The Russian - SETTING

by Patterson, James

  The librarian just tumbled to the sidewalk next to the building’s stairs.

  Ott took a moment to make sure no one had noticed the flurry of violent action. Then he arranged the woman’s body so that in the evening light it looked like she was sitting on the stoop, resting. The ruse might buy him a few more minutes to get out of the area.

  Just as he straightened up, taking a moment to admire his handiwork, the door to the apartment building opened. Ott snapped his head in that direction and found himself staring at a young man with a nose stud and long black hair that hung across his face.

  The man looked at the librarian and said, “Yara, what’s going on?”

  Ott watched as the man noticed the librarian’s blood dripping down her chest onto the steps. He saw the man’s face register his understanding that the librarian had been violently attacked, and that her assailant—Ott—was still standing there, facing him. The young man took a sudden leap over the railing onto the ground, about seven feet below.

  Ott was on him in a flash. As the young man started to run, Ott grabbed the back of his T-shirt, swinging the knife wildly and slashing him in the arm and back.

  Then the man’s shirt ripped. He shot forward but lost his balance and slid onto the sidewalk.

  This time, Ott didn’t risk another wild slash with his knife. He aimed the point as he swung his arm and caught the man in the side. He felt the blade slip between ribs. He pulled it out with his right hand and spun the man with his left. Just as they were face-to-face, Ott plunged the knife into the man’s solar plexus.

  Ott left it there for a moment, then twisted and pushed the man at the same time, dropping him next to the apartment steps.

  Gasping for air after the heavy physical activity, he sucked in a lungful and scanned the area. No one was raising any alarms.

  He started walking quickly away from the scene in the opposite direction of the block party. He slipped the surgical gloves off his hands and into a plastic bag that he tucked into the pocket of his uniform.

  As Ott picked up his pace, he couldn’t get a handle on the wild swing of his emotions. He felt vulnerable as he continued walking, but after about ten minutes, he began to feel safe. Most of all, he felt relief that a loose end was now tied up, but not the thrill he usually experienced when he had time to spend with his victims.

  As he waited to catch a subway train downtown, he reviewed the events of the evening. Circumstances had forced him into eliminating one loose end, and then another one—his first male victim. There had been no time to perform his rituals. The young man and the librarian were the only two victims whose eyes he had not stabbed, and whose blood largely remained in their dead bodies. But he couldn’t stop to think about this significant break from his patterns—and what response it might evoke in Detective Michael Bennett and the NYPD.

  He had never planned for any of this. And now he might have to pay.

  Chapter 30

  I was at home, a place where I rarely brought up work issues. But Mary Catherine is very perceptive. She badgered me until I finally told her what was wrong, the whole story about the irritating mayor’s aide who’d plagued me in the late afternoon.

  She smiled and said, “You’ll deal with him. It’s not easy, but you know how to handle people. People are like snowflakes.”

  I said, “Cold and annoying?”

  “No, smart guy. Unique. People are unique. Having a way with them is a gift. You know how to use your gift.”

  “I’d like to return my gift for something else. Maybe cash. Or x-ray vision.” I waggled my eyebrows.

  Mary Catherine burst out laughing. “If you think that leer is sexy, you’re way off. Creepy is a much better description for what you just did.”

  We laughed together and she reached out to take my hand. I leaned forward and we kissed. At first, it was just a quick peck. Then Mary Catherine lingered and I felt her tongue trace the outline of my lips. We started to make out like teenagers left alone at home. Except we were not teenagers. And we were definitely not home alone.

  We were reminded of that when two of the boys, Trent and Ricky, came barreling into the living room.

  “Can we go to the basketball courts at the end of the street and play with Brian?” Ricky asked.

  I felt guilty, because my immediate reaction was that I wasn’t sure I wanted the younger boys hanging out with their big brother. Which would mean I had to acknowledge that Brian had made some bad decisions and I was concerned he’d influence the other kids to do the same. Which went against everything I preached in telling Brian that I trusted him.

  Luckily, Mary Catherine was the one who started in with the third degree. “All your homework done?”

  Both boys answered in unison. “Yes.”

  “Room clean?”

  “Yes.”

  “Kitchen clean?”

  Both the boys stared at her, then at each other.

  Mary Catherine let out a laugh. “That was just a test to see if you’re paying attention. Although, if you ever want to get on my good side, cleaning the kitchen would be one way to do it.”

  Trent nodded and said, “Gotcha. I think we can get away without doing it tonight, though. That is, if I’m reading you correctly.” He kept such a straight and serious face that it made both Mary Catherine and me burst out laughing.

  Then I started thinking about the other boys who sometimes hung out at the basketball court.

  Almost without thought I said, “I’ll go too.”

  Ricky said, “Really?”

  When I nodded, I was relieved to see that both boys were thrilled at the idea. It reminded me that the kids wanted to spend time with their parents. At least some of the time. No matter what they said or how they complained, the kids enjoyed having their parents around. Especially a supercool and athletic one like me. Or, to put it another way, they liked playing against someone they knew they could beat.

  Twenty minutes later, we were on the set of four courts down the block. The courts looked like chaos to an outsider, but the kids and a volunteer from the YMCA had devised a pretty good system to make sure everyone had a chance. Two courts held three-on-three games, and the other two courts were open for general shooting and practice. People just shot around one another while they waited to get in on a three-on-three game. I made a mental note to send in my yearly donation to the YMCA.

  I wasn’t needed to make up numbers, so I made myself comfortable watching from the sidelines. Brian, Ricky, and Trent formed one threesome, and the team got on the game court pretty quickly. I appreciated seeing how Brian encouraged his brothers. He never got upset if they missed a shot. Which was especially good in Ricky’s case. At the moment, he was shooting 0 for 6.

  One of the older boys on the other team ran past Trent and threw a quick elbow. It knocked the slim teenager for a loop but wasn’t anything too blatant.

  A second later, Brian was in the kid’s face, and I noticed my son’s right hand was balled into a fist. He was taking a minor basketball disagreement to another level awfully fast. I knew, and it scared me, that prison had taught him to strike fast and first. I hustled over.

  Before I got there, though, Brian had stepped away from the kid. Breathing hard. Almost panting. Actually, I realized, he was breathing deeply. There’s a difference. I recognized it as part of the anger-management therapy he had started in prison and had continued once he was released.

  I patted Brian on the shoulder and mumbled, “Good job, Son.”

  God bless him. He was doing his best to adjust to the outside world.

  We just had to be patient.

  Chapter 31

  Early the next morning, I found myself at a Dunkin’ Donuts on Beekman Street, a few blocks from the Brooklyn Bridge, chatting with Detective Raina Rayesh. It was nice to catch up with an old friend, even if gruesome murder was a key topic of conversation.

  It was a long trip from Staten Island for Rayesh just to have a cup of coffee with an old friend. Unfortunately, a co
mmand performance at One Police Plaza was the real reason she was in Manhattan.

  Rayesh said, “Pretty sure I’m getting summoned to headquarters because I wasn’t particularly patient or tactful when the mayor’s aide visited.”

  “Was his name John Macy?”

  “Yeah. Said he’d been a cop and understood what we went through, yada yada yada. So I said, ‘Then you’ll understand how I’m too busy to talk to you.’”

  “How’d he respond?”

  “Don’t know. I stepped into the secure investigations office and shut the door. I ignored the receptionist when she kept calling.”

  I laughed loudly. “You’re better than me. I tried to get rid of him and instead just made things worse. And I never did get the pizza I sent him out to pick up.”

  “We’ll see who did a better job brushing off this jack-off after I have my meeting at One Police Plaza. How come you don’t have to go?”

  I smiled. “Because I have a secret weapon most detectives don’t.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Harry Grissom. He’s much better at these kinds of meetings than I’ll ever be. Unlike me, he’s smart enough to know which battles to fight. I’ll just wait till he calls me after his talk with the chief of detectives.”

  Rayesh said, “I should’ve recognized the ‘Bennett effect’ on Macy when he came to talk to me. He was already annoyed and flustered. A sure sign someone has spoken to you first.”

  We both laughed.

  Rayesh said, “Remember Captain Ramirez, when he was a lieutenant in the Bronx? He was quizzing us about an arrest we made and said, ‘That guy was dangerous as shit. Why didn’t you call SWAT?’ And you said it was because we didn’t have their number.”

  I didn’t remember the exact, smart-ass comment, but I remembered Ramirez, an officious prick who used to run our shift.

  Rayesh said, “He wanted to transfer you. Instead, we both got medals. I gotta tell you, Mike, you’re tough on the dull and lazy.”

  I said, “What did Mr. Macy have to say when you spoke for that very brief time?”

  Rayesh shrugged her shoulders. “Usual. Asked about the homicide. Said the mayor needed the newest information. The usual BS.”

  “What’d you tell him?”

  “Active investigation. Yada, yada, yada.” She paused for a moment, then added, “I did tell him it was too early to connect my homicide to the others. And he said he heard the killer stabbed the victim’s eye. I had to tell him I didn’t know why the killer did that, beyond a thirst for control.”

  I mumbled, “The world is full of crazy, scary people, Raina. The public usually doesn’t see it. Maybe an occasional story about someone who went wild. Never the day-to-day nasty things that go on around us everywhere.”

  Rayesh said, “Macy’s just looking to tell the mayor we’ve caught someone. He wants something to quiet the news media. An arrest would be just what they need. It’s like in the movie Jaws. The administrators at City Hall just want the problem to go away before tourist season gets screwed up.” She sighed, then perked up. “In all this confusion, I forgot that you’re getting married really soon,” she said.

  “A week from Saturday. If Mary Catherine doesn’t leave me before then.”

  “That’s a possibility, because she’s really smart. But I’ve seen the way she looks at you. You tricked her into believing all the press clippings. She’s in for the long haul.” Then she shook her head. “I don’t know, Mike. Maybe we’ve been on the job too long.”

  “How do you figure that, Raina?”

  She said, “Because all I want to do is move to Boca Raton and tell people how brave I was for the last twenty years in New York City.”

  “Good plan.”

  We both started laughing, knowing neither of us actually had any intention of leaving the job any time soon.

  Chapter 32

  I’d told Raina Rayesh the truth—that while I’d avoided an invitation to One Police Plaza for my rude behavior to the mayor’s aide, my boss, Harry Grissom, had been issued his own invitation. That’s why I was in the lobby outside the chief of detectives’ office, waiting for Harry at about ten o’clock in the morning, a few hours after I’d compared notes with Rayesh.

  When he came through the double glass doors that led from the conference room and other administrative offices, Harry shook his head at the sight of me. “I thought you understood it would be better if you were nowhere near here this morning.”

  “I came to support you.”

  Harry said, “Mr. Macy will be visiting our office this afternoon.”

  “What for?”

  “To see how Task Force Halo is operating.”

  “Hollis and I, we’re not really a task force. But we’re happy to let the FBI call us one if we can get access to their resources as we work the case.”

  “It’s a subtle difference we’re not going to explain to the mayor’s office.” Harry smiled as we stopped and waited for the elevator. “We’re going to convince Macy that our task force is fully staffed. We’re going to grab a couple of plainclothes and pull some patrol officers to help Hollis run down all the leads we’re getting from the tip line.” He slapped me on the back. “You’re going to make the operation look convincing, and Macy’s going to buy it. Got it?”

  All I could do was grin. Harry knew more about dealing with administrators and politicians than I could ever hope to understand. He also understood how investigations worked and what motivated detectives. When I thought about it, I realized what a rare combination that was. I hadn’t been exaggerating when I’d told Rayesh I had a secret weapon in Harry Grissom.

  Harry turned serious as he looked at me. “I will make this clear, Mike. Do not provoke this asshole when he comes to our offices this afternoon. I know he’s a pompous jerk, but he’s doing his job. He works for the mayor. Understand?”

  I nodded. Harry was right. He’s also about the only person besides Mary Catherine who can talk to me like that. Well, that’s not exactly true. A lot of people can, and do, talk to me like that. Harry and Mary Catherine are the only ones I’ll listen to.

  Then Harry said, “Give me a rundown on the status of the case.”

  This was unlike Harry. He tried to keep up with investigations as they were proceeding. It worried me that he wanted to be ready for this mayor’s aide. I finally asked him, “What’s the real problem here, Harry?”

  He looked down at the dirty linoleum floor. Then he said, “That asshole Macy’s been trying to have you replaced as lead detective. I don’t want to give him any reason to push for that again.”

  “Does he think he’d be hurting me by taking me off a case that’s distracting me from my family and my wedding? A wedding that’s happening in less than two weeks?”

  “You and I both know it would kill you to be removed from a case. Especially this one.”

  I thought about it for a moment, then admitted Harry was right. As usual. So I decided to show him I was on board. I gave him a full rundown of the case. Most of it he knew already. But I wanted to underscore some important points.

  I said, “There doesn’t seem to be any connection between any of our victims. That doesn’t mean they were selected at random, but they don’t seem to have known one another. Hollis has an interesting theory that our mope travels, maybe for work. We’re looking seriously at homicides in other cities that may match ours. Which also reminds me,” I said, “can we give Hollis a chance to supervise the task force for real, not just for show? All he’ll really do is farm out the leads. He’s been running down a lot of them himself. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the help.”

  Harry nodded. “What about the Staten Island homicide? I hear you don’t think that case is related to the others. Why not?”

  “The scene just feels different from the ones we’re already investigating. It was orderly. There was no blood spread over the walls, and the body wasn’t really mutilated. A single puncture in the chest, and a stab to her eye. But it was the right e
ye, when all the others have been the left.”

  “Any other insights on our killer?”

  “Aside from the fact that he typically seems to spend hours at crime scenes? If our theory’s correct, he’s killed in other cities too. We’re thinking it could be close to a dozen victims altogether. Maybe even more. That makes him smart enough not to have been caught already. And dangerous.”

  Harry nodded, then said, “About this afternoon. Answer any direct questions Macy puts to you, but don’t volunteer any information, and don’t expand on any points you do make.” He patted me on the back. “I need you. We’re making progress, even if the mayor’s office doesn’t believe it.”

  Chapter 33

  Daniel Ott didn’t mind working at a desk in the corner of the loading dock. He liked all the sound and activity at this job in Queens. He had an affinity for the workingman. Yet another lesson he’d learned from his first employer.

  The men at work on this loading dock and the ones who drove the trucks were definitely hardworking men. Yet as much as he admired them, he also didn’t mind lying low for a few days. He needed a chance to rest, gather his thoughts, and plan his future.

  He wondered if the plan he had set in motion at the library would produce results. So far, he hadn’t seen any reports about his message. Or news of the librarian’s death. The police seemed to be spending all their time working a murder on Staten Island. He’d never even been there. Still, the killer seemed to have adopted a pale imitation of Ott’s techniques. He was pleased at the flattery yet puzzled. If the media didn’t know about the eye stabbing, how did this other killer learn his signature?

  When his phone rang, Ott answered it immediately. It was noon. “Hello, my lovely girls.”

  On speakerphone, with the noise of the workers buzzing around him, his wife and both of his daughters giggled and chatted with him about their days. His wife caught him up on their homeschooling progress, and his daughters regaled him with a story about their cat getting stuck in a tree. The conversation kept him smiling for over an hour.