He now had complete control over the Chubb, enabling him to magnetically lock any of the several hundred doors in the complex. Yesterday, had he had enough time, had the member of the Flock not interfered, this was the procedure he would have followed to trap the pickpocket. Now he had his chance again. He asked Brock, “Did you take psych in college?”
“Sure.”
“I remember the rats in the maze. You remember that?”
“Sure. You could train them to find their way out.”
“Depending on the technique and bait.”
“Right.”
“Controlling the doors reminds me of that.”
“Hadn’t thought about it.”
“We can stop her at any exit—force her to try someplace else. Manipulate her. She’s our rat. The Green’s our maze. Any plainclothes on ground level?” Jacobs asked Perkins.
“No. We have Stapleton on Level Three, but it’ll take him too long to reach her.”
“Agreed. Okay.”
“Here she goes,” announced Brock.
The pickpocket, seeing the uniformed guards behind her, turned down a public-access hallway that led to the rest rooms. Past the rest rooms was a door leading to a service hallway that eventually led to several outside exits, ALL HOURS emergency exits.
“She spotted us,” said Brock.
“Stay with her, Dicky. Ralph, send one of the women down there in case she tries to hide from us in the John.” He checked the large electronic floor plan mounted on the facing wall, numbers at each exit. It revealed that the service hallway she had entered led to a T intersection that split: emergency exits to the right, delivery bays to the left. On the electronic diagram, emergency doors with ALL HOURS panic bars were marked in a vivid orange, corresponding numbers alongside each.
Ralph Perkins spoke clearly into his mouthpiece, one eye on the rows of monitors, directing the guards.
Dicky Brock mumbled to himself, announcing his moves as he used the manual controls on the cameras to follow her down the hall. He switched the picture on the smaller Emerson monitor to the larger RCA screen.
Jacobs typed several numbers into the Chubb terminal. Each number represented a particular exit. A separate command would now seal an exit by tripping the magnetic lock, or unlock the exit if it was previously locked. Anticipating her moves, he locked the exit to her right and instructed the computer to disable the use of its ALL HOURS panic bar. The screen showed:
EXIT: Pavilion C - # 19… MAG LOCK… ENABLED
EXIT: Pavilion C - # 19… PANIC BAR… DISABLED
He continued to type commands furiously, occasionally checking the monitors for her movements and referring to the electronic map in front of him for the proper exit numbers.
“She went left,” announced Dicky Brock, “heading toward the delivery bays.”
Jacobs typed the additional exit numbers into the Chubb, locking doors that normally allowed emergency exit.
They all watched as the pickpocket slammed against the panic bar, expecting the door to open. She tried it again and then quickly attempted to open the doors to the right of each loading bay, but the Chubb kept these doors locked as well. These doors could only be opened from Dispatch when a delivery was requested.
She panicked.
“Got her!” triumphed Brock, slamming his hand on the console.
Jacobs barked to Perkins, “Move to intercept.”
“Already done. Check out monitor nine.”
Jacobs watched two uniformed guards run down the long service hallway. He felt the amazing power this room commanded. They ran drills like these from Dispatch twice a month. The real experience proved much more exciting. Even exhilarating.
On the larger RCA monitor he saw her slam into the ALL HOURS panic bar on another exit. It warned in large orange letters that an alarm would sound if used. She rammed the panic bar several times and appeared to read the ALL HOURS EXIT sticker again. Her lips were moving.
“I wish we had sound,” Jacobs commented.
She hit the panic bar again with all her strength.
Jacobs smiled.
13
At the same time that Julia Haverill arrived at Yankee Green, hiding herself under the large brim of a Panama hat, Marv Haverill was knocking fruitlessly on the door to Knorpp’s luxurious apartment across town.
His patience expired. He bumped his shoulder heavily against the door several times and it opened, dislodging the door-jamb. Knorpp sat in a chair on the other side of the living room, a drink in hand, a day’s growth on his face, an empty bag of pretzels on the floor beside him.
The room belonged in a design magazine. Or so Knorpp thought. White shag rug. Oversize potted plants. A glass coffee table that appeared to have no legs. Copies of Architectural Digest and Gentlemen’s Quarterly. The sectioned couch ran the length of the room and turned the corner. It butted up against a stainless steel end table holding a white porcelain lamp with a bold Chinese character that probably meant something like love or many children. Oil paintings cluttered the walls and a large bamboo sculpture rose from behind Knorpp, its limbs suspended above him like fingers.
“Come in,” Knorpp said in a raspy whiskey voice.
Haverill’s acute anger subsided at the pitiful sight. He had half expected, half hoped to fight Knorpp. But there would be no fight. He tried to push the door shut but it would not close.
He hadn’t recognized the smell at first, but seeing the spent joint in the ashtray he knew Knorpp had been getting high on grass as well.
“We’re going to have a talk,” announced Haverill.
“So talk. You caught us. What is there to say?” He hoisted his near-empty glass. “Should I resign, or have you already fired me?”
“Take a shower. I’ll put on some coffee. You’ll do me no good in this condition.”
“I can’t move.”
“I’ll put you in the goddamned shower, if you don’t get going.”
Knorpp lifted himself from the deep chair with difficulty, leaned against the wall, staining it with a hand print, and staggered around the corner.
***
Ten minutes later Haverill had the pot of coffee brewed and awaited Knorpp in the kitchen. They sat at the white Formica table, each at one end. Knorpp’s wet blond hair looked greasy. His eyes were bloodshot and glassy. He looked as bad as Haverill himself. They sipped their coffee in silence.
Haverill finally said, “I’m not here about Julia.”
“I’m supposed to believe you busted my front door because you missed me at the office?”
“We know about the cement, Peter. You’re in big trouble.”
Knorpp paled and hung his head. “Oh, shit.” He swallowed hard.
It was enough of a confirmation. Haverill was surprised it made him feel better to know. “If we don’t move quickly we’ll be behind the eight ball, and that’ll be the end of it. They’ll shut us down.”
“Who?”
“Who did you deal with?”
“How’d you find out?”
“Too long to explain. Who approached you?”
“Romanello. He said he could arrange it so no one would ever know. I had to divert ten grand over to his account so he could pay somebody off. After that we would split the difference between the cost of the two grades. I was in over my head money-wise, Marv. I realize that’s no excuse, but that’s the reason.”
Haverill tried to contain his anger. He knew if he showed his true emotions he would scare Knorpp away from explaining the deal. He realized that Knorpp’s intoxication was playing in his favor. The man’s tongue was loose. “How much?”
“Forty-some grand over the last two years.”
“Not money. I mean concrete. How much of the building was poured below code?”
“How much? The whole damn thing as far as I know. Once DeGrassi was off and Romanello on, they changed the grade of concrete. It’s done all the time.” Knorpp finished his coffee, setting it down with both hands. He tried to pour hims
elf some more, but Haverill had to finish the job for him.
The gray-haired man shook his head in disgust and sighed as he sat back down. “Do you know what they have in mind?”
“I don’t follow you.”
“They’re going to use you, Peter. It’s Russo’s baby. Romanello is Russo’s brother-in-law.”
“You sure about that?”
“Hundred percent sure. The way we figure it, they pour the new wing out of cement that’s below code. They don’t tell a soul. They make it look like you arranged most of the deal in order to keep themselves as far out of the picture as possible. Who knows how long they intend to wait? Probably a few more months, maybe longer. Then they either blackmail us or simply let it be discovered that the lab made a mistake. We end up with a two-hundred-million-dollar white elephant. And the damn thing isn’t even covered by our insurance. Has to be up to code to be covered. High Star takes a two-hundred-million-dollar loss, and that’s all she wrote.”
Knorpp shook his head. In the silence the air-conditioning seemed to grow louder. The refrigerator kicked on and hummed for a few minutes. Haverill impatiently tapped his foot.
“I had no idea, Marv,” Knorpp finally said. “I know that doesn’t help, but I didn’t see the bigger picture.”
“We need time to run some more tests and consult with architects as to how we can get the structure up to code—if that’s even possible. It’s not going to fall down or anything. DeAngelo’s convinced it’s safe. But because of the rigid codes, it could be condemned. It could end up in court. In the meantime we have to beat them to the plea-bargaining. This is going to be one hell of a case to try and win. Our only hope will be to move it to a federal court where Russo may not have as much influence. Between him and the Vinettis, we’re up against one tough battle.”
“Plea-bargain? You mean I have to turn myself in?” Tears began to fill Knorpp’s eyes. He hung his head.
“It’s all over, Peter. Somewhere inside that pitiful mind of yours, you must have known that before it ever began.”
14
Back in his office, Haverill studied the glum faces of Jacobs and Shleit. Both men looked exhausted. “So, what do you recommend?”
Shleit said, “The dogs uncovered a dead space behind the wall of one of the utility shafts—”
“Tunnels,” corrected Jacobs.
“Whatever. We found all sorts of gear inside. Some of it is stolen goods. My guess is his prints are all over that stuff. The five switches mounted against the wall are not shown in any of the plans—”
“We assume they are his detonators, sir,” added Jacobs.
“My feeling is that we stand a better chance of catching him if you go ahead with the opening.” Shleit waited for a reaction from Haverill, but the eldest of the three just sat in his chair listening passively. Shleit continued. “We placed two men inside the hidden storage area. When and if he shows up, we’ve got him cold. If you call off the opening, he may shy away and we may miss our chance at him.”
“We’re not even sure, of course, that the opening tomorrow is his target,” reminded Jacobs.
“But it very well could be,” said Shleit. “The man is on record as having threatened to destroy the Green. My guess is he’ll try and keep his word. Between his apartment and his storage area in your utility—tunnel, I’d say we’ve protected ourselves well. Jacob’s men will be watching the various entrances. In order to get inside, he’ll have to enter one of the pavilions.”
“Toby? Your thoughts?”
“It depends how the rest of the search goes. So far, we’ve turned up no other explosives. I think you know how I feel, sir. I’d rather call off the opening and have a chance to trace the wires leading into those switches. But as we discussed, tracing the wires could take days, even weeks. And as you said, I don’t have a hundred thousand dollars of my money riding on the opening as you do.”
“Indeed.” Haverill isolated himself by folding his hands over his eyes. The combination of events over the last twenty-four hours weighed heavily on him. Eventually he spoke to Shleit. “You say we’re better off not spooking him by changing plans at this late date?”
“The decision is yours, sir. That’s just an opinion.”
“But that is your opinion, is it not?”
“Yes, it is.”
Haverill looked at both men. “And someone will be in this crawl space at all times? There’s no chance he’ll get to those switches?”
Shleit answered. “We have his apartment under surveillance and we have his storage area guarded from the inside. Your entrances will be watched closely, as will your surveillance cameras. Yankee Green has some of the most sophisticated security technology available. He’s one man, unstable and carrying a lot of hate around with him. Granted, he got this far nearly without detection. I happen to believe that was a fluke. I don’t see how his luck can hold out much longer. As long as he thinks everything is still as is, he’s going to walk right into our hands. I suspect we’ll have him before the day’s out.” He hesitated. “If you close the pavilion, if you call off the opening, there’s no telling how long he’ll react. We don’t want to force his hand. Currently, we have the element of surprise in our favor.”
“Yes, I see.” Haverill brightened. “Well, then, that’s it. The opening is on. I hope to hell you’re right, gentlemen.” He added, “Toby, I’d like you to stay for a minute. We have other matters to discuss.”
Shleit rose to leave. Haverill offered his hand, “Good luck, Lieutenant.”
15
By seven o’clock that Friday night, the entire southwest corner of Pavilion B was teaming with teenagers. All the rides had thirty-minute waits, the food concessions had lines twelve deep. Among the several hundred teens, four uniformed and two plainclothes security guards patrolled. As the uniformed guards approached, small groups of kids would break up and disperse.
Susan had never seen anything quite like it. In her day it had been movies and rock concerts. In some ways this wasn’t all that different, except it was so social. She could never remember her friends being so social. This section of the pavilion was deafening from the constant chatter going on and the rock music piped through the overhead speakers. For these few hours, the Green was clearly catering to one age level. The kids milled about and moved from one group to the next, all dressed in colorful fashions, sporting peculiar hairstyles, smoking cigarettes.
She had been told the meeting would be over any minute and had left word he could find her here.
She noticed a few girls in skintight Lycra. They looked almost naked in the stretch fabric, and the boys obviously thought so too. The girls found attention wherever they walked.
This was tremendous stuff, really. It showed a side of the mall few people probably knew existed, the complete opposite of the Greyhounds’ morning walks. Multi-function structures beneath canopies of glass. Exercise centers, retail centers, social centers. It was nothing less than a social phenomenon. A terrific article.
“Here you are.”
She looked up into the handsome face of Toby Jacobs, his dark eyes tucked under the brim of his hat.
“Unbelievable.”
“I told you you’d like it.”
“This place is frightening. Every corner you turn…”
“Yes, I know,” he agreed.
“I missed you,” she admitted, blushing.
“I’ve thought about you all day.”
“Where do you stand? Will you open the new pavilion tomorrow?”
“Yes. Haverill agreed to open.”
“Did the police find anything?”
“Yes, they did. We’ve set a trap for him.”
“Then we were right?”
He nodded. “We wouldn’t have found out about him without you.”
“In some ways, I wish we hadn’t.”
“I’m going to be here all night.”
“I understand.”
“I thought you would.” He reached out his hand, and s
he took it eagerly.
16
The night was particularly dark, caused by an overhead cloud cover. A light wind blew the day’s warm air around; it was getting cooler. The same wind carried a piece of litter in the air, tossing it carelessly over her head.
The lights at the rest area glowed an unusual tint of blue. The map mounted to the small building that housed the rest rooms showed the state of Massachusetts, indicating mileage and exits.
Julia Haverill studied the map, clutching the purse at her side. She wasn’t hungry.
She had two of his credit cards, forty-six dollars in cash, and her mother’s address in France.
It wouldn’t be hard to hitch a ride to Logan. She planned to take the shuttle to New York. She was booked on a Pan Am flight to Paris at one o’clock tomorrow afternoon, which meant she would have to sleep in a chair at the airport or take a motel room nearby.
She was excited by the chance to see her mother. France in the fall would be lovely.
Things hadn’t worked out here. Her mother would understand. Mother knew all about running away.
Saturday
August 22
1
The head of the bomb squad nodded his okay. “Kick it,” said Shleit. Two uniformed cops worked quickly with crowbars and broke open the door to Steuhl’s apartment.
The apartment was filthy. Fast-food litter covered the floors.
“It stinks in here,” said one of the cops.
The bomb squad gave the apartment a thorough going-over and a subsequent clean bill of health.
Photographs were taken, and then Shleit had it to himself.
He walked directly to the far wall. Pinned there he found yellowed newspaper clippings that mentioned the death of Steuhl’s father. The tattered clippings had been refolded dozens of times, obviously carried in soiled pockets for many years.
The closet door was open a crack. Shleit used his pen to pull it open farther. On the floor was a pile of newspapers and magazines and a few pieces of dirty clothing. He moved several pairs of stiff socks and a pair of blue jeans off the pile. The khaki shirt was on the bottom of the pile. Shleit didn’t smell the foul odor of the dirty laundry, he smelled success. Using his pen he stirred the shirt until he found the collar. The label read Big Mac by J. C. Penney.
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