by Oliver Stark
Ellery screamed as he let go, his arm oozing blood. It gave Denise the time she needed. She pushed herself up as Tommy Ocks jumped down from the fence and looked for instructions. He took too long and Denise edged back, her hand holding up the bloody broken bottle.
She turned and ran straight into the street, but the sedan had circled and cut off her path. It drove right at her. Denise jumped to one side. Ocks and Ellery started to move in from the right. The car was advancing from the left. Denise saw no escape. Only an alleyway.
She backed into the alleyway, turned and ran, only to come up against a locked garage door and a brick wall. She looked round: the car had turned and the light cut into the darkness. Ocks and Ellery appeared either side of the car.
‘Now, let’s do this,’ said one of them. ‘Let’s finish it.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
Brownsville, Brooklyn
March 8, 9.08 p.m.
The car screeched around the corner. Harper spotted the black sedan at the head of an alleyway. They pulled to a halt, rushed out and ran across the ground, guns out.
The sedan was blocking the entrance. Harper jumped on to the trunk and leaped on to the roof and across the hood. Eddie followed. There, in the headlights of the car, four men were standing around Denise Levene.
She was in the center, a jagged broken bottle in her fist.
Harper jumped off the hood and into the alleyway.
‘Police,’ he shouted, raising his gun. ‘Move away!’
Tommy Ocks grabbed Denise and pushed her out in front of him. ‘You going to shoot? Then shoot.’
‘That’s dumb, that’s so fucking dumb,’ said Harper. He took his gun and handed it to Eddie. ‘No chance for a shot. This has to be done by hand.’ He moved fast down the alley, took the first thug by the collar and pushed him to one side. There was no reaction. He shoved past Leo Lukanov and Paddy Ellery, then stood in front of Tommy Ocks. He took Denise by the hand. ‘You’re coming with me,’ he said. ‘You okay?’
‘I’m okay,’ said Denise. She stared with anger at her four attackers and Tommy released his grip.
‘Let’s not make this worse than it is,’ said Harper. He patted Tommy Ocks on the shoulder. ‘Because I would just relish the opportunity too much.’
Denise walked back up the alleyway to Eddie. Harper held them in his gaze for a few seconds. ‘Uniform are on their way. Empty your pockets.’ He spat on the floor.
Tommy Ocks was first. He landed a heavy blow on the back of Harper’s neck. Harper fell to his knees. Eddie darted forward and raised his gun. Harper looked up to Eddie. ‘Take her to the car, Eddie. Call back-up.’
‘I can’t leave you,’ said Eddie.
Harper pushed himself to his feet. ‘Take her to the car, Eddie, and call back-up.’
He watched Eddie leave and then turned and looked at the four guys. ‘Your third dumb move.’ Harper considered. Four to one. The odds weren’t good, but he was feeling something he’d not felt for three long months and it was running through every vein and artery, pulsing in every muscle.
Running away was not an option. He’d needed this feeling in the ring, but it’d deserted him — yet it was there now, like a fire. His fists clenched, his body felt strong and agile, his eyes narrowed. Tommy Ocks positioned himself on his front foot. His aim was to hit Harper hard on the side of the head. The other three thugs had already closed in.
Harper moved so quickly and decisively that they had no time to react. He threw his foot out wide in a great sweeping movement, hooking the feet of Tommy Ocks and jerking his ankles back with sudden force. Ocks lost his footing and fell flat on his back, his arms in the air.
‘Fucking help me,’ shouted Tommy.
Paddy Ellery and Ray Hicks moved in. Harper caught Leo Lukanov circling round behind him. He turned, but Lukanov wasn’t coming round for an attack, he was heading up the alleyway.
Harper pushed a boot into Tommy Ocks’s neck and held him on the ground. He eyed Ellery and Hicks. ‘You’ve got to make a calculation here. You must be half-smart. So far, you’ve got harassment. That’s not good, but your chance of getting away is quite high. You want to add assault on a cop?’
He watched the two guys move nervously on their feet. Lukanov was getting away. It was Lukanov he wanted. He had to act.
Harper felt Tommy Ocks try to rise. He pressed hard on his neck. Ocks screamed. Paddy Ellery pulled a knife out of his jacket. He smiled like some moron who felt he’d suddenly got the upper hand.
Harper’s right hook was so fast, that they only saw the recoil. By which time, Paddy Ellery was lying on the ground with his nose mashed up. Ray Hicks ran in and kicked.
Harper reached out, grabbed his leg, locked it, jerked it up violently and threw Hicks on the ground. He looked down on all three. ‘Now, I can hand you over to my partner.’
Harper raced up the alleyway. Lukanov was in the sedan, staring out from the driver’s seat. The car’s engine growled. ‘Eddie,’ shouted Harper, pointing at the car. ‘Help me out here. Block this bastard in.’
Eddie’s Pontiac roared across the back of the sedan and screeched to a halt.
Harper raced to the door. Lukanov pressed on the gas and swerved the wheel towards Harper. The car lurched forward, scraped the wall and jammed Harper against the car. Lukanov shoved the door open and clambered out. His big fist hit Harper hard on the side of the head. Once, then twice. Harper felt the power of the blows and struggled to get his arms free as Lukanov came in again. Harper swerved his head and the third shot missed his face and landed hard on the wall. Lukanov cried out and Harper saw his chance. Leaning back, he threw the whole weight of his head forward. His forehead connected hard with Lukanov’s face and the big man dropped against the car. Harper squeezed out from behind it and grabbed Lukanov’s collar.
‘Leo Lukanov,’ said Harper, breathing heavily, ‘I’m arresting you for the murder of David Capske.’
PART TWO
Chapter Thirty-Four
Forest Park, Brooklyn
March 9, 9.55 a.m.
Denise Levene stayed in the taxi for a few minutes, staring across the road at the unremarkable suburban house in a row of other unremarkable suburban houses. She had coped better than she’d expected with the ordeal in Brownsville. Maybe Mac was helping, but she wasn’t feeling sorry for herself; she was feeling angry. She wanted to do something. She needed to.
The driver didn’t speak English too well, but he was happy to keep the meter running. She looked down at the note in her hand. Detective Gauge had provided her with the home details, but had warned her that it wouldn’t be easy. No one coped well, and Dr Goldenberg was worse than most.
She noticed that the drapes were shut in every room. Maybe he was sleeping. Sometimes it was the only way if the worry and the strain kept your mind whirring all night long.
She’d called a colleague at Columbia and heard that Dr Goldenberg hadn’t gone back to work. He was on compassionate leave. Since Lukanov’s arrest, she had tried not to imagine what might have happened to Abby. But she felt the sadness deeply. There was nothing here to hate: a small suburban lot and a divorced man bringing up his daughter. Now it was shot to pieces. He was in hell because of racists like Leo Lukanov.
Denise had spent the morning reviewing the case with Harper, gleaning what she could from the new information. Abby was the golden girl by all accounts — a grade-A student with charisma, musical ability and an independent mind. It was terrible to imagine that people like Lukanov could take it all away for nothing, for some messed-up sense of history.
Denise handed a twenty through the Plexiglass and got out. She steeled herself, walked to the door and rang the bell.
Dr Goldenberg answered quickly, almost as if he was expecting Abby or news about Abby at every moment. Behind him, the house was in darkness. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the light.
He was dressed in a plain blue two-piece suit. His hair was almost completely gray and he wore dark-framed glasses.
Denise recognized him as the colleague from Columbia University, but a changed man.
He was shrunken by a few inches; his shoulders dipped forward and his clothes looked baggy. His skin was gray. His eyes were creased so badly that he looked like a victim waking up from major surgery. They were rimmed with red and there was a strange depthless quality to his stare, as if his body was going through the motions, but his soul or heart, or whatever it was, had flown.
‘Hello, Dr Goldenberg.’
His hand reached out and grasped hers. It was soft but it gripped her hand tightly and didn’t let go. His eyes rose, almost as if he’d seen a glint of hope.
‘Dr Levene,’ he said. ‘Thank you so much for coming by. On the phone, you said you had news?’
Denise stood with her hand gripped by his, looking into his eager eyes. ‘I’m so very sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve got some news, but it’s not necessarily positive.’
‘What is it?’
‘Please, could we go inside?’
‘I understand, of course,’ said Dr Goldenberg. His eyes were now trying to read hers. ‘Tell me, please.’
Denise pulled her hand from his. ‘I wanted to say how sorry I am. I just want to say it.’
‘I appreciate it,’ he said. ‘We can talk all about it later, but just tell me, what have you got?’
‘Of course.’
Dr Goldenberg’s mouth creased with some memory of his daughter. ‘Abby is…’ He stopped mid-sentence and Denise watched as his whole face contorted in silent pain.
He brought himself under control.
‘Please — come in, Dr Levene.’
They walked through the house. It was quiet and felt unlived in. Goldenberg switched the light on in the living room and motioned impatiently towards a seat.
‘What have you found?’
Denise pulled out a folder. ‘Nothing conclusive. Last night, the NYPD arrested four men. Leo Lukanov, Patrick Ellery, Thomas Ocksborough and Raymond Hicks.’ She showed him the photographs.
‘The four men who attacked Abby?’
‘Yes. I went to speak to them.’
‘You?’
‘I thought they might know something. They came after me.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. Were you hurt?’
‘No. I was frightened,’ said Denise, ‘but I wasn’t hurt. The cops got there real quick.’
‘Have they told you where Abby is?’
‘No. We can’t even be sure they’re involved, but something spooked them. Why come after me, try to frighten me, if they didn’t have some connection to Abby?’
‘Could you try to tell me what happened?’
‘I went to see these four men with officers from the Hate Crime Unit. Next day, they came after me.’
‘There’s more,’ he said. ‘I heard the news.’
‘There may be a link.’
‘With the murderer of David Capske? Please don’t tell me that.’
‘Lukanov bought the barbed wire that was used in the murder of David Capske.’
‘You think my Abby could have been a victim?’
‘There’s going to be an investigation. Homicide will look into it. It means that she’s going to get more time.’
‘That is something.’
‘Not much, I know.’
‘I appreciate it, Dr Levene. I know this is not easy. Do they know why these men might have been targeting people?’
‘It could be something to do with anti-Semitism,’ said Denise. ‘But we can’t be sure, yet. I’ll keep you informed.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Could I see Abby’s room?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Anything specific?’
‘No, I just want a sense of her.’
Inside Abby’s room, Denise felt the horror of her disappearance again. Life was made up of the tiniest fragments. Memories, loves, events. Denise saw the pop posters, the half-naked men, her wide-ranging intellectual interests, her passion for music, her adoration of her father, her love of her mother, her independence, her eccentricity, her karate skills, riding skills, ballet.
Denise sat down in Abby’s room, the drapes drawn, and opened her diary from a year earlier. She had no idea what she was doing or why, but she felt unable to leave without engaging as much as she could, for an ex-colleague she barely knew and a girl called Abby, whom she knew even less, but for whom, for some reason, she felt responsible.
Chapter Thirty-Five
North Manhattan Homicide
March 9, 11.12 a.m.
Harper left the interrogation room and slumped down in the darkened observation room. Denise watched him closely. ‘We need more time,’ she said. ‘That’s all. He’s tough. You should’ve seen Abby’s room. She’s just a kid, Tom. If Leo killed her, we’ve got to find out where she is. The question is, if.’
‘You don’t seem convinced?’ said Harper.
Denise moved across to the window. She prodded it with her forefinger. ‘I hate him, Tom, I hate everything about him. He’s a vicious little racist, a bully, a coward. He’s everything I hate about people wrapped up in one ugly package, but he’s not bright, is he? He’s not got an organized mind.’
‘I’ve been thinking the same thing.’
‘We’ve got to find another way to get him to talk.’
Harper nodded. They both stared into the small interview room as two more detectives entered and started going through the routine. One prowling, one sitting. One getting close, the other keeping in the background with threats chipping away at the nerves.
Harper leaned on to his elbows and stared into the room. Eddie entered the observation room, carrying three coffees. ‘He’s a hard nut, this one,’ Eddie said. ‘A real thick skin. Or maybe just real thick.’
Harper took his coffee. ‘Thanks, Eddie. Anything more from his apartment?’
‘Shitloads of racist crap. Shitloads of it. But nothing to tie him to Capske. Not yet anyway. Forensics will be days going through all his stuff.’
‘He’s part of some organization, though. You find anything?’
‘He’s definitely part of something, but it seems he’s a pretty small cog within it. We’ve got the other three guys locked up in the cells. They’re all scared of something, so no one’s saying anything. I don’t know who’s leading this operation, but they are real spooked.’
‘Lukanov hasn’t given you a single name,’ said Denise.
‘Why do you think it is, Denise? Maybe he’s just as scared as the rest.’
‘Could be. We’ve all seen it before. Gangs don’t dare rat people out. I think he knows he’s got to stay quiet.’
‘There’s plenty of vicious hate gangs in prison. He talks, gives people up, they’re going to hurt him bad.’
‘Yeah, maybe, but I think it’s something else,’ said Denise.
‘What?’ said Harper.
‘There’s someone pulling the strings. Someone he’s really terrified of.’
‘That’s my thought too,’ said Harper. ‘Which leads me to something I’ve been thinking since the arrest.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Eddie.
‘Read Lukanov’s record. Every time he’s been arrested, it’s for some group attack. He’s one of those men who get brave when it’s five to one. I just don’t see him as a lone wolf, which means that it’s unlikely he killed Capske. Denise, what do you think?’
‘It’s difficult to call, Tom. He could be capable of operating alone, but I’d agree with you. Most likely scenario, Lukanov is only violent within the group.’
‘Another thing. He didn’t want to get involved in the alley. He kept back.’ Harper stood up. He drank down his coffee and took another look at Leo Lukanov through the glass. Lukanov was unshaven and tired. He’d taken off his denim shirt and was wearing a white tank top.
Harper pointed at Lukanov. ‘Look at his arms and hands. There isn’t a single scratch mark on his skin. You ever tried to work with barbed wire? The killer was working with barbed wire in the dark with a
victim. It’s not evidence, but if it’s not Lukanov, then whoever it is, he’s still out there.’
Harper took Eddie to the side of the investigation room. ‘I want you to look into something for me.’
Eddie forced a smile. ‘What?’
‘There’s no match on any of our databases or ViCAP for this kind of MO. The barbed wire, the torture, the point blank gunshot. We came up with nothing. Denise, how long before a serial killer gets so deluded, they think they can do anything?’
‘Can happen after one kill in some cases,’ said Denise. ‘There’s a moment when every repeat killer is sitting in their apartment thinking about what they’ve done, when they suddenly realize that no one’s come calling for them. They’ve done the worst thing they can and they’ve gotten away with it. They get to think they’re immune or invincible. Or, they get angry, because they wanted to be noticed and they wanted to be understood.’
‘Eddie, our killer could’ve killed before, got no reaction, so upped his game with Capske.’
‘And this time, he made sure he had an audience. He called them,’ said Eddie. ‘So we’ve got to find that kill. If it’s Lukanov, then it’ll only help to link him.’
‘Leo Lukanov’s linked with two attacks, both of Jewish victims. If we count Denise as well, that’s three attacks. Eddie, I want you to search out every crime against anyone even remotely Jewish. See what you get.’
‘I’ll do it,’ said Eddie. ‘I’ll find something.’
‘Denise, I suggest we take a walk in Forest Park.’
‘You serious?’
‘It’s a material link to this case. You were looking into something and Lukanov or someone connected to Lukanov wanted to hide that so much, they were willing to attack you.’
‘God, I’d hate to think what guys like that would want to hold someone like Abby for,’ said Denise.
‘Try not to think about things like that.’
‘I’ll stay here and search ViCAP,’ said Eddie. The Violent Criminal Apprehension Program was a database of all recorded crimes across the States.
