The Russian - SETTING

by Patterson, James

  “I’m on it.”

  I then made the same call to San Francisco PD.

  I had checked further with Manhattan Family Insurance, where Elaine Anastas had interned, and the medical supply company that had employed Chloe Tumber. The best they could tell me about the Computelex representative was that he was a white male. Neither company was even sure of his name. Someone from the insurance company thought it might be David. No one at either company saw him interact with the victims.

  I heard a voice and glanced up from my computer screen to see John Macy standing at my desk with another man I didn’t recognize.

  Macy said, “I guess you thought it was pretty funny to leave me here in the office.”

  I went back to my computer. “Not now, Macy. I’m busy.” I tuned him out.

  “I don’t think you’re that busy. In fact, I know you’re not. This is Detective William Funcher.”

  I kept my head directly in front of the monitor as I said, “Nice to meet you, Detective Funcher.”

  Macy said, “He’s your replacement. You’re no longer on the serial killer case.” Finally I looked up at the men. Funcher looked uncomfortable. Macy was beaming. This was what he’d been waiting for. And he wanted to add a little drama to it. I hated to disappoint him.

  “Where do you work now, Funcher?”

  “The One-Eleven.”

  “Where’s that, Queens?”

  “Yeah, 215th Street.”

  “You work in homicide?”

  “General assignment.”

  “And how do you know Mr. Macy?”

  The fact that I didn’t get an answer right away told me this wasn’t a case of a competent detective rising to the top. Funcher was just the first guy Macy could find who’d agreed to come up here.

  I wrote down the information from my computer screen about Computelex. They were based in Omaha, Nebraska, but claimed to cover the whole country. This might be the right lead.

  I looked up again at the two men standing in front of my desk. “Fortunately, I don’t work for you, Macy. I work for a guy named Harry Grissom. And if he walks in here and tells me I’m replaced, I will give everything I have to Detective Funcher. Until then, like I said, I am really busy.”

  That’s when Macy made a major error. He touched me without permission.

  Chapter 84

  As soon as I felt John Macy’s hands on my shoulders, something in me snapped. It may seem minor, but what he did is technically an assault. That’s what I kept in my head as I reacted. I could picture it in a report. I was in fear for my safety after he assaulted me. That sounded good. I was going to go with that.

  I really don’t know if it was instinct or machismo that made me spring out of the chair and turn to face Macy. I could’ve told him to cut it out and kept working. Instead, I was now face-to-face with the mayor’s aide.

  I snarled, “Keep your damn hands off me.”

  Macy wasn’t about to back down either. “You know what I can do to your career? You’re nothing but a minor cog in city government.”

  “For a minor cog, you seem to spend a lot of time keeping me from turning with all the other cogs.”

  “I don’t like your attitude one bit. You have no respect for your superiors.”

  That caught me by surprise. I’ll admit I’m a smart-ass. I’ll admit I can’t control my mouth. But I have a great deal of respect for my superiors. Any man or woman who worked their way up the ladder at the NYPD deserved respect.

  I said, “I respect my lieutenant. I respect our captain. I respect the commissioner of the NYPD.”

  Macy said, “But not me?”

  “You’re not my superior.”

  “I’m the commissioner’s superior.” Macy looked like he was losing it. His voice was becoming a little shrill. His eyes were twice as big as normal. And he was sputtering. Any time a politician is at a loss for words, watch out.

  That’s why it didn’t surprise me too much when he grabbed my shirt with both hands. He pulled me close to him like a schoolyard bully and raised his voice. “You hear me, Bennett? I—”

  That’s when I decided to react. Maybe retaliate is the better word. But I knew I had to do it subtly.

  I’m not saying I set up the mayor’s aide. I will say that as a cop, I’m aware of my surroundings at all times. At least I try to be. I had the chair that was right next to me hooked with my right foot. It was pretty close to Macy. All I did was nudge it. Okay, a little more than a nudge. It hit him directly in the groin. That’s why he stopped mid-sentence.

  Macy released his grip on my shirt and stumbled back a few feet until he bumped into the leather office chair and flopped into it like a bag of old potatoes. Clearly his main concern was the excruciating pain radiating from his testicles. Every man knows the feeling.

  I casually turned my attention to the cop, Funcher. “How’d you really end up in this embarrassing and awkward position?”

  He slowly backed away from me and raised his hands so I could see he wanted nothing to do with me or this situation.

  Funcher said, “I know Macy socially, through my wife. In my circles, he has a reputation for being loose-lipped, but he was all business this time. He told my sergeant the mayor’s office needed me, so I agreed to meet him here this morning.”

  “So you’re not looking to snake this case?”

  “No way.”

  “Then we’re good.” I completely ignored both men and went back to work.

  After about thirty seconds, Funcher turned to leave.

  I called after him. “Wait.” When he turned to look at me, I said, “Take your date with you.” I tilted my head at Macy.

  Funcher said, “No can do. I’m going back to the One-Eleven. He’s not authorized to ride in an NYPD vehicle.” The detective turned and walked away without another word.

  I liked Funcher. To the point. No fuss. And smart enough to realize when he was in over his head.

  Harry walked into the office, passing Funcher on his way out. My lieutenant strolled over to my desk and asked, “Who was that?”

  “He dropped Macy off here.”

  He and I both looked over at Macy, who appeared to be recovering from the blow to the testicles. Harry dropped his voice, “Jesus, what’s that ass want now?”

  I shrugged and said, “I guess he just wanted to hang out.”

  We both gave the motionless mayor’s aide another glance, then I said to Harry, “Let’s talk.”

  As soon as we were out of Macy’s earshot, I said, “I need to fill you in on a computer company that may be important to the case.”

  Chapter 85

  I had never done so much investigative work from my desk. By the afternoon, I had compiled all the information on Computelex I could find from the internet. I even had the phone number of the head of human resources, one Lynn McKague. The photo on the company website showed an attractive, friendly-looking woman with a broad smile.

  I dialed, and as the phone rang, I said a silent prayer that she’d answer. I needed to actually talk to her. I didn’t want to risk leaving a message. For all I knew, the man in question could be Computelex’s employee of the year, or she could even be his girlfriend.

  A bright, friendly voice answered the phone with “HR, this is Lynn.”

  “Lynn McKague?”

  “That’s right. Who’s this?”

  I gave her my full, formal title.

  “Hello, Detective,” she said cautiously.

  “Ms. McKague, I need a few minutes of your time.”

  “Before I answer any questions,” she said, “you’re calling about company business, not about me personally, correct?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “I’m sorry, but unless you’ve got a subpoena, company policy forbids me from continuing this conversation. The privacy of our clients is important to our business model.”

  “This isn’t about one of your clients. It’s about an employee.”

  “I wish I could help, but I’m a
fraid the same rule applies.”

  I had to take a moment to consider my next course of action. I said, “Can you confirm an individual’s employment status?”

  “If you have a name, I can verify that employee’s work history. That I can do.”

  “Is there a white male Computelex employee currently working in the New York area?” I rolled the dice, hoping I wouldn’t spook her—or the man I was looking for. “It’s important that I speak to this person about a lead on a string of homicides.”

  “Is he a witness? I can send him a message to contact you.”

  “No, I would ask you please not to say anything to him.”

  “So he’s not a witness. This sounds more serious.” It was half statement, half question.

  I didn’t respond.

  There was a long silence on her end.

  I finally said, “Ms. McKague? Did I lose you?”

  “No, you didn’t lose me. I was reviewing some records.” The HR manager hesitated again. Then she stammered, “What ki-kind of questions do you need answered?”

  I almost leapt up from my chair and cheered. Instead, I focused and said, “We understand that a man in your employ travels on contract work. I’m going to give you some dates and locations. A name would help a great deal. Barring that, a yes or no on whether at those times this employee was working in those cities.”

  Lynn McKague spoke slowly. “Yes, I am able to merely confirm information you have already.”

  I gave her the dates of the Atlanta and San Francisco homicides. I could hear her fingers tapping at her keyboard. I waited while she checked the information.

  When she came back on the line, there was a slight tremor in her voice. “Yes, one employee was also in Atlanta and San Francisco during the dates you gave me. He has worked for us for a number of years.” After an awkward pause, she asked, “What’s this about?”

  I could’ve given her some snarky reply like I’m not allowed to tell you without a subpoena. But this case was too important to screw around.

  “And when did he arrive in New York City?”

  “He’s been there for slightly over six weeks.” Well within the range of the homicides here. I could almost hear Lynn McKague mentally debating her next admission. “His name is Daniel Ott.”

  Daniel Ott. This was our man. I was sure of it. “One last question, Ms. McKague. Would you be willing to share with me the name of the hotel where Mr. Ott is staying in New York City?”

  After only a brief pause, she gave me the name and address of a chain hotel in the Flatiron District.

  She also gave me Daniel Ott’s cell phone number.

  “Ms. McKague,” I said, “thank you for your help.”

  I meant it.

  Chapter 86

  The instant I ended the call to Omaha, my phone rang. Pam Lundsford from San Francisco PD was on the line.

  She started right off with “These cases weren’t mine. The original detective, Sean Lynch, has retired since then. This case aged him. He left the force, but he’s never given up on it. His theory was that the killer left town. Maybe he was right.”

  I agreed. It’s what he did while he was in town that I needed to pin down.

  Detective Lundsford said, “I saw your homicides on CNN. Bad break that the killer you caught was a copycat. I hope this doesn’t kill your lead on the main suspect.”

  “I have some new information there,” I assured her.

  “Good, because I contacted the victims’ employers like you asked. No link to Computelex. I checked it four different ways and made sure the representative from the employer knew exactly what I was asking.”

  Not the answer I was expecting. I explained that Computelex had just confirmed our killer’s presence in San Francisco at the time of both murders.

  “I have an idea,” Detective Lundsford said. “Can I bring Lynch in? He might have another angle.”

  “Sure. Either it’s going to be over soon or this lead won’t mean anything.”

  After I hung up the phone, it rang again. Detective Alvin Carter from Atlanta calling. I answered it immediately. “You got good news for me, Alvin? I got confirmation from Computelex that a Daniel Ott was working in Atlanta on the dates of all five homicides, but I need more.”

  Carter said, “Well…”

  He was about to drop something on me. Most detectives can’t pass up a chance for a little dramatic pause.

  Carter continued, “The victim who was murdered at a realtor’s office, Holly Jones? This was my case.”

  I said, “I sense you’re about to impress me with some spectacular police work.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Go ahead. Hit me with it.”

  Alvin Carter said, “I canvassed the area after the homicide. Went a couple of blocks in each direction. One of the companies about a block away delivered wholesale flowers to florists and grocery stores all over Georgia. A really big operation.”

  “And?”

  “I called them. They did contract Computelex to combine their delivery van radios, telephone, and computer activity. It turns out the Computelex tech was there at the same time the killing spree was going on in this area.”

  There was a long silence between us on the telephone as I let that information sink in.

  I said, “Did you get a description of the tech?”

  “Average-looking white guy. That was the best they could come up with. His name was Daniel Ott. He had to sign in every day for insurance reasons. No one at the company has given him a single thought since he left. He made almost no impact on them.”

  I said, “I owe you a beer.”

  “Catch this asshole and I’ll buy you a keg.”

  “You’re on,” I said.

  Now, this was how detectives were supposed to operate.

  As soon as I hung up, I called out, “Harry!”

  Chapter 87

  Daniel Ott got lucky and saw the grumpy barmaid leaving The Queen’s Castle not long after lunch. It was days like this, when he found someone truly deserving of his attention, that he was glad he was so careful. As long as he could maintain his cool, he knew he could do this indefinitely.

  He followed her for a few blocks, then saw her go into an apartment building. A few minutes later, someone opened the blinds in the corner apartment on the third floor. Ott smiled. He calculated how much time he wanted to spend with this barmaid. He’d already decided that if anyone else was home, he’d take them down with her.

  He reached down and touched the work pouch on his belt. It had a knife, some zip ties, and a pair of gloves. He also had a seven-inch steel rod. He had wondered what it would be like to drive the rod through someone’s temple. Or maybe hold it over her chest and let her contemplate what was about to happen. Power surged through him when he was deciding how someone might die.

  He pictured this woman on the floor of her apartment, duct tape wrapped around her mouth. Ott could sit on top of her as long as he wanted before he attacked her eye. Before he taunted the police by mixing her blood with the blood from a previous victim. He couldn’t remember anyone he’d looked forward to dealing with more than this barmaid. It was as much for her behavior and attitude as it was about his leaving a legacy here in New York.

  If that happened with the help of a foolish copycat, so be it. CNN was already talking about him. He couldn’t imagine the coverage when yet another body landed in the morgue. By then he would be back in Omaha, recharging before he went out into the world again.

  His phone rang in his pocket. He casually picked it up without taking his eyes off the apartment. Even as he heard his younger daughter’s voice say, “Hello, Daddy!” he never stopped staring at the apartment.

  He said, “Hello, my angel.”

  “When are you coming home, Daddy?”

  He could hear his wife prompting his daughter. He said, “Soon, my angel, soon.”

  “Are you almost done in York City?”

  Ott heard his wife correct her.

&
nbsp; The little girl repeated, “Are you almost done in New York City?”

  “Yes, little angel. I only have one more job to complete.” He smiled.

  Chapter 88

  It didn’t take me long to schedule a team meeting in the Gramercy Park area at the Thirteenth Precinct, the closest precinct to the hotel where Daniel Ott was staying.

  All the homicide detectives with cases related to this killer were here: Terri Hernandez, looking like an athletic college student even with her heavy ballistic vest; Javier Tunez, reviewing case details on his phone; Dan Jackson, a mountain in his tactical gear; Raina Rayesh, focused and going through notes.

  And all of us were wearing our blue NYPD raid jackets. We detectives were going by the book today.

  We also had a uniformed sergeant and five uniformed patrol officers. This was a newer tactic we’d used in the last few years. People got so concerned about the chance of someone impersonating a detective, having a uniformed officer with us often helped. Harry Grissom had arranged for that. The big sergeant was named Mike Sadecki. He looked like he shaved with a machete. I was glad to have him with us.

  “We’re not here to do anything fancy. Some of us will stay outside in case he runs. We’ll all stay on channel 3 on our radios,” Harry explained. “We got no warrant. We just want to get eyes on this guy. Talk to him for a few minutes without worrying about dealing with the district attorney or anything like that. If we got a warrant, we couldn’t talk to him, because it’s assumed he’s represented. That’s just stupid local DA policy.”

  Raina Rayesh asked, “How sure are you about this guy?”

  I answered that. “If he’s not our suspect, there are a lot of coincidences. His work schedule puts him in three different cities during three corresponding murder sprees.” I distributed printouts of his driver’s license. “He’s about five foot ten, very average-looking. No one ever seems to notice him.”

  Twenty minutes later, we had developed a simple but effective plan: Harry, Raina, and I would walk into the hotel lobby with Sergeant Sadecki.