by Oliver Stark
Erin Nash was focusing on the murders of David, Marisa and Esther. Two big pictures of confident women stared out, smiling, with David in the middle. Denise read Erin Nash’s report.
NAZI HATE CRIME IN MANHATTAN
On a quiet Monday afternoon earlier this week, in downtown Manhattan, a 32-year-old Jewish woman was found tethered to a piling in the East River. She had been submerged and then shot through the head. A small symbolic number was carved into a nearby post. It was the number 88.She was the third Jewish New Yorker murdered in the past two months, the second in the last three days. The question needs to be asked: is this a series of hate crimes against the Jewish community?Marisa Cohen, a PR consultant recently separated from city lawyer Daniel Cohen, had been missing since Sunday evening. A police source said that she was half-drowned before she was shot. A death that is so horribly violent and cruel that it takes your breath away.This attack comes only a few days after another Jewish citizen, David Capske, was found dead in East Harlem, his body wrapped in barbed wire.And now a police source is saying that two months ago, in a similarly random and brutal attack, 29-year-old Esther Haeber was shot in a vicious robbery. The thief cut off her fingers in order to escape with her gold rings. Although officially a closed case, police are investigating the possibility that this was a hate crime.All three victims may be among a growing number of victims of a new and vicious breed of American hate crime. Brooklyn’s higher rate of anti-Semitic hate crime seems to be heading across the river to Manhattan.Right-wing organizations like the American Brethren, the White Wolves, the Neo-Aryan Alliance and Legend 88, have been growing in recent years as unemployment and international and national crises deepen the sense of disorder and chaos.In communities across America, youths are seeing right-wing rhetoric as an attractive way to cope with social and national insecurity. In places like Brooklyn, Jewish communities are concerned by the rise in verbal and physical intimidation.Even with their own security force, the community could not prevent several attacks in recent months. A schoolgirl on her way home; a mother pushing a stroller with twins; a shopkeeper closing for the day; a businessman getting into his car. All of these people were assaulted and beaten to the accompaniment of racial taunts.Lieutenant Tierney of the Hate Crime Task Force said yesterday, ‘There is nothing more despicable than crimes of bias and we will seek out and prosecute every one of them. But there is little actual increase in crime figures. We are reporting more because we are better at identifying them. In the past, many hate crimes would not have been reported at all. We’re now hearing about them, and can act.’But is it true to say that communities feel less safe than a decade ago? Hate has come back and, as David Capske, Marisa Cohen and Esther Haeber lie dead, we must all ask ourselves: do we have a Nazi serial killer or, as the police have named him, the 88 Killer, stalking New York?
Harper waited as Eddie read and reread the article.
‘What do you think?’
‘It’s what you wanted her to say. I’d even go so far as to say she’s been a little reserved.’ Eddie passed the paper back to Harper.
Harper said, ‘Let’s see what kind of a reaction we get.’
‘The Captain will know it was you.’
‘I know, but he won’t be able to prove it.’
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Midtown, Manhattan
March 11, 8.42 a.m.
Becky Glass had been unsure about the job from the start. She’d never done anything like it. Never even anticipated that she’d end up in this position, but money was money and she needed a new place to live, her kids needed new shoes and everyone had to eat. Since the divorce, her husband’s checks were not reliable and she had to work for herself.
Becky continued to stride up the avenue, a child attached to each hand. Her pace was quick. She was already fifteen minutes late.
Out in Brooklyn, she had a part-time day job, but it paid very little. Prior to the arrival of the children she had been a bank clerk and now she needed a full-time job again. She had to focus on moving forward as an independent single mother.
She had to shut the door on her emotions. She’d deal with them later, when the children were older. It was a fact of life, no one else was going to jump in and save you, at least not if you were thirty-six with two kids in tow.
The job had been advertised. She’d called them up. She had the right experience and they told her to come by. She’d let her old boss know she needed full-time work and he was kind enough to put in a good word with the company. The location on Manhattan would present problems, but the pay was good.
That morning, things hadn’t gone to plan, though. It was a teacher day at school, her babysitter had called in sick and her friends couldn’t be rounded up at short notice. She had a brief meltdown, shouted at both kids and then pulled herself together. She got herself dressed, decided she wasn’t going to let this small obstacle get in the way of a new life, and brought the kids with her to the interview.
‘I can’t walk any more,’ said small, round-faced Ruth.
‘Well, it’s just round the next corner,’ Becky replied with a jerk of her right arm. Her daughter skipped forward. ‘Come on! I can’t be late for this. Mommy needs a job. Ruthie needs to eat.’
Ruth and Jerry were both seven years old. They weren’t twins, there were ten months between them, but for two months each year they shared the same age and the younger Jerry teased his older sister about it until she lost her temper.
Out on a Manhattan day trip from Brooklyn, or that’s how they saw it, they didn’t quite understand their mother’s impatience. Mom had always been there just for them.
Becky was excited about getting back into the routine of a job. She knew it was the right thing to do. She was a little scared, of course, not sure if she had the skills or attitude they were looking for, but she came with a very good résumé and she was determined.
Now, standing in front of the huge office block, dwarfed by the gargantuan glass building zigzagged with windows as far as the eye could see, she could feel her fears rising.
She looked at her kids. ‘Mommy is now officially terrified. Say a little prayer, won’t you?’ Neither child responded. ‘It’s just an interview. I shouldn’t be more than fifteen minutes. Wish me luck.’
They both turned their heads up towards her bright blue eyes and stared.
‘Good luck,’ came a staccato reply.
‘Come on, you can’t wait for me out here. You can wait at reception. I’ll ask the receptionists to keep an eye on you, but no moving and no talking to anyone. I called and told them my problem. They said they’d be pleased to have you. Anyone apart from them talks to you and you go straight to reception, they know where I am.’
Becky pulled both children up to the top of the steps. Jerry was preoccupied. He was pointing down at the street. ‘Mommy, that car’s on fire.’
‘Shhh, no more talking,’ said Becky. She looked across the street at a red car. ‘Someone’s smoking in the front seat, that’s all.’
Becky walked across the marble floor to the glossy receptionist, half dragging both kids.
‘Becky Glass. For an interview.’
‘Fourteenth floor, Ms Glass. Take the first elevator and report to reception.’
‘Thank you. I realize that it’s a bit of an imposition, but would you be able to keep an eye on my children? I called — you might remember. I had a problem with my babysitter and had to bring them with me. They have promised to behave.’
‘Of course, I’d be happy to. Good luck and have a nice day.’
‘Thank you, that’s very kind of you.’ Becky looked around one last time. It was a very nice-looking building, safe and open, with security on the door and three receptionists.
She turned to her kids. ‘Now, look, it’s safe here, the receptionist is there if you need anything. You’ve both got reading books in your backpacks, now go and sit on that bench and be good. I won’t be long. If you move from here, I will not be happy.’
The t
wo kids muttered under their breath and hauled themselves on to the bench.
‘Can’t I come in with you?’ said Jerry.
‘No, Jerry, you sit and read.’
‘I don’t want to be left alone with her.’
‘She’s your sister.’
‘I know and she stinks.’
‘She’s just the same as you. If she smells, so do you.’
Jerry said something under his breath. Ruth glared at him and pushed him with her leg. He pushed back. Becky scolded firmly, then moved towards the elevator, walking backwards and wagging a finger.
She gave them one last look as she stepped into the elevator and shouted out, ‘Now, don’t move from here. I love you. I’ll see you in a little bit.’ The elevator door shut. Becky felt the cabin shake as it rose. She took out her résumé, panic swelling in her throat. What was she getting herself into? Could she even hold down a job with her two children?
As soon as their mother was out of sight, the children glared at each other.
‘What are you staring at?’ said Ruth.
‘The ugliest thing I ever saw.’
‘That’s because you’ve never seen yourself.’
‘I’m not staying around here with you, stinker,’ said Jerry.
‘You heard what Mama said. You’re not allowed to go anywhere.’
‘I can go wherever I want as long as that lady on the desk doesn’t see me.’
Jerry jumped off the bench and started to walk towards the big glass door while keeping a close eye on the receptionist. He pulled the door open and felt the cold air again. The sound of the traffic excited him as he moved outside and let the door swing shut behind him. He’d prove who was the bravest.
Ruth looked around her. She wasn’t going to be left alone, that was for sure. She quickly followed Jerry out of the door. She caught a glimpse of her brother as he disappeared around the corner of the building, his two hands formed as if carrying a handgun, the imagination already in overdrive.
Ruth hung on the rail and then sighed. She’d have to follow. Otherwise Jerry would get himself into trouble and she’d get the blame.
Chapter Sixty
North Manhattan Homicide
March 11, 1.54 p.m.
Harper arrived back at the precinct as Eddie was heading out. He stood across the road and stared at the media. He decided to go no further but hung back and waited for Eddie.
The article had provoked an enormous response. There were Jewish groups protesting at Police Headquarters and the Mayor’s Office, and the press were still sniffing around Blue Team.
Eddie came out and joined him. ‘Thanks for getting back. You heard?’
‘No, what is it?’
‘Another body, Harper.’
‘Is it Jewish?’
‘We don’t know yet.’ Eddie moved towards his car.
Harper took a look up to the sixth floor. ‘I ought to check in with Lafayette.’
‘No time,’ said Eddie. ‘Press will be at the crime scene before we know it.’
Harper followed Eddie to the car. They got in and Harper asked, ‘How did things go with the Nazi bullets and the typewriter?’
‘Very difficult to trace the Internet sales,’ said Eddie. ‘They’re often not identifiable, but we might get them through credit-card or PayPal details. There are relatively few agents dealing with this kind of memorabilia and we’re checking them all out. We’re starting by asking them about Martin Heming, seeing if he ever bought anything, but then we’re asking for their full records.’
‘What are the numbers like?’
‘In terms of clients, there are thousands,’ said Eddie. ‘The main problem is that the agents don’t want to get involved.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s a closed world, isn’t it? They don’t want to be seen as Nazis or to be seen as outing their customer base.’
‘How did you get them to talk to you?’
‘I took your lead. I said I’d simply pass their names on to Erin Nash of the Daily Echo, explaining that they didn’t want to assist with the investigation into these Nazi killings.’
‘Did it work?’
‘You bet. New York is a dangerous place to be if you’re seen to be against this investigation. This is a liberal city, Harper. They’d be hounded out.’
Harper stared out of the window. ‘Where are we heading?’
‘Midtown. Woman killed, found in an alleyway.’
Eddie threw the car into gear and pulled off at speed. They drove up to the crime scene and found the squad cars sitting outside an alleyway.
‘Anyone tell you anything about this one?’ Harper asked.
‘Not a thing,’ said Eddie.
‘Another alleyway — maybe there is a connection.’ said Harper.
‘Seems likely, doesn’t it?’
They pulled themselves out of the car and moved towards the scene.
‘What you got?’ asked Harper at the tape.
‘Two months and I move to Suffolk County,’ said the First Officer.
‘Yeah, well I hope the pay makes up for the company. Tell me about the body.’
‘It’s a woman halfway up.’
Harper walked under the tape and down the long black tunnel of the alleyway. ‘Let’s get thinking, Eddie.’
The alleyway was wide, with two dumpsters at the far end. They arrived at the corpse. Two other detectives were already there, sketching and taking notes.
‘How you doing?’ asked Garcia.
‘Not great,’ said Harper. ‘You found anything?’
‘We just got here.’
Harper turned to the body. The victim was propped up against the wall of the building. There was a cloth over her face. Harper moved in close. He lifted the cloth and saw the star-shaped wound on her forehead. ‘Why did no one tell me? It’s a gunshot wound to the forehead. Did Lafayette know this?’
‘Dispatch didn’t know what it was. First Officer said it was a rape murder.’
Harper shook his head. ‘Rape murder, my ass — this is the 88 Killer. Look around for his symbol.’ He lifted the cloth again. ‘It’s another small entrance wound, very similar to the others.’
‘Yeah, we saw the hole in her head, Harper,’ said Garcia with a laugh.
‘It’s shaped like a little six-pointed star,’ said Harper. ‘This is the fourth homicide with a point-blank gunshot wound to the head or neck. The killer’s made an error. Or he’s done this purposely.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘They get decadent, they want more attention, they want people to know how they operate. He tried to hide at first; now he figures that we know it’s him, he wants to entertain us.’ Harper turned to Eddie. ‘He shot her point blank, Eddie. Point blank. With the muzzle tight against bone.’
‘Okay, man.’
‘You know what happens?’
‘Not sure, I’ve never been shot through the head — but please, Harper, enlighten me.’
‘The gases can’t escape so they get out through the skin. It’s pretty unmistakable. The gun was closer than it was on Capske and Esther Haeber, though.’
Harper knelt by her side and tried to get a closer look at her face. He moved her hair back. ‘She’s in her late thirties. Looks… worn out.’
‘She a whore?’ said someone from behind.
Harper ignored the comment and looked at the body. ‘Both shoes are missing.’
‘We got them, Harper. One over by the restaurant trash and one just to her side.’
‘No pantyhose. You find that?’
‘Yeah. We think. Tan pantyhose over here.’
Harper looked again at the body. The upper body was clothed but the victim was naked from the waist down. The pants were thrown to one side.
‘You find any underwear? You find that?’
‘No. Nothing else.’
Harper was letting the scene piece together. Was it a rape and execution this time? A change in MO? Or just something staged to look like that
?
He stood up and looked round. ‘I need light.’
Three sets of flashlights flicked to his feet.
‘We’re looking for one bullet, one cartridge.’
The team of four detectives started scouring the scene. ‘Crime Scene will get this, Harper, why we doing their job for them?’
‘Because, Garcia, it might link this case with the Capske case.’
‘As much as it pains me, I think you might have something,’ said Garcia.
Harper moved back to the corpse. He took out his gun and held it in front of him. He looked again at the head wound. ‘The angle’s all wrong. She wasn’t here when he shot her.’
‘Where?’
‘Maybe further up the alleyway.’
The other cops spread out. No cartridge. He looked across at the wall, tried to work out the angles. He started to move along the wall, taking in a three-foot-high band and looking closely. He saw a tiny glint of metal; moved up close. The bullet-hole was there, but the bullet had been taken already. ‘I got the slug-hole, gentlemen. Anyone got the slug?’
‘No one’s touched a thing,’ said Garcia.
‘Then the killer did it. He’s reading our reports and taking the piece of evidence that links these things. Still, there are fragments in here. We’ll know if it’s iron.’ Harper watched the CSU detective remove the tiny fragments in the bullet-hole and bag them.
Harper was closely examining the walls but there was no 88 to be found. He went back to the body. ‘Our killer’s changing. This is designed to shock. Naked from the waist down and up against the wall.’ He moved in close, peered beneath her smart black jacket: her white blouse was bloodstained, the buttons were undone. ‘I’ve found the 88,’ he said. ‘He’s cut her.’
‘So what’s the scenario?’ said Eddie.
‘Not sure this makes sense to me.’
Kasper pulled up close to Harper. ‘What is it?’
‘Motive?’ asked Harper.
‘Staged to look like a rape, maybe. So the motive is different. He kills because he’s a fucking psycho, but he puts her like that to confuse us.’
