"Please," Steiger said, holding out a hand, "indulge me a moment longer?"
Keough hesitated, then settled back into his seat.
"You accomplished what an entire task force could not," the commissioner said. "I'd like to know how."
"I approached the problem differently."
"How differently?"
"From an intelligent standpoint, rather than a political one."
Steiger frowned. "I don't understand."
"Lieutenant Slovecky, the CO of the task force, was more concerned with becoming a deputy inspector than he was with catching the killers."
"Killers? Oh, yes, the chief mentioned something about a theory of yours that there were two killers."
"Mentioned it?" Keough looked at O'Donnell. The look on the newspaperman's face told Keough that they were thinking the same thing. "Commissioner, the chief did explain our bargain fully, didn't he?"
"Oh, yes, of course he did. You want the task force to continue to search for the, uh, second killer."
"That's right."
"And that's what they'll do."
"Under a new commander."
"Well, yes, that was part of the bargain, wasn't it?"
"Yes, it was."
"Then it will be done."
"When will the new CO take over?"
"I will consult with the chief. We hope to have someone in place as soon as possible. For now, we've assigned someone temporarily to oversee the interrogation of the man you brought it."
"The Lover," O'Donnell said, "we brought in the Lover."
"With all due respect, Mr. O'Donnell," Steiger said, "we'll be more sure of that after the interrogation."
"Sir, may I ask who is conducting the interrogation?" Keough asked.
"Of course. I've assigned Deputy Inspector Harold Orlick."
"Inspector Orlick?"
"Do you know him?"
"I know of him," Keough said. He'd never met the man, but he'd heard good things about him. He was a young man, a Slovecky with a better education and a better understanding of how the game works, who had not gotten stuck on his way up.
"He'll be taking charge immediately."
"How nice for him," Keough said. He figured Orlick would also get the assignment to the task force.
"Mr. O'Donnell," the commissioner said, "we're a little concerned with how this is going to look in the newspapers."
"How so, Commissioner?"
"Well," Steiger said with a phony laugh, "it is a potentially embarrassing situation, and we were hoping that you could work with someone from our Publicity…"
"I write my own story, Commissioner," O'Donnell said, without giving the man a chance to finish.
"Well, yes, of course…"
"You can't control the press."
"I know…"
"And even if you could, you wouldn't be able to control me."
Steiger matched stares with O'Donnell for a moment and then said, "Perhaps not."
"Commissioner," Keough said, standing, "I really don't see that this is getting us anywhere."
"Detective Keough," Steiger said, with more steel in his voice than he had used over the past few minutes, "it's my understanding that you tend to, uh, let's say not fully cooperate with your superiors."
"Commissioner," Keough said, "if I had gotten more cooperation from my superiors, Detective Len Swann might not be dead."
"Swann? How does he come into this?"
"I thought you said you were fully briefed by the chief?."
"Well, it was a rather… hurried briefing, having to do with the serial killer."
"Well, I suggest you have the chief come up and give you an indepth briefing. Also, I'd like to know where I am currently assigned. Am I still with the task force, am I back at the Six-Seven, or am I on suspension?"
Steiger stood up and looked at Keough.
"I think until all of this has been figured out, Detective, you should consider yourself on leave."
"With pay?"
Steiger gave him a brief smile, one that never touched any part of his face but his mouth.
"Of course."
***
"Son of a bitch!" Keough said in the elevator on the way down. "They're going to shit-can it."
"How can they?" O'Donnell said. "I'm going to write this up, Joe. Everything will come out. There's no way they can claim that Dunston is not the Lover-not once my piece comes out in tomorrow's paper."
"I've got a bad feeling, Mike," Keough said, "a real bad feeling about this."
***
As soon as Keough and O'Donnell left the commissioner's office, another door opened and Chief LaGrange stepped in.
"I think you're right, Robert," Steiger said. "He's not going to cooperate."
"What do you want to do, sir?"
"Even if this Dunston does turn out to be the serial killer-and I hope to God he is, so we can at least close the door on that mess-I think I want Detective Keough put on permanent leave."
"What about Slovecky?"
"I want him buried," the PC said. "Reassign him and don't let him talk to any reporters."
"Yes, sir. What about O'Donnell?"
"I'll be making a phone call that will take care of Mr. O'Donnell."
LaGrange approached the PC's desk.
"What if there's another murder, Ray?" he asked. "What if Keough turns out to be right?"
"If there's another murder, we'll make a statement that it's the work of a copycat killer. As far as we are concerned, all of the murders were committed by the same man. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"But there won't be any more murders," Steiger said unconvincingly. "We've got the son of a bitch. Where is he?"
"Inspector Orlick is interrogating him right now, sir."
"I want to know his findings immediately, understand? No delays on this, Robert."
"I understand, sir."
"This has the potential to be a big mess, Bob," Steiger said. "God forbid there were two killers and our task force whip was hiding it. This could blow up in our faces."
"Well, the mayor should be happy, anyway."
"He's called me already," Steiger said. "Wanted to know if we really had the bastard. That's why I need Orlick's findings as soon as possible."
"You'll have them."
LaGrange headed for the door, but Steiger stopped him.
"Bob?"
"Yes, sir."
"Don't fuck up from here on out."
LaGrange turned and looked at the PC over his shoulder.
"I won't, sir."
"We're too old to be looking for new jobs," Steiger said. "We've got to stay in control of this."
LaGrange turned to face Steiger.
"May I make a suggestion then, sir?"
"Go ahead."
"Putting Keough on leave doesn't accomplish much. If he talks, people will still listen."
"What do you suggest?"
"If we terminate him, then if he talks, people will just look at it as sour grapes."
"How the fuck do we terminate the man who caught the Lover?"
"The Department is a team, sir. Keough is not a team player. No matter what he did, in our eyes he did it the wrong way."
Steiger thought it over for a few moments, then looked at LaGrange and said, "All right, goddamn it. Do it!"
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
For the most part, it took a week for things to get sorted out.
The one thing that happened right away was that Mike O'Donnell lost his job at the Post.
The night of the surrender, he called Keough at home.
***
"I'm canned, Joe."
"What?" For a moment, Keough thought O'Donnell was telling him that he was drunk.
"I got fired."
"Fired? Why?"
"I think somebody made a phone call," O'Donnell said. "My editor said they don't like writers who make grandstand plays. I'm not gonna get a chance to write this up for tomorrow."
"What abou
t some of the other papers?"
"Whoever made the call has a long dialing finger," O'Donnell said. "Nobody would talk to me."
"Jesus, Mike, I'm sorry."
"That's okay," O'Donnell said, "I don't think they'll be able to get to my publisher, so I'll still get to write the book. People will just have to wait a little longer for the truth. You better watch your ass. If they dropped the ax on me, they can sure do it to you."
And they did.
***
Keough got a call several days later that he was being pensioned off. The call came from Robert LaGrange.
"There wasn't anything I could do, Keough," he said. "The PC was hot about the way you went about this."
Keough had tried for several days to get either the commissioner or the chief on the phone. Failing that, he had called the task force number, but it had been disconnected. That was when he was sure this call was going to come sooner or later.
"How do you explain to the press that the man who caught the Lover gets fired a few days later?" Keough asked.
"We don't have to justify our hiring and firing practices to anyone, Keough, but if they ask, we'll give them an answer, don't you worry."
"Well, I guess I'll be giving them an answer, too, won't I?"
"You won't be giving it to your friend O'Donnell, will you?" LaGrange asked nastily.
"This isn't over, Chief. You can't just push me out and shut me up."
"Your termination will be announced tomorrow. Whatever you say after that will be seen as sour grapes. You tried playing with the big boys, Keough, and you lost."
"You know what, Chief? This was all about stopping the killing, which I've done, even if it's just for a little while."
"That second-killer theory again? Forget that, Keough. Get on with your life."
"When the second killer hits, Chief," Keough said, "do me a favor… don't call me."
He broke the connection.
***
A full week later, Mike O'Donnell was over at Keough's for dinner. Nancy was cooking in the kitchen, and Cindy was doing her homework at the kitchen table. Keough and O'Donnell were sitting in the living room drinking John Courages. Earlier in the day, O'Donnell had called Keough's place and was surprised when Nancy Valentine answered. She said she was preparing dinner and that Keough was out flying a kite. O'Donnell knew of his friend's penchant for kites, and he asked Nancy where he could find him. She gave him directions to that area of the Belt Parkway where Keough would be.
Keough was surprised when O'Donnell appeared, and he promptly invited him to come home with him for dinner.
"So my publisher thinks this could be my biggest book," O'Donnell said.
"What do you think, Mike?"
"Well, considering the one bestseller I had just squeaked onto the list, it wouldn't take much, but yeah, I think so, too. Hell, just the extra publicity with me getting fired should help. Even without that, though, this is a good case. It ain't the Son of Sam, but it's a good one. And then I got you."
"Yeah, that'll help you a whole lot."
"It will. With all of your insights into the case, this book is a 'can't miss.' "
"Well, I hope so."
"And don't worry, I'm gonna take care of you, Joe. I ain't gonna forget that you came to me with this."
"I trust you, Mike."
There was a moment of silence, during which Keough could hear Cindy reciting something for her homework.
"Rosa gallica officinalis, Rosa gallica versicolor…"
"So my friends on the police beat tell me Dunston's the real McCoy."
"Is that a fact?"
"Yep, they're charging him with all of the murders, even the Brooklyn ones."
Keough blew air out of his mouth in disgust and shook his head.
"Been talkin' to anybody?" O'Donnell asked.
"Not about that. Talked to Clapton about Swann's murder. He said he's getting nowhere."
"Did you tell him about Slovecky?"
"Yes," Keough said sourly.
"What happened?"
"LaGrange was right. Clapton wanted to know if I was sure I wasn't just trying to get back at Slovecky because my 'downslide,' as he called it, started with him."
"Sour grapes."
"Just like the chief predicted."
"Been approached for any interviews?"
"A TV station wanted me to go on. I said no."
"Why?"
"What's the point, Mike?"
Silence again, and still he could hear Cindy.
"… Lincoln, Olympiad, Precious Platinum…"
"Looks like your Brooklyn killer went to ground."
"It's only been a week." Keough took a long swig from his bottle, finishing it. "He'll surface again."
"You don't think reading about his hero being caught will stop him?"
"No," Keough said, getting up from the sofa and walking toward the kitchen. "I think if anything, it will fuel him on. Now he'll want to prove that he's even better. Want another beer?"
"Sure."
As Keough entered the kitchen, Cindy looked up and smiled at him.
"What's that you're reciting, honey?"
"We're studying roses in school," she said. "I have to memorize some of the varieties. Did you know there was a rose called Mr. Lincoln?"
Keough looked at Nancy and they exchanged a smile.
"Really?"
"Yes, it's a very red rose. Also Olympiad."
Keough opened the refrigerator to get two more beers.
"Why are you studying roses?"
"It was the teacher's idea."
"What you study usually is, isn't it?"
"To tell you the truth," Nancy said, "I think the teacher was influenced by what was happening in the papers, you know, with roses."
"That's a little morbid, don't you think?" Keough asked.
"I thought so," Nancy agreed. "Cindy, recite the gallica roses again."
"Gallica?"
"French roses," Nancy translated for him.
"Oh."
As he headed back for the living room, Cindy began to recite.
"Rosa gallica officinalis, Rosa gallica versicolor…"
"What's another name for them?" Nancy asked.
"Here," Keough said, handing O'Donnell another John Courage while continuing to listen to Cindy with one ear.
"Apothecary's Rose," Cindy said, "Rosa mundi…"
"Whoa!" Keough said, straightening up.
"What is it?" O'Donnell asked, but Keough was heading back to the kitchen.
"What was that last one?" Keough demanded, startling both Nancy and Cindy.
"Which one?" Cindy asked, wide-eyed.
"Joe?" Nancy asked.
Keough reined himself in and knelt next to Cindy.
"I'm sorry, honey, I didn't mean to scare you, but that last rose you mentioned. What was it?"
"The Rosa gallica versicolor…"
O'Donnell came into the room and exchanged glances with Nancy, who shrugged.
"The other name, honey."
"Rosa mundi?"
"That's it." He stood up, then flopped into one of the other kitchen chairs and looked up at Nancy and O'Donnell.
"What is it, Joe?" Nancy asked.
"A rose," he said in triumph, "it's a rose."
"What is?" O'Donnell asked.
He ignored the question.
"Cindy, is there a picture of that rose in your book?"
"Sure, Joey."
She found it and showed it to him.
"That's it," he said again. "I thought it was a person, but it's a rose. And now I remember that the desk officer mentioned a garden."
"Joe," O'Donnell said, "you're losing us."
"It was weeks ago, when I was sending the memo out to the chief of detectives. I went downstairs to drop it into the precinct mail basket and there was a woman at the front desk. She wanted the police to stake out her garden."
"Her garden? Why?"
"She was complaining that something wa
s happening to her 'Rosa Mundi.' I wasn't really giving it all my attention because I was talking to Sal Adamano, but I thought she was talking about a person."
"So?" O'Donnell said.
Keough grabbed Cindy's book and turned it around so Nancy and O'Donnell could see.
"See that rose? It's called Rosa mundi. It's supposed to be white, but it's got red stripes. Sometimes the stripes are so wide, the rose is more red than white. See it?"
"I see it," Nancy said.
"I repeat," O'Donnell said, "so?"
"This is the rose I found in-on Mindy Carradine, the first Brooklyn victim. This," he said, tapping the picture with a stiff forefinger, "is the whole reason I started thinking about a second killer."
"Keep walkin' me through this, Joe…"
"Don't you see, Mike?" Keough said. "The Lover, according to what I read in the newspapers these days, bought the roses that he used, and he always used the same red rose. The Brooklyn killer didn't buy his roses; he picked them. That's why they still had thorns on them."
"Oh boy," O'Donnell said.
"He picked them from this woman's garden, and that's what she was complaining about."
"Who was the woman, Joe?" O'Donnell asked. "What was her name?"
"I don't know," Keough said. "Like I said, I wasn't really listening."
"Then who was the desk officer?"
"I was talking to Sal," Keough said, closing his eyes and trying to remember, "and the cop on the desk was…" He opened his eyes. "Phil Greco."
"Okay," O'Donnell said, "now you got to hope that Greco remembers who the woman was."
"I've got to talk to him," Keough said, standing up.
"Joe," Nancy said, "dinner's almost ready, and it's getting late."
"When is he working?" O'Donnell asked.
"Wait," Keough said, "Nancy's right. It's getting late, and the day tour has gone home. I'll call tomorrow, talk to someone in the roll-call room and find out when he's working. What's another day going to hurt?"
"As a matter of fact," Nancy said, facing the stove, "dinner's ready right now. If we don't eat, it will be ruined."
"All right, Nancy," Keough said, "all right."
"So we eat," O'Donnell said. "Like you said, what's another day?"
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