“Do you think they weren’t?” I said.
“Don’t know; don’t care,” he said. “The one tells Catt that they want to take him in for questioning. He says, ‘For what?’ The other guy says, ‘You’re a registered sex offender. What do you think? Do you want to cooperate and come along nice, or do we cuff you and drag you out of here?’”
He turned to Kylie. “Sound familiar? Same bullshit, different cops. I was hoping he’d put up a fight so maybe they’d rough him up a little, but he went without a whimper.”
“Did he ever come back?”
“Hell, no—and I kept my ears open. I also kept checking the news, hoping they nailed him with something big. Nothing. Three days later, he’s on the front page of the Post all decked out in his Hazmat suit. I’m thinking these two cops did what I would have done if I could. They didn’t just kill him. I thought about that a lot. They got him to confess to Hattie’s murder. Those two guys were my heroes. There was no way I’d turn them in.”
“That was then. This is now,” Kylie said. “Your heroes are about to murder an innocent woman. How heroic is that?”
LaFleur didn’t answer. He just reached down and opened the bottom desk drawer. It was lined with row after row of audiotapes.
Chapter 76
The boxes of old phones, wires, and installer tools Horton LaFleur had squirreled away may have been helter-skelter, but the surveillance tapes of his wife’s killer were organized, dated, and coded.
We took them all back to the office but had to listen to only one to prove that Dave Casey and Gideon Bell were the last people to see Sebastian Catt on the night he vanished. They had identified themselves as NYPD, but there was no official record that they had arrested him, brought him in for questioning, or even been in his neighborhood.
“Now comes the hard part,” I said.
“Arresting them?” Kylie said.
“Telling Cates.”
Kylie scrunched up her face. “We’ve been doing pretty well with nobody looking over our shoulder,” she said. “Do we have to tell her now?”
“No. We had to tell her two days ago, before we invited Casey and Bell under the tent. Let’s not compound a bad decision.”
It was only 5:45, but Cates had come straight to her office from Gracie Mansion. We told her everything and played the tape for her.
“And that’s all of it?” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “The good, the bad, and the ugly.”
“Ugly would be the two of you running the show on your own,” she said, “but I’ll deal with that another time. For now, let’s focus on the good—you found the Hazmat Killer—and the bad—you don’t have a case. You’ve got a surveillance tape made illegally by a man who admitted to you that he hated Catt so much, he thought about killing him. A first-year law student could get your evidence thrown out of court. And if you arrest Casey and Bell, they’ll never tell us where Rachael O’Keefe is, and she’ll wind up dying a slow, miserable death.”
“She’s innocent,” Kylie said. “I thought these two guys were the champions of justice.”
“She’s the only victim who could possibly ID them. If it means saving their asses, they’ll throw justice right under the bus,” Cates said. “I don’t know how much time we have left before Calvin Vidmar’s confession leaks and the whole world finds out O’Keefe is innocent. We have to get Casey and Bell to lead us to her before it does.”
“We’ll follow them,” Kylie said. “They must be feeding her. They fed all the other victims.”
“You know where they are right this second?”
“No.”
“You can’t follow them until you know where they are,” Cates said, “and if the news gets out before you find them, Rachael will be dead and buried, and those two will hang up their Hazmat suits, sit back, and watch the case go cold.”
There was a reason Cates was a commanding officer at such a young age. I was glad to have her brain back.
“I have a thought,” she said.
Really glad.
At 6:30 Friday morning—exactly four days after I thought I had met two perfect candidates for NYPD Red, I called Gideon Bell. By 7:15, he and Casey showed up at the precinct.
Kylie and I were all smiles when they walked through the door. We didn’t have to fake looking happy to see them. We were. Sort of like the Wolf when Red Riding Hood shows up with a basket of goodies.
“Man, Zach, you sounded excited over the phone,” Bell said. “What’s going down?”
“My boss wants to be in on it,” I said. “She’ll tell you.”
We walked down the hall to Cates’s office. She stood up when they entered the room. Introductions all around, and then I shut the door.
“First, I want to thank you gentlemen for helping out,” Cates said. “We have good news: 911 got a call from a woman who said she was Rachael O’Keefe. She said she was being held by two men. She was pretty incoherent, rambling on about being tortured. The dispatcher tried to get her location, and then the call dropped. She didn’t call back, and we thought it was a hoax, but her sister, Liz, listened to the 911 tape and confirmed that it was Rachael.”
“So she’s alive,” Bell said. “That’s great news. Can you trace the call?”
“It was a cell—somewhere in Queens. We didn’t get enough data to triangulate, but we’re continuing to ping it. We may not be able to pinpoint the exact location, but as soon as we narrow it down to a manageable area, we’ll go door-to-door till we find her. It could be a block of apartment buildings, so we need manpower. You wanted in, and Red could sure use your help.”
“That’s awesome,” Bell said. “Thanks, Captain. We are totally in.”
There wasn’t a hint of a tell on his face. Casey, on the other hand, was forcing a smile, but he didn’t look like a cop who had just gotten his big break to impress the boss of an elite squad.
Cates’s phone rang. “It’s our tech guy,” she said, picking it up. “What’s going on, Matt?”
She held the phone to her ear for five seconds and hung up.
“They’re zeroing in on it,” she said. “They need another twenty minutes.”
“You guys grab these radios and start rolling,” I said. “I’ll call you as soon as we zero in on the target.”
They each took a radio and headed for the door. Bell turned back. “Captain Cates, it’s always been our dream to work with Red. Thanks again for the opportunity.”
“And thank you,” Cates said. “You’ve been a big part of this, and you deserve to be there when we find Rachael.”
She waited for them to walk down the hall out of earshot.
“And thank you, Detectives Jordan and MacDonald, for letting me be part of your own private little police force. So,” she said, raising her eyebrows, “how did I do?”
Chapter 77
“How the hell did she get her hands on a cell phone?” Gideon said as he got behind the wheel of the SUV and peeled out.
“I don’t know, but this is falling apart,” Dave said. “Just like with Enzo, only worse. This time we’re really dead.”
“Maybe somebody got in through the back door. Are you sure you locked it?”
“No, Gideon, I left it wide open so that anybody could walk in on her and call 911.”
“Don’t get all defensive. I’m just asking.”
“Funny—it sounded more like you were just blaming.”
“Sorry. This all came out of the blue. I’m a little freaked.”
“That’s the difference between you and me, Gideon. I’m a lot freaked.”
“How about we stop panicking for a minute and start thinking,” Gideon said.
“I’m thinking plenty,” Dave said. “I’m thinking about what it’s like to be a cop spending the rest of his life in Sing Sing.”
Gideon maneuvered the car onto the Ed Koch Bridge. It was the start of rush hour, but the traffic leaving Manhattan was much lighter than the traffic pouring in from Queens. “Here’s my tak
e on it,” he said. “Nobody came in through the back door. Nobody came in from anywhere. If someone was there, and they really did see Rachael, they’d have called back by now. Am I right?”
Dave shrugged. “I hope so.”
“Plus, she’s only wearing a Hazmat suit, so where was she hiding a cell phone? Even if she magically came up with one, she’s in chains—what did she do, dial it with her teeth? It’s all a hoax, Dave. Some crazy bastard called 911 pretending to be Rachael, and those idiot cops bought it.”
“Which idiot cops? Jordan and MacDonald, or us? Once they said the sister identified her voice…”
“Come on, Dave. Use your head. The sister wanted it to be Rachael. The cops wanted it to be Rachael. So they bought it. But you and I know that she couldn’t get her hands on a phone. It had to be a crank caller. Relax.”
“Relax? Maybe if the son of a bitch made his crank calls from Brooklyn. But he didn’t. Hoax or no hoax, he got them to zero in on Queens, so now I’m not relaxing until we move her as far away as possible. The sooner the better.”
“I thought she’d confess by now,” Gideon said, “but she’s tough. It could take days before we can get her on video.”
“We don’t have days,” Dave said. “The garage is too hot. We can’t keep her there. I hate to drive all the way up to the Adirondacks, but I think my cousin’s cabin is the safest bet. I say we pack her up and head there now.”
“Small problem,” Gideon said. “It’s a five-hour drive each way. Jordan and MacDonald will be calling us any minute to help them canvass whatever neighborhood they decide the call came from. We can’t drop out of sight, and we can’t exactly stash her in the back of the car.”
“Well, we can’t leave her in the garage.”
“Sure we can,” Gideon said. “We just can’t leave her in the garage alive.”
“So what are you saying—just kill her? Without the video?”
“I’d rather think of it as kill her without getting caught,” Gideon said. “Hey, you can’t win them all. She didn’t crack, and we don’t have time to wait. We have no choice. We have to kill her.”
“When?”
“No time like the present,” Gideon said as he came off the bridge and turned onto Vernon Boulevard. “We’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Just like that?” Dave said. “Just run right in and kill her?”
“What do you want to do? Stop off and bring her another pizza? Buy her some parting gifts? Dave, this isn’t going to be a big production number like with Enzo. We know how to do this. We put a plastic bag over her head, pack up the equipment, and leave her there. They’ll find her eventually.”
Dave nodded, trying to adjust to the fact that they were going to kill someone in five minutes. He never got used to it. That was Gideon’s thing. “Did anyone ever tell you that you are one sick motherfucker?”
“Yeah,” Gideon said. “But tell me again. I never get tired of hearing it.”
Chapter 78
In the ten minutes that Casey and Bell spent being lied to by Captain Cates, Matt Smith had planted a GPS tracker and two bugs in their car. Then he used his geek magic so that Kylie and I could track their movements and listen to their conversation on an iPad.
In the thirty minutes before that, Cates had pulled together a twelve-man SWAT team and a helicopter whose NYPD markings were covered with ABC Eyewitness News logos. It was the perfect rush-hour cover for a cop chopper.
The entire operation was coordinated through the city’s newest defense against terrorism—Monitor—a twenty-million-dollar electronic hub linked to more than a hundred thousand eyes and ears across all five boroughs. It was like Big Brother on steroids.
All those resources were being brought to bear to save one woman—a young mother whose criminal negligence had led to the death of her innocent five-year-old daughter and who only two days ago couldn’t get the city to spring for a couple of cops in a patrol car to escort her to a safe haven.
That was then. Now Rachael O’Keefe had been upgraded from an anonymous fifteen-dollar-an-hour phlebotomist to one of New York’s most important citizens. And the fact that the mayor’s ass was on the line if she was murdered didn’t hurt her cause.
Kylie and I put on Kevlar vests and NYPD windbreakers, and the instant Casey and Bell’s SUV drove away from the precinct, we sprinted for our car. Kylie got behind the wheel, and the six SWAT vehicles that had been idling out of sight over on York Avenue barreled up East 67th Street and fell in behind us.
We moved out, and I tracked Casey and Bell, keeping us as close as I could, but always out of sight.
As expected, they headed for Queens, and it was clear from the verbal battle they were having in the car that we had found our Hazmat Killer.
Heads turned as our heavily armed convoy moved south down Second Avenue. “You’ve got to hand it to Cates,” I said, “for pulling all this firepower together in no time flat.”
“If you ask me, it’s overkill,” Kylie said when we were halfway across the Ed Koch Bridge. “Especially the clown car bringing up the rear.”
The clowns she was referring to were Detectives Donovan and Boyle. Cates had called them in on the operation. No explanation. Kylie was not happy about it, but she knew better than to question Cates’s judgment.
“What would you rather do?” I said. “Storm the castle in your designer camo with a gun in each hand and a nine-inch KA-BAR between your teeth?”
And then a bright orange fireball lit up the sky.
Like so many bright red dominoes, the taillights in front of us popped on, and Kylie slammed on the brakes to avoid plowing into the rear of a white van.
I radioed Big Brother. “Explosion on the Queens side of the EKB. What’s going on?”
“We know. Our bells and whistles are going off. Hang on, I’m pulling up the traffic cams in front of you. There’s a ten fifty-three—looks like a city bus slammed into an eighteen-wheeler, blew his fuel tank. People are pouring out of the bus, drivers abandoning their cars.”
I checked the GPS. Casey and Bell were on the other side of the accident. They had just passed through Queensboro Plaza and were moving along at a rapid clip.
And then I heard Gideon come in over the wire. “We have no choice. We have to kill her.”
“Monitor, this is Red Leader,” I said. “We’re parked. Can we get out of this box or not?”
“Negative. Everything is total gridlock. Hold on—you can skirt the accident if you’re on foot.”
Now we had no choice. “Red Team, this is Red Leader,” I said. “Abandon your vehicles and move out. Now. Monitor, I can’t track the targets when I’m on the run. Keep me posted.”
Kylie and I jumped out of the Ford and started running along the steel roadway. The SWAT team was right behind us in full tactical gear. A few drivers rolled down their windows, yelling at us to run faster and get the goddamn traffic moving. You’ve got to love New York. There’s always someone around to tell you how to do your job.
“Red Leader, targets just turned off Jackson onto Crane Street. It’s a dead end, so that may be where the hostage is.”
“How far is it from where we are?”
“One point three miles. Can you commandeer a vehicle once you get past the accident?”
“We’re coming up on it now,” I said. “It’s total chaos. No first responders, but this whole stretch of roadway is a construction zone, and you have hard hats with fire extinguishers assisting. I can hear fire engines approaching, but negative on commandeering a vehicle, Monitor. Even if there were a troop transport waiting here, traffic is stretched all the way out to Queens Boulevard. This is the fastest way. I’m guessing ten to twelve minutes before the whole team is in place on Crane Street.”
“Red Leader, I don’t know if you picked up their last transmission. They plan to kill the hostage and run. I don’t think you have ten minutes.”
“Then I have to buy us some time,” I said.
I stopped short. The el
evated Queensboro Plaza subway station was overhead. I leaned against one of the graffiti-covered, steel-reinforced concrete pillars, pulled out my cell phone, and dialed.
Dave Casey answered on the first ring. “Zach. What’s up? Did you find her yet?”
“No,” I said, trying to keep my heavy breathing from giving me away. “But Calvin Vidmar, the doorman at Rachael’s apartment building, just confessed to murdering Kimi O’Keefe. We found corroborating proof at his apartment. I thought you and Bell should know it. Rachael O’Keefe is innocent.”
He didn’t say a word.
“Dave—did you hear me? Did you process what I said?”
“Yeah…I heard you. Heard you just fine. Thanks for calling.”
He hung up, and I broke into a run. Kylie and the SWAT team were already in front of me.
Chapter 79
“Did you hear the radio?” Gideon asked.
Dave shook his head, still trying to process his conversation with Zach Jordan. “No, I was on the phone. What’s going on?”
“That explosion—a ten fifty-three on the off-ramp of the bridge. A bus hit a truck and blew the gas tank.”
“Anybody hurt?”
“Dave, who gives a shit? The point is, the whole fucking bridge is shut down—we got here just in time. Let’s do what we have to do and get moving.”
Dave got out of the car, opened the garage door, and rolled the gate back in place as soon as the SUV was inside.
“Who called you just now?” Gideon said, stepping out of the car.
“Jordan.”
“And?”
“He said O’Keefe is innocent. He said the doorman from her building confessed to killing the kid.”
“Bullshit! He’s playing us.”
“What do you mean?”
“Put it together, man. Jordan, MacDonald, Cates—they’re all playing us. First they call us in about this bogus phone call that we know was impossible for O’Keefe to make. Then we drive to Queens, and they follow us. They followed us, Dave.”
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