the hole disappeared and she was caught on the other side.
Something large and dark and deadly was headed toward her. They couldn’t see it because of the trees, but they could hear it crashing through the bushes. Lee searched frantically for the hole in the fence, but it had vanished. Panicked, he began to climb the fence, as the thing in the woods came closer. He could smell its foul breath and hear it panting as it closed in on his sister. He wasn’t going to make it in time to save her.
That was when he woke up, panic gripping him like an evil claw. Soaked in sweat, he threw off the covers and sat up. He never should have taken the migraine medicine. It made him sleep, but it gave him nightmares. A faint shaft of moonlight crept timidly through his bedroom window, casting its pale light on the bureau. It fell on a picture of Laura and him as children. In the photo, they stood side by side on top of Turtle Rock, in front of Fiona’s house. It was taken the summer before his father left, and the happy smiles on their faces showed no hint of the disasters to come. He ran a hand through his hair, hoping to dispel the dream images in his head, but to no avail. He got up and went to the kitchen, but the feeling of terror in his dream followed him. Exhausted by the migraine, he had gone to bed earlier than usual after popping a couple of ibuprofen.
He got a glass of water and looked at the kitchen clock. It was exactly 3
A.M.
He went back to the bedroom and lay down again, his head swimming with visions of his sister alone and frightened in the woods.
A.M.
He went back to the bedroom and lay down again, his head swimming with visions of his sister alone and frightened in the woods.
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