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To my family, who always believe in my dreams
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Author’s Note
Also by Frankie Y. Bailey
About the Author
Copyright
Acknowledgments
Let me begin by thanking and apologizing to anyone that I forget to acknowledge here. So many people contributed to the process of transforming an idea that occurred to me on a train bound for Albany into the book that you are about to read that I fear I am bound to forget to mention someone.
Thank you to the faculty and staff of the English Department at Virginia Tech. It has been my honor and privilege to serve on the Distinguished Alumni Advisory Board and to have the opportunity to come home to Tech for those board meetings. Thank you to the members of the advisory board, who have given me support and encouragement. A special thank-you to Ed Weathers for introducing me to Kathryn (Kaye) Graham, and to Kaye for answering my Lewis Carroll question with a suggestion about the Salvador Dalí edition of Alice in Wonderland. My thanks also to my professors in the English Department when I was a student. Let’s hear it for Shakespeare and children’s literature!
Thank you to my friends and first readers, Joanne, Angie, and Caroline. Your comments and suggestions were invaluable. I hope you enjoy your characters.
Thank you Rob Edelman and Audrey Kupferberg for inviting me to dinner. Rob, as you will notice, your collection inspired me.
Thank you to the members of the Great Dane rescue group with whom I chatted during the UAlbany Fall Festival and Book Fair.
Thank you to my friend Joy Pollock, who was not called on to read this one, but who should know she’ll be hearing from me on the next one.
Thank you to my late parents and my brother for sharing hours of television watching and discussion. Those hours in front of the television set were not wasted. Not only did they prove useful in my future career, but, as you will notice, Wayne, discussions about giant insects and aliens are an excellent springboard for literary endeavors.
To my fabulous aunt Kitty, who is always there to laugh with and to provide support and encouragement.
Thank you to Dr. Doug Lyle, who answered my medical questions. Any mistake in the translation of your information, Doug, is solely my own.
Thank you to James Miller, former public information officer for the Albany Public Department. Although I ended up operating in a parallel universe in the near future, it was helpful to talk with a PIO about responses to crime scenes.
Thank you to the members of the Sisters in Crime—Upper Hudson Chapter (the Mavens of Mayhem) and the Capital Region Romance Writers of America. The support for writing that happens in both groups has made me a better writer.
Thank you to the faculty, staff, and students in the School of Criminal Justice for putting up with a sometimes eccentric mystery writer in your midst. A shout-out to fellow mystery readers Han Toch and David Bayley.
Thank you to Marcia Markland, my editor at St. Martin’s, who could see the potential for a book in an e-mail. You don’t know how much I appreciate your willingness to say, “Go for it, and let me know when you have something.” My thanks, too, to Kat Brzozowski, associate editor. I appreciate not only your hard work on my behalf, but your enthusiasm about my book. Thank you to Lauren Hesse digital marketing; and Hector DeJean, publicity, for tips over lunch about how to plunge into social media. And, thank you to Helen Werner Cox, illustrator; John Hamilton Design; and David Rotstein for giving me a cover to die for. Thank you Carol Edwards and Amelie Littell for their copyediting expertise, and the other members of the production staff.
My thanks to Jonathan Lyons, who walked me through my contract for this book.
Finally, my special thanks to Josh Getzler, who is my first agent and with whom I am already thrilled to be working.
1
DATE: Thursday, 24 October 2019
TIME: 0700 hours
WEATHER TODAY: Mid 90s. Air quality poor. Evening storms.
DISPLAY ON WALL: Wake-up News
“Good morning, everyone. I’m Suzanne Price.
“First, the news from the nation. The federal government says, ‘No hoax, no conspiracy, but still no definitive answers.’
“The administration denies suppressing portions of the commission report on the November 2012 close encounter between NORAD fighter jets and the black boomerang-shaped UFO that appeared over the Mojave Desert, creating worldwide awe and panic before disappearing in a blinding flash of light.
“In Las Vegas, preparations are under way for the now-annual spectacular celebration of that close encounter.
“However, a warning from alien invasion survivalists, who say this seventh anniversary will be the year the spacecraft returns leading an armada. Survivalists plan to retreat to their bunkers on November 2. Gun shop owners report sales of firearms are up, as they are every year as the anniversary approaches.
“Meanwhile, the National Weather Service says another eruption of solar flares could cause more communication and power disruptions early next week.
“Forest fires in both Canada and breakaway nation New France continue to burn out of control, sending smoke southward.
“Scientists taking part in a climate change conference in Philadelphia disagree about the explanation for the significant improvement in the acidity levels of the world’s oceans. ‘It shouldn’t be happening,’ an MIT oceanographer said. ‘Nothing in anyone’s data predicted this turnaround. But I think we can safely rule out divine intervention and UFO babies.’
“Out on the presidential campaign trail, a political firestorm erupts as Republican front-runner Janet Cortez accuses independent candidate Howard Miller of ‘rallying angry, frightened people to commit hate crimes.’ During an arena speech yesterday, Miller called on several thousand supporters to ‘reclaim America for Americans’ and ‘restore our way of life.’ Cortez says Miller is ‘morally responsible’ for the attacks that have been escalating since he announced his third-party candidacy.
“Now, here at home … a chilling scenario posed by a local crime beat threader. Is there an ‘Albany Ripper’ in our midst?”
“Dammit!” Hannah McCabe jumped back as the grapefruit juice from her overturned glass splashed across the countertop, covering the still-visible display of the nutrition content of her father’s breakf
ast.
“Bring up the sound,” he said. “I want to hear this.”
“Half a second, Pop. Hands full.” McCabe shoved her holster out of the way and touched CLEAN UP before the stream of juice could run off the counter and onto the tile floor.
“… Following last night’s Common Council meeting, threader Clarence Redfield interrupted a statement by Detective Wayne Jacoby, the Albany Police Department spokesperson…”
* * *
In the chief of police’s office, Jacoby struggled to keep his expression neutral as the footage of the press conference and his exchange with Redfield began to roll.
“The Albany Police Department remains hopeful that the Common Council will approve both funding requests. The first to expand GRTYL, our Gang Reduction Through Youth Leadership program, and the second to enhance the surveillance—”
“Detective Jacoby, isn’t it true that the Albany PD is engaged in a cover-up? Isn’t it true that the Albany PD has failed to inform the citizens of this city of what they have a right to know?”
“I know you want to offer your usual observations, Mr. Redfield. But if you will hold your questions until I finish—”
“Isn’t it true that we have a serial killer at work here in Albany, Detective? Isn’t it true that a secret police task force has been created to try to track down a killer who has been preying on women here in this city?”
“That is … no, that is not true, Mr. Redfield. There is no secret task force, nor is there any cover-up. We … the Albany PD does not engage in…”
From his position by the window, Chief Egan said, “Stammering like a frigging schoolgirl makes it hard to believe you’re telling the truth, Wayne.”
“The little bastard caught me off guard,” Jacoby said, his annoyance getting the better of him.
The others at the table avoided his glance, their gazes focused on the wall where his confrontation with Redfield was continuing.
“So, Detective, you’re telling us that there aren’t two dead women who—”
“I’m telling you, Mr. Redfield, that we have ongoing investigations into two cases involving female victims who—”
“Who were the victims of a serial killer?”
“We have two female homicide victims. Both deaths were drug-induced and both occurred within the past six weeks. On each occasion, we made available to the media, including yourself, information about—”
“But you didn’t release the details that link the two cases. You didn’t tell the media or the citizens of this city that both women were—”
“We do not release the details of ongoing homicide investigations, Mr. Redfield. And you are not aiding these investigations with your grandstanding.”
“My grandstanding? Don’t you think it’s time someone told the women of Albany that the police can’t protect them? That they should stay off the streets after dark, get inside when the fog rolls in, and lock their doors? Shouldn’t someone tell the taxpaying citizens of this city that in spite of all the hype about your Big Brother surveillance system, a killer is still moving like a phantom through the—”
“What the citizens of Albany should know is that the Albany PD is bringing all its resources and those of other law-enforcement agencies to bear to solve these two cases. Veteran detectives are following every lead. And the citywide surveillance system the department has implemented—”
“When it’s working, Detective Jacoby. Isn’t it true that the solar flares have been giving your system problems?”
One of the captains sitting at the conference table in Chief Egan’s office groaned. “Is he just guessing?”
On the wall, Jacoby’s jaw was noticeably clinched.
“As I was about to say, Mr. Redfield, before we began this back-and-forth, the DePloy surveillance system has been effective both in reducing crime and solving the crimes that have occurred. That is the end of this discussion.”
“You mean ‘Shut up or I’m out of here’?”
“Ladies and gentlemen of the press, I am now going to finish the official statement regarding funding. I will only respond to questions on that subject.…”
Chief Egan said, “Not one of your better performances, Wayne. You let him rattle you.” He walked over and sat down at the head of the table. “Her Royal Highness, the mayor, was not pleased when she called me last night.”
On the wall, the anchorwoman took over.
“Detective Jacoby then completed his statement about the proposals before the Common Council. When a reporter tried to return to the allegation made by crime beat threader Clarence Redfield that a serial killer is at work in Albany, Detective Jacoby ended the press conference and left the podium. Mr. Redfield himself declined to respond to questions from reporters about the source of his information. We’ll have more for you on this story as details become available.
“In another matter before the Common Council, a proposed emergency expansion of the existing no masks or face-covering ordinance to include Halloween night. The new ordinance would apply to everyone over eight years of age. The recent outbreak of crimes involving juveniles…”
* * *
“Now, they’re even trying to take away Halloween,” Angus McCabe said from his place at the kitchen table. “Well? Any truth to it? Do we have ourselves a serial killer on the loose?”
McCabe put her empty juice glass on the shelf inside the dishwasher. “Since when do you consider Clarence Redfield a reliable source, Pop?”
“He ain’t. But I’ve spent more than half my life grilling official mouthpieces, and the way Jacoby was squirming—”
“Jacoby can’t stand Redfield. You know that.” McCabe snagged her thermo jacket from the back of her chair and bent to kiss his forehead. “And you’re retired now, remember?”
“I may be retired, but I’m not dead yet. What’s going on?”
“Got to run, Pop. Have a good day.”
“Have a good day nothing.” He rose to follow her into the hall. “Hank McCabe, you tell me what’s—”
“Can’t discuss it. I’ll pick us up some dinner on the way home. Chinese okay?”
He scowled at her, his eyes the same electric blue they had always been, the bristling brows gone gray.
“No, Chinese ain’t okay. I’m tired of Chinese. I’ll cook dinner tonight. I’ve got all day to twiddle my thumbs. What else do I have to do but make dinner?”
“I thought you might intend to work on your book. You do have that deadline coming up in a couple of months.”
“Book, hell. There ain’t no book. I’m giving the advance back.”
“If that’s what you want to do,” McCabe said. “On the other hand, you could just sit down and write the book.”
“You try writing a damn book, Ms. Detective.”
“Not my area of expertise. But you’ve done it a few times before. Even won an award or two.”
“This one’s different. Nobody would read it even if I wrote it. And don’t ‘If that’s what you want to do’ me. We were talking about this serial killer that Redfield claims—”
“Sorry, Pop, I really do have to go. I want to get in a few minutes early this morning.”
“Why? What are you—”
She closed the door on his demand that she get herself back there and tell him what was going on.
Striding to her car, McCabe tried to ignore the whiff of smoke that she could taste in the back of her throat and the sticky air, which made her want to step back into the shower.
The heat was due to break tonight. That would clear the air.
And Pop would pull himself out of his funk. He always did.
Of course, the other times, he’d had an office to go to … and no restrictions on his alcohol consumption.
* * *
“I have every confidence in your ability to get what we need, Mike boy.”
“Right.” Baxter flashed his best cocky grin. “You know you can count on me.”
His caller nodded. “I know I can.”
He pointed his finger at Baxter. “Watch your back out there, you hear me?”
He disconnected, his image fading from the screen.
Baxter closed his ORB and leaned back on his cream leather sofa. He stretched his arms over his head, fingers clasped. His gaze fell on the framed photograph on his desk. Himself in dress blues. Graduation day from the Academy.
Baxter grunted, then laughed. “You should have seen this one coming, Mike boy.”
He rubbed his hand across his mouth, whistled. “Well hell.”
Baxter reached for his ORB again. He pulled up a file and began to update his notes.
When he was done, he grabbed his thermo jacket and headed for the door.
His mind on other things, he left the apartment on cooldown and the lights on in the bathroom, but the condo’s environmental system had gone into energy-saver mode by the time he reached the lobby.
In the garage, Baxter paused for his usual morning ritual, admiring the burgundy sheen of his vintage 1967 Mustang convertible. Then he got into his three-year-old hybrid and headed in to work.
* * *
McCabe was stuck in traffic on Central Avenue, waiting for an opening to maneuver around a florist van.
In Albany, double parking had always been considered a civic right. With more traffic each year and the narrow lanes that had been carved out for Zip cars and tri-bikes, Central Avenue in the morning was like it must have been when Albany was a terminus for slaughterhouses, with cattle driven along Central Avenue Turnpike. Stop, start, nose, and try not to trample one another as they moved toward their destinations.
McCabe tilted her head from side to side and shrugged her shoulders. What she needed, yearned for, was a long run. Even with geosimulators, five miles on a machine was never as good as running outside.
McCabe’s attention was caught by a flash of color. On the sidewalk in front of Los Amigos, a young black woman in a patchwork summer skirt laughed as an older man, suave and mustachioed, swirled her in a samba move. Still laughing, she disengaged herself and scooped up her straw handbag from the sidewalk. Hand over his heart, the man called out to his impromptu dance partner. Giggling, she went on her way.
The Red Queen Dies Page 1
