The radio started crackling and immediately afterwards a voice emerged.
‘Calling all cars. Maximum alert from Headquarters. A male Caucasian named Alex Campbell has been abducted, and it’s possible that the man who abducted him is the killer of Gerald Marsalis and Chandelle Stuart. Alex Campbell is about thirty years old, six feet tall, with thin brown hair. The abductor is driving a very old Dodge Nova with marks of filler on the bodywork. I repeat, maximum alert.’
Lukas let out a whistle. ‘Jeeze. With all the secrecy there’s been about this case, putting out a message like that on the normal frequency must mean they’re shit-scared.’
‘So would you be if you were the Mayor of New York and your son had been killed like that.’
‘I guess so.’
As they spoke, they had turned right at the beginning of Roebling Street onto the street that led down to the East River. They crossed White Avenue and found themselves at the end of Clymer Street, facing the sign of the Brooklyn Navy Yard.
Beyond the rust-coloured perimeter fence that marked off the area, the outlines of old subway cars could be glimpsed, heaped up and waiting to be turned to scrap. In the darkness, a few tall dark brick buildings, many of them dilapidated and abandoned, loomed over the street.
Serena turned left and drove at moderate speed along Kent Avenue, heading south towards Brooklyn Heights. They passed the pound where confiscated cars were kept, to be auctioned after a fixed period. For a moment, Lukas allowed his attention to wander as he looked at all those vehicles waiting for new owners. Then:
‘Holy shit! Who the fuck’s that?’
Hearing Serena’s alarmed voice, Furst turned his head abruptly towards the street.
In the dim light cast by the streetlamps, a man had come out through an open gate in the perimeter fence and was running towards them with his hands up. Apart from a few scraps of clothing around his shoulders, he was stark naked and was moving as if every step cost him a huge effort. When he realized that theirs was a police car, he stopped, lifted his hands to his chest, slid slowly to his knees, and remained in that position, motionless, in the middle of the roadway.
Serena stopped the car and she and Lukas got out, leaving the doors open. As they approached, Serena noted out of the corner of her eye that her partner had taken his gun from his holster.
They reached the kneeling man, who was breathing with difficulty and looking at them with incredulous tears rolling from his eyes, as if he was witnessing a miracle. In the light of the headlamps, they finally managed to make out his features.
‘Serena, the description matches the one we just heard.’
‘OK, keep your eyes peeled, Luke.’
While Lukas remained standing, with his gun at the ready, Serena kneeled next to the man, who was looking at them in silence, both his hands pressed to his chest. His breath was a kind of wheezing, and there was a strong smell of excrement about him.
‘Are you Alex Campbell?’ Serena asked.
The man nodded wearily, then closed his eyes and keeled over. Ignoring her revulsion at the stench, Serena quickly moved to support his head and stop it hitting the ground.
She placed her fingers on his neck and found the pulse.
‘His heart’s beating like crazy. I think he’s having an attack. We need an ambulance.’
Still keeping his eyes on the surrounding area, Lukas started retreating towards the car. A moment or two later Serena heard his voice contacting Headquarters and asking for medical assistance and backup.
She turned her attention back to the wretched heap of fear and shame and pain into which someone had transformed Alex Campbell.
The man looked up. His voice was a mere breath emerging with difficulty from his body. Serena heard him whisper some words too soft to be heard.
‘What did you say? I didn’t understand.’
Alex Campbell lifted his head an inch, a movement that seemed the result of an enormous effort. Serena slipped a hand under his head to support it and moved her ear closer to his mouth, but his feeble words were almost lost in the noise of Lukas’s footsteps as he came running back.
‘The ambulance will be here s—’
Serena looked up and said urgently, ‘Shut up a minute!’ She again leaned towards the man, but darkness was gradually invading his eyes. The words that emerged from his half-open mouth were his last.
Serena could immediately see that help was pointless. Under her fingers, the fragmented heartbeats slowed down, grew weaker, then disappeared entirely.
Serena Hitchin felt a sense of loss, the same she always felt when she was forced to be present at the extinction of a life. She didn’t think it would ever get any easier, even after many years of service. Gently, she raised a hand and closed the dead man’s eyes.
CHAPTER 34
The real struggle was against time.
Sitting in the passenger seat as they drove through the streets of New York, Jordan looked straight ahead of him. The lights and the shadows flashed by as if they, rather than the vehicle in which he was travelling, were in movement. He felt as if he was in one of those primitive special effects from the days of silent movies, when the actors kept still and a painted panorama revolved behind them.
And maybe that was how it was.
Every person involved in this case thought he was moving forward, whereas the world was rushing past them, mocking their paralysis.
Jordan knew why he was feeling this way: he was certain that he had failed.
In the back seat was Maureen Martini, silent and alone. Jordan admired the woman’s strength of mind, torn as she was between rationality and something that had no rational explanation. Few people would have been able to accept what was happening to her, but she was sustained by an unshakeable belief that she was not crazy.
Thanks to her, they had identified Snoopy. When it had happened, they had all been in too much of a hurry to stop and wonder how she had done it. They had called Alex Campbell but nobody replied. His cellphone was off. A quick internet search had yielded the name of his literary agent, Ray Migdala, who told them Campbell had just landed at JFK and was on his way home. Jordan had informed Burroni and immediately afterwards he and Maureen had rushed in the police car from Gracie Mansion towards the address that Migdala had given them.
It was during the ride that the news had come in.
The radio had started crackling and the driver had picked up.
‘Officer Lowell.’
‘I’m Detective Burroni. Is Jordan Marsalis there with you?’
Jordan had taken the microphone from Lowell.
‘Hello, James. What’s going on?’
‘I got to the scene and found a patrol car there. It was there because a while ago, a guy who owns a tailor’s shop opposite Campbell’s building called 911 to report a kidnapping.’
Jordan had felt a shiver down his spine. He had preferred not to continue the conversation by radio.
‘I’ll be right there. We can talk then.’
When they reached the corner of Bedford and Commerce, they immediately saw the patrol car and Burroni’s service automobile parked outside Alex Campbell’s address.
Burroni was on the sidewalk opposite talking to a tall, dark-haired, middle-aged man with an olive complexion.
As they got out of the car, Burroni looked at Maureen in surprise and then threw an inquisitive glance at Jordan.
‘It’s OK, James. This is Maureen Martini, from the Italian police. I’ll explain later.’
Burroni merely nodded at Maureen and turned again to the tall man.
‘Mr Sylva, can you repeat what you saw, please.’
The man started his story in an accent Maureen recognized as Brazilian. He pointed to the lighted window behind him. ‘I was in my shop, working. A taxi pulled up and Alex got out.’
‘By Alex you mean Alex Campbell?’
‘Yes. I’ve known him for years.’
‘Go on.’
‘He paid the driver and walked
to the front door. A car drew up behind him and this guy opened the door—’
‘Can you describe him?’ Burroni cut in, throwing Jordan a significant look.
Even before Mr Sylva spoke, Jordan already knew what he would say.
‘I didn’t see his face because he was wearing a tracksuit with the hood up. What I can tell you is that he was slightly above average height and had a bit of a limp in his right leg.’
‘And then what happened?’
‘He got out of the car, came up behind Alex and attacked him. He put an arm around his neck as if he wanted to strangle him. Alex must have fainted, because this other guy held him up and bundled him into the back seat of the car. Then he got in behind the wheel and drove off.’
‘Did you get the licence number?’
‘I didn’t have time. As you see, there’s not a lot of light here and he had his headlamps off. But the car I remember well. It was a Dodge Nova, very beat-up. Couldn’t tell you what colour it was. The bodywork was all patched up with filler.’
A call immediately went out about the abduction. Not long afterwards, a report came in from a patrol car in Williamsburg that Alex Campbell had been found.
Dead.
*
Burroni’s car turned left onto Kent Avenue and drove towards the intermittent lights that could be glimpsed beyond the barriers. The street had been cordoned off. Over their heads they could hear the noise of a helicopter’s blades but could not tell if it was a police helicopter or one that belonged to a TV channel.
Almost all the buildings on Kent Avenue had their windows open, and people were leaning out to see what was going on.
When they reached the cordon, a police officer signalled to two of his colleagues and the barriers were moved aside to let the car through.
They continued slowly and stopped behind a police car parked in the middle of the street. Just in front of the car, lying on the asphalt in the light of the headlamps, was a white sheet beneath which could be made out the outline of a body.
The crude light of the headlamps and the blue reflection on the sheet reminded Maureen of other cars, other headlamps, a scene that had happened thousands of miles away.
Nasty business, isn’t it?
A young, athletic-looking officer was standing near the patrol car. When he saw them get out of their car, he came towards them.
‘I’m Officer Furst. I was on patrol with Officer Hitchin. We were the ones who called this in.’
‘Detective Burroni. I’m in charge of this case.’ Burroni didn’t bother to introduce Maureen or Jordan. Partly because it wasn’t necessary, but mainly because he wasn’t quite sure how he’d explain their presence at a crime scene.
‘Was he already dead when you found him?’
The officer shook his head. ‘No. He came out of that gate and ran towards us. He was stark naked and seemed terrified. When he saw us, he fell on his knees. We figured he might be the guy we’d just been notified about, so we asked him and he nodded. Then I think he had a heart attack.’
Jordan had stepped away from the group and was looking around as if he wasn’t interested in this account. Burroni had learned to know him, however, and knew that none of what the officer was saying had escaped him.
‘Did he say anything before he died?’
‘I don’t know. Just before that happened, I’d gone back to the car to ask for an ambulance. My partner was with him when he died.’
Jordan approached. ‘Where is your partner now?’
Officer Furst gestured towards the flashing lights beyond the barrier. ‘Over there by the warehouse, where they found the car used in the abduction.’
Jordan moved over to where the body lay. He crouched down and lifted a corner of the sheet. Officer Furst, Maureen and Burroni came up behind him.
Maureen kneeled beside Jordan. She reached out her hand and lifted the sheet until she had uncovered almost all the body.
‘Poor guy.’
There was compassion in her voice, but it was steady. Jordan had to admit to himself that his admiration for this woman was increasing by the minute.
‘Yes. To have got this far and then have a heart attack . . . He must have been really scared. I think we need to take a look at the car.’
They got back in their car, leaving Officer Furst to guard the body until the Medical Examiner and Crime Scene team arrived, and headed for the warehouse.
It was on the left of a large open space, next to a construction site. There was a big sliding door that was open, and inside it was dark. Outside, two police cars were parked next to the Nova that Sylva had described as the vehicle in which Alex Campbell’s abductor had driven away. The trunk was open and a police officer was inspecting it with a torch. When Burroni, Maureen and Jordan came up behind him, he stood aside to let them see what he had been looking at, and also to get away from the stench.
‘Found anything?’
‘Just a few rags that stink to high heaven. The trunk was already open when we got here. We haven’t looked in the car yet because we were waiting for you.’
‘Good.’ Burroni took a pair of latex gloves out of his pocket and handed them to Jordan. ‘I think this is your call.’
Jordan thanked him with a nod of the head. He put on the gloves, asked the officer for his torch, and opened the rear door of the car with a creak. The interior was of imitation leather, which time and the men who had sat there had reduced to a kind of spider’s web. There was a smell of damp and dust in the car.
Jordan let the beam of light play over the interior until, on the floor behind the passenger seat, he saw a small transparent plastic bag with something in it. He leaned in, grabbed it with his left hand and straightened up.
He gave the torch to Burroni, then put a hand in the bag and took out a red cloth wrapped around a curious old pair of glasses, with frayed elastic instead of arms, and an old-fashioned-looking padded leather cap. He looked at them for a moment as they lay there on the cloth, which he now saw was a woollen scarf.
‘What’s in the warehouse?’
The answer came from another officer who had just come up behind them. ‘We haven’t gone in yet. The light switches aren’t working. I sent Officer Hitchin to get the light connected.’
As if in immediate testimony to Officer Hitchin’s excellence, a series of dim fluorescent tubes came on in hesitant succession inside the building. Those present went to the entrance to look in, and were stunned by what they saw.
The warehouse was full of the wrecks of vintage planes, presumably kept there waiting to be restored. There were two Hurricanes, a Spitfire, a Messerschmitt with the Luftwaffe insignia, a Japanese Zero with the sign of the Rising Sun. At the back, half hidden by the more recent machines, was an old biplane Jordan thought might be a Savoia Marchetti.
‘The son of a bitch.’
When Burroni and Maureen looked round, he pointed to the biplane and at the same time waved the objects in his hand. ‘This is an old aviator’s cap, and these are flying goggles from the same period. And then there’s the scarf. That bastard wanted to put Alex Campbell in a plane, got up to look like Snoopy when he plays at being a World War One flying ace.’
‘But why naked?’ Burroni asked.
Jordan gave a disgusted smile. ‘I think this is our man’s latest refinement, James. Snoopy is a dog, and apart from a few distinctive accessories like these, he never wears clothes.’
At that moment, a pretty black woman officer appeared and came towards them, saying, ‘I heard you were looking for me.’
‘Are you Officer Hitchin?’ Burroni asked.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You assisted Alex Campbell when you found him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he say anything before he died?’
‘Yes, he murmured a few words.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He mentioned a name. Julius Wong.’
‘Just that? Nothing else?’
Officer Hitchin threw
an anxious glance at her colleagues, as if what she was about to say might be a subject for jokes for some time to come. ‘I don’t know, maybe I misunderstood, because it doesn’t make any sense.’
‘Officer, let us be the judges of that. Just tell us what you heard.’
‘Before he died, Alex Campbell said something else . . .’
She paused.
‘Immediately after that name, he said the words “Pig Pen”.’
CHAPTER 35
Time had again become the opponent to beat.
Sirens blaring, Burroni’s car raced across the street map of New York. Officer Hitchin’s revelation about Alex Campbell’s last words had opened a new door: they knew perfectly well who Julius Wong was – but they didn’t know why Julius Wong was Pig Pen.
And they were going to his home to find out.
The cellphone in Jordan’s pocket rang. It was his brother.
‘Any news?’
‘Yes, and it’s not good. Alex Campbell is dead.’
There was a moment’s silence.
‘Same perpetrator?’
‘Apparently, yes, but this time something went wrong for our man and somehow, Campbell managed to escape. The poor guy must have had a weak heart though, because the emotion brought on an attack that killed him. Before dying, he managed to give us a clue.’
‘What was it?’
‘It seems from his last words as if the next victim is to be Julius Wong. We’re on our way to his place now.’
‘Julius Wong? Holy Christ, Jordan. You know who his father is?’
‘Of course. And I also know who he is.’
‘All right. But take care. Let Burroni go in first.’
‘Got it. I’ll keep you posted.’
Jordan hung up and put the phone back in his pocket.
Christopher’s anxiety was more than justified. It was not for nothing that he had advised him to keep one step behind Burroni. His legitimate fear was that, as Jordan didn’t have an official position, they might end up getting caught out on a legal technicality.
Julius Wong was the only son of Cesar Wong, and that made him officially a member of the New York jet set. He was also a psychopathic pervert who had escaped prison many times thanks to money, his father’s power and a series of very expensive lawyers. Among other charges, a couple of girls had accused him of rape and assault, an accusation that had been quickly retracted before the trial. It was assumed that someone had got to them, offering money, or threats, or whatever. And that someone was most likely Mr Wong senior.
The Killer in My Eyes. By G. Faletti Page 21
