COPS SPIES & PI'S: The Four Novel Box Set

by David Wind

  “I’m fine.”

  “I heard about the Helenezes. Are you working today?”

  “No,” he said, not wanting to elaborate.

  “Why don’t you come out here and pick me up. We can go somewhere quiet for the night. I’ll have you back tomorrow afternoon, if you want.”

  “I won’t be very good company.”

  “Maybe I can help you.”

  He thought about the soft fragrance that clung to her skin. Then he remembered Mason. “I don’t have to be back until Monday. But I have to do something first. I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”

  <><><>

  When the elevator door opened, Rawling and Collins snapped upright.

  “What brings you here, Lieutenant?” Rawling asked.

  “I want to see him.”

  “The senator is resting. He can’t be disturbed.”

  “Disturb him!”

  “I’m sorry, we have instructions to—”

  “Do it,” Hyte said, “or I’ll do it myself.”

  Rawling glared at him. Before the agent had a chance to speak, J. Milton Prestone walked in.

  “What took you so long, Lieutenant?” Prestone asked. His eyes were shadowed and his face strained.

  “Sir,” Rawling began. Prestone brushed him aside.

  “Come with me, Lieutenant.” Once in the senator’s office, Prestone turned to Hyte. “Are you here for the ‘I told you so’ speech?”

  “I’m here to tell you that all you’ve succeeded in accomplishing was to interfere with my investigation and end the career of a cop who’s spent his life working for the people of this city.”

  “What are you talking about?” Prestone asked.

  “Haven’t you been listening to the news?”

  “Of course I have. And I feel terrible about the Helenezes.”

  “I’m not talking about the Helenezes; I’m talking about Philip Mason. I believe the Helenezes would be alive right now, if they’d let us know where they were. They didn’t because they were afraid. Instead, they tried to hide from the killer. That was their mistake.”

  “What has that to do with Mason?”

  “Commissioner Rutledge has taken the task force from him and recommended he retire.”

  “Because of last night?”

  “You got it.”

  Prestone frowned. “It wasn’t his fault.”

  “No, it wasn’t, it’s politics—scapegoats are crucial. At the highest levels of the Department, it’s all politics. The chief took a chance with you, against my advice. He lost. Now the city is going to lose a good man.”

  “I really am sorry.”

  Hyte gauged the senator’s tone and expression. “Then would you do me a favor?”

  “If I can.”

  “Go back to New Mexico. Get yourself out of New York so that the task force can have one less victim to concentrate on.”

  “You mean so you can have one less.”

  “No, sir. As I said, they are forming a new task force. I work for Phil Mason, not Chief McPheerson.”

  Prestone pursed his lips. “I didn’t come to New York unprepared. I damned well checked out your background myself. You’re fully qualified to handle this investigation—more so perhaps than anyone else. You’ve proven yourself capable several times in the past, and you have an advantage in this instance. You know everyone involved.”

  “Which means nothing to McPheerson, and less to the commissioner. Rutledge needs results; the chief of department wants glory and his own man sitting in the chief of detectives’ office.”

  “What do you want, Lieutenant?”

  Hyte looked at Prestone for a moment before turning away. “I want the son of a bitch who’s doing this.”

  “You aren’t dropping the case, are you?”

  Hyte said nothing.

  “Did you ever watch the tapes of the hijacking?” Prestone asked.

  Hyte’s laugh was bitter. “Didn’t we all? Senator, will you leave the city before next Friday?”

  Prestone nodded. “I will. After I take care of some business.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And I’m very sorry about last night.”

  Hyte paused, his anger waning. “What you tried to do was a brave thing. And I’m sorry it worked out the way it did.”

  “If you had the chance to keep working on this case, would you?”

  “I won’t work under McPheerson. Good-bye, Senator.”

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “Didn’t I?”

  <><><>

  Hyte pulled to a stop in the driveway of Jonah Graham’s home. The house, a two-story, twenty-five-year-old brick and clapboard colonial, had a sprawling first floor that included a two-room office complex that Emma had used to run Graham International during the weeks following Jonah’s stroke. She used it still whenever she visited her father.

  Hyte rang the bell. Less than a minute later Emma was in his arms. “I’ve been so worried about you after hearing the commissioner’s announcement.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Let me get my things and we can go.”

  “How’s your father?”

  “Why don’t you go up and say hello? He’s on the bedroom balcony with Fiona. I’ll wait for you in the office.”

  “Does he know about the killings?”

  “I think he does. He watches television. But he can’t talk, Ray, he can’t communicate.”

  “I’ll be down in a few minutes,” Hyte said and went upstairs to the master bedroom.

  When he’d first visited Jonah, Emma had told him that she’d tried to retain the room’s original atmosphere. She’d kept her parents’ oak furniture. The bed was the same one that Jonah and Anita had shared for the last fifteen years of their marriage. The medical equipment, oxygen tent framework, and vital sign monitors marred the memory Emma had tried to preserve.

  Saddened by the sight as he walked across the room to the white French doors, he stepped onto the balcony.

  Jonah Graham was in a wheelchair. His nurse was off to the side, doing needlework. Graham’s face was a shadow of its former handsomeness. His cheeks were sunken, his skin pale. Yet, when his blue eyes fixed on him, Hyte sensed recognition.

  “Hello, Jonah. Emma says you know about what’s happening. I’m sure you also know the man who’s been here on Friday nights is here to protect you, should this person decide he wants to come after you. Somehow, I don’t think he will. I don’t know why Jonah, it’s just a feeling.

  “Damn it, Jonah,” Hyte added harshly, “who would want to hurt these people?”

  “Sir,” the nurse called.

  “Sorry,” he said without taking his eyes from Jonah.

  “But you’ll be safe, I promise you that.”

  As he spoke, Jonah’s eyes seemed to take on expression.

  Hyte thought he was imagining it, but feeling Jonah’s deep-set blue eyes bore into him, he knew Jonah was trying to say something.

  “What?” he whispered. “What?”

  The right side of Graham’s mouth twisted. Hyte bent closer, but there was no sound. Jonah’s eyes were pleading. Then Hyte understood. It was something he would want himself if he were in the older man’s position. Jonah Graham wanted to be a victim. He wanted an end to his torment.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  A light film of perspiration coated Hyte’s body. Emma lay in the crook of his arm, her left breast pressed to his side.

  They reached Emma’s small chalet in Connecticut at six. The cottage was set on a hilltop overlooking Green Lake. They’d eaten a dinner of fresh mountain trout, sautéed green beans, and a salad. Afterwards, sitting on the deck, they watched the sun set beyond the lake.

  Then they’d made love. Again, he realized how special Emma was. Not once since leaving Westchester did Emma mention the case. She had the rare ability to sense his moods and act upon them.

  Now, with his physical desires satiated and his mind once again seeking answers,
the Friday Night Killer returned to taunt him.

  He kissed Emma’s forehead. “What?” she whispered sleepily.

  “Nothing,” he replied as he left the bed. “Get some sleep.”

  Dressing, he left the bedroom and went outside. It was cool. The sky was clear. He stared at the patterns of the stars.

  “Want to talk it out?” Emma asked. He smiled. He hadn’t heard her come out on the deck.

  “There’s not much to say.”

  She wore a deep red velour robe and leaned against the railing. Moonlight reflected from the translucent skin of her neck. “Yes, there is. You’re not going to let it go are you?”

  “I don’t have any choice.”

  “Everyone has a choice. I think I know you…at least certain aspects. You didn’t leave your father-in-law’s bank because all you wanted in life was to be a cop. You left because your spirit would have died there. There was no challenge, and you thrive on challenge.”

  She came over to him, and he caught her hand and kissed the center of her palm.

  “You remind me of the sea otters off the California coast.”

  “I’m like a sea otter?”

  Emma nodded. “Yes. You have an inherent tenaciousness once you’ve set your mind to a task. You could never have spent five years working undercover, having your life divided into two separate entities if you weren’t.”

  “Which means what?”

  “The sea otter spends every minute of his life finding food. His metabolism is so fast that if he doesn’t eat all the time, he’ll freeze to death. Solving mysteries is your food. That’s why you won’t walk away from this case.”

  “I’ve been ordered off it.”

  She shrugged. “So what? It’s your case, Ray. You know it and I know it. Nothing they can say or do will matter, will it?”

  “You sound as though you want me to stay on it.” He saw a sudden tightening at the corners of her mouth.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because it’s what I’m hearing.”

  “I’m trying to get you to tell me the truth. You can tell everyone else what they want to hear, but you’ll tell me the truth.”

  He drew her close to him. “The truth,” he agreed. “I’m not walking away from this.”

  Emma’s eyes sparkled in the moonlight. “Just be careful.”

  <><><>

  Hyte was in his office by seven on Monday morning. When he looked at his calendar, he realized that his daughter’s birthday was two weeks away. He made a note to pick up a present for Carrie.

  He spent the next half hour putting the case reports into a large cardboard box and sealing it with tape. As he began a second box, his intercom line buzzed.

  “Upstairs, Ray,” Philip Mason commanded.

  Hyte found Mason sitting behind his desk, his chin pedestaled on thick steepled fingers.

  “Sit,” Mason said.

  Hyte settled himself on the leather couch across from the chief. “Where the hell were you yesterday?” Mason asked.

  “That’s none of your business.”

  Mason dropped his hands to the desktop. “It is my business when I’ve spent the last twenty hours trying to reach you.”

  Hyte tensed. Something had occurred that he had not foreseen, “In Connecticut, with Emma. What happened?”

  “At eight o’clock yesterday morning, I received a call from the PC, inviting me to breakfast at Gracie Mansion. Someone put pressure on the mayor. What kind or from whom, I can’t begin to imagine, but whatever the reason, the mayor wanted to know the justification for my being taken off the investigation. It seems the mayor feels I was not lax in the Helenez murders; he now believes we could not have prevented their deaths. He outwardly agreed with the commissioner’s decision to shift the focus of the task force to McPheerson. However, he personally instructed the commissioner that I was not to blame for the failure to prevent the killings. Furthermore, His Honor has decided, because of the ramifications of this case, that he wants a small and independent task force formed. This task force will report directly to him, through me as liaison, and will conduct an independent investigation. You are to head the task force.”

  “He wants me to stay on the case?” Hyte asked, exaltation rising. Then reality set in. “No, it can’t be done. My people and McPheerson’s will be stepping all over each other. “

  “No, you won’t. McPheerson believes terrorists are behind the killings, which means the task forces will be operating in different directions. You’ll be on special assignment to the mayor’s staff. You’ll work out of your office, but you’ll also retain your position under me. You will stay clear of Chief McPheerson.”

  “What did McPheerson have to say about it?”

  “He wasn’t there. It was myself, the PC, the mayor, and his number one boy, Rosenthal. The PC will inform McPheerson that you are on special duty with the mayor’s staff. Do your job, and do it very quietly. With luck you’ll find Samael before McPheerson.”

  “What about my team?” Hyte asked.

  “McPheerson has requested Smith and Roberts to be transferred to his task force. In the interest of cooperation, you’ll have to do without them.”

  “No problem,” Hyte said. “I can manage with Cohen and O’Rourke. Who brought the pressure, Phil?”

  Mason shrugged. “I don’t know. But when I find out, I’m damned well going to thank him.”

  <><><>

  Hyte’s team was waiting in his office. Their faces were solemn, their eyes expressive. “We all know what happened, so let’s not waste time commiserating. Smith, Roberts, I want to thank you both for the work you’ve put into this case.”

  “Does that mean we’re going back to our units?” Roberts asked.

  “No. You’ve both reassigned to McPheerson’s task force and are to report immediately.” He smiled. “I wouldn’t mind being kept abreast of any developments, as long as it doesn’t get you in trouble.”

  “I’ve been in trouble all my life,” Smith said. “What the hell’s a little more?”

  When the two detectives were gone, Hyte sat on the edge of his desk. Sy Cohen was staring intently at him, his face expressionless. Sally O’Rourke was angry.

  “I guess that means I go back to the desk,” she said.

  “If you want to. Or, we can let Schwartz stay where he is.”

  He watched O’Rourke’s puzzled expression deepen. “I don’t understand.”

  “You, Sy, and I are still on the case. Covertly,” he cautioned. “No one is to know.”

  “How... I mean who...?”

  He ignored her question. “There are four of us, including Schwartz. Sy, you spell it out for him, okay?”

  “He’ll keep it quiet.”

  “I want you to follow any leads you have. I also want to do the weapons check again. Maybe something new has come up.” He grinned. “Check in with me every two hours. If I’m out, leave your number with Schwartz. There’s one other thing. The poison used on the bolts came from Asia. Let’s see if any of our suspects have been there.”

  “Any ideas about how Samael knew where the Helenezes were?” Cohen asked.

  “None. It’s almost as if he has a pipeline to each victim. And to us as well.”

  When Hyte was alone again, he called Jerome Rosenthal at City Hall. “Who put in the word, Jerry?”

  “Who said it had to be anyone? Perhaps the mayor knows how good Mason is.”

  “The mayor doesn’t interfere in departmental politics without a good reason.”

  “Ray, let’s just say the pressure was substantial. How’s Emma?”

  “Fine,” he said in a calmer voice.

  “She’s a good lady. You’re a lucky man.”

  “I know. Jerry, don’t try to sidetrack me.”

  “You know who it was. You set it up yourself, if I read the situation right. Good-bye, Ray, have a good day.” He hung up.

  Hyte stared at the phone for several seconds. The other line began blinking. A moment lat
er, his intercom buzzed.

  “Senator Prestone,” Schwartz announced.

  Hyte lifted the receiver. “Senator?”

  “I just wanted you to know that I’m leaving tonight. I have one more meeting this afternoon and I’ll be out of your hair.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “I’m sure you do. Lieutenant, I’m fully aware of what I caused. I hope the situation has been rectified by now.”

  “Then it was you.”

  “You made me feel like an incompetent old fool, putting my nose where it doesn’t belong. Not many people are capable of that. I spoke with the mayor. But you’d damned well better catch that murdering bastard.”

  “I’ll do my best, Senator. Thank you.”

  As he hung up, the phone blinked again. Schwartz stepped inside.

  “Lieutenant, you have a strange call.”

  He wondered why Schwartz hadn’t used the intercom.

  “And?”

  “Deputy Inspector Conner is outside. He wants to speak with you. I didn’t want him to know about the call. The caller says it’s about the killings.”

  “Was it transferred from the hotline?”

  “No, it’s direct. We haven’t gotten any calls since the…the switch. The guy sounds like he’s speaking through water.”

  Hyte lifted the phone. He motioned for Schwartz to stay.

  “Lieutenant Hyte.”

  Schwartz was almost right. The voice did sound as though it was coming through water. Only it wasn’t. It was a synthesizer, the kind used to alter a voice.

  “So you’re giving up on me, are you?”

  “Giving up on who?” Hyte asked.

  “You know who I am. Or shall I send you another bolt? Did you like that one, Lieutenant? No one touched the tip, did they?”

  Every nerve in Hyte’s body vibrated; his mind leapt outward. He wished he could order a trace but knew the uselessness of it.

  “Why are you calling me? You know I’m not involved anymore.”

  “Of course you are. You have been since last July. Why else would—”Samael stopped. “Nice try, Lieutenant. Actually, I’m calling for advice.”

  “You want advice?” Hyte asked.

  Samael laughed. “No, I want to give you advice. Stop looking for me. It’s pointless and we both know it. No one will find me. And when I’ve collected those who are destined for me, I will be gone.”