Trick Turn

by Tom Barber

  ‘I want to be alone with her,’ Vargas told the ME and his team. They nodded, and walked away from the cold storage, Chalky remaining in the corridor and hearing their conversation trail off as they walked away.

  ‘The girl from Coney?’

  ‘Yeah, eleven years old. Happy 4th…’

  In his hideout, ready to go, Isabel’s stalker was about to switch off the TV, but something made him pause.

  He was chewing his lip, his foot tapping.

  He picked up the cell and redialled the number in Baltimore.

  ‘You need to get moving. What is it?’

  ‘It wasn’t me,’ the tall man admitted. ‘I didn’t kill her.’

  Now alone with the body bag, Vargas looked over her shoulder and went to the door. She peered through the glass panel and saw she’d been left alone as requested, Chalky there to make sure no-one back came down.

  Turning, she went back to the bag and unzipped it.

  ‘We’re clear, Is,’ she said. ‘We’re clear. It’s me.’

  Isabel opened her eyes, sat up and sucked in some much-needed deep breaths of air, before hugging her adoptive mother. Vargas returned the hug, then released the girl, her eyes shifting to the squibs from Kaufman Studios on Issy’s chest, which looked as realistic as the actual thing.

  She couldn’t stop her eyes welling up and hugged the child again. The door opened behind them, causing Vargas to swing round, but she relaxed when she saw it was Chalky. He passed her a holdall he’d been carrying as he returned to the door, on guard duty.

  ‘I almost sneezed from the sand,’ Isabel said. ‘Was trying real hard to stop my chest from moving. Took tiny breaths like we practiced earlier.’

  ‘You did amazing,’ Vargas said, smiling and wiping her eyes before she put the bag on the table beside the girl.

  ‘So did you,’ Chalky told her over his shoulder, ready to give a warning if anyone came, as Vargas opened the holdall, pulling out a change of clothes for the child. ‘Shep’s here,’ he added, opening the door as Shepherd came into the room. The Medical Examiner, a Jewish man in his fifties, walked in with the sergeant, as Chalky closed the door behind the two men.

  ‘Did people buy it?’ Vargas asked.

  ‘Hook and line,’ Shepherd said. ‘The story’s on every news channel.’ He turned to the ME. ‘Can you keep your personnel away from her autopsy?’

  He nodded. ‘Sure. It’s my call.’

  ‘Passports?’ Shepherd asked.

  ‘In the bag,’ Chalky said, as Isabel pulled on a new pair of jeans and zipped them up. ‘The tall man’ll know he didn’t shoot her, so he may well look into this. You guys need to keep up the illusion for as long as it takes.’

  ‘Yes. As you say, he’ll know he didn’t shoot her,’ the ME said, having already been informed of the situation and the foe they were facing. ‘So how are you gonna convince him otherwise?’

  ‘One of our detectives, Devonte Williams, is getting his informants to put the word out that a bounty was put on the girl by other mob families in Manhattan once they heard about the recent attempts on her,’ Shepherd said. ‘Brought her back to their attention. And someone collected.’

  ‘Josh said the Devaney soldier told him there was a tacit agreement around the city not to go after this kid,’ Vargas replied. ‘Only concern is, if the man with the rifle starts digging, he’ll find that out.’

  ‘That’s the gamble we’re taking,’ Shepherd said. ‘We’ll carry out a fake investigation, funeral, the works.’ He turned to the ME. ‘The hope is, he’ll stop coming after Issy and it’ll buy us time to find out who he is.’ His attention shifted to Chalky. ‘Are you sure you’re willing to follow through with this? You’re taking a big risk if he discovers he’s been tricked.’

  ‘It’s what I promised when I suggested it. I’ll do whatever I have to, to keep her safe.’

  Isabel dumped her old clothes on the table, now dressed in the new ones. Vargas swept up the clothes and stuffed them into a plastic bag, before opening and double-checking Issy and Chalky’s passports nervously, the ME standing beside her. She then looked at the girl’s undamaged sternum; she rubbed it with her palm then kissed her head, hugging her again with relief as Isabel clung onto her in return. ‘I want you to come with us,’ Issy said to Vargas.

  ‘I have to stay here and sell it,’ she told her. ‘You’ll be safe with Chalky. He and his friends will make sure of that.’

  ‘Where’s Archer?’ Isabel asked, looking tearful again.

  ‘He’s out there trying to find the man who’s been after you,’ Vargas said. ‘We couldn’t all come here. It has to be realistic.’

  Near the door, Shepherd and Chalky were looking at the live updates on Shep’s phone; news of Polonsky’s death had also just been released. Body Number Four the tall man had sent to the Medical Examiner in the last forty eight hours.

  ‘What did you think?’ Isabel asked Chalky. ‘Good as what you saw yesterday?’

  ‘I knew you could act, kiddo, but I’d give you an Oscar.’

  ‘You too,’ Shepherd said, looking at Vargas who gave him a weak smile.

  ‘Wasn’t so hard. For a moment, I really thought she’d been hit.’

  ‘We know the media and public bought it,’ Chalky said. ‘But do you think he did?’

  Shepherd looked at Vargas. ‘Let’s find him and ask in person.’

  SIXTEEN

  At the CT Bureau the next morning, most of the Department personnel stopped what they were doing when they saw Vargas walk into the building.

  Condolences would be offered in time, but it was clear to everyone from the set look on her face that bringing up the girl’s death right now wouldn’t be welcomed. Analysts, cleaners, an electrician repairing some equipment; she passed them all, not looking right or left. As she headed into the detective desk pool, Mike Phillips and Karen Bridges stopped a conversation when they noticed her, Vargas making eye contact with both as she approached.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Al,’ Bridges said, hugging her, tears in her eyes when she pulled back. ‘Whoever did this better be gettin’ measured by an undertaker.’

  She squeezed her colleague’s hand as Phillips rested his hand on her shoulder. ‘Whatever you need,’ he told her. ‘We’re right here.’

  ‘Thanks. Where are…’

  ‘They’re upstairs.’

  Vargas left the pair and walked up into the conference room, finding the rest of the squad there with Ethan, who’d been informed about the operation when it was approved yesterday. Hendricks shut the door once she’d entered.

  ‘Jake knows,’ Shepherd told Vargas, reading the question in her eyes. ‘With the media attention and public nature of the death, we need him to oversee the fake investigation while we hunt down our man. We’re gonna put it out that I’m too closely involved to head up the show with you part of my team.’

  ‘You gonna key in Bridge and Mikey?’ Vargas asked. ‘They just gave me their sympathies, downstairs. Didn’t feel good not telling them.’

  ‘We will, but not yet. Fewer people who are clued up right now, the better,’ Hendricks said. ‘Devonte knows, so he could put the word out to his informants on the street that someone else wanted the girl dead. But that needs to be it, for now.’

  Vargas picked up the remote off a table by the wall and switched on the TV. ABC-7 News was running the story as its main headline, showing footage from the boardwalk post-incident last night before switching to a correspondent there this morning. Seagulls were cawing in the air as they dipped and swooped behind her, the sun already shining down. A set of bystanders were standing behind the reporter, kept back by police tape; the camera zoomed in on a stack of bouquets of flowers, teddy bears and several stuffed animals from stalls on the Island that had been laid down in tribute, some of the tags with personalised notes.

  ‘City’s outraged,’ Shepherd said.

  ‘There are still good people out there,’ Josh noted, watching those present continue to lay tributes. ‘N
one of them knew her. Know her.’

  ‘Did it make national news?’ Vargas asked.

  ‘News of the shooting, but not her identity,’ Shepherd replied. ‘Department requested that be withheld, considering her age. But it’ll be out by the end of the day, count on it. One of the soccer moms from Issy’s school will catch wind it was her and be unable to resist her fifteen minutes of media attention.’

  Vargas thought about what Marquez and Josh had found the previous night; the carnage at the Upper West Side butcher’s shop. ‘What’s Polonsky’s background?’

  ‘Father was from here, mother from Baltimore. Took over the shop from a relative seven years ago.’

  ‘We came up with a theory, last night,’ Marquez said. ‘Which with what we found there seems pretty likely. Polonsky dabbled in other business beside selling steaks and lamb chops. Someone set him up with our suspect, or they’d worked together before. Our guy killed him to have his pick of Polonsky’s entire supply, or because he could ID him. Or maybe both. He used a sub-machine gun at the Chelsea theater, then there was the rifle from last night. Probably got them from the butcher.’

  ‘He almost bagged an ESU sharpshooter with the rifle,’ Shepherd said. ‘If it wasn’t for Harry, the guy would’ve been shot.’ The group looked at Ledger who shrugged, looking embarrassed from the sudden attention. ‘And if it wasn’t for Alice setting off those squibs when she did, we’d be mourning Issy’s death for real. Must’ve thrown him for a loop when he saw her go down.’

  ‘She was only down there for less than an hour, yet he was all set up ready to kill her,’ Marquez said. ‘He must’ve been watching this place, or your apartment, Al.’

  ‘We had Bridge, Mikey, Deevon and two plain-clothes officers keeping tight watch on your tail. No-one saw any sign of surveillance. Whoever this man is, he knows how to hide. Despite his size.’

  ‘Where’s Archer?’ Vargas suddenly asked, noting his absence.

  ‘At the morgue talking with the Medical Examiner. He was up almost all night working with CSU trying to find a lead on the shooter.’

  ‘The ME knows?’ Hendricks asked.

  ‘He had to, Jake,’ Shepherd said. ‘You can’t perform an autopsy on a body that doesn’t exist.’

  ‘Did you hire anyone else?’ the tall man asked quietly over his cell phone, from a breakfast diner in Midtown. He’d left his hideout with no intention of going back, the rifle from last night disposed of after being stripped down and wiped clean before the pieces went into separate storm drains. But he hadn’t skipped town yet.

  The noise in the place around him ensured his words went unheard; he’d already checked before making the call, but no-one was paying him any attention. The girl’s death last night had bumped his killings at the Chelsea theater down to secondary news, and the composite of his face wasn’t doing the rounds with the same intensity as it had thirty six hours ago. Even so, as a precaution, he was wearing a baseball cap pulled lower than normal, was sitting to disguise his height and hadn’t shaved.

  ‘Just you. You were meant to be the hottest shit in town at this sort of thing.’

  ‘Someone put two bullets in her. I watched the kid die.’

  ‘Your screw-up at the theater was on the news. Word must’ve got out. Someone else did the job for you.’

  ‘So in twenty four hours, someone puts the girl on ice? They knew where she was gonna be? Who she was?’

  ‘You deaf? Word must’ve got out. Her father was a piece of shit, but he was a big player and made more enemies than you could count. My boss hadn’t seen him in years but still hates his guts. What does that tell you? You’re not getting the rest of the payment for this. You didn’t get it done.’

  At his end, in Baltimore, the caller waited for a response.

  Then realised the killer he’d hired had already hung up.

  ‘Did she get out?’ the Medical Examiner, Dr Jerome Wyzyck, asked Archer. The two men were standing in one of the corridors at the Queens Medical Campus, talking quietly. Archer had just met the man for the first time; Wyzyck was an older Jewish individual with greying hair that matched his light grey shirt. He was wearing smart suit pants and polished shoes and had the unflappable demeanour of a person who had truly seen it all. After last night’s operation, Archer figured he now probably had.

  ‘She’s in a safe place,’ he told him. ‘We’re dressing up the investigation today. A colleague of ours is running it with members of his team. My British friend you met last night is keeping the girl protected.’

  Wyzyck nodded. ‘Daniel. I remember. How long will you keep up the illusion?’

  ‘As long as it takes for us to catch this man. Until we do, we figure this is the only guaranteed way to keep her safe. He thinks she’s dead, he’s not going to be hunting her. But we’ll be hunting him.’ Archer finished off a cup of black tea with the tags of two bags dangling from it, before catching a yawn.

  ‘Long night?’ Wyzyck asked.

  ‘Long week,’ Archer said with a smile. It changed to a sobering look. ‘My guys are at the Bureau right now, selling their grief.’

  ‘That’ll be tough to maintain.’

  ‘Maybe not. They’ve all lost people in their lives that they cared about. Drawing on those memories won’t be hard.’ He looked down at his mug. ‘Makes me uncomfortable though, faking being in mourning. Since we set this up, I’ve been wondering if we’re tempting fate. Everything’s been done except Issy actually dying.’

  ‘I admit, I’m very impressed with the success of what you did. And your sergeant told me who the child is. There aren’t many eleven year olds I’ve met who could’ve pulled that off. She sounds like a special young lady.’

  ‘She is.’ Archer leaned against the wall and looked down the corridor at the morgue. ‘How do you not let being around this all day get to you?’

  ‘You mean death?’ Archer nodded. ‘Simple. I detach. You can’t let emotion take over with what we see every day. We have a job to do.’ The ME smiled. ‘Even though I knew she wasn’t dead, seeing her sitting up on that slab last night was a first.’

  ‘I’ll bet.’

  He looked at Archer directly. ‘You must succeed. I don’t want to see her back here for real.’

  ‘We’re doing all we can.’

  ‘I requested the bodies of the three guards killed at the theater school be shipped over here for analysis yesterday, after you asked me to be involved. See if I could find anything that might help you find him.’ His face hardened. ‘I saw what the man hunting your girl is capable of.’

  ‘He won’t get near her. Now he thinks she’s gone, it’ll be easier. And we’re coming after him.’

  ‘You’re all at risk of ending up like those guards.’

  ‘Rather us than Issy. And it’s what we do.’ Archer pushed off the wall. ‘I need to get back to the Bureau,’ he told the doctor, who walked down the corridor with him.

  ‘Anything involving kids is different. There’s supposed to be an order in life. No-one deserves to die that young.’ Wyzyck pushed an exit button on the door, motioning for Archer to go first. ‘Find this man, Detective. Fast. Before he hurts anyone else.’

  *

  Day passed into night, as two investigations at the CT Bureau began, one fabricated, the other very real. Bodies continued to be brought into the OCME Queens Campus Center and the usual shift changes occurred in the main hospital building, the daytime medical staff in the morgue leaving at 8pm with the night rotation taking over.

  It had been a relatively quiet shift. The lights inside the morgue were off, the full moon the only source of brightness along with the nightlights that kept the place from total darkness.

  Then a shadow broke the moonlight streaming through the windows, interrupting its cold glow filling the room next door.

  A key-card stolen from a medical assistant half an hour ago slid into the slot for the access door that led into the room where the bodies were stored and the light flicked green; a gloved hand pushed
the handle down.

  A tall figure slid through the gap then clicked the door shut behind him.

  Inside the storage room were three rows of ten lockers. The man moved swiftly forward, his gloved hand gripping the handle on the first of the bottom row. The door was pulled open, revealing the body of a middle-aged woman.

  The newcomer to the room immediately slid the locker shut. He went to the next one.

  Going down the line, he checked each locker.

  Some bodies bore the marks of how they’d died; a stab wound victim. A strangulation. Others were less obvious.

  Men, women; even a young boy.

  But no eleven year old girls.

  After checking the last locker, the tall figure stood still for a moment, looking around him.

  It was possible the child had been taken to the undertaker already, but highly unlikely, especially given the manner of her death.

  The fact was simple.

  Isabel Vargas’ body wasn’t here.

  SEVENTEEN

  Forty eight hours later, Issy’s funeral took place at a church in Queens. It was the second funeral service Archer had attended that year, the first being that of a colleague and friend, Diana Lucero, but unlike on that occasion, this time he wasn’t in NYPD uniform. Instead, he was in a black suit, Vargas beside him in a dark dress, both of them occupying the front right pew. Shepherd, Marquez, Josh and Ledger were in the row behind them; it was taking time away from their investigation, but for appearances sake they knew they had to attend.

  Even though Archer was one of only six people present who knew the funeral was being held for a child who was actually alive and well, just being in the church and feeling the atmosphere was still extremely unpleasant, almost as if it was a dress rehearsal. With the man on the roof with that rifle, it had come within a hair’s breadth of actually happening, which made this all the more unsettling.