by James Hayman
“Any friends in common?” asked the FBI guy Andrew Babson, “Particularly male friends?”
“No,” Art told him. “As far as we know none of the first three knew or had ever met any of the others.”
“Do we know if any or all of them were in current sexual relationships?” asked Maggie. “Or if any of them ever had relationships with the same guy?”
“Yes. Jacobs and Wolski were both living with boyfriends. Zoe McCabe broke up with a live-in boyfriend less than two weeks ago. Turns out Wingfield was a lesbian but not in a current relationship. I’m guessing the unsub didn’t know about her being gay, at least if we’re right in assuming his interest is sexual. Or, if he knew, he didn’t care.”
“Anyway, we’ve checked out Jacobs’s and Wolski’s boyfriends and they both have solid alibis. Jacobs’s boyfriend was in L.A. on business the night of her kidnapping. Wolski’s was at a bachelor party during the critical hours. Zoe’s ex was in the middle of surgery up at Columbia. Three doctors, three nurses and a couple of techs all ready to vouch for him.”
“Interesting,” said Maggie.
“What?”
“Just wondering if the bad guy knew that none of the boyfriends, current or former, would be around to get in the way when he made his move.”
“How would he know that? Even if he knew both the guys, how would he know they wouldn’t be around?”
“He would if he was stalking them. Checking out their schedules. In Zoe’s case maybe he noticed the guy moving out of their apartment. We should check with the doctor and ask if he noticed anyone taking a particular interest. Check with the other two as well.
“Okay. Good idea. What else can I tell you?” asked Astarita. “It would seem our boy likes going to shows, including the ballet. And it’s likely or at least definitely possible he lives in or around Lower Manhattan.”
McCabe sat quietly searching for commonalities in the crimes. “Y’know,” he finally said, “I think Detective Hong is right. It seems like a more than reasonable bet the bad guy chooses his targets after watching them perform.”
“Wolski didn’t do live performances,” said a detective named Ron Steinburg. “She was starring in a TV show set in New York called Malicious.”
“Okay. So he became obsessed with her staying home and watching the show.”
“Okay,” said Astarita. “That’s possible. Even likely given the timing of the attacks. But how do you want to approach this? Thousands of people, probably half of them male, watched these women perform. We can’t track them all down even if we limit the search to a week or two before they were kidnapped.”
“No,” said McCabe. “But these days a lot of tickets for shows are bought online. And whether purchased online or at the box office, most are probably paid for by credit card.”
“You’re still talking about thousands of people.”
“Not necessarily. The play Zoe was in, Othello, only ran for twelve performances in a fairly small theater down here on the Lower East Side. Probably not a lot of seats.”
“Two hundred and sixty-four to be exact,” said Ramon Morales, one of the two other detectives from the Seventh Precinct. “I had the same thought as McCabe and checked it out just before the meeting.”
“Okay,” said McCabe. “Even if every performance was sold out, there’d only be a little over three thousand tickets sold. And since the last performance was just last night, data on ticket sales should still be fresh.”
“Still a pretty big pool of suspects to track down.”
“If we eliminate tickets purchased by females we cut the number in half.”
“Still a lot of people.”
“We can also eliminate couples and/or group purchases and focus only on males who purchased one seat at a time . . .”
“That should reduce the list to a reasonable number,” said Renee Walker’s partner, Will Fenton.
“Exactly,” said McCabe. “I’ll assume your computer guys can cross-check males who bought one seat at a time for Othello against anyone who might also have purchased single tickets to the New York City Ballet and Kiss Me, Kate.”
“Easy enough to check if we can get the credit card order and receipt records from the venues,” said one of the IT guys. “Of course he may have paid cash.”
“Likely he did,” said Astarita. “But we still better check.”
“I’ll see what I can get from McArthur/Weinstein,” said McCabe. “It’s a small venue so we should be able to come up with a fairly small and manageable list of suspects.”
“We can take it a step further,” said Renee Walker. “If the guy was fixated by his target he may have attended their performances more than once. We should run multiple purchases by single males through your computers.”
“Of course we’d have to assume he bought the tickets under his own name and that he didn’t bring any friends with him,” said Hong.
“It’s still worth checking out,” said Maggie. “Guys who do stuff like this tend to be loners.”
“I agree,” said Astarita. “We’ll subpoena credit card records from each of the venues. I can make that happen fairly fast. Unless, of course, he paid cash. What else do we have going so far?”
“We’ve got a neighborhood canvass going in the Clinton Street area to see if anyone saw or heard anything the night Zoe disappeared,” said a detective named Diane Capriati from the Seventh. “Plus we have people reviewing footage from all surveillance cameras in the area.”
“Come up with anything yet?” asked Astarita.
“A couple of seconds of possibly usable video from one of the cameras,” Capriati responded. “Plus one possible lead. Patrol unit passed a man and a woman walking on Clinton in the direction of Zoe’s building a little after midnight last night. Officer named Joe Ralston. Ralston says he can’t be sure the woman was Zoe but she was the right height and build and he says she looked more than a little like the photo we sent out of Zoe.”
“How about the guy?” asked McCabe.
“He didn’t get a good look at the guy,” said Capriati.
“Why not?”
“He was wearing a wide-brimmed hat and he looked down so not much of his face was showing.”
Maggie thought about that. “Hiding from the cop?”
“Possibly.”
“Ralston provide a description other than the hat?” asked McCabe.
“Male Caucasian. Big. Six-two, maybe six-three. Broad-shouldered like he lifted weights. Wearing black jeans and a beat-up-looking field jacket. Had a backpack slung over one shoulder,” said Capriati. “Ralston stopped when the guy seemed to hide his face but he says he didn’t check him out because the woman seemed relaxed and told him everything was fine.”
“Were they holding hands? Touching in any way?” asked McCabe.
“No. Just walking. And talking,” said Capriati.
“Maybe the bad guy’s someone she knew,” said Will Fenton
“Maybe someone they all knew. And talked to on the phone. Have we cross-checked cell phone records to see if there were any incoming or outgoing calls from or to any common number?” asked McCabe.
Astarita turned to him. “Yeah. We’ve already done that for the first three. No go. We’re in the process of getting a warrant for McCabe’s.”
“Okay, good.”
“I think you and Maggie should concentrate on our latest victim,” said Astarita, “and start by talking to the cast and crew of Othello. As far as we know, aside from the couple Ralston spotted, the last time anybody saw Zoe she was taking bows for the last night’s performance. Here’s a list of names and contact numbers of everybody who worked on the show that we got from the stage manager.”
McCabe took the sheet and looked it over. “Randall Carter? What’s a big name like him doing performing in a community theater on the Lower East Side?”
Astarita shrugged. “Got me. Maybe he likes Shakespeare. Maybe he likes working small theaters. Maybe he likes getting to know beautiful unknown ac
tresses. And ballet dancers.”
“Carter’s black,” said McCabe. “Is Ralston certain the guy he saw was white?”
“That’s what he says. On the other hand, it was a dark night and he also says he didn’t get a good look at the guy’s face.”
“And nobody’s talked to Carter yet?” asked McCabe.
“Haven’t had a chance. Maybe that’s where you should start.”
“Sounds right to me,” said McCabe. “I also want to talk to Joe Ralston. Is he around?”
“Out on patrol. But we can get him back here in a couple of minutes.”
“Let’s.”
Ten more minutes of back and forth and the meeting broke up. Astarita asked McCabe and Maggie to follow him to his office.
Chapter 26
A young uniformed officer with a round baby face and short-cropped sandy hair was sitting inside on the edge of one chair. He looked up at them nervously, like a kid who’d just been sent down to the principal’s office and wasn’t quite sure what he’d done wrong. “Officer Joe Ralston. Detectives McCabe and Savage,” Astarita said. “You guys take your time. I’m gonna go get myself a bite to eat while you talk. You want anything?”
“Yeah, bring us something,” said McCabe. “Haven’t eaten since last night.”
“What do you want?” asked Astarita.
“Anything. Whatever you’re having,” said McCabe.
“Me too,” said Maggie.
Ralston declined.
Astarita left. McCabe sat behind the desk. Maggie leaned against the wall. Ralston looked from one to the other. “How long you been a cop, Joe?” asked McCabe.
“About eighteen months, sir.”
“Always with the Seventh?” asked Maggie.
“Yes, ma’am. I patrol this neighborhood whenever I’m on duty.”
“Including last night around midnight?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“All right,” said McCabe. “You’ve already submitted your report on seeing the couple walking on Clinton Street, isn’t that right?”
“I did.”
“And the woman you saw looked like the missing actress?” asked McCabe.
“More than looked like her. I’m sure it was her. I should’ve checked out the guy a little closer. But I asked and she told me she was just fine. Even seemed happy.”
“Okay. Here’s what I want you to do,” said McCabe. “Forget about what you wrote in your report. Instead, I want you just to relax, close your eyes, take a deep breath and empty your mind of everything.”
Ralston looked puzzled by the request but did as he was told. One minute passed and then another.
“Now,” said McCabe, “keeping your eyes closed, put yourself back in the car on Rivington Street. Are you there?”
“Yes.”
“You’re driving slowly. Now you’ve reached the corner of Clinton. You’re turning the corner. What do you see?”
“It was late. Nearly one a.m. Street was wet. Pavement was reflecting the light from my headlights. There were a few lights on in a couple of windows in the tenements on either side of the street. One light toward the end of the block. This couple was on the street walking in the same direction as me.”
“On your side of the street?”
“Yes. It’s a one-way street. They were to my left. As I passed them I slowed down. I guess to get a better look at them.”
“You always slow down when you pass people on the street?”
“No.”
“Why this time?”
“I guess partly because the girl was so pretty.” Ralston’s fair skin started turning an embarrassed pink as he said this. “I wanted to get a better look at her. But also because the guy put his head down and kind of turned away from me like my lights were blinding him or something. Which they weren’t.”
“How do you know?”
“I approached them from behind. They couldn’t have been bothering him even when I pulled alongside. When I stopped the girl seemed relaxed. She smiled at me. I smiled back. I figured everything was okay.”
“Describe the man as best you can.”
“Like I said, he was turning away from me . . .” Ralston provided a description that matched what Astarita had already told them.
“All right, and this is important, keeping your eyes closed, tell me what else you saw on the street.”
“Nothing really. No people anyway. No. Wait a minute. That’s not exactly true.”
“Tell me what you’re looking at?”
“There was a pile of torn blankets and old coats just beyond the steps going up to number 121. This homeless guy was tucked in next to the building. He’s there a lot so it barely registered.”
“So you’ve seen him before?”
“Yeah. He sacks out there a lot. Not every night. But yes, I’ve seen him before. I don’t usually bother him. I did talk to him one time. Asked him what he was doing there. He looked at me and said, ‘Sleeping. What the hell’s it look like I’m doing? Why don’t you just leave me the hell alone?’ Can’t be hassling every homeless guy I see, so basically I did what he asked and left him alone.”
“But he was definitely there last night?”
“Yeah. I’m sure of it. I don’t know why I didn’t think about it before. Guess ’cause I see him so often he’s just part of the scenery.”
“What’s he look like?”
Ralston shrugged. “He’s a black guy. Fat. Round face. Flat nose. Hair down to his shoulders. Mostly gray. Hard to know how old he is but I figure he’s gotta be in his sixties. Though you can’t tell with a lot of people who’ve lived rough for years. He’s usually wrapped up in his coats and stuff. Even in the summer.”
“You ask him what his name is?”
“No.”
“You think you can find him again?”
“Only if he sacks out in the same spot. Otherwise only if I come across him accidentally.”
The door opened and Art Astarita came in carrying a big bag from Burger King. He started handing out burgers, Cokes and boxes of fries. “How’s it going?” he asked.
“Can you assign Officer Ralston to an unmarked Interceptor and have him stake out 121 Clinton?” said McCabe.
“Sure. What are you looking for?”
“A witness.”
“What witness?”
“I’ll let Ralston tell you. Soon as we eat these burgers, Maggie and I are gonna head uptown and talk to Randall Carter.”
Chapter 27
Randall Carter lived in The Langham, a well-known apartment building just down the block from the even more famous Dakota. The place had been erected in 1907 on Central Park West between 73rd and 74th Streets and was regarded as one of the most elegant buildings on a street lined with elegant buildings. McCabe and Savage were dropped off by an Uber car a little after eight forty-five. A doorman opened the door for them.
“Is Mr. Carter expecting you?” asked a polite but proper concierge seated at a desk in the lobby. He sounded like he was auditioning as a replacement for Carson, the butler in the Downton Abbey series.
“Yes. Could you tell him Detective Sergeant McCabe and Detective Savage are here.”
The concierge raised one eyebrow hearing the word detective, but instead of asking any questions, he merely picked up the phone and relayed the message.
“He said to send you right up. Twelfth floor. The elevator is right over there.”
Carter was waiting with his door open when the elevator arrived. He was a big man, a couple of inches taller than McCabe and broader across the shoulders. He was casually dressed in faded jeans, a pair of running shoes and a black T-shirt. He held what looked like one of McCabe’s old Waterford glasses in his left hand. It was half filled with ice and what looked and smelled like some kind of whiskey. He offered McCabe his right hand. “Randall Carter,” he said.
McCabe shook it. “Hi. I’m Detective Sergeant Michael McCabe and this is Detective Margaret Savage.”
Carter nodded at Magg
ie and then turned back to McCabe. “You wouldn’t by any chance be a relation of Zoe McCabe?”
“Yes. I’m her uncle.”
“And you’re both detectives?”
“That’s right.”
“May I see some identification? No offense intended but in my position I need to be sure who I’m talking to.”
“Just in case we’re really from the National Enquirer?”
“Exactly.”
Both Maggie and McCabe produced their gold badges and IDs and showed them to Carter.
He looked at Maggie. “You related to Zoe as well?”
“No.” She didn’t add, Not yet.
“You here as a cop or as an uncle?”
“This is definitely a police matter.”
“Okay. Before we go any further with this conversation, maybe you’d better tell me what a pair of cops from Portland, Maine . . . one of whom is related to an actress I’ve just been working with . . . are doing in New York and why you want to talk to me about what you said on the phone and just repeated was a police matter.”
“We’re working on a case that has to do with Zoe,” said McCabe. “We’re working as part of a task force with the NYPD. If you need to check you can call Lieutenant Arturo Astarita at the Seventh Precinct on the Lower East Side.”
Carter looked at McCabe’s ID again and then handed it back. “No. No, that’s all right. I believe you.” He held open the door for them. “Well, you’d better come on in and tell me what’s going on and why you need to talk to me and what it has to do with Zoe. I assume she hasn’t murdered anyone.” He said the last with an amused smile. It seemed he hadn’t heard about Zoe’s disappearance yet.
