by Blake Pierce
“Well, well,” Lottie said. “You do remember us poor old broads down in the WB!”
“I do,” Ava said, sidling up to Lottie’s desk. When she looked at the four other women in the room, she wished she’d done a better job of remembering names. Outside of Frances and Lottie, things got a little blurry. As she scanned the other four women, she spotted exactly what she needed on one of the women’s desk.
“I’m so sorry,” she said to the woman. “What’s your name?”
“Deidre Idelman.” Deidre was mostly petite, an appearance slightly thrown off by her large shoulders and strong-looking chin.
“Can I see that map?” she asked, pointing to the folded paper on the edge of her desk.
Deidre handed it over and Ava opened it on Lottie’s desk. “Anyone know where Frances might be?” she asked.
“Probably her usual beat,” Lottie said. “Why? You got something for us?”
“I think I do,” she said with a smile. She grabbed a pencil from Lottie’s desk and drew a large circle around the area the two murders and Theresa’s close call had occurred. “We’ve got a killer who is using these alleyways to hunt his victims—victims that are all women.”
“Yeah…we know that,” Deidre said.
“Anything new?” Lottie asked playfully.
“Yes. I believe we’re going to find our killer if we stick to these areas and stay on the lookout for a man who is studying women. Also, he seems to be talking to himself. Particularly about his mother.”
“My God, men and their mothers,” Lottie said with a laugh. “Does it ever end?”
Ava got the joke, but did not laugh. “Not for this guy,” she said. “Now, who wants to head out to find Frances to pass this on?”
“You don’t want that duty?” Lottie asked.
“I’d like to but…well, I need to go make a personal stop first. There’s a favor I need to ask someone.”
What she thought, but did not say, was that it might also be time to finally come clean with her father—to let him know exactly how deep things had gotten at work.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Her father’s boxing gym was busier than it usually was nearing the end of the day. Two lightweights were going at it in the center ring, and a larger man was getting in reps with one of her father’s part-time trainers in a ring off to the side. The staccato sounds coming off the speed bags in the back had a pleasant timing to it, almost like a faster jazz tune as the drummer brought the groove home.
She found her father in the front of the gym, showing a rookie proper footing for a defensive stance. When Roosevelt spotted his daughter, his face lit up like always. It was one of the many things Ava treasured about him; he showed just as much delight in seeing her now as he had when she’d been a three-year-old running for a hug. It had always been this way, even though they saw one another nearly every day. Roosevelt excused himself from his student and came over to her as she half-heartedly watched the men sparring in the center ring.
“You end your day early?” he asked as he joined her.
“Not really. It looks like it’s going to be another long day.” She knew what she needed to tell him, but it was much harder than she expected. When the words came out, it almost felt like she was delivering bad news. “Dad…in fact, I’ve been placed on a murder investigation.”
He smiled at first, and she knew why. He thought she was joking. After all, women cops simply weren’t given that level of responsibility. But when he saw that her own expression was unwavering and tinged with a bit of sadness, his smile dropped away.
“A murder investigation?” he said.
“Yes. And I’m well aware that my failure on this case will likely put a very early end to my career as an officer. I have to do well on this, Dad.”
Roosevelt sighed and when his eyes met hers again, she saw that there was a very hesitant kind of pride in his eyes—but it was mostly drowned out by fear. “I read about that hatchet killer. Killing women. Is that what they’ve got you on?”
She could only bring herself to nod.
“Well, I thought they already had the killer…that Tony Two character, right? Some mob big shot?”
“It’s not him, Dad.”
“Then why are the papers saying it is?”
“Because it shows the public there’s at least some sort of movement on the case. But it’s not him.”
“So why are you telling me this?” he asked. “I think it’s a good thing that they’re giving a woman this chance but I’m not so happy that it’s my daughter.”
“They’re using me as a publicity stunt and a distraction from the killings themselves. So I have to wrap this. I have to see it through no matter what it takes.”
“And what’s it going to take?” Roosevelt asked. She could tell that he was getting more and more upset with each exchange so she saw no point in painting a pretty picture for him.
“I need you to watch Jeffrey for a few days. You’re still welcome to stay at the apartment. But I have to give this case my full attention for the next few days.”
Roosevelt looked toward the ceiling and said, “He’s upstairs right now, in my little hole of a place. He’s working on his studies, trying really hard because I told him if he did, he could come down and I’d let him hit the speed bags when I locked up. I love that boy, and I will, of course, be more than happy to watch after him. He’s a good kid, Ava…”
“I know that. He’s one of the reasons I’m doing this.”
“You sure about that?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” The question stung. To think her father questioned her motives was a bit too much; it was almost like betrayal.
“I mean no matter how you spin this, it seems like a play at revenge. And I get that. Hell, I respect that. But keep it in your head that it was chasing after lunatics that got Clarence killed in the first place.”
She wasn’t sure what hurt more: her father using Clarence’s death against her or the fact that he was absolutely right. Either way, it was too much for her to take in that moment, especially when she knew she currently had a few other WB ladies scanning the streets while she got her affairs in order.
When she walked away from her father, she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt such hurt and anger from a single comment that had come from his mouth. And as she walked up the small staircase to her father’s small apartment hideaway above the gym to speak with her son, the beat of the speed bags in the back no longer sounded like music, but machine gun fire snapping at her heels.
***
Dusk was settling on the city when she returned to the precinct. As she walked up the stairs, Ava caught sight of Frances and Lottie coming around the corner at the end of the block. She waited for them, noting the look of excitement on Lottie’s face.
“Anything?” Ava asked.
“No,” Frances said.
“Now, that’s not true,” Lottie argued. “We found out that there’s a hell of a lot of men that can whistle very loud. I also picked up a few slang terms that I’m assuming mean attractive lady. If you ask me, looking for one crazy man out of what New York City has to choose from is going to take forever.”
“Is Deidre still out there, too?”
“Yes,” Frances said. “She has a friend who works at that big diner on Bleaker. She’s meeting with them, sort of getting the feelers out there. But listen, Ava…I don’t know that Minard is going to be thrilled with you roping in more of the WB on this. What about Wimbly? Won’t he help?”
“Frank Wimbly is, like many others, convinced that Tony Two is the killer.”
“And what makes you not convinced?” Lottie asked.
“Tony Two was legitimately confused over the accusations. Besides, if the rumors about him are true, he only uses his hatcher to maim and injure men that cross the mob. Neither of the dead women, or the woman he tried to accost last night, have connections to the mob that we know of. And the way in which they were killed does not line up with the traits
of a man who takes a finger here and there.”
“Good enough for me,” Lottie said. “But I’m calling it a day. If dames like us put in extra time, Minard is going to catch on to us sooner or later.”
Ava agreed but also figured she would pull some of the weight after hours, like the day before. Still, she walked inside the precinct, thinking of Jeffrey. He’d handled the news well, and seemed excited that his mother was part of such a big case. She had, of course, decided not to give him specifics, just that it was a big, important case. He also thought it was going to be quite an adventure for him and his grandfather to spend a few whole days together.
Thinking of her father brought up the stinging comment he’d dropped on her. She heard it quite clearly in her head…and maybe that’s why it snagged on some other thought.
It was chasing after lunatics that got Clarence killed in the first place.
It was mostly true. But that no longer seemed important. It was one word…one word she’d rarely heard Clarence use. It reminded her of something that she felt might be important. She stood partially frozen in thought just inside the precinct doors as it slowly came together. She recalled Clarence in the living room one night, a grim look on his face as he settled down next to her.
“It’s a dangerous world out there,” he’d said. “The lunatic I took in today…I’ve never seen anything like it…”
Clarence had been tasked with speaking to that lunatic several times after the initial case, hoping the criminal would reveal something more about his crime and anyone else connected to them. And almost every time Clarence referred to this particular man, he used that same word: lunatic.
Deftly and as nonchalant as she could, Ava made her way to the records department and took the file for a man named William Snide. As she carried it out tucked securely beneath her arm and out of sight, she got the feeling her day was far from over.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Ava watched the county jail draw closer from the back seat of the Checker cab. Dusk had not yet worked its way to night just yet, but the place had an ominous feel to it. She looked from the building back down to the files she’d taken from the precinct, describing the murders and exploits of William “Willie” Snide. Having read it during the drive, she felt almost dirty even holding it.
The driver parked the cab in the visitor lot and turned awkwardly to her. He’d seemed chagrined when she explained that she was a member of the WB department of the NYPD. But now that the time for payment had come, he was very agreeable. “That’s a buck thirty,” he said.
“I need you to wait here,” she said. It was really just a precaution on her part. She figured getting a cab to pick her up wouldn’t be too difficult, but this end of town appeared deserted and she did not want to be stranded.
“It’ll cost you.”
“I know.” This hurt, as any unexpected expense was going to make her start to worry about the financial situation back home. But she had a job now, and she knew the little bit of savings Clarence had accrued would come to her in the next few weeks. “I’ll be back in about half an hour.”
The driver didn’t seem pleased with this, but he said nothing as she got out of the car. As she reached the front door of the prison, she looked back to ensure the driver had not changed his mind. Seeing that her ride was still there, she walked in with Willie Snide’s folder still in her hand. She walked to the check-in desk where she found two men in warden uniforms, smoking cigarettes and laughing about something.
“Help you?” one of them asked, making no attempt at all to hide the fact that he was giving her the once-over.
“My name is Ava Gold, and I’m with the NYPD Women’s Division. I need to speak with one of your prisoners.”
Both men looked rather amused that the NYPD would send a woman on such an errand. “And which prisoner would that be, sweetie?” the younger of the two men asked.
“William Snide.”
This took any look of amusement off their faces. “The hell you say,” the older of the two said.
Ava placed the folder she’d taken from the precinct on their desk. “I was given his records as proof of my request. If you like, you’re welcome to telephone my supervisor, Captain Minard.”
She said this only because they’d do no such thing. She knew a man would not want to appear as if they needed another man’s approval on anything—not even when it came from the prison system.
“Have it your way then,” the older man said, getting to his feet. “Follow me.”
Ava did just that. He led her through the small lobby and then to a wide corridor. Here, he knocked on a door that was partially open and stuck his head in. Ava was not able to see who he spoke to but heard the brief exchange.
“Ring Rafferty,” the older man from the desk said. “We got a cop here that needs to speak with Willie Snide.”
“What the hell for?” came the gruff reply from inside the office.
“Didn’t ask. Didn’t want to know.”
“All right. Head on back, and I’ll ring him. Shut the door, would you?”
The man did as he was asked. When he turned back to Ava, his eyes seemed distant and filled with fear. “How many guards you want in the room?”
“Is that really necessary?” she asked.
The man smiled nervously and, ignoring her question, said: “We’ll start with two.”
***
She was led into a small room ten minutes later. When she stepped through the door, the man from the front desk took his leave, clearly eager to do so. Inside the room, two guards stood in opposite corners, as still as statues. One was rather large, damn near the size of a tree. The other was of average size and looked very uncomfortable. He kept his hand very close to his service pistol, holstered at his side.
Then her eyes fell on William Snide. He was sitting at a scarred wooden table in the center of the room. His scrawny ankle was clasped to one end of a chain; the other end was affixed to a bar that was bolted into the floor. He looked every bit of his fifty-one years. His skin looked almost too white, as if he were very cold all the time. His face, highlighted by a large scar that ran across his forehead, was gaunt and somehow ghoulish. Yet when he smiled at her, she nearly found him handsome in an odd way. His head was shaved and the beard on his chin was about six inches long and badly in need of a trim.
“I just love visitors,” Willie said, as if she had joined him on a front porch for a glass of iced tea. “Who might you be?”
“My name is Ava Gold, with the—”
“The New York City Police Department Women’s Bureau. Yes, I know. I was informed by these humble guards. Gold…Ava Gold.” He smiled warmly at her as she slowly took the seat on the opposite side of the table. “Any relation to Clarence Gold?”
“He was my husband.”
“Oh! I see. Well, that’s nice. He is…wait. Was your husband?”
“He died recently.”
Willie’s frown seemed genuine. He then smiled at her again but this time there was something sinister in it. “Let me guess. Killed while working. And now you figure you can take his place and pick up where he left off…making this deplorable city a safer place. Something like that?”
She ignored him, sensing that he was already trying to get a rise out of her. She regarded him for a moment, finding it hard to believe that the skinny, rather normal-looking man in front of her was capable of everything in the folder that she sat lightly on the table between them.
Three years ago, Willie Snide killed his wife by strangling her. He then cut off her head with a hatchet and put it in a suitcase, which he carried with him into the city, with the intent of dropping it off at the house of his mother-in-law. He was stopped by a policeman who noticed blood coming from the bottom of the suitcase, and the officer caught a hatchet in the neck for his troubles. After that, Willie went on the run. It was a three-day chase wherein Willie ended up killing five more people. He killed one by chewing into the victim’s neck. Another he hung up i
n a shed just outside of Amityville and flayed open like a piece of cattle. That was where he was found, removing organs with great precision, and labeling them. In his testimony, he claimed the murder of his wife had been one of enraged passion—but the act of killing had been much more enjoyable than he’d expected and he figured he’d get a bit more in before he was captured.
“That’s my file?” Willie asked.
“It is.”
“Can I see it?”
“No. Mr. Snide, I—”
“Willie, please.”
“Willie, I’m here because I was hoping you could offer some insights into a current case I’m working on.”
His eyes filled with childlike glee and he clasped his hands together on the table. “I have no idea why you’d come looking to me for help, but I’d be more than happy to! What do you need?”
“As we’ve already discussed, my husband brought you in. He was the one who made the arrest. And some of the things he said you did…he described them as shocking. He never went into detail, so I figured it was something quite grotesque. And then I looked at this today,” she said, tapping the folder in front of her. “You say your wife’s murder was one of passion—one that revealed to you just how much you enjoyed murder. I need to know what that’s like. I need to know how to anticipate when a current killer may strike next and was hoping you could shed some light on the nature of why…of why people do it.”
Willie laughed heartily at this. It was a sound that sent a chill through Ava. It also angered her a bit.
“Why? Well…if you were out in the woods and a bear crossed your path, you’d be scared, right?”
“Of course,” she said, unsure of where this was headed.
“And why would you be scared?”
“Because the bear could possibly attack.”
“Right. It probably would attack you. And why? Well, because that’s what bears do. Same with a snake. Snakes bite because they feel threatened. They are snakes. That’s what they do. And humans are no different. At the core, we are no better than a striking snake or a vicious bear. We kill. It’s in our nature.
