CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Tonight was the night.
Kopykat had the girl all picked out. All he had to do was follow her. This would be the first one he killed since the Lover got caught. Ha! Some idol he was. He actually gave up, surrendered, walked right into the arms of the police and gave himself up. The newspapers and television were giving him credit for all the murders. Well, tonight they'd find out that he wasn't the man they should have been afraid of.
Tonight they would find out who the real killer was.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
The next morning, there was a knock on Keough's door. He and O'Donnell had finished all the John Courage, plus the six pack of Budweiser Ice beer that O'Donnell had brought with him. Even after Nancy and Cindy went home to bed, they had gone out to a 7-Eleven to get some more.
His head was pounding, and so was somebody's fist on the door. He staggered out of bed and almost blindly felt his way to the door. When he swung it open, he looked into Nancy's tearful face.
"Oh, Joe."
"What is it?"
She handed him the morning edition of the Daily News.
"And I was worried about dinner."
Keough looked at the headline: GIRL KILLED, ROSE FOUND ON BODY.
In smaller print it said, "City asks, What's Going On?"
"Jesus," he said, remembering that both he and O'Donnell had said, "What's another day?"
Nancy had her face pressed to his shoulder and he put one arm around her.
"Take it easy," he said. "It's okay, take it easy."
He was trying to soothe her while his own head was reeling.
Could he have avoided this?
***
He had just gotten Nancy calmed down enough to go back to her own apartment when the phone rang.
"Keough."
"Did you see it?" O'Donnell asked.
"I saw it. Nancy was just here, all upset. She thinks it's her fault because she made me stay here and eat dinner last night rather than go out to find Phil Greco."
"You couldn't have stopped it last night, you know. It's not her fault, or your fault. He was already in motion."
"I know."
"What are you going to do now?"
"I'm going to read this story, then get dressed and go looking for Phil Greco."
"It happened in the Seven-Oh. Isn't that the precinct that borders the Six-Seven?"
"Yeah."
"He's working that same area. The Six-Seven, the Six-Three…"
"I know, Mike."
"Don't you think you should talk to the detective who caught last night's case?"
"Why? Is he going to listen to me?"
"So what are you going to do, Joe? Bring this one in on your own?"
"I don't know, Mike," Keough said. "I just know that I can't stand by and do nothing. I've got to stop him before he strikes again."
"Think they'll call you?"
"Fuck 'em if they do. I'll talk to you later."
He hung up and sat down to read the story. It actually led off with a quote from Chief of Detectives LaGrange, who said, "There is absolutely no connection between this murder and the murders of the now-incarcerated Lover serial killer. We are convinced that this is the work of a copycat killer."
Asshole.
He read on. The girl was found in a Dumpster behind a bowling alley, lying on top of the garbage. There was a rose on the body, the story said, but Keough knew without being told that it was a rose inserted in the girl's vagina, with the thorns still attached. He didn't know if it was a Rosa mundi, but he knew it'd be a picked rose-a fresh-picked rose.
Jesus, if it was a fresh-picked rose, maybe the woman would show up at the Six-Seven again to complain. It had been Keough's experience that people like her, who believed that picking a flower was as big a crime as murder, never gave up.
He dropped the paper on the floor, dressed quickly, and left.
***
"Orlick?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where are those reports on this new murder?"
"We're processing them now, sir."
"I want them on my desk within the hour. Goddamn it, I don't believe this. We did get the right guy, didn't we, Inspector?"
"I'm convinced, from all of my interrogations, that Anthony Dunston is the Lover serial killer, sir." Privately, he thought, We didn't get anybody; Joe Keough got him. "This has got to be somebody else."
"A copycat."
"Yes, sir. Sir?"
"Yes?"
"Perhaps we should call Joe Keough in on this."
"Joe Keough is no longer a member of this department, Inspector."
"I know, sir, but his theory about a second killer seems to be…"
"Did you read the papers, Inspector?"
"I did, sir."
"Did you read my statement?"
"Yes, sir."
"That is the official standing of the department, Inspector. There is no connection between this crime and others. Got it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then hang up the goddamned phone and get me those reports!"
Orlick hung up but kept his hand on the receiver. He wondered why LaGrange had bothered keeping the Lover Task Force together if he hadn't expected another killing.
How long would it take some smart newspaperman to ask the same question?
***
When Keough walked out the front door of his building, he was surprised to find Arthur Dolan standing off to one side, waiting. He was slouched against a big flowerpot, and when he saw Keough, he straightened up.
"Sarge, what are you doing here?"
"We've got to talk, Keough."
"About what?"
Dolan looked nervous.
"About a lot of things."
"Look, Sarge, I don't have time. I'm on my way to the Six-Seven. If you want to ride along…"
"No!" Dolan said. "We have to go someplace… quiet."
Now the man seemed agitated.
"Sarge, look, I'd like to help you, but…"
"Damn it, Keough." Dolan looked around quickly and then pulled his gun and pointed it at Keough.
"What the hell…" Keough said.
"Quiet, just keep quiet. Hold your arms away from your body. Are you carrying? Yeah, you are. You're not supposed to be carrying, Keough. You're off the job."
Dolan was speaking quickly, nervously.
"What's going on, Artie?"
"I knew it," Dolan said, putting Keough's gun in his pocket. "I knew when you got canned, you wouldn't stop looking for Swann's killer."
"You got that right."
"Sure, what do you have to lose now, huh? Your job's already gone. Well, mine ain't. I still got my job, and I'm still on the task force, but I coulda been sent to Staten Island, like Slovecky. I could still get sent there, if you keep poking around."
"Artie… tell me what you're talking about." But Keough thought he knew. There was a cold rock in the pit of his stomach. He'd thought all along that Slovecky had killed Swann. Had he been wrong?
"You know what I'm talkin' about, Keough."
"You did Swann? You?"
"I know, you thought it was Slovecky. The lieutenant is real loud about what he wants, but me, I'm quiet."
Keough remembered now the day he'd gotten suspended how Dolan complained that he was tired of being a sergeant.
"Aw, Sarge…"
"I didn't mean to," Dolan said, "but he wouldn't give up the file, you know? He had a bug up his ass, like you, about making things right."
"That's our job, Dolan."
"Our job sucks, Keough!" Dolan hissed. "Long hours, short pay, mixing with shit that walks…"
"Artie," Keough said, "we all knew that when we got into it."
"I didn't know," Dolan said, looking around. They were closer to the front door than the street. No one would know what was happening unless they took a good look. Of course, it was early; somebody could still come out of the building to go to work… or school…
"Come on," Dolan said, "we've got to go."
"Give yourself up, Artie. Come on…"
"I can't! Damn it, Keough, I'm a cop killer. You know what that means."
"You're also a cop."
"It ain't gonna matter. It ain't," Dolan said, almost in tears.
Keough took a deep breath and said, "Artie, I'm not going with you."
"What?"
"If I let you take me somewhere, you're going to kill me. I'm not going. You're going to have to kill me right here."
Dolan looked around again, fearful that someone would be coming.
"I can't do it here!" he almost whispered.
"Then either give me the gun or get moving."
Dolan stared at him.
"You won't let me go, not now that you know I killed Swann."
"You're right, I won't let you go. I'll come after you, so you're better off giving me the gun and giving up now."
"I can't do that. I can't. I've got to do it this way."
"Then pull the trigger, Artie. Go ahead, pull it now."
If killing Swann was an accident, then Dolan might not be willing to pull the trigger-at least not until he was ready. His plan was to take Keough someplace quiet, and by that time, he might have been ready to do it. By insisting that he do it now, Keough was taking him out of his game plan, and Dolan was starting to look confused.
"Damn it, Keough…"
At that moment, though, the situation changed. The front door of the building opened and both Nancy and Cindy stepped out.
"Joey!" Cindy shouted happily, waving. She came running over to him. Behind her, Nancy was smiling, then frowning as she saw the two men standing close together.
"Cindy, stop there!" Keough snapped.
Dolan immediately read the situation correctly.
"Hi, Cindy," he called out.
"Hello." The girl had stopped running, but she was only about six feet away. "Are you a friend of Joey's?"
"I am. Are you?"
"Oh yes," Cindy said. "Joey and my mom are boyfriend and girlfriend."
"Is that right?" Dolan asked, looking at Keough.
"Joe?" Nancy called. "Is everything all right?"
"Everything is fine, Nancy," he said, keeping his eye on Dolan. The man was holding the gun closer to his body, so neither Nancy nor Cindy could see it. "Why don't you just take Cindy to school."
"Joe and I have to get going, too," Dolan said, "to someplace quiet."
"Dolan…"
"Joe, you don't want one of these young ladies to get hurt, do you?" Dolan said, low enough for Keough to hear.
Keough had a choice. He could agree to go with Dolan to make sure that Nancy and Cindy weren't hurt, but if he went with him, he was sure to be killed.
"Artie, you can't do this…"
"Watch me," Dolan said, and he moved the gun away from him so both Nancy and Cindy could see it.
"Is that a gun?" Cindy asked.
"Cindy!" Nancy called, her eyes wide with fear. "Come here!"
"Artie, don't…" Keough said, holding his hand out to stop Nancy from moving.
"Which one do you love more, Joe, the girl or the woman?"
"I love them both, Artie. Which one are you going to shoot? The girl? A little girl, Artie? I thought you said killing Swann was an accident?"
"It was."
"Killing this little girl won't be an accident, will it? Or her mother?"
"That would be your fault."
"That's bullshit, Artie," Keough said. "You've got the gun; you'd be pulling the trigger."
"It doesn't have to be this way," Dolan said. "All you have to do is come with me."
"No, that's not the case anymore," Keough said. "What happens when I go with you and you kill me? When my body is found, Nancy and Cindy will remember this. They'll go to the police. No, Artie, now you've got to kill me, and them, and you're going to have to do it right here."
Keough kept watching Dolan carefully, waiting for just the right split second.
"Shit!" Dolan snapped. "Shit, shit, shit!" On the last one, he closed his eyes tightly, just for a second, and that's when Keough moved.
He grabbed Dolan's gun hand by the wrist and twisted it away from Nancy and Cindy. Nancy moved in that moment also, rushing forward, wrapping her arms around Cindy and turning so that her body was between the two men and her little girl.
Dolan struggled, but his heart wasn't in it. When Keough hit him in the stomach, the man sat down on the ground hard. Keough twisted the gun from his hand, then leaned over and took his own gun out of Dolan's pocket. That done, he backed away from the man until he was standing near Nancy and Cindy. He wanted to hug them both, but he kept the gun pointed at Dolan in case the man had a sudden burst of energy.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, "are you?"
"I'm fine. Why don't you take Cindy inside and call nine-one-one."
"Aall right." He could see that she was visibly shaken by what had happened, but she was keeping it together.
"Come on, honey."
As they walked back to the front door, Keough heard Cindy ask, "Does this mean I don't have to go to school today?"
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
When Keough walked into the Six-Seven, it marked the first time he'd been there since his transfer. He didn't bother stopping at the front desk, but walked directly to the roll-call room.
A radio car had responded pretty quickly to Nancy's 911 call, and luckily Keough knew one of the cops. He had them take Dolan-who did not resist-to the precinct and told them to have the detectives call Det. Keith Clapton, who was working the Swann case, and also Insp. Orlick at the task force.
"Joe, you got to come, too," the cop said.
"I will," Keough said, "but I've got something I have to do first. It can't wait."
"Joe…" the cop called, but Keough was already moving. He felt an urgency to act on his hunch now.
A pretty, heavyset civilian woman named Peggy sat behind a desk and spotted him as soon as he came in.
"Joe Keough! How are you?"
"I'm okay, Peggy."
"Gee, Joe, I'm really sorry about what happened to you."
"Thanks, Peg. Listen, I really need to talk to Phil Greco. When is he scheduled to work again?"
"I'll check." She looked through her paperwork and said, "Not for two days, Joe. He's on his swing."
That meant he might have been in yesterday-but he couldn't think like that. Even if he had spoken to Greco yesterday, there was no guarantee that he would have remembered the woman's name. Like O'Donnell said, he couldn't have stopped last night's killing.
"Peg, do you have Greco's phone number there?"
"Gee, Joe, I'm not supposed to give out addresses or phone numbers… and since you're not on the job anymore…"
"Never mind."
"Well… maybe I could give it to you…"
"No, never mind. I don't want to get you in trouble. Are either Sal Adamano or…" He searched his brain for another cop he knew who hung out with Greco.
"Adamano's working today," Peggy said while he was still groping around.
"On the desk?"
"Yup."
"Thanks, Peg."
He'd have known that if he had stopped at the desk first, but no harm done. He left the roll-call office and went to the front desk. Sure enough, there was Adamano.
"Keough! Jesus, did they fuck you over or what? After the collar you made?"
The master of understatement, Sal Adamano.
"They fucked me over."
"You gonna fight it, Joe?"
"I don't know, Sal. I haven't decided."
"Talk to the PBA?"
"Not yet."
"Geez, Joe, you oughta…"
"Sal, do you have Phil Greco's address and phone number?"
"Philly? Sure I do. Whataya want Philly for?"
"I've got to ask him something."
Adamano hesitated now. He knew Keough from the squad, and that was it. Phil G
reco, however, was his friend and had been for a long time.
"Uh, Joe, I can't give you Philly's address."
"How about his phone number?"
"Ah, I dunno."
"How about you call him for me and hand me the phone?"
Adamano smiled and said, "That I can do. Just hang on a minute."
Keough waited while Adamano dialed the phone. He recognized that a lot of the guys down here had worked together for a long time and that he was just another in a long line of detectives moved in and out of the squad. He took no offense at Adamano's refusal to give out his friend's address and number.
"Joe?"
He looked up at Adamano.
"Philly's not home. His old lady says he went fishing."
"Would you have any idea where?"
Adamano looked around, then leaned on the desk to get closer to Keough.
"Just between me and you, Joe, if Philly ain't home with his old lady, he ain't fishin'if you know what I mean."
Keough knew.
"You don't have a number where I can reach him, do you, Sal? It's real important."
"If he's with his goomada, I think I can get him, Joe. If he's got somethin' else goin' on the side, it might be hard. Either way, though, he'll be pissed. Is it real important?"
"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't, Sal."
"Okay," Adamano said, "I'll try."
He picked up the phone, dialed another number, spoke briefly, and then handed the phone to Keough.
"What's up, Joe? I'm kinda busy, you know?" Phil Greco said.
"I'm sorry to bother you on your RDO, Phil, but this is important. Some time back, there was a woman here complaining to you about somebody picking her flowers." RDO was a cop's regular day off.
"Wha'?"
"She wanted you to stake out her garden."
"Is that what you called me for?"
"Come on, Phil, this is important."
"Excuse me, Keough, but you ain't even on the job no more. Whataya doin', workin' private?"
"Phil, I just need to know her name."
"I don' know her name, Joe. She's just a crazy broad complains about somebody pickin' her flowers."
Alone with the Dead Page 22
