“I agree, but maybe he has a more acceptable looking sidekick who gets them in. And who knows, schweetheart, maybe we can get him to confess.” Parker shook her head at Corelli’s Humphrey Bogart imitation. Corelli really was crazy. She would never understand the woman.
“You take this one, Parker. I’ll back you up.”
When the door opened, he sprang from the chair, backed into a corner, and raised his hands defensively.
Parker extended her hands in an attempt to calm the man. “Whoa, we’re not going to hurt you, Mr. Wilpersett,” Parker said. “Have a seat.”
He sidled over and lowered himself into a chair facing them. His eyes danced from one to the other and then settled in the space between, staring into the two-way mirror.
Parker wondered if anyone had been beating on him, he seemed like a…She couldn’t help it, like a scared rat. “Mr. Wilpersett can you explain why you snuck out the bathroom window rather than come here to talk to us?”
“Uh, no.”
“Could you expand on that?”
He remained silent and continued staring over their shoulders.
Parker turned to Corelli. “Should we read him his rights and book him for murder?”
“Murder?” Wilpersett sounded alarmed. “What murder?”
“Actually, it’s three murders. Leonardo del Balzo, Spencer—”
“You mean them three faggots? You’re crazy. Why would I kill them?”
“I can’t imagine, but you are known to carry signs that say, ‘Kill all the Homos’ and ‘Stamp out Faggots.’ Kinda gives the impression you want to kill all gay men and lesbians. And escaping out the bathroom window and climbing over rooftops to avoid questioning might indicate you have something to hide.”
Sweat appeared on his upper lip. “I’m trying to save their souls. Scripture says—”
“Spare us the quotations. Where were you Tuesday and Friday and Saturday nights?”
“I was…home. Me and Orrin stayed in those nights.”
“Why those nights?”
“We had the flu.”
“A three-day flu and not consecutive days? Interesting. And you didn’t go out at all?”
He hesitated. “No.”
“What about the threatening phone calls you’ve been making?”
“How do you—? I don’t know what you’re talking about. We don’t even have a telephone.”
“Why do you hate gays and lesbians so much?”
“We’re doing God’s work. Their evil behavior is bringing his wrath down on this country. Innocent people are dying because of them. The Bible—”
“What about love? I thought God was about love and forgiveness. You know love thy neighbor, do unto others, that kind of stuff.”
“Evil must be punished. It poisons us all.”
“Isn’t murder evil? Why kill del Balzo, Lerner, and Nickerson?”
“I saw their pictures. The filth must be punished.”
“What picture was that?” Parker sensed Corelli shift forward.
“All the pictures in the newspapers this week.”
“So you read the newspapers. What other pictures of them did you see before you started killing them?”
“They were all together the day that abomination got elected.”
“Are you referring to Speaker Burke?”
“The lesbian.”
“How do you know they were together that day?”
“Saw them with my own eyes, laughing and hugging, while God watched and wept. I tried to stop it but the police are on the side of the sinners.”
“How did you get their names and addresses?”
“God knows where they live, not me.”
“And did God tell you to kill them?”
“You’re trying to trick me. I didn’t kill them. But they deserved to die. God killed them.”
“If you didn’t kill them, why did you run away?”
“Because you’re constantly harassing us. The GALS killer is doing God’s work, not me.”
“Are you out for gay and lesbian blood?”
“Why would I suck the blood of such filth?”
Dietz was waiting when they left the room. “Good work, Parker.”
“Thanks, but I didn’t get much from him.” She looked at Corelli.
“You shook him about the phone threats,” Corelli said. “Dietz, send somebody out with pictures of Snape and Wilpersett and have someone check the pay phones in the area around their apartment. Hold him while we check for outstandings. Any sign of the third one? Phelps?”
“No. But he does have a sheet.” Dietz opened the folder he was carrying. “Multiple assaults of gay men, attempted murder of a gay guy in St. Louis and another in Missouri. I would guess he’s on the run.” He handed the file to Corelli. She whistled. “This may be our guy. Blond, blue eyes, six feet, good-looking, the opposite of the other two.” She looked at the pictures, then passed them to Parker. “I could see a gay guy inviting him home. Send someone to show the picture to Kate Burke, Miranda Foxworth, the neighbors of the victims, and the gay bars. Also, let’s get his picture to the media. Someone must have seen him.”
Chapter Forty-One
Monday – 7 p.m.
Corelli strode in. She stood silently and waited for the group to quiet. “Anybody have anything?”
“Yeah,” Dietz said. “I took a call from a guy a little while ago. He’s been out of town for a few days and only heard about Nickerson’s murder this afternoon. Said he was sitting outside at the restaurant across the street from Nickerson’s townhouse Friday night and saw a tall, slender man dressed all in black with his hat pulled down, smoking. He didn’t think anything of it until the guy put his cigarette out on the railing and stashed the butt in his pocket. What struck him as really odd was the guy put gloves on before ringing the bell. He couldn’t see his face and didn’t notice when he came out. He chalked it up to another weird New Yorker.”
“It sounds like the mystery man outside Nardo’s apartment,” Corelli said. “What else?”
“We’ve got a guy like that near Meg Lerner’s house,” Wachinski said. “A witness, a mystery writer, passed a man going in the direction of Lerner’s house when she was walking her dog. Said she noticed the guy because he looked like a character in a noir mystery. His clothing, including a slouch hat pulled over his eyes, was black. He was wearing sunglasses even though it was dark, and he had a cigarette dangling out his mouth. She said the Macy’s shopping bag he was carrying seemed out of place. When her dog stopped to sniff something interesting, she turned back to look and saw the guy put the cigarette out on a telephone pole and pocket the butt. She thought she could use that in a book.”
“Sounds like the same guy at all three scenes. Now we just have to identify him,” Corelli said. “The shopping bag probably held the CD player and the other things required to pose the body.”
“The autopsy confirmed Lerner died Saturday night between eleven and one a.m.,” Wachinski said.
“I’ve been checking out the rosaries,” said Detective Deke Simmons. “They’re nothin’ special, sold in religious stores around the city as well as the gift shop in St. Patrick’s Cathedral. None of the clerks we talked to remembered selling them in any quantity and not one could remember a nervous or suspicious-looking customer.”
“No luck with the CD player brought to Lerner’s either,” Forlini said.
“We got the results of the Nickerson autopsy,” Watkins said. “The ME confirmed the time of death and the fact he was killed with a bullet to the cerebellum. We also got confirmation that the bullets used to kill del Balzo and Nickerson came from the same gun. Forensics is still examining the evidence picked up at each scene, but so far they have nothing significant to report.”
“Thanks, guys,” Corelli said. “We’ve secured the remaining targets, at least those we think are the targets, based on our theory that the picture on the front page of the Daily World is the source of the killer’s victims. That include
s my younger sister and my nephew, who were invited to City Hall by Spencer Nickerson. Watkins and Greene will be meeting Brett Cummings at the airport later and we’ll put a twenty-four-hour guard on her.
“We do have someone who looks good for this. Dietz is passing out some info on him.” Corelli held up a flyer. “Take one and pass them along.” She waited until everyone had a copy and had a chance to read it. “Luther Phelps, an ex-con with multiple convictions for assaulting gay men and two open charges of attempting to murder them, is a member of the religious group harassing gay men. We believe the victims knew the killer or at least welcomed him in their houses, so that ruled out the other two religious guys. But this guy could pass for gay and might be invited in. He’s disappeared but we’re distributing his picture and description to the media so hopefully he’ll turn up.”
The silence was deafening. They had one suspect they couldn’t identify and one they couldn’t find, no other leads. Forlini suddenly woke up. “Hey, maybe he’s the mystery guy in black?”
“Good thought, Forlini. Let’s find him and we’ll check his wardrobe.”
The energy level was dangerously low. The troops needed a break. “Just a couple more things.” She made eye contact with the team. “I can see you’re all exhausted so take the rest of the night off and start fresh tomorrow. Continue what you’re doing, and if you need something else, contact Dietz. Let’s touch base again tomorrow night at seven. Have a good evening.”
The room emptied quickly. Ron and Charleen stopped to say they had called the airline and Brett’s flight was on time so they were going to have dinner and then head out to meet her plane.
Parker lingered.
She knew Parker wouldn’t leave without her. “I’ll work at home so you can drop me and get some rest.”
“I’d rather review the case with you, if that’s okay.”
Corelli had planned to work out in her home gym, then soak in the tub for a while before reviewing the case in her bedroom. That wouldn’t work with Parker there. “The kids are having a couple of friends over so it’ll probably be noisy. Let’s work here.”
After a couple of hours Parker stood and stretched. “I need to move. I’m going to walk around the block. I’ll be back in fifteen or twenty minutes.”
Corelli went to the ladies’ room and threw some cold water on her face. When she got back she stubbed her toe on a box next to the table. It was the box of Italian magazines and newspapers they’d taken from del Balzo’s apartment. Since she was the only one who could read Italian, Dietz had it moved it into the conference room so she could look through it whenever she had a few minutes. She thumbed through a few of the magazines. The ambassador was no longer a suspect, but she was curious about the del Balzos, especially their attitude toward their homosexual son whom everyone, but them, seemed to love.
Back from her walk, Parker slid into the chair facing Corelli’s desk. Corelli finished the article she was reading and put it aside. “Find anything?” Parker asked.
“Not really. But now that the ambassador isn’t a suspect, I wasn’t looking for anything, just satisfying my ghoulish interest. The del Balzos are so cold about losing their son, it’s un-Italian. Anyway, most of the articles are just gossip, about them and their daughters, especially the single one. Strange that there’s nothing about Nardo. Surely the press would have picked up something about his being gay or at least written about him as an eligible bachelor. It’s almost as if he was dead before he was murdered. Anyway, there are a couple of stories proclaiming Carla as the power behind the throne, a few hints about the ambassador having affairs, a story about their hunting big game in Africa, pro and con discussions about his becoming prime minister and a lot of weird stories and candid photos, the kind you see on the front pages of the scandal sheets at the supermarket. You know how Carla always looks so perfect, sleek and pulled together like a fashion model? Take a look at these.”
Parker thumbed through the pages. “What’s this headline say?”
“Who really wears the pants in this family?”
“Good question. Wow, she looks like she’s on a bender—sloppy and puffy. Do you think she’s a drunk? In these she looks so butch she and the ambassador could be brothers. Jeez, look at these. She looks like, um, a queen or a fairy princess, all sparkly and gorgeous. And here she looks like she’s been out picking up garbage. Are these for real? Man, she must be schizo.”
“These rags often retouch the photos to make the people look horrible. And maybe they’re just disguises to avoid the paparazzi that must be on top of them all the time. Anyway, it’s nice to see she’s human.”
They worked another hour, then Corelli yawned. “Let’s pack it in.”
“I could use some sleep, but I need to make a pit stop before we go. Meet you at the elevator.” Parker pulled her stuff together and headed out to the ladies’ room.
Chapter Forty-Two
Monday – 11:30 p.m.
“Boss, we have a problem,” Watkins said when Corelli answered her cell. “Brett Cummings wasn’t on the plane. I had them check the passenger list and it looks like she changed to an earlier flight when she arrived in Houston, one scheduled to arrive at 9:05 instead of 11:14. She should be home already. We’re about to get into the car but even at eleven thirty it’s going to take a while for us to reach Battery Park City. You’d better get somebody over there ASAP.”
“Will do. Thanks, Watkins.”
Corelli ran to catch Parker.
“Watkins called. Brett took an earlier flight. Hopefully she went straight home. We need to get to her place. Now.”
“I hope she didn’t tell anybody about the change,” Parker said, as they jogged to the car.
“So do I.”
“Is Ms. Cummings home?” Corelli pushed her shield and ID in the doorman’s face.
“I don’t know.”
She clamped her hand on his shoulder. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
“My shift just started fifteen minutes ago. She hasn’t come in since then.” He glared at her. “You’re hurting me.”
“What about that limo parked in front without a driver?”
“It was here when I came on. I haven’t seen the driver.”
“Shit.”
“Should I call up to her apartment?”
“Yes.”
“Does she know what this is in reference—”
“Just call.”
He shook off her hand, keyed something into his computer, and picked up the phone. He dialed the number, and they could hear the phone ringing.
“Sorry to bother you so late, Ms. Cummings, but Detective Corelli is here to see you.” He waited. “Ms. Cummings, are you there?” He eyed Parker. “No, another detective. Should I send them away?” Corelli reached for the phone, but he jerked it back out of her reach.
“It’s all right, you can go up. Middle elevator. Thirty-third floor, apartment A.”
“Don’t let anybody else up unless you clear it with me. Got that?”
“It’s so late I don’t think—”
“I didn’t ask for your thoughts. Do you understand?”
She could hear the harshness in her voice, felt Parker stiffen, and acknowledged to herself she was dumping her anxiety on him, but she couldn’t let it go. He reacted as if she had slapped him, and keeping his eyes on her, nodded. They moved into the elevator.
Neither spoke. Corelli rocked on the balls of her feet, aware Parker was picking up her tension and anxiety.
“I’m sorry Parker. I’m worried.”
“Got that.”
The elevator door opened, but Corelli didn’t move.
“This is it.”
“Sorry. Write a note saying, ‘shake your head if you’re not alone.’” Corelli removed her gun and held it at her side.
“I don’t think…” Parker started, then seeing Corelli’s face she wrote the note and handed it to her.
Parker took her weapon from the holster, then rang the bell.
Brett answered, wearing pajamas and a robe. Corelli put her fingers to her lips and handed Brett the note.
Brett read the note, and taking in the guns in their hands, glared at them. “Is this some kind of sadistic cop game? Yes, I’m alone. Who were you expecting, a murderer?”
Corelli and Parker exchanged glances.
Brett sighed. “Please put those guns away and come in. Needless to say this is quite a surprise.” She half turned to lead them into the apartment, then stopped. She looked from one to the other. “Is there a problem? My brother? My sister?”
“As far as we know, your brother and sister are fine. Can we go inside?” Corelli pointed to the living room.
“Of course. I’m sorry for being a grouch. I just got back from Tokyo. I’ve been traveling an entire day, so I’m tired. And a little freaked since my visitors don’t usually arrive with guns in hand.”
“We expected you to be on the 11:14 flight,” Corelli said, as they followed her into the living room.
Brett turned and glared at Corelli. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were interested in my travel arrangements or I would certainly have let you know I changed to an earlier flight when we landed in Houston.” She pointed to the sofa. “You might as well sit. Would you like coffee or something else to drink?”
“Coffee would be great,” Corelli said. Parker nodded.
“I’ll be right back.” Brett left the room.
Corelli let out her breath in a whoosh.
“She doesn’t seem too happy to see us.”
“Very perceptive, Detective,” Corelli said. “I guess it was a little weird but better embarrassed than sorry.”
The soft blues and greens of the room suited Brett, as did the bold accents of the six Meg Lerner paintings hanging on the one solid wall. Her stomach flipped, remembering she had to tell Brett that not one, not two, but three of her close friends had been murdered. “Nice view,” Corelli said, turning away from the paintings to look at the Statue of Liberty, tall and bright in the darkness. The photographs displayed on top of the lustrous, black, baby grand piano standing in front of the windows caught her eye. She walked closer and picked up a picture she’d seen in Brett’s office the day they met. She flushed, experiencing again the sadness and longing she’d felt the first time. Then, she hadn’t known any of the people, had even expected Brett to be the man in the picture. This time, looking at the picture of Brett on her boat with her brother the priest, and her friends, she recognized Nardo, Kate, Spencer, and Meg. Putting that picture down, she picked up another she’d seen before, a family portrait of a preteen Brett with her mother, father, and younger brother and sister, then moving along the piano she examined several other less formal family snapshots and more pictures of groups of friends, including the Daily World’s picture of all of them on the steps of City Hall. In the last photograph in a simple silver frame, Brett and an attractive dark-haired woman embraced, smiling and gazing into each other’s eyes, obviously deeply in love. As she read the inscription, ‘To my darling Brett, together always, all my love, Em,’ Corelli’s stomach lurched and waves of disappointment and sadness washed through her. She glanced back at the other pictures but this Em wasn’t in any of them. New then.
The Blood Runs Cold Page 25
