New York Night

by Stephen Leather

  ‘We weren’t messing. We had a brief conversation with Mrs Walker.’

  ‘You’re not authorised to do that.’ Horowitz cursed. ‘I was doing you a favour and you go an piss all over me.’

  ‘We weren’t there long. And we said we were looking for background on Kate, that’s all. We didn’t claim to be anything we’re not.’

  Horowitz jerked a thumb at Nightingale. ‘How does he know about the computer?’

  ‘We asked Mrs Walker if we could take a look at the hard-drive.’

  Horowitz’s eyes widened. ‘Please tell me she said no.’

  ‘She was okay with it, Andy.’

  ‘You removed evidence?’

  ‘The house isn’t a crime scene and you guys had already been. And it’s a fair point, why didn’t you check the computer?’

  ‘Because Kate was the victim and we’d already checked her phone.’ He gritted his teeth and shook his head. ‘I can’t believe you did that.’

  ‘It was no biggie, Andy. And Mrs Walker was happy enough.’

  Horowitz shook his head again. ‘Well at least tell me if you found anything?’

  ‘No emails out of the ordinary. School stuff mainly.’

  ‘No contact with a Matthew Donaldson?’

  ‘Not that I remember.’ She looked over at Nightingale.

  ‘I’m pretty sure not,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘Where’s the computer now?’ asked Horowitz.

  ‘My office,’ said Perez.

  ‘Well get it back to the Walker house today,’ said Horowitz. ‘Look, this seems to be open and shut. We have all the forensics we need to convict Matthew Donaldson of all three murders. We’re looking for him now and I doubt a seventeen-year old High School student is going to be evading New York’s finest for long.’

  ‘Don’t suppose he went to Kate’s school, did he?’

  Horowitz’s jaw tightened for a second, then he forced himself to relax. ‘You really need to stop second-guessing me, Nightingale. It’s as annoying as hell.’

  This time Nightingale raised both hands in apology. ‘Andy, again, I’m sorry. No offence intended.’ He lowered his hands. ‘It’s just that the whole thing is weird and I’m sure you know that. There are serial killers, we know that. Plenty of predators around who get a kick out of killing. And there are plenty of family members who kill family members. Happens all the time. But what we have here is a killer who does both. He killed Kate at random and then he kills his parents. That’s unusual. Very unusual.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said the detective. ‘But maybe one led to the other. The boy snaps and kills Kate, for whatever reason. That’s the trigger that starts him killing and a few days later he snaps again, this time with his parents.’ He shrugged. ‘Let’s be honest, most killers have mental health issues to start with. And to be equally honest I don’t care, all I want to do is arrest him, the shrinks can work out what makes him tick once we’ve got him behind bars.’ He finished his coffee and stood up. ‘Anyway, looks to me as if your case is solved so hopefully your client will be satisfied. With any luck we’ll have Donaldson in custody today so I’ll have three solved murders and a cast-iron case, so all’s well that ends well.’

  Perez stood up and hugged him. ‘Thanks, Andy. I owe you.’

  ‘Yes you do,’ said Horowitz. ‘Big time.’ He nodded at Nightingale and walked away, his long coat flapping around his ankles.

  Perez sat down and took the half of the Panini that Nightingale hadn’t touched. ‘You didn’t tell him about the Dark Web or the Ouija board,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘He was upset enough without me going into that,’ said Perez. She bit into the sandwich and spoke with her mouth full. ‘Besides, if Matthew Donaldson is the killer it makes the occult stuff irrelevant, doesn’t it?’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Donaldson’s on a spree. He killed Kate and then he killed his parents. Who knows who else he’s killed.’

  ‘So you think, what? He chose her at random? How likely is that, Cheryl? She met him in the apartment her father was showing. She had to have known him.’

  ‘We still don’t know that. Maybe he broke in and she disturbed him. He kills her and later he kills her parents. Like Andy said.’

  ‘We know he didn’t break in.’

  ‘Then maybe he just picked her at random and knocked on her door.’

  ‘The one time she just happened to be in the apartment? She had to make an effort to be there, she had to take her father’s key, travel all the way from Queens. And all that happens at the exact time that a random serial killer is looking for a victim? Unlikely.’

  ‘Coincidences happen all the time, Jack. Wrong time, wrong place.’ She took another bite of the Panini and washed it down with coffee.’

  ‘There’s something else going on. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘You’re like a dog with a bone. Let it go.’

  ‘I can’t.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘We need to go to Philadelphia.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘But first we need to find out what set Matthew Donaldson off.’

  ‘And how do we do that?’

  Nightingale grinned. ‘Good old fashioned detective work.’

  CHAPTER 19

  The Donaldsons lived in an apartment block in a quiet street about three blocks from Central Park. Perez managed to park her car close to the entrance to the building which had a white and brown striped awning that reached across the sidewalk to the road so that residents didn’t have to get wet when it was raining. There were no police cars or emergency vehicles in the road so clearly all the excitement was over. ‘How do you want to play this?’ asked Nightingale as they climbed out of the car.

  ‘If there’s a doorman we do it the traditional way and pay him,’ said Perez. ‘The doormen know everything there is to know about the residents.’

  The doorman was a portly man in his fifties who had a ramrod straight back that suggested he’d spent time in the military. He was wearing a black coat with chrome buttons and black leather gloves. Perez introduced herself as a private eye but didn’t mention Nightingale.

  ‘You were in the Job?’ asked the doorman.

  Perez nodded. ‘Almost ten years.’

  ‘Ever come across a Sergeant Lombardi?’

  ‘I know a Rocco Lombardi. Rocky, worked out of the 33rd Precinct.’

  ‘Still does. My cousin. Black sheep of the family but ended up a cop, life’s funny like that.’

  Perez held out a hand and the doorman pocketed a couple of bills without even looking at them, ‘You working the Donaldson case?’ he asked.

  ‘Just trying to get some background,’ she said.

  ‘Can we do it outside?’ asked the doorman. ‘I could do with a smoke.

  They went and stood under the awning by the street. Nightingale took out his Marlboro, gave one to the doorman and lit it and one for himself. ‘It all happened last night,’ said the doorman. ‘We work two shifts, six till two, two till ten. There’s no doorman at night. Seems that the son came home in the early hours and there was a ruckus in the apartment. Shouts and screams and a lot of banging. That’s unusual for the Donaldsons, they’re a quiet family.’ He grimaced and corrected himself. ‘Were a quiet family, I should say. Mrs Peters who lives on the same floor called the cops and when they came everything had quietened down but no one would answer the door. They broke in and found Mr and Mrs Donaldson dead.’

  ‘Have you been inside?’

  The doorman shook his head. ‘They had that tape up and said no one was to go inside. They had the full crime scene team in and later they took away two bodybags.’

  ‘You’ve got CCTV?’ asked Perez.

  The doorman nodded. ‘The detectives took the disc with them. It shows Matt coming back at just before two o’clock and leaving fifteen minutes later. No one else came or went at the same time so there doesn’t seem to be any doubt.’

  ‘What sort of boy was he?’ asked Perez.

  ‘If you’d asked me last
month I would have said he was a great kid. Quiet, unassuming, wouldn’t say boo to a goose.’ He scratched his nose. ‘That’s always what they say about the kids who shoot their classmates, isn’t it? Quiet kids who keep to themselves. But that’s exactly what he was. Until about two weeks ago. Then he started coming in late, missing school, behaving like an arsehole.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘He always used to have a smile for me. I keep a pack of gum behind the desk and I’d always give him a piece. But then he started cutting me dead, didn’t even look at me. He used to be a real polite kid and would hold the door open for anybody but I saw him practically push Mrs Gonzales out of the way when she was laden down with parcels. Just pushed right by her without a word. I heard him cursing, too, and he never used to do that.’

  ‘How old is he?’

  ‘Seventeen, going on eighteen. But it wasn’t a teenage thing. It was something else. He’d changed. He looked scruffier, he’d stopped combing his hair and to be honest he smelt bad, as if he wasn’t showering. I think he was cutting school. He’d leave with his school bag but he started coming back at different times.’

  ‘Must have been upsetting for his parents?’ said Perez.

  The doorman blew smoke and nodded. ‘Saw Mrs Donaldson leaving in tears a few times. And Mr Donaldson would come back from work looking pretty angry. He’d say hello to me but I could see he had something on his mind. I know they took him to a therapist at least once. They both went with him and he was shouting at them as they went to the car.’

  ‘Why do you think they were taking him to a therapist?’

  ‘Because he screamed at them that he didn’t need to see a stinking therapist,’ said the doorman. He took a long pull on his cigarette and then blew smoke at the road. ‘Father Mulligan was here once. He went upstairs and was there for an hour or so.’

  ‘Father Mulligan?’

  ‘The priest at Holy Trinity on West 82nd , near Amsterdam.’

  ‘Any idea why he was here?’ asked Nightingale.

  The doorman frowned. ‘You Irish?’

  ‘English. I’m guessing it wasn’t a social call?’

  ‘He didn’t say why he was here, just that he needed to go up to their condo.’

  ‘They were Catholics?’ asked Perez.

  ‘They went to church, but I wouldn’t say they were regular churchgoers.’ He took a final drag on his cigarette and flicked the butt away. ‘Not sure there’s much more I can tell you.’

  Perez handed him a business card. ‘Just on the off chance Matthew comes back, let me know yeah.’

  ‘The cops asked me to do the same.’

  ‘Yeah, well the cops won’t give you a hundred bucks. I will.’

  CHAPTER 20

  There were grey stone steps leading up to the entrance of the Holy Trinity Church. The church had been built in Byzantium style, the exterior constructed from layers of cream and brown brick giving it the look of a layer cake, with two tiled domes either side of a massive stone cross at the top. There were three large squarish wooden doors set in archways, flanked by narrower doors. In between the doors were large lamps that looked as if they would be more at home outside a mosque. The middle door was open and Perez and Nightingale went inside. Nightingale was immediately hit by the size of the place, as the front of the building was deceptively small. There was a row of massive stained glass windows around the altar at the far end of the church down a long aisle flanked by heavy wooden pews.

  There was a stone font to the right of the door containing Holy Water. Perez dipped her fingers in it, knelt and crossed herself. She looked over at Nightingale as she stood up.

  He shrugged. ‘I’m not a Catholic.’

  ‘What are you?’

  He shrugged again. ‘A pragmatist.’

  There was a priest busying himself at the altar at the far end of the church. He was wearing a simple black cassock. He turned to look at them as he heard them approach. He was in his thirties with receding hair and circular spectacles perched on the end of a hooked nose that reminded Nightingale of a hawk on the look out for prey. ‘Are you Father Mulligan?’ asked Perez.

  ‘I am indeed,’ said the priest. ‘How can I be of help, officers?’

  ‘We’re not police, father,’ said Perez. ‘We’re private investigators.’

  ‘You look like detectives.’

  ‘Well, we are, it’s just that the city doesn’t pay our wages,’ said Perez. ‘We’d like to talk to you about the Donaldsons.’

  The priest nodded and crossed himself. ‘A terrible business,’ he said. ‘Terrible.’

  ‘So you’ve heard what happened?’ asked Perez.

  ‘The whole neighbourhood is in shock,’ said the priest.

  ‘They were parishioners?’

  ‘I would say they were occasional worshippers,’ said the priest. ‘I wouldn’t see them every week. Or indeed every month.’

  ‘You went to their home recently?’ said Perez.

  The priest frowned at the question. ‘Yes,,,’ he said, hesitantly.

  ‘About Matthew, correct?’

  The priest scrunched up his face as if he was in pain. ‘Anything we discussed would be covered by priest-penitent privilege, of course.’

  ‘Only if you heard their confessions, and for that they would have come to the church.’

  ‘My view would be that any conversation where I am carrying out the function of a priest would be confidential.’

  ‘Well, if you visited their home as a friend or an adviser and not as a spiritual adviser, priest-penitent privilege wouldn’t apply,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘Are you a lawyer as well as a private investigator?” asked the priest.

  Nightingale smiled. ‘I’ve come across issues with the confessional before,’ he said. ‘But this is a bit different as Mr and Mrs Donaldson are now dead so privilege isn’t an issue.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said the priest.

  ‘And you know that the police think that it was Matthew who killed them?’ asked Nightingale.

  The priest nodded. ‘He was a troubled boy when I saw him.’

  ‘Mr and Mrs Donaldson wanted to talk to you about Matthew, is that right?’ asked Perez. ‘You can tell us that much, surely.’

  ‘Last week, yes.’

  ‘Do you think you could tell us why? As Jack says, the parents are now dead so telling us doesn’t cause them any problems.’

  The priest sighed and nodded. ‘You’re right, of course,’ he said. ‘The fact that the Donaldsons are dead changes everything.’ He shrugged. ‘But I’m not sure that what I have to say will be of any help to you, or to anybody. Mrs Donaldson thought that her son might have been possessed. A ridiculous notion, of course. And I told her so, in as many words. Too many movies about possession, Hollywood has a lot to answer for.’

  ‘Possession?’ repeated Perez. ‘By what?’

  ‘Exactly,’ said the priest. ‘That’s the question I asked her. In the Middle Ages, mental illness was blamed on possession by demons because they didn’t understand clinical depression and bipolar disorders. Everything got blamed on the devil and they looked to the local parish priest for a cure. I told her, I said, she needed to see a therapist or a doctor.’

  ‘Did you talk to Matthew?’ asked Perez.

  The priest nodded. ‘Yes, and he seemed fine to me. A bit rebellious but then what seventeen year old boy isn’t?’

  ‘What did Mrs Donaldson want from you, Father?’

  The priest sighed. ‘She wanted me to make her son better,’ he said. ‘But what she asked me for was an exorcism. She thought that he had become possessed and that I would cast the demon out for her. Those were her exact words. Cast the demon out.’ He shook his head. ‘She was at the end of her tether. Obviously.’

  ‘And did you do it?’ asked Nightingale.

  ‘Of course I didn’t do it. The boy almost certainly had psychological issues, an exorcism wouldn’t help that. It might even make things worse. We’re not talking ba
ptism here. She wanted a full exorcism.’

  ‘But you could do that, surely?’ said Nightingale.

  ‘Most definitely not,’ said the priest. ‘Not all priests are allowed to carry out exorcisms. First of all the church has to be sure that it’s a genuine case of possession and trust me, they are few and far between. Plus there’s a child involved. The church has to be very careful with children. As you can imagine. I couldn’t make a decision to carry out an exorcism, that authority would have to come from the bishop. And I wasn’t going to approach the bishop without being absolutely sure that Matthew was genuinely possessed.’

  ‘What are the signs of possession?’ asked Perez.

  ‘Many and varied,’ said the priest. ‘Lack of appetite, scratches on the skin, unnatural body postures, a change in a person’s voice. But all those things could be medical conditions. Supernatural strength, speaking in another language, being able to foretell the future, being able to move things by force of will, yes they could well be symptoms of possession but outside horror films who sees that?’

  ‘Did Matthew show any of those symptoms?’

  The priest shook his head. ‘He just seemed like an unhappy kid. He spoke to me quite civilly though he clearly wasn’t happy that I was there.’

  ‘Did you try him with Holy Water?’ asked Nightingale.

  ‘Did I what?’

  ‘Did you see how he reacted to Holy Water?’

  The priest shook his head in amazement. ‘He’s a troubled boy. Not a vampire.’

  ‘We’re not talking about vampires, Father Mulligan. We’re talking about a boy who might be possessed and Holy Water might have confirmed that.’

  ‘I didn’t for one moment think that Matthew Donaldson was possessed,’ said the priest.

  ‘So how do you explain the fact that he killed his parents?’

  ‘You think the devil made him do it?’

  ‘You believe in the devil, don’t you, Father?’

  ‘I believe the devil is always with us and that we must always be on our guard. But that doesn’t mean I can go around performing exorcisms on a whim. Matthew Donaldson is clearly a very disturbed individual and once he’s caught he can hopefully be treated. But that treatment almost certainly needs to be in a hospital in the care of professionals.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I have to prepare for Mass,’ he said.