Forbidden Birth

by William Rubin

  After our visit to the lab, Stippler peeled off on his own and got down to the business of rechecking all of Dietz’s computers for any evidence pointing to Durand. McGowan was busy doing the same with the physical evidence from all the murders and the prints and DNA we found at the institute. Their unofficial help on the case was vital to our cause. Without it, Kennedy and I had no shot at nailing Durand.

  Kennedy and I took care of the obvious, and mundane, task of surveilling Durand. Alone or in tandem, we had been watching him 24/7 for just over a day. There was nothing to show for it. The not so good doctor had done nothing out of the ordinary, unless it was a crime to blow off work early. He spent the afternoon today in Central Park, propped up on a rolled-up blanket reading the latest James Patterson thriller. I guess even sociopaths liked taking long holiday weekends. After a quick bite at Ray Bari’s Pizzeria on Third Avenue and 76th Street, he was in for the rest of the evening. We were cramped in Kennedy’s 1999 Honda Civic across from his apartment, waiting for something to break.

  July 4th was more of the humdrum same. I guess I was mistaken about Durand blowing off work on the long weekend, because there he was, off to work at 6:39 a.m., no break for lunch, and he returned home at 6:45 p.m. He remained holed up in his apartment near the corner of 82nd and 2nd while Kennedy and I talked over the case.

  “He’s been one mother-fucking well-behaved killer so far, huh, Chris?”

  “Down right boring I’d say, Kev. Watching flies fornicate is more exciting than this guy. You think we’re on the right track? I’d hate to flush all our careers and spend rare vacation time away from the kids, for no good reason.”

  “Yeah, I think he’s our guy. And if we’re wrong…you’ll have plenty of free time with Michelle and the kids,” Kennedy laughed, “but I don’t think we’re wrong. This guy’s real smart. It’d take something like the lefty-righty thing to trip him up. And you found it, which makes you pretty damn smart too. Ya know, with your brains you coulda been something. Hell, maybe a doctor or something like that.” Kennedy’s laugh boomed again, even louder than before.

  “The thought had crossed my mind, smart-ass,” I grinned back at him. “I coulda had the nice, quiet life of a cardiothoracic surgeon. The hours, not to mention the pay, sure have got this beat.”

  “Yeah, but while you were cracking chests, you’d be missing all this stimulating conversation and great male bonding—”

  “—There he is!” I said, pointing across the street at Durand. “He’s on the move. Why don’t you trail him on foot? I’m going up for a look see.”

  Kennedy looked at me confused. “You’re going into his apartment? Are you nuts? What if he’s just going across the street for some milk?”

  “That’s where you come in, Kev. You’re my eyes and ears. Go ahead and trail him. We gotta take a chance now—time’s running out.”

  “You’re the boss. Good luck, doc,” Kennedy said with a tinge of caution and concern in his voice as he slid out of the car and began following Durand west on 82nd Street.

  I was going in.…

  §

  I flashed my badge and nodded to Liam, the short, well-mannered Leprechaun manning the door at Durand’s building, as I hustled through the small lobby and up the elevator. We had already cleared it with the building super, Frank O’Leary, that we’d possibly be accessing Durand’s apartment at some point. Our badges and a promise to do a little pro bono detective work for O’Leary made it all possible. It seems O’Leary had his suspicions about his brother-in-law and some recent poorly explained bruises on his younger sister’s face and forearm.

  I exited at the sixth floor and made a hard right. Durand was in 6D, a short walk from the elevator and an even shorter walk to a nearby stairwell. I used the key O’Leary had given me and was in before anyone had a chance to notice. Kennedy and I planned on doing this while Durand was at work, but The Fertility Institute had two ways into the building a block apart from each other, meaning we were both needed to monitor Durand’s comings and goings. The apartment was a one bedroom with a living room area directly ahead and a kitchen to the left that led into a small dining area. To the right were closets, the lone bedroom and bathroom, and a small home office.

  I pulled out the Kingston 128GB USB Flash Drive, plugged it into the bottom front of the CPU and typed in the commands Stippler had gone over with me. I was relieved that access to the computer itself was not password protected, that would have necessitated aborting now and returning with Stippler. I was trying to avoid such obvious involvement on Stippler’s behalf into our clandestine investigation. The rest of it he could explain away if need be. He couldn’t do that with an illegal entry into and theft from a private citizen’s home, a citizen who was not even named as a suspect in the Dietz case.

  The hard drive was downloading into the USB, its progress marked by the number next to the hourglass on the screen: 32%...33%...34%...

  I canvassed the apartment. Everything was neat and orderly. The bed was made. Papers were stacked on his desk, bills filed in chronological order based on due date. His closets and drawers were all mostly empty, the contents put away analogous to his desk.

  The download continued: 41%...42%...43%...

  His bathroom gave no signs of recent female visitors. The kitchen had all new appliances, a black speckled granite counter top, and a Silver Palate cookbook open to the recipe for “Steak Diane.” All the surfaces sparkled with cleanliness.

  I peeked back at the computer: 58%...59%...60%...

  Aside from the obvious lack of a mess anywhere, Durand’s bachelor pad stood out for one other reason. There were no photographs anywhere in the apartment. No childhood photos, pictures of Mom and Dad, or of graduations or birthday parties. Durand’s apartment was a very cold, impersonal place.

  68%...69%...70%...

  “Chris, he’s on his way back!” Kennedy’s voice crackled through my walkie-talkie.

  I grabbed it and responded, “You sure?”

  “Positive. He’s heading south on 2nd Avenue between 84th and 83rd Streets. He’ll be back in two minutes if he doesn’t make any stops.”

  “Thanks. Keep me posted.”

  74%...75%...76%...

  Durand looked over the menu posted outside at Jackson Hole Burgers, then turned the corner.

  “Chris, he’s on 82nd,” Kennedy said in a whisper. “How you making out?”

  “Just a little more to go,” I replied in my own hushed tone.

  82%...83%…84%…

  “Any way you can hold him back without drawing attention to yourself, Kev?”

  “Dunno. I’ll see what I can do.…”

  85%...86%...87%...

  Durand turned into 245 East 82nd Street and threw Liam a dispassionate wave as he strolled to the elevator.

  “Chris, he’s in the building.”

  92%...

  Durand entered the elevator, back towards the building’s entrance.

  “Pardon me, Doctor. There’s dry cleaning for you,” Liam announced as he looked up from the book that recorded all the deliveries made each day.

  93%...

  “He’s on his way up.”

  The elevator door closed without a word of response. Durand’s arm shot out at the last possible moment, causing the door to jolt back open. Durand kept his arm extended out, waiting. Liam shuffled to the delivery room, grabbed the dry cleaning, and then placed the hangers into the physician’s hand.

  95%...

  “I’m terribly sorry, Doctor. There’s something else as well, a small package,” Liam said, his voice filled with contrition.

  Durand responded with an exasperated huff, “Liam, you are slipping, old man. You know I expect everything before I set foot in the elevator. I may have to speak to Frank about your lapses.”

  96%...

  I shifted my weight back and forth on my feet and shook my hands as the download proceeded.

  97%...

  Liam strode across the foyer, a package held in front
of him with both hands.

  98%...

  Durand snatched it from him without a word and released the open door button. The door banged closed.

  99%...

  Durand stepped out onto the sixth floor and juggled the package and dry cleaning as he moved towards 6D and pulled out his key. A small wisp of air shot at Durand from behind. He looked down the empty hallway, past the mail chute and the door leading to the recyclables and newspapers. Nothing.

  Durand pushed through his apartment door as I crouched just beneath the glass panel of the door leading to the stairwell. I let out a sigh of relief. I waited to hear the door to 6D close and the locks to the apartment snap shut before making my way down the dark and dreary stairwell.

  §

  “Shit, that was close!” I said to Kennedy as I climbed in next to him in the Civic.

  “I’ll say. I thought for sure Durand would catch you with your pants down. Good thing Liam delayed him,” Kennedy said with a broad smile.

  “Yeah, good thing,” I replied as my worried expression transformed into a knowing smile of my own.

  We both laughed and nodded with approval at Liam, who tipped his cap to us as he held the door open for another of the building’s residents.

  A minute passed as I laughed hard and then caught my breath. The release felt good after my narrow escape. I slid the USB out of my pants pocket and held it up for Kennedy to admire.

  “Bingo. I’ll get this to Stippler later tonight.”

  “Way to go buddy,” Kennedy said as he slapped me on the back in congratulations before looking at his watch. “Ya know, speaking of tonight you better get over to Grand Central. Isn’t Michelle’s train coming in soon?”

  “Shit. You’re right,” I said as I looked at my watch: 7:12 p.m. There was just enough time to grab the Firebird, a quick shower at New York Sports Club, and high tail it over to pick up Michele. “You sure this is okay?” I said with a nod towards Durand’s building. “I could reschedule with Michelle.”

  “You kidding? You’re in hot enough water as it is. You reschedule now and you’ll be living in this car permanently, bud,” Kennedy said with a grin. “Don’t sweat it. I got it covered. He makes another move, you’ll be the first to know. Have a great birthday dinner with Michelle,” Kennedy said matter-of-factly as he looked over at me. “Maybe you guys can even sneak in some make-up sex.” Kennedy was howling at this point, very impressed with his own sense of humor.

  “Very funny, big guy. Where’s that supposed to happen, the bathroom at the restaurant?”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Kennedy quipped.

  I hesitated for a second, not sure how to respond to that one, then slapped him on the shoulder and said “thanks” as I shot out of the car towards the Firebird, parked around the corner.

  Chapter 75

  I waited outside Grand Central in the Firebird for Michelle to appear, a single red rose in my hand. My hair was slicked back the way she liked it, and I had on a hint of the Chaps Cologne she also liked. I was nervous. Michelle and I had only spoken briefly since the fight and that was about how the kids were doing. I wasn’t sure what to expect.

  Michelle looked oh so hot as she emerged from the station and peeled off from the Grand Central Crowd. She had on the form fitting white blouse and tight black miniskirt I loved, so that was a good sign.

  Michelle’s curly brown hair bounced from side to side as she smiled at me and hurried over to the Firebird.

  “Hi sweetie,” she said with enthusiasm as she leaned across the seat and gave me a white-hot kiss that left me weak in the knees. This was going much better than I expected, I thought. Maybe we should skip dinner and just get a room instead?

  “Catch any bad guys yet?” Michelle said.

  “No, not yet. Hey, about yesterday morning…”

  “Let’s not talk about that now, Chris. We’ve had so little quality time together these past few months. Let’s just enjoy our date night, okay?”

  I guess I’m out of the dog house for at least tonight, I mused.

  “Sure, no more talk about bad guys. Tonight’s all about enjoying your birthday. Off to Babbo!” I said as I pointed my left index finger and arm straight ahead.

  Michelle spent the next ten minutes soaking in the city’s unbridled energy as the sights and sounds drifted by, and I tried unsuccessfully to get the case off my mind. I had planned on weaving through the city, in no particular order with Michelle, driving past the Empire State Building, then the Chrysler and Flatiron Buildings. But I just couldn’t relax, couldn’t shake the feeling I needed to get back to Kennedy as soon as possible. After a few last twists and turns, I parked illegally at Washington Square Park and threw my police placard in the windshield, then hustled around to receive Michelle as she exited the car. I hoped she couldn’t tell my mind was elsewhere.

  Michelle and I entered the modest-looking townhouse that held Mario Batali’s award winning eatery. Despite the July 4th holiday, and the fact that most NYC residents left the city during summer weekends, the bar area was doing a brisk business. Great, I thought, as I anticipated there being a delay in seating us. Tonight’s not the night for a three hour dinner, even if it is Michelle’s birthday. We squeezed our way through, in between a throng of noisy bar patrons to our right and two tables of diners to our left, until we reached the hostess’ podium.

  “Honey, are you okay?” Michelle said with an undercurrent of annoyance.

  “Uh, yeah, great. Just great, honey.” Shit, that’s all we need is another fight.

  As we settled into our seats, situated between the stairs, the kitchen, and a few tables to our right and left, I did my best to forget about Durand and enjoy the classical music playing all around us instead.

  “Isn’t this great, honey? I’ve been wanting to try this place for so long.” A smile engulfed Michelle’s pretty face.

  “The best. It’s, uh, quite impressive.”

  Our waiter, Mario, appeared and recited the day’s specials, which I instantly forgot. In bad need of a drink, I ordered a quartino of a dry Italian Chardonnay and looked over the menu while holding Michelle’s hand in the center of the candlelit table. At least the low lighting ought to obscure the worry on my face, I thought.

  After two quartinos and a shared main course of Bavette, a kind of slender fettuccine, I was anxious to wrap things up and drop Michelle back at Grand Central, but I was also trying my best to let her pace the evening so we didn’t get into another fight.

  As I sipped my espresso, grateful that dinner was drawing to a close, I peeked at my phone to confirm Kennedy wasn’t trying to reach me. Just then I noticed a heavy, flame-haired man in a business suit coming towards us. Looking serious at first, his expression softened as he neared the table before it transformed into a broad, infectious smile.

  “I am Vincent, Babbo’s maître d,” he said while leaning over and taking my hand in between his in a hearty handshake. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Detective Ravello. On behalf of the city, I thank you for putting that murderous madman Dietz behind bars.”

  Michelle sat across from me, taking it all in, as Vincent made his speech. She was proud of me, I could tell, but perturbed to have our dinner interrupted by more talk about my work.

  I tried, for both our sakes, to wrap it up quickly. “Why thank you Vincent. I didn’t realize anyone recognized me. It’s nice to be appreciated.”

  “My pleasure, Detective. Please, enjoy the Saffron Panna Cotta and our finest Port, with my compliments.”

  Before either Michelle or I could utter another word, Vincent was gone and Mario appeared with our dessert. Michelle and I smiled awkwardly at each other, clinked our glasses together, and thrust our spoons into our dessert. Just as I was bringing the Panna Cotta to my lips, it happened. My cell phone buzzed and jumped in my pocket.

  It was Kennedy. Durand must be on the move.

  Chapter 76

  Michelle and I tore through the streets, hurtling east on East 4th St
reet, then south on Broadway, and east on East Houston towards the FDR Drive. Kennedy confirmed Durand was heading southbound on the parkway. I weaved through traffic, blowing through red lights and stop signs along the way, just missing two elderly pedestrians, an attractive young jogger in a bright pink jump suit, and the tiny Pekinese that ran alongside her. There had been no time to consider what to do with Michelle. She rode shotgun for now and would take my car home as soon as Kennedy and I met up. We merged onto the FDR heading northbound.

  “Chris, psycho’s taking the 34th street exit towards The Fertility Institute,” Kennedy reported. “At this late hour he’s got to be up to no good. Now’s our chance to nail him red-handed.”

  “I’m right there, Kev. I’ll hop off just ahead, at the East River Midtown Ferry Terminal, and meet you at—”

  “—Shit. I think he may have seen me!”

  “Just keep an eye on him, Kev. I’m right behind you. Whatever you do…don’t lose him,” I said as I pulled into the ferry terminal, between 35th and 36th streets and parked the car near the water’s edge

  “Michelle, you’ll be safe here. You know where you are?” I said as my heart pounded in my throat. “You can hop right onto the FDR going north just ahead. It’s easy from there.”

  “Yeah, I guess, but I’m still a bit tipsy from all the wine…I may sit here a while and sober up before I try and drive home,” she said, trying to mask the fear in her voice. There was no time now to comfort her. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll figure something out,” my birthday girl said as I stole a last kiss and bolted into the night.

  I got on my walkie-talkie, calling out to Kennedy, “Where is he, Kev?”

  “He just went into the clinic entrance at 34th and 2nd.”

  “DON’T GO IN! I’m two minutes behind you on foot,” I spit out as my heart beat wildly in my chest. “I’ll be right there!”