' 'The other murder was committed five days later, in Helena, the state capital of Montana. Again the victim was a lone male, Bartholomew Wilkins. He was found dead in the den of his home by his wife, RoseAnne, when she got back from the shopping mall. The autopsy showed that he'd been kil ed by a single blow from a slim, stiletto-type blade, driven into his brain with great force..
'In each case, cash and other items were taken from the scene of the crime, and it was written up as a burglary in which the victim had disturbed his killer.
'Until now, that is.'
The big Scot leaned forward across the desk, his shoulders hunching in the jacket of his dark suit.
'You see, Sheriff, there are three very remarkable coincidences in these two cases, which tie them right to the murders of Leo and Susannah.
Both victims were retired lawyers. Both of them were or had been active and prominent Democrats. Both of them, early in their careers, had spent time in Washington, at the same time as Leo Grace.'
Dekker looked at him across the table, and let out a long slow whistle.
'Fucking-A,' he murmured, with a deep frown creasing his forehead.
Brand and Kosinski sat silent, their slightly stunned expressions offering proof, if any had been needed, that they had not sneaked a look at the documents before handing them over.
Skinner put the files back into his attache case. 'I was asked .. .
informal y, I stress ... by my friend Joe Doherty, the deputy director of the Bureau, to report to him on what I found at the lake.' He glanced at the two agents. 'Correct me if I'm wrong, gentlemen, but when a crime goes interstate, it becomes your responsibility, yes?'
Brand nodded, firmly. 'That is correct, sir.'
'In that ease,' said the Scot, glancing back at Dekker, 'to come back to what I said earlier, you may not need to worry about a turf battle with the State police. I suspect that the FBI may want to take charge of this one.'
The Buffalo Sheriff's expression was one of pure, unadulterated relief; he looked more than ever like a politician rather than a policeman. 'Do you want to cal your friend. Bob,' he asked, 'or wil I?'
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22
'Seriously though, Andy, is this job not what you choose to make it?'
asked Dan Pringle, with a trademark tug at a corner of his heavy moustache.
The outgoing Head of CID looked across the desk at his successor, as if trying to determine whether he was serious. 'That depends entirely on the level of your ambition, my friend. If your main objective is to maximise your pension and get the hell out of here at the earliest opportunity, you would certainly approach it in that frame of mind.
'If, on the other hand, you do not fancy having your door kicked in every other day by a deputy chief constable waving worsening clear-up figures in your face, you'll approach it with just one single objective, that being to make sure that for as long as you're sat in this chair, every CID division is working at its maximum efficiency.'
'Aye,' said Pringle, a slow grin spreading across his face. 'That was more or less what I supposed. So every time you chewed us out at the Monday morning meeting, it was because Big Bob had given you a doing?'
'Not invariably,' Andy Martin answered. 'Most of the time it was to make sure that he didn't give me a doing. Chief Super or not, you do not want his boot on your neck; so, as of next week, when you're sat in this chair you'l find yourself concentrating very hard on avoiding that possibility.'
Pringle gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. 'By kicking the crap out of the likes of Mario here, you mean?'
'Exactly'
'Give me a break!' McGuire protested, from his seat against the wall.
'I'm not even in the job yet and you're getting at me. Give me a chance to make mistakes before you take me to task for them.'
'Why? Have you got any in mind?' asked Martin.
'One or two; just for openers, I was thinking of head-butting my new boss for pinching the best detective sergeant in the division.'
Pringle looked at him, al innocence. 'Big Jack McGurk, you mean?
Christ, and here was me thinking I was going to get away with that without you noticing.'
'Think again then. You're a fucking asset-stripper .. . with respect. . .
sir.
'I was going to tell you, Mario, honest. I just haven't had an opportunity until now. I know McGurk's good; that's why I took him to the Borders Division in the first place, and that's why I want him in my office when I move up here. There's more to it than that, though; there's his marriage as well. If I leave him down there, that's done for. They've tried hard, but it's just not working just now.'
'What? Are you a social worker, too?'
A flash of real annoyance showed for a second in the older man's eyes.
'No, but I've been long enough in my rank to have become a decent man manager. We al have to learn that skilh mostly the hard way, like you with that bloody Tommy Gavigan. You could leave big Jack down there and he'd do a good job for you, but if I give him a chance to patch things up with his missus, he'l do a better job for me.
'Anyhow, don't get your Calvin rucking Kleins in a twist, you're getting a first-class substitute. Young Sammy Pye's going down to take his place.'
McGuire looked at Martin. The Chief Superintendent nodded. 'That's the game plan,' he confirmed.
'Sam's been here long enough, and he's
every bit as good an operator as McGurk. You can take my word for that.'
'That's fine, Andy, but am I going to find myself with another domestic situation there, like Dan did with Jack?'
'What? With Sammy and Ruthie McConnell, you mean? No, not at all; they're getting married in the autumn, and they're going to live in Gorebridge. They can both travel to work easily enough from there.'
Pringle nodded in confirmation, then glanced at Martin. 'What are you and Karen going to do about that, Andy?' he asked. 'Are you two moving house?'
'No choice,' the DCS answered.
'How's Karen doing?' asked McGuire, blowing them away.
'Great,' Martin replied. 'First-rate, blooming, glowing with health and al that stuff. . . now that she's well past throwing up every morning, that is. She's decided that we're moving to Perth, rather than Dundee.
We're going to look at houses there at the weekend; we've got to sort it out sharpish, either that or put it off for a bit. She's due in a couple of months.'
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The big superintendent laughed softly. 'How are you going to get a baby chair into the MGF, Andy?'
'Sore point. The sports car's going down the road; as of next week it's turning into a new Mondeo.'
'Bloody hell! What happened to the Andy Martin we knew, and a thousand women loved?'
'Same as happened to you, McGuire. He met the right woman. Oh aye, and that reminds me. Wil ie Haggerty asked me for the okay to have your Maggie stand in for Manny English while he's away investigating Strathclyde. It came as a bit of a surprise, even to me, when he told me she's agreed.' '
'It was a surprise to her too; ACC Haggerty must be a persuasive bugger. It's only a temporary thing, though; just to let her get the feel of the job.'
Martin grinned. 'So now she's responsible for everything that goes on in the division. Every crime, every public nuisance, every waif and stray.'
'Aye,' said McGuire heavily. 'And that could be a bit of a problem.'
23
Joe Doherty, sallow-faced as ever, drew on a cigarette as he looked around Bradford Dekker's conference table. He was the only person there who was smoking, and the fixed expression on the face of the Erie County Sheriff made it clear that in his view that was one too many. 'I mean it. Those things wil kil you one day, my friend,' murmured Bob Skinner, sat on his right.
'You keep telling me that,' replied the American, quietly, 'but living does that in the end, any way you look at it. Look at your father-in-law; I bet he never smoked in his life.'
'You lose,' said
Dekker, close enough to overhear. 'Mr Grace loved a Monte Cristo after dinner.'
'That's true,' Skinner agreed. 'He always had a supply handy, wherever he went. The Dominican Republic variety, of course, never Cuban,' he added with a faint grin, which vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
'Shit!' he whispered, then glanced along the table. 'Lieutenant Schultz, can you remember; did you find any cigars at the cabin? I don't remember seeing any.'
The New York detective frowned as he searched his memory, then opened a folder on the desk before him and looked through several pages. 'I don't recal that, sir,' he answered, final y, 'and there's no mention of them on the inventory.'
'So? Could that be the first thing we know about this kil er: that he's a cigar smoker, and couldn't resist taking them with him?'
'Unless the first guys on the scene found them,' said Schultz, quickly.
'Those boys out there can be a touch .. .'
'I resent that, Lieutenant,' snapped Dekker, cutting across him, 'on behalf of county police forces everywhere. You State people ...'
'Resent all you like, Brad, but it's a valid point.' The only female voice in the room belonged to Superintendent Barbara Weston, the head of the New York State Police, a severe-looking woman in her early fifties.
Doherty's presence at the hastily cal ed morning conference in Buffalo had attracted a top-drawer turn-out from the agencies involved. There were nine people at the table; three FBI: the deputy director. Brand and Kosinski; three from the State police: Weston, Schultz and Small; Dekker and his chief of detectives, Eddie Brady, and Skinner himself. The DCC
had been invited by Doherty, with Dekker's agreement, to attend the conference as an observer, although his presence had caused the superintendent to raise a disapproving eyebrow.
'Yes, it probably is, Barbara,' Doherty drawled. 'It might have been more tactfully put, that's all. We will check it out. . . discreetly, I promise.
If Bob and Brad are certain that there should have been cigars in the cabin, that may be significant. As Deputy Chief Skinner points out, at the moment we know nothing about this man other than he's a professional.
If he took the damn things, that's item number one in his personal profile. He's hardly going to fence them, is he; no, he's gonna smoke 'em.' He smiled. 'Trust me on this.'
He paused, stubbing out his cigarette in the heavy glass ashtray which Dekker's secretary had found for him, then taking a mouthful of coffee from the mug before him on the table. 'Okay, let's cut the trivia, end the inter-force sniping and get this discussion on the road. What are we looking at here?'
With barely a break, he answered his own question. 'Four homicides, one of them a double, in three different states, all within the last month.
Common factors are as fol ows. We have three men and one woman, all retired and aged over sixty .. . over seventy in the case of Mr Grace. We have three incidents reported initially as burglary-related homicide, and accepted as such by the responsible jurisdictions.
'Common factors, the men's profession, their political allegiance, and the fact that they al worked in Washington at the time of the Kennedy administration.'
Skinner raised a hand. 'Common factors that we know of, Joe.'
'Three's enough for me, buddy.'
'Maybe, but should it be?' Barbara Weston broke in. 'They have crime everywhere, even in Asshole, Montana, or wherever. And the three locations are hundreds, even thousands of miles apart. Okay, three retired lawyers are burglarised; lawyers are rich, so they get robbed. Okay, so they're all Democrats. Democrats get killed every day in this country; so do Republicans. Okay, so they al worked in Washington. It's just about before my time, but in the early sixties, it's my understanding that every ambitious young Democrat lawyer wanted to be there, and that a hell of a lot of them made it.'
'Leo Grace wasn't an ambitious young lawyer, Barbara,' Sheriff Dekker interjected. 'He was a senator in this state's legislature for six years before he joined the Attorney General's office under Kennedy.'
'Okay, strike out the young lawyer part, but don't tell me that he wasn't ambitious.' Her gaze switched to Doherty. 'And what about Garrett and Wilkins? Do we know whether they worked in the same area as Senator Grace? In fact do we know if they ever even met?'
'No, we do not,' the Deputy Director admitted, his face showing his impatience. 'Their files aren't complete, we only know that they worked in DC, not what they did there. Come on, Superintendent, spit it out. Say what you're leading up to.'
'If you insist, Mr Doherty. Frankly, I think that the Bureau's grounds for showing up here are at best questionable and at worst contrived. Our friend from Scotland . . . your friend . . . shows up here and is given instant access to material it would take me weeks screw out of you.
Next thing we know he's used it to weave a fancy conspiracy theory and you're jumping in to back him up, to the extent of letting him take part in a conference that he has no business even observing.
'He sees a hit-man rubbing out retired Democrats; I see a single burglary homicide on my territory and I see no reason why Lieutenant Schultz and his team shouldn't be al owed to clear it up. As for your friend, I sympathise with his loss, but I'd advise him to bury his father in-law and get the hell back home.'
Doherty's eyes narrowed. 'I hear. . .'
Skinner put a hand on his shoulder, looking past him, along the table.
'A second please, Joe. Superintendent, I know that you're a career police officer, but you're appointed by the governor, and the state senate, so let me ask you something. Have you ever in your life worked as a member of a criminal investigation team?'
Barbara Weston hesitated for a second too long.
'No,' he said, fixing her with an icy, unblinking glare, locking eyes with her so powerfully that it seemed that however hard she might try, she could not look away. 'I didn't think so; your type of copper exists the world over.
'Well, madam, I have dirtied my hands with crime for nearly al my professional career. I've chased villains of all shapes and sizes: serial killers, gangsters, thieves, terrorists, drug pushers and all the rest, and do you know what? I've caught nearly al of them; apart from the ones that the competition got to before I did.
'I haven't done that by being lucky, or weaving fanciful theories.
I've done it by being a bloody good analytical detective. If Joe Doherty's 90
Ht-AU StIUl
invited me to sit at this table, he hasn't done so because he's my friend.
He's done it because he thinks I can contribute something. And what I'm telling you is this; these four murders are linked. That isn't supposition; at the least, it's a probability flowing from the facts as they exist. And in my experience there's a very fine line between probability and certainty.
'Oh yes, and one more thing. If you want me to go home before this crime is cleared up, you may have to deport me ... but I don't think you have the clout to do that.'
He released the Superintendent from his glare and nodded to Doherty.
'I'm sorry, Joe. You were saying?'
'You just said it,' muttered the Deputy Director, tersely, and turned back to Weston. 'You want me to give Bob status, Barbara? Okay, as of now he's a special adviser in this investigation which will. . .' he leaned on the word '. . . be co-ordinated by the Bureau. We can do this one of two ways; either we take things over completely, or we work in cooperation with your department, using the skil s and local expertise of Schultz and Smal , partnered with Special Agent Kosinski.'
He glanced along at Dekker. 'Same would go for your department, Brad, given that we're certain the killer came to Buffalo also.
'You two people up for that or would you rather butt out now?'
'I'm more than happy to work with the Bureau,' replied the Sheriff, quickly. He and Doherty turned back to the Superintendent.
'I'm not being frozen out of my own jurisdiction, Mr Deputy Director, not by you or by anyone else. We'll go along with you, but I insist on be
ing advised of any development that could lead to an indictment in this state.'
Doherty nodded. 'You wil be so advised,' he agreed. 'But you will not move for any such indictment, nor release the identity of any person who might be a suspect. My director was confirmed in office by a political colleague of your state governor; remember that.' Weston's eyes blazed at his blatant threat, but she said nothing more.
'Fine,' he said, looking around the table once more. 'Let's move forward. Brand, Kosinski, you are seconded to this investigation, until otherwise advised by me. Troy, you wil remain in New York as I have said, and wil co-ordinate things here, advising me, Sheriff Dekker and Superintendent Weston of progress made. You wil concentrate first and foremost on putting a name to our killer.'
'How are we going to do that, sir?' asked the Special Agent.
'Bob?' Doherty's invitation took his friend by surprise. 'Come on, don't hold back. You are the senior detective here. I've been out of the field for years.'
'You probably won't, Mr Kosinski,' Skinner answered, bluntly. 'Like I said earlier, this guy's been covering his tracks pretty careful y. So all you can do is to concentrate on the basics, and hope he's made a mistake.
You have to look out for the use of a stolen credit card, but that is not going to happen. No, I would send the forensic team back out to the cabin, and keep them at the house until they've been over every inch of it. Look for matches between the two locations; fingerprints, fibres from clothing. ..'
'Cigar butts?' murmured Barbara Weston sarcastically.
'Yes!' Skinner snapped at her. 'You never dismiss anything, until you've disproved it, or you're in neglect of your duty as an investigator.'
He looked at the Erie County detective chief. 'Right, Mr Brady?'
'Absolutely, sir,' the man concurred.
'That being the case . . .' he continued. 'Leo lovecr ars, but there were none in the cabin, so it's a real possibility that our man took them.
He's a cool bastard this one, so maybe, just maybe, he smoked one while he was going through the house. If he did, then, just maybe, he left the stub. Criminals have been caught through simpler mistakes than that.
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