Saints Of New York

by R.J. Ellory

  'Yes, I do.'

  'So we go speak to his ex-wife, and she tells us that he had a certain taste for a certain type of pornographic literature. She says there's still some in the house. Would we like to take it away? She is concerned that the kids might find it. We say we'll take it off her hands, and from what we can see there is nothing overtly illegal about this material, though there are some images that could be of girls who might have said they were older than they in fact were. This kind of thing happens, Richard. I'm sorry to say that it's not uncommon. We are interested, Richard, that's all, and though this could be about as far from you as you can get, it would still be very remiss of us not to follow it up with some degree of persistence and tenacity. You see where I'm coming from?'

  McKee nodded. 'There are other people at Welfare that you are talking to?'

  'I cannot answer that question, Richard.'

  'Okay, so am I the only person you are talking to about thiscase?'

  'No, Richard, you are not.'

  McKee looked momentarily relieved. He stepped forward and sat down again. 'So I don't need a lawyer?'

  'Your decision, Richard, really. I cannot tell you whether you need a lawyer or not.'

  'But you're not planning to charge me with anything, right?'

  'No, unless there's something you feel we should know that we haven't covered?'

  'No, of course not. I haven't done anything that I could be charged for.'

  'Well if that's the case then you're fine, Richard, just fine.'

  Parrish got up. McKee followed suit.

  'Thank you again for your time,' Parrish said.

  McKee tried to smile. 'Not at all. I would say that if you need anything else then let me know, but I'm hoping that you don't need anything else.'

  'So do I, Richard, so do I.' Parrish shook McKee's hand. 'Detective Radick here will show you out.'

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  'You are walking a very fine line, Frank. You are right on the

  I edge with this guy.' Radick took off his jacket and sat down.

  Parrish smiled sardonically. 'Well, you know what they say?'

  'What's that?'

  'If you're not close to the edge then you're taking up too much room.'

  'It's not a matter for humor, Frank, I'm serious. He shares a few words with the wrong type of lawyer and we could find ourselves on the end of a harassment suit. I am also concerned that we might just have caused some more trouble for Carole Paretski.'

  'I don't think he's stupid enough to say anything to her. He upsets her any further and she's just going to co-operate with us even more, and I think he realizes that.'

  'Nevertheless—'

  'I know, Jimmy,' Parrish interjected. 'But don't you just love the cat-and-mouse. He think he's fooled us. He thinks that we're just questioning him in the general line of the investigation.'

  Radick frowned. 'We are . . . aren't we?'

  Parrish seemed taken aback for a moment. 'You don't have any doubts, do you?'

  'Doubts about what?'

  'About McKee? About McKee being the guy?'

  'Christ, Frank, of course I have doubts.'

  'You're not serious, surely?'

  'Of course I'm serious. We don't have anything on this guy. I've been there for every interview, Frank, and I don't see anything but some poor schmuck who's wife dumped him because he had a thing for cheerleaders—'

  'You missed the signs, Jimmy, you missed the signs.'

  'Signs? What signs?'

  'It's fine. Don't worry about it. You couldn't see his face while we were talking.'

  'I heard what he had to say though, Frank. So what are you talking about - signs?'

  'His eyes, his hands, the way he reacted when I backed off. You see how relieved he was?'

  'Jesus, Frank, I think I'd be relieved if all of a sudden I got the idea that the guy that was harassing me about being a multiple murderer told me that he wasn't really that serious about it.'

  Parrish was shaking his head before Radick had finished speaking. 'No, Jimmy, those were the signs. These guys don't think the way we think. They just don't. It's good that they don't otherwise we'd all be doing that shit. It's like I said before, they're arrogant. They pretend they're not, but they're arrogant. They have whatever they're into, the girls, the snuff movies, the torture sex, all that, but there's an element of it that tells them they have to challenge the police. They have to prove to themselves and the rest of the world that they're smarter than everyone. They don't want to get caught. Of course not. But you know something? There's a tiny little bit of them that does want to get caught. Why? Because they want the recognition. They want the world to know what they did, how long they got away with it for . . .'

  'Hang on a minute there, Frank. As far as I can see we are not any closer to nailing McKee for anything than we were a week ago. So he's a loser. So he likes to read stroke mags. So fucking what? You know how many people read that shit? That isn't against the law. Like it or not, that's the truth. There's no way we can prove that any of the girls in those mags were underage when the pictures were taken, and compared to some of the stuff I've been looking at in Archives it's pretty mild. Even if we did prove it we wouldn't have a case against McKee, it would be a case against the publishers. Second thing is this movie. So there was an ad for the movie in one of the magazines. We have a picture of Jennifer doing things that no seventeen-year-old should be doing against her will, but we have no proof that she did it against her will. Hell Frank, we don't know anything about the circumstances of their disappearances or their murders. We just know they went missing, and then they were dead. Jennifer could have done those pictures weeks before she went missing, months even, and she could have done it willingly. We don't know. That's the thing here. We have no proof.'

  Parrish was smiling, almost to himself. 'Which is where the intuitive certainty comes in, Jimmy. There's a line they cross, and once they cross that line you know you're into something—'

  'What the fuck are you talking about, Frank? Lines? Intuition? Jesus, man, listen to yourself. We do not have a case against Richard McKee. He has not been charged because we have nothing to charge him with. He has not been advised to get a lawyer because he doesn't need to get a lawyer. If I didn't know you I'd think you were harboring some irrational obsession about this guy. Fact of the matter is that I do know you, and I still think it's an irrational obsession. Leave the guy alone. You heard what he said. Next time we ask him down here for questioning he's gonna bring a lawyer—'

  'I'm not going to bring him down here for more questions.'

  'Thank fuck for that.'

  'I don't need to. I've got all the information on him I need.'

  'What?'

  'He's the guy, Jimmy. I mean it. You can hear me out on this or you can call me crazy. He is the guy. It's more obvious to me now than ever. In fact, the more you talk to me about leaving him alone the more I understand how fucking clever he's been.'

  'Aah for Christ's sake, Frank, will you just drop it? What are you going to do? Apply for an arrest that will get turned down? Try and get a search warrant for his house?'

  'No, Jimmy, I'm just going to wait for him to make his next move, and we'll be ready.'

  'You're serious aren't you? You really believe that Richard McKee has abducted and killed six teenage girls in the last two years.'

  'I do, Jimmy, I do. And I think that very soon he's going to go after number seven.'

  'Why, Frank? Why in God's name would he do that if he thinks we're onto him?'

  'Because we've got him excited, Jimmy. We've got him all excited again. He's got to prove to himself that he can outwit us, and like I said before, the more we talk to him about it the more turned on he gets. He's gonna go for another one. I know it. He's gonna do it, and it'll be soon.'

  'Jesus. If this is what it's going to be like then I don't know that I can go on working with you, Frank. Seriously, this is getting to be too much.'

  'Not yet, Jimmy
, not yet. Don't bail out on me yet, okay? A little while longer. A few days, a week maybe. Hang in there with me on this one. If I'm wrong then I'll quit, like I said. If I'm right then I'll quit anyway, but you'll get a blue ribbon for your first case in Homicide and Valderas will love you.'

  'A week, Frank. I can agree to that. A week longer on this case, and then we go elsewhere. We start looking at some of the other things that are backing up behind us.'

  Parrish nodded and extended his hand. 'Deal,' he said. 'A week, and if we haven't nailed McKee for his involvement in six murders then we'll drop the case completely.'

  'You're serious?'

  'I am.'

  'Okay,' Radick said. 'A week it is.'

  They shook. Radick leaned back in his chair. He looked out of the window for a moment and wondered if Frank Parrish was his karma for sins in another life.

  SIXTY-NINE

  Parrish was home by seven. He should have eaten but he had no appetite. Twice he picked up the phone, and twice he put it down again. He paced the kitchen, paused ahead of the refrigerator, opened the door and looked inside. He closed the door again and resumed pacing.

  At twenty to eight he picked up the phone once more and dialed a number. He stood with his eyes closed as it rang. Just as he was about to hang up it was answered.

  'Hello,' he said. 'It's me.'

  There was a hesitation at the other end, and then, 'Jesus, that voice is a blast from the past.'

  'It's been a long time, Ro—' and then he cut himself short. No names. Not on the phone.

  'How have you been?'

  'Better,' Parrish replied.

  'And I can only assume that the request I made last time we spoke has fallen on deaf ears?'

  'Look, it's not that simple. I'm stuck. Really stuck.'

  'As you were last time, or have I got that wrong?'

  'No, you're not wrong. This is important—'

  'You know the deal. I helped you out last time and I shouldn't have done. Christ, I shouldn't even be speaking to you.'

  'But it's been three . . . no, four years. You ever consider how many times I could have called you in the last four years and I never did?'

  'I know. I understand that. But you know something? That's the way it should be.'

  'I need your help.'

  'I can't give you any help.'

  'Listen to me ... I need your help.'

  There was silence at the other end. Parrish could hear breathing, that was all. 'Look,' he went on. if I didn't think it was serious, I mean really serious, then I wouldn't call you. You know that.'

  'How serious?'

  'Six. Another one imminent. I'm sure of that.'

  'Men, women—'

  'Teenage girls . . . snuff movies, I think.'

  'Oh, what a wonderful world we live in.'

  'So?'

  'So what?'

  'Will you help me?'

  'Depends entirely on what you mean by help.'

  'Meet me. An hour. Maybe less. I just need someone outside the loop to talk to. I need to tell you what we've got. . . well, what we haven't got actually, and see if there's any way out of this.'

  There was silence once more. It seemed to go on until midnight.

  'This is not good.'

  'I know,' Parrish replied. 'I'm sorry. If there was someone else I could talk to—'

  'Did you do something that means you can't go through standard channels?'

  'I did something. It doesn't relate to standard channels. I know something that can't go on record. It may be nothing ... I don't know what the fuck it might or might not mean. I'm in a jam, you know? I'm in a fucking tight spot and I need to know if there's a way out.'

  'There probably isn't, knowing you.'

  'I know, but I have to try.'

  'Jesus Christ, you really are—'

  'I know. A pain in the ass. A liability. I've said that if this doesn't fold in a week I'm quitting.'

  'Oh, it's one of those moments is it?'

  'I'm asking you. I'm begging you to help me out on this.'

  'Time is it?'

  'Quarter to eight.'

  'You still live where you used to?'

  'Yes.'

  'Meet you at the second place we met. Half past eight.' The line went dead in his ear.

  Parrish stood for a moment with the receiver in his hand. He could hear the thudding of his own heart. It was another minute before he hung up.

  SEVENTY

  Parrish wondered whether he'd even visited the diner in the previous four years. He couldn't recall, not clearly. Situated on the corner of Park and Ryerson, a stone's throw from the expressway, it was no more than half a dozen blocks north-east of his apartment. He walked, and even taking his time he was there at quarter after. He took a booth in the back right-hand corner, ordered coffee, and waited.

  'I cannot stay long,' was Ron's opening gambit.

  Parrish smiled. 'I don't expect you to stay long.'

  Ron sat down, and it was then that he perhaps first looked at Frank Parrish properly, because he said, 'You don't look so good.'

  'I've been better.'

  'You still single?'

  Parrish nodded.

  'You need someone to take care of you, Frank. You don't look well.'

  Parrish shrugged. 'Been better, been worse.'

  'You want a refill?'

  'Sure.'

  Ron beckoned the waitress, asked for coffee for himself, a refill for Parrish.

  'So whose nightmare are you chasing these days?' Ron asked.

  Parrish laid out the facts that he possessed - quickly, succinctly - and in doing so reminded himself that he had very few facts at all.

  'Sounds like the cosmetic alterations, the hair, the nails, whatever he's doing . . . that's your signature, right? However, we don't have all the answers at the Bureau. You do know that, right?'

  'I know, Ron, I know. All I'm hoping for is perhaps a differentangle. Something I can go after this guy with. Something that might crack the facade and get me inside.'

  'There's a lot of assumption on your part,' Ron replied. 'Sounds to me that you really don't have anything on him at all.'

  'I get that, but I feel so certain it's—'

  Ron raised his hand. 'Looking at it purely with a view that he is the guy, okay? Taking all of these six cases as victims of the same guy, he's more than likely a commuter. He's going out to different locations to get his victims. He does whatever he does, and then he dumps them. If he is making films then I doubt very much that he's using his own house. He could be. A basement maybe, an upstairs room that he considers secure, but from what you've told me I get the impression he's not working alone.'

  i thought about that.'

  'And these girls all look similar. Blonde, pretty, slim, good- looking kids, right?'

  'Yes, they are.'

  'And what does his daughter look like?'

  Parrish shook his head. 'I actually don't know. I saw a picture of her, but it was from a while back and it wasn't very clear.'

  'Tell you now, she's either going to look a lot like the victims or she's gonna going to look precisely the opposite.'

  'Explain.'

  'Anger-retaliatory is a tough call on this, Frank. The victim symbolizes someone, usually someone you want that you can't have, or someone that the perp believes has wronged him in some way. Anger-retaliatory victims are mostly unplanned and very violent. Your guy is a planner, and as far as the violence is concerned, well, he just doesn't make the grade. The anger- excitement thing? That comes out of a need to terrify, to cause as much suffering as they possibly can before killing the subject. They go at it like it's a military operation. Everything down to the last detail. Where, when, how, everything rehearsed time and time again before the actual event. If your guy is selecting his victims from files, especially if he is ensuring that none of the victims can be directly connected to him from a professional standpoint, then he is a planner. That takes it out of the realm of anger-retaliatory.'r />
  'You get crossovers between the categories, right?'

  'For sure. These categories are not cast in stone, Frank, they're loose outlines. There's no single killer that's the same as any other, believe me.'

  'And the thing you said about the daughter?'

  'Well, that would be an interesting thing to know. The possibility that he has been filming the daughter from the crawl-space above her bedroom. He could have a fixation on his own daughter, an incestuous thing. Well, he can't fuck his own daughter so he goes after girls that look like her. And in order to convince himself that he's not an incestuous pedophile, he makes these cosmetic alterations so they look slightly different and slightly older. How old's the kid?'

  'Fourteen.'

  Ron leaned back in the chair and shook his head. 'Thing is you just don't know what the fuck is going on with these guys until you get them, and then you only get what they want to tell you. Whatever information we have managed to collate over the years at the FBI is bound to have questionable elements in it. After all, we are dealing with some of the world's best liars.'

  'And what if the daughter doesn't look like the victims?'

  'So if his daughter is a bespectacled, overweight brunette, then he's upset that she doesn't fit the acceptable social model. Maybe she's had difficulty at school, maybe she's been excluded from things because she's not the cute blonde that he hoped she would be. Then it becomes a matter of revenge against all those that made her feel different and unwanted.'

  'If she looks like her mother she's going to be the former, not the latter.'

  'Okay, then he's fucking his daughter by proxy. Here we get into the destroy-what-you-have-created thing, but at the same time empathizing enough with the victim so as not to go overboard on the torture and pain thing. That could explain the rohypnol. If they're drugged they can't fight back, if they don't fight back you don't have to restrain or hurt them.'

  'I think the first ones were hurt,' Parrish interjected. 'This movie, Hurting Bad - well, I think the title gives away the game, don't you?'

  'Like I said before, Frank, you have no way of knowing how this thing evolved. He could have been working with someone on the first ones, and then gone solo because he didn't like the pain thing. He could have started out hurting them and then graduated to a more sophisticated way of doing what he needed to do—'