by Steven Henry
“Hold on,” Vic said as Erin started forward.
“Give me a second,” she said. “Rolf, such!”
Rolf put his snout to the ground and snuffled his way up the hallway. He gave the bag a quick sniff. He paused a moment, nostrils quivering.
“Get away from that,” Vic growled. He had his hand on his phone, ready to call in the bomb squad. Police officers weren’t fond of surprise gifts on their doorsteps.
But Rolf didn’t alert to the presence of explosives. He lowered his nose back to the floor, tail wagging, and started back the way they’d come.
“Rolf. Bleib!” Erin ordered. The K-9 stopped at once. “It’s clean,” she said to Vic.
“Okay,” he said doubtfully. “I’d still be careful.”
Erin cautiously peered into the bag. She saw something round sticking straight up. For a second she wondered about a booby-trap, maybe a sawed-off gun barrel, but then recognized it.
“It’s a bottle,” she said. She gently took hold of one end of the tissue paper and pulled it free, revealing the contents of the bag.
Vic came closer, peering past her. “What’s in it?”
Erin stooped and picked it up. “Irish whiskey,” she said, laughing suddenly. “Jameson.”
“It been opened?”
She tried to wiggle the cork. “Doesn’t feel like it.”
“Looks like you’ve got an admirer,” Vic said. “One who knows you pretty well.”
“Yeah,” Erin said. Still holding the bottle in one hand, she took out her keys and unlocked her door. “C’mon in.”
Vic picked up the gift bag and followed her inside.
“I just need to feed Rolf, then we can head out,” she said, unfastening the dog’s leash and taking off his vest. Rolf, knowing what came next, went into the kitchen and stood expectantly in front of the kibble cupboard.
Erin scooped his dinner into his bowl and set it on the floor. Rolf started chowing down. It'd been a long day and he was hungry.
“You want me to try whiskey, maybe we can crack this one open,” Vic said, pointing to the bottle of Jameson. “Looks nice. Expensive. Who do you suppose gave it to you, anyway?”
“Carlyle, probably,” Erin said absentmindedly.
“What? Jesus!” Vic stepped back from the bottle as if he’d found a human eyeball floating inside. “You getting booze from gangsters?”
“It’s not like that,” she said. “His world runs on favors. I saved his life when Rüdel and his goons shot up the Barley Corner. He doesn’t want to owe a cop, so he’s trying to pay me back.”
Vic scanned the gift bag. “The tag isn’t signed,” he said. “There’s no note or anything.”
“Of course not. He knows I can’t accept anything from him.”
“But you know it’s from him.”
“But I can’t prove it.” She sighed. “That’s the point.”
“If you say so. Does he really think a bottle of liquor squares you for saving his life?”
“Well, he is Irish,” she said. “Depends on the liquor.”
Vic, caught off-guard, actually smiled a little. Then he scowled again. “I think maybe I’ll stick with vodka.”
“Shut up,” Erin said. She opened a cabinet and pulled out a pair of glasses. “You’re gonna learn about whiskey.”
She got a corkscrew from the drawer by the sink and popped the cork. The familiar hot, fierce smell of good whiskey rose to meet her. “It’s too bad he didn’t give me a bottle of Glen D, though. It’s even better than Jameson.”
“That’s the Dockerty-whatever the captain was talking about?” Vic asked. “The shit you’ve gotta be Scottish to pronounce?”
“Yeah,” Erin said. “You want it straight up?”
“Rocks,” Vic said. “I worked up a sweat today.”
Erin opened the freezer and dropped two ice cubes into each glass. She loved the musical clink they made as they landed. She poured a double shot into each glass. The ice cracked as the liquid cascaded over the cubes.
“Docherty-Kinlochewe,” she said, trying out the words. “Did I say it right?”
“How the hell do I know?” Vic said. “Get a little drunk, then see how it sounds.”
“Drink enough of it, you don’t care about the pronunciation,” she laughed. She handed one of the drinks to him.
Vic raised the glass to his lips.
“Hold on,” she said. “We should have a toast.”
“To what?”
She thought about it. “To making it home,” she said. “To winning one. And to some damn fine shooting.”
“Cheers,” Vic said. They touched glasses.
Erin was about to take a good slug of Jameson when it hit her. Carlyle knew her favorite whiskey. She ordered it nearly every time she was at the Corner. A publican didn’t forget something like that.
“Wait!” she said, suddenly and sharply.
Vic froze with the glass halfway to his mouth. “You do know the point of having a drink is to drink it, right?” Then he saw the look in her eyes. “What’s the matter?”
She glanced sidelong around the room. Rolf had finished his meal and was tracking something only he could smell. He disappeared into her bedroom, then came back again and stood by the front door, staring at it.
“Rolf’s been following it,” she murmured. “He's been trying to tell me. I didn’t listen.”
“Tell you what? What’s he following?” Vic was baffled.
“Heartbreaker,” she said, almost to herself.
“Erin, I’m gonna start drinking until you start making sense.”
She put a hand on his glass, keeping it down. She stepped forward and whispered to him, as if she was afraid someone else might overhear. “I think I know how to get our serial killer,” she said. “But I need your help.”
She explained, quickly and quietly. Vic listened, at first surprised, then nodding his understanding. “Okay,” he muttered. “We’ll do it your way. But it's a waste of good Scotch if you're wrong.”
Vic attached Rolf to his leash again. The Shepherd was confused, but was perfectly willing to go for another walk. He knew Vic and got on fine with him. But when Vic opened the door and stepped into the hallway, Rolf stayed put. He looked quizzically at Erin. She was supposed to go with him. That was the first rule of police work. You didn’t leave your partner behind.
“It’s fine, Rolf,” Erin said. “Geh rein.”
Rolf permitted himself to be led away. Erin went to the door and fastened the deadbolt and chain lock. Then she took the bottle of Jameson and her whiskey glass to the dining table. She sat down at the table and stared at the amber liquid. Vic was right. It was a hell of a waste.
“Here goes,” she muttered. She hoped her intuition was right.
About thirty seconds later, she got out of her chair. She stumbled, threw out a hand to the tabletop, missed, and collapsed to the floor. The glass hit the linoleum and shattered. Drops of whiskey spattered the ground.
Chapter 19
Some time passed, maybe five minutes. Then there was a knock at Erin’s door. After a short pause, the knock was repeated.
Erin lay where she’d fallen. Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow.
A key turned in the lock. It wasn’t a perfect fit, but the lock opened with a little careful persuasion. The door came partway open and stopped, arrested by the chain. A hand slid into the space. The chain should’ve been short enough to keep a human arm from fitting through the gap, but this chain was just a little too long. The fingers, covered by a latex glove, deftly opened the night lock. The door swung open.
“Oh no,” said a soft, polite male voice. “I hope you haven’t hurt yourself. If you’ve cut that beautiful face, I’ll never forgive either of us.”
Erin made no response. She didn’t move at all.
The intruder walked toward her. “I hope you liked the whiskey,” he said. “It’s a good brand, top-shelf. Almost three hundred dollars. But you deserve the best. I’m so sor
ry we have to do it this way, so rushed. I know we would both prefer to savor the experience. But your friend will be back soon.”
“This isn’t how I wanted it to be at all,” he went on. He reached into his trouser pocket and took out a plastic disposable syringe. He took the cap off it and raised it to point toward the ceiling, tapping it like a nurse preparing to give a shot. “I’d like to undress you, look at you… but there’s no time. You’ll just have to know that I do appreciate your beauty, more than any other man ever could. And I hope you know that I love you very, very much.”
He bent over her.
Erin opened her eyes. They were bright and alert, no trace of drugs or drowsiness. “Thank you, Trevor,” she said. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all day.”
Trevor Fairfax froze in place, his face a mask of shock. He opened his mouth but no words came out.
“I only just figured it out,” she said, standing up. “Of course, Rolf knew from the moment he smelled you outside the DoubleTree. Heartbreaker fragrance. You’ve got it all over you.”
“I… I work in a perfume shop, Erin,” Trevor said. “Of course I smell like perfume. I stopped by to see you. You didn’t answer, so I came in to make sure you were all right.”
“Through a locked door?” Erin said. “And a chain lock? Nice trick, by the way. A guy I know told me how you did it. You must have a skeleton key for the main lock. You came in with that earlier and swapped out the chain. Rolf tracked you in here, too. You broke into a detective’s home. That’s plenty for a warrant, and I’ll bet once we look in your house—”
Trevor lunged at her, stabbing with the syringe.
Erin had been waiting for him to make his move. She lashed out with her leg, sweeping his feet out from under him. Shards of broken glass skittered across the floor. Trevor went down with a crash, the syringe flying from his hand.
He was quicker than she’d thought. He twisted like a snake and scrambled back to his feet. Erin reached for her gun. But Trevor wasn’t a fighter. He spun and dashed for the door.
Even as he reached it, he skidded to a halt. Vic Neshenko stood there, his Sig Sauer automatic in one hand, Rolf’s leash in the other.
“Hey, Erin?” Vic called past Trevor. “What’s Rolf’s bite command again?”
All the energy went out of Trevor. His legs folded up beneath him. He put his hands over his face. “No,” he whimpered. “Don’t let him bite me.”
Vic stared at him with an expression of disgusted surprise. “Is he crying?”
Erin got out her cuffs. “Careful,” she said. “He’s clever.”
“Don’t worry,” Vic said, keeping his pistol trained on the clerk. “He’s not going anywhere. I've shot two guys today already. Want to make it a hat trick?”
“Trevor Fairfax,” Erin said. “You’re under arrest for breaking and entering, assaulting a police officer, attempting to murder a police officer, ruining a three-hundred-dollar bottle of Scotch, and murdering Janice Barnes. You have the right to remain silent…”
“This is not what I meant when I told you to go home,” Webb said.
“He broke into my apartment,” Erin said. “What was I supposed to do, let him go with a stern warning?”
They were back at the precinct, nowhere close to done with what promised to be a very late night. They'd booked Trevor and dropped him in a holding cell, then waited for their commanding officer to make his way back from Brooklyn. Neither Erin nor Vic had gotten their drink yet.
“I dunno,” Vic said. “I could've let him past me. Rolf could use the exercise.”
“You saying something about my dog?”
“He's looking a little pudgy, that's all I'm saying.”
“That's it,” Erin said. “I'm putting you back in the bite suit. And I'm spraying beef broth on the crotch before I do.”
“Save the kinky stuff for when you're off-duty,” Webb said. “But seriously, O'Reilly. How'd you know he was coming after you?”
“He sedated his victims with drugged wine,” Erin said. “If he'd used a wine bottle on me, I would've figured it faster. He gave me whiskey instead, but it was still suspicious. Rolf acted funny when I had him do a search. He started tracking down the hall after he got a whiff of the bag.
“Vic and I didn't notice it right away, but that Heartbreaker fragrance is powerful and it lingers. I'd had Rolf tracking it earlier. He tried to alert to Fairfax when I ran into him outside the hotel. Fairfax pretended it was a chance meeting, and I was distracted enough that I didn't think too much of it, but he'd been following me. He tracked me from Corcoran's apartment. One of the O'Malleys' enforcers tipped me off that I had a tail. He can probably ID Fairfax.”
“If he'll testify, which I doubt,” Vic put in.
“Whatever,” Erin said. “We don't need his testimony. Fairfax got into my apartment with a skeleton key. He wanted to case it so he'd be ready when he came in to get me. He fixed the night lock the same way he did with the hotel room, replacing the chain with one that was just a little longer. He must've looked through my liquor cabinet while he was there, to find out what I liked.”
“A considerate serial killer,” Webb muttered.
Erin snorted. “He probably really thinks so. The way he was talking when he came in, it was like he felt he'd form a real connection with me by killing me.” She shook her head. “The sick bastard thinks he loves the women he kills.”
“What else do we have on him?” Webb asked.
“I got the employment records from the DoubleTree,” Erin said. She'd had time to check her e-mail while waiting for Webb to arrive. “Fairfax worked there, doing room service, when he was just out of high school. He couldn't duplicate the magnetic keys by himself, but the hotel has old-school keys for accessing their maintenance areas. He copied those while he worked there. Then he snuck in and grabbed a hotel uniform from the back. After that he could creep in any time and make copies of his victims' keycards.”
“Victims,” Webb said. “How many?”
“We'll know once we search his apartment,” Erin said.
“We'll find trophies,” Vic said.
“Exactly,” Erin said. “I'm guessing it'll be photographs. His whole thing is about watching women. The bodies were never mutilated. He might have kept some of their clothes, too, but I think we'll find pictures. It may even help us close some other cases.”
“How did he know you'd drink the whiskey when you did?” Webb asked.
“I didn't drink it,” she reminded him.
“It's been too long a day for bullshitting,” Webb said. “You know what I mean.”
“The bottle wasn't there when I left home this morning,” Erin said. “He staked out my place after delivering it, so he was waiting nearby. We pulled a smartphone off him when we took him in. The phone has an app that connects to those hidden cameras, like people use to check on their pets when they're at work.”
“Or their cheating spouses,” Vic added.
Erin shuddered at the memory of seeing her apartment on the screen of Trevor's phone. “He'd planted hidden cams in every room,” she said. “Dining room, living room, bedroom, even the bathroom.”
“Especially that,” Vic growled. “That son of a bitch. We're not allowed to whack suspects with phone books anymore, are we?”
“Knock it off, Neshenko,” Webb said. “So, he saw the two of you talking, then Neshenko leaving with Rolf. And then you took a drink and hit the floor.”
“I don't know what he would've done if Vic had still been there,” Erin said. “If he and I had both drunk, we'd have both gone down. He might've left Vic there, or he might've killed both of us. I know he'd have killed Rolf if he could.”
“Because Rolf knew what he smelled like,” Vic said.
“Yeah,” Erin said. “I figured if we acted like Vic was just taking Rolf out for a quick walk, Fairfax would think he had a chance, but only if he moved fast. When perps are in a rush, they get sloppy. I was just lucky he didn't get his ha
nds on my usual whiskey. That was what kept us from drinking.”
Webb had Erin's case notes in front of him. While they talked, he'd been scanning them, taking in the contents. “Okay,” he said. “Let's get him in the interrogation room. You don't need to be there for this.”
Erin bristled. “Sir, this is my collar. You think I'm scared of him?”
Webb looked at her wearily. “I think this is going to be a shitty conversation with a genuine monster. It's going to be unpleasant in every way. Guys like this can get inside your head, and once they are, it's hard to get rid of them.”
“I don't care what he does in my head,” Erin said, “because I'll know where his body is. It'll be upstate in maximum security, because I put it there. You put me in charge of this case. Let me bring it home.”
Webb's tired features cracked into a faint but unmistakable smile. “Damn right,” he said. “Let's go put this one away.”
In the hall outside the interrogation room, Webb paused. “O'Reilly,” he said, “are you sure you're ready for this?”
“Of course.”
“Fairfax has a thing about women.”
“That's one way of putting it.”
“We'll both be talking, but he'll be paying attention to you.”
“That's what I'm counting on,” she said.
“You want to be good cop or bad cop?”
She smiled grimly. “I'll be the good one.”
“You arrested him,” Webb reminded her.
“He'll see that as getting attention. It'll help.”
“Okay, we'll try it your way,” he said and opened the door.
Trevor sat at the table, hands folded on the tabletop, face calm. There was no sign of the whimpering and tears he'd turned on when Vic had threatened him. Erin wondered whether he'd had any genuine emotional reaction, or if emotions were something he put on like an extra layer of clothing. She only knew one thing that sparked genuine feeling in him. It was her job to play on that.
