by Blake Banner
I frowned. “What kind of job?”
“Some kind of bullshit about production assistant in a production company. They got talking when she went there for a pizza at lunchtime one day. They got talking, she said she was looking for a job… I don’t need to tell you how it goes.”
Dehan said, “So what happened?”
“What happened was that I told her she was naïve, and that I didn’t want her seeing this guy anymore, and I didn’t want her going to bars on her own, even at lunch time. She promised but you know how it is, once you start suspecting, it’s real hard to shake it. So a couple of times I made an excuse at work and drove around the area. And it was maybe a week or ten days after I saw her in the bar, I saw her there again. Only this time they were holding hands. I felt sick. You can imagine. I waited till she came out and I followed her. She went home. I went up after her and I told her, ‘I saw you at the bar with that guy. You were holding hands. What’s going on?’ She told me they’d met a few times, they’d fallen in love. It was just one of those things. She was sorry and she was moving in with him.”
I drummed my fingers on the table. “Did she tell you anything else about him?”
“Yeah. It was his dad’s company. It was called Directed Vision or something like that. They had a contract with NBC and he was going to fix her up there with a job and she was going to study TV production while she worked.”
“Did she tell you his last name?”
His gaze became abstracted. He stared at the wall. “Yeah. I remember I thought it was a stupid name for a producer, because it was like film more, get it?”
“Jimmy Fillmore?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Stupid. She didn’t see it.”
Dehan asked him, “Did she give you an address where she was going?”
“Not exactly. We parted on really bad terms, as you can imagine. She told me she wanted to stay till Saturday, because he had something going on at his house till Saturday. Then she could move in with him. I told her to take a hike, so she stayed a few days with a couple we were friends with, and I never heard from her again.”
“We’re going to need an address for your friends.”
He was beginning to frown. “Sure, Ai Hitani and Bill Walters, 1717 Yates Avenue.” He gave her Ai’s number. “Say, what is this about? What has Angela done?”
I nodded. “Mr. Shine, the second time you saw Angela with this Jimmy Fillmore, did you get a better look at him?”
He sat back and thought. “Yeah, I guess. Maybe mid twenties, dark hair. It looked black, but hard to tell for sure. He might have been Hispanic, or Italian, but not real dark. They were sitting down most of the time, but when she left he stood to give her a kiss. She was five three or four. I guess he was less than a foot taller. So maybe he was six foot. Not big, normal build.” He looked at Dehan, then looked back at me. “What is this about?”
“Mr. Shine, Angela was murdered that Saturday, not far from the bar where you saw her, by the river. Do you recall the Westchester Angel?”
“Holy shit! That was Angela?”
Dehan was frowning at him. “You weren’t struck by the similarities? The location, the crucifix…”
He was shaking his head. “I had no idea. I never have time to watch the news. I read the financial pages. I don’t know anything about a crucifix. She had one, belonged to her grandmother…”
I nodded. “That was Angela, Mr. Shine.”
He had gone very pale and his hand had started shaking. “Jesus, if I had known I would have never… She was with friends. It wasn’t as if I put her on the street. I would never have… if I’d known.”
“There was no way you could have known. You can’t blame yourself. She had made her choice. What we have to do is catch the man who did it to her.”
He stared at me with big, unseeing eyes. “Jimmy,” he said. “Jimmy Fillmore did it.”
“That is what we aim to find out,” I said, half to myself, as he and Dehan stood. She showed him to the door and he left.
ELEVEN
I pulled out my cell and started to dial. I glanced at Dehan. She was standing by the door. I said, “What’s the deal with Teddy? He’s dragging his heels. Why don’t you give him a call and lean on him a bit?”
She nodded and stepped out of the room, pulling her phone from her pocket. My number rang twice and an attractive voice said, “Hello?”
“Ms. Ai Hitani?”
“Speaking. Who is this please?”
“This is Detective John Stone of the New York Police Department. Can you spare me a couple of minutes to talk about Angela Fernandez?”
There was a moment’s silence, then her voice again with a frown in it. “Angela? Sure. Is she OK?”
“Ms. Itani, I believe Angela stayed with you for a few days a couple of years back, after she broke up with Michael.”
“Yes, she did, that’s right.”
“Do you know where she went after that?”
Another silence. “Um, yes, she moved in with her boyfriend. Well, her new boyfriend. We were all a little startled that she had switched so suddenly, but she seemed pretty swept off her feet.”
“Do you recall his name?”
“Yeah, sure, Jimmy something.”
“Did you hear from her after that?”
“No, we never did.”
“Did she give you an address?”
“No. He called, came and picked her up, and we never heard from her again. We weren’t real close. We were more Mike’s friends. Is she OK?”
I sighed. “No, I’m afraid she has been murdered.” There was a small gasp at the other end of the phone. I went on, “Ms Itani, Angela was murdered that Saturday. We have reason to believe that whoever picked her up was responsible for her death. Someone will be around later to take a statement from you and from Mr. Walters. In the meantime, please try to remember anything you can about what she said to you about her new boyfriend.”
She said she would and I hung up. Dehan was leaning on the doorjamb, watching me. “He was falling over himself with apologies. He was looking for it right there and then. I told him I didn’t want to have to charge him with withholding evidence. He swore he was on it. He knows he has it, he just can’t remember exactly where.”
“Good. Maybe we should go help him look.”
“On the other hand, we have Angela’s phone and bank records.”
I nodded. “OK. I’m going to start going through her phone records, see who she spoke to on Friday and Saturday. Meantime, you want to go and take a statement from Ai Hitani and Bill Walters?”
Her eyes flicked over my face for a second. “Sure.” She paused. I stood. She said, “You OK, Stone?”
“Never better. Let’s go.”
I gave her the keys to the Jag and we went downstairs.
The bank and phone records were on my desk. There was only one thing I was interested in and I leafed through the phone records until I found it. Friday and Saturday, 13th and 14th May, 2016. There were not many calls: a couple out of state to Pennsylvania, and a cell phone that called her late Friday and just before midnight. It lasted ten minutes, and then called again Saturday at two PM.
I dialed the number. It rang three times and was answered by a woman who sounded flustered. “Yes? Who is this?”
“This is Detective John Stone of the NYPD, ma’am, who am I speaking to?”
“This is Mrs. Silvia Sterling. What do you want?”
“Mrs. Sterling, how long have you had this number?”
“Are you serious? Is this some kind of joke?”
“No, ma’am, it is not a joke. It is part of a homicide inquiry. If you like, you can call the 43rd Precinct and ask for Detective John Stone, they’ll put you through to me. However, it would save time if you simply told me how long…”
“Yes, all right! I have had this number for about a year. Do you need the exact date?”
“No, thank you, ma’am. That is all I needed to know. You have a good day.”
&n
bsp; I hung up and called AT&T and asked them to tell me who had that telephone number in May of 2016. They said it would take time and I went upstairs to talk to Inspector John Newman. When I knocked and went in he didn’t look real pleased to see me.
“John.” He sighed and gestured at the chair opposite him. “Come in, sit down. You look troubled.”
I nodded. “I’m not happy about the deal with Wayne Harris.”
“I know you have reservations, John.”
“It’s more than reservations, sir. I have real concerns.”
He spread his hands. “All right, let’s hear them.”
I thought for a moment. “For a start, we don’t need him. We are closing in on a prime suspect, Jimmy Fillmore…”
“Have you got an address?”
“Not yet.”
“A photograph so we can put out an APB?”
“No, not yet…”
“National Insurance number? Anything more than a name?”
“Not yet, sir.”
He studied my face for a moment, then said, “What are your other concerns?”
“Wayne’s story, about how he was at the river and witnessed Angela’s murder, it just doesn’t hold up for me.”
“Why not?”
“For a start, I went and lay down on the spot where he said he was lying, smoking a joint and gazing at the stars, when the killer showed up.” I shook my head. “He wasn’t lying there. You couldn’t. It was covered in stones and prickly bushes. When we took him there, to find Angela’s purse, he didn’t know the path to that location: he knew the path to the spot where Angela was killed. Also, he needed to get up close to the spot where her purse was buried, and then he knew the exact spot. That is not consistent with someone who saw it concealed from almost a hundred yards away—in the dark.”
He nodded. “They are all good points, and classic John Stone, insightful thinking. But it is not… substantial enough to warrant stopping the deal. We have a serial killer out there, John. It was your own intuitive brilliance that found him…”
“Sir, my gut tells me that Wayne Harris has developed a dangerous fixation on Detective Dehan. If he is released on the strength of this deal, she could be seriously at risk.”
He grunted and looked down at his thumbs, as though he was trying to decide which one he liked best. “You believe Wayne could be our killer and he is playing a deep game?”
“I don’t know, but what I do know is that whenever she has been present at an interview with him she has had to withdraw from the conversation because he cannot focus when she is present.”
He frowned at me. “What do you mean?”
I sighed again. “He fixates. He seems to believe that he and Detective Dehan have some kind of special connection. He began talking about the primal drives of the deep unconscious that united them. It was not good stuff to listen to, sir.”
“It is natural that you should feel protective toward her. She is your partner in more senses than one…”
I fought to keep the irritation from my voice. “Sir, I would feel the same way if he was talking this way about Maria Sanchez at the local grocery store. He was unquestionably present at Angela’s murder, he knew the exact location of her purse, and he is fixating on a young woman who fits the model of our killer’s victims. That for me is a pretty powerful reason to stop the deal.”
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You understand that this is a very difficult call, Stone.”
I shook my head and said simply, “No.”
There was irritation in his eyes when he opened them. “All right, let’s look at it this way. Suppose we talk to Wayne, he gives us the name of the alleged killer, and it does not pan out. It leads to nothing. Then he stays where he is in prison and you are free to continue your investigation into either this James Fillmore or Wayne Harris.” He shrugged, “However, if, on the other hand, the information he gives us is good and we catch the man responsible, then we have taken a serial killer off the streets and you have your assurance that Wayne Harris is not the man and, in all probability, he is not fixating on Carmen but merely having a bit of fun at your expense.”
“A bit of fun?”
“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to sound flippant, but you take my meaning. It is reprehensible, but not life threatening.”
I raised an eyebrow at him, stared out the window a moment, then looked back at him. “All I am asking is for a little more time.”
He shook his head. “It’s no longer in my hands, John. It’s with the DA. The decision will be taken, in all probability this afternoon, by the state. It is out of our hands.” I made to stand. “John, I know your track record and there is not another detective whom I respect more than you, but you should know that the DA is adamant that we need this deal, and he has asked me to form a task force to go through all the Jane Does found in the river in the last five years, to see how many we can attribute to this killer. When the press get a hold of it, it could blow up in our faces, accusations of negligence, of racial bias, if they had been white girls this would not have happened…” He gestured at me. “I don’t need to tell you. You know the way it goes. They want it wrapped up before any of that happens. If Wayne is on the level, he will get his deal this afternoon.”
I knew he was right. I nodded. “OK, thank you, sir.”
I left his office and went slowly down the stairs. I sat for twenty minutes at my desk staring at empty space and going over every aspect of the case in my mind. It was like a jigsaw where you have all the corners and the edges, but the stuff in the middle belongs to a different puzzle. Three such similar girls, each from a different state, come together in such a small geographical area, all murdered one Saturday after another. Most serial killers are stalkers, but this didn’t seem to be the result of stalking. What was it the result of?
Dehan came in, dropped into her chair, put her feet on the desk and tossed me my keys. “Nothing more than what she told you already. She was at home with her husband and her kid. She works from home, he’s a househusband, and the kid is…well, remind me not to have kids unless either they are mute or I go deaf.” She sighed. “They promised to discuss it tonight when little Izamu Augustus Itani-Walters, with a hyphen, was asleep. They will then open a bottle of French wine and talk about Angela’s visit and see if anything comes to mind. We are grateful to them, Stone. Be grateful.”
I nodded, but didn’t smile. “I am.”
“You still worried?”
I did more nodding. “Yup, and the more I go over it in my mind, the more worried I become. We are rats in a maze, Dehan. We are being driven down a path to an unavoidable conclusion.”
“I don’t know what to say, Stone. We have to follow the evidence and right now Wayne Harris’ testimony is part of the evidence. It’s practically the only evidence we’ve got that we can follow. I don’t see we have much choice.”
“My point exactly, Dehan. I couldn’t have put it better myself.” She frowned at me, hard, like she thought I was losing my grip. Just to compound her doubts I added, “I have a very bad feeling. Something bad is going to happen, and I don’t know how to stop it. We are sitting here with a triple homicide—at least—and not a single clue to go on until the DA gives us the go ahead with Wayne.”
She made a face that said she didn’t know what the hell had got into me. “So, thank heavens for Wayne, right?”
“Yeah, precisely.”
“C’mon, Stone! If the information is bad he gets no deal. If it’s good, we have nothing to worry about. Stop worrying for crying out loud!”
Before I could answer the internal phone rang.
“John, it’s me, the Inspector. We have the go ahead from the DA. I have had the deal printed and I’m sending it down to you now. She stressed upon me that this is something that needs to be cleared up in short order.”
I tried to smile and failed. “With all due respect to the Powers that Be, sir, I am more motivated by the next potential victim than by
their political anxieties.”
“Of course, of course, I agree with you. John, about your own personal anxieties, if you want somebody else… Perhaps Detective Dehan…”
“No. I can handle it, sir.”
“Good. Good. Glad to hear it. You know where we stand.”
“I am very clear on that, sir.”
“Good, good,” he said again. “Well, go get ’em!”
He hung up. I sighed noisily at Dehan. “We have the green light. The deal is on its way down.”
She shrugged. “I’m sorry, Stone, but I’m glad. Let’s get this son of a bitch and put him away.”
A uniform came in with a manila folder and handed it to me. “From the inspector, Detective Stone.”
I thanked him and he went away. I had just started to read when the internal phone buzzed again. Dehan picked it up. She was very quiet and that made me look up. She was making a note on a piece of paper. After a moment she said, “OK, thanks,” and hung up. She looked at me and there was something almost apologetic in her expression. “They found another body.”
I threw the file on the desk. I had a hot knot of anger burning in my belly. “God dammit!” I grabbed my keys and stood. “Where is it? Ferry Point Park?”
She was half way to her feet and froze. “How could you possibly know that?”
“It’s called common sense!” I said savagely and stormed out of the station.
She grabbed her jacket and the folder and came running after me. “Slow down there, Sensei! What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
I climbed in the car and slammed the door. She got in the other side and I fired up the engine. She stared at me as I backed out. “Stone! You want to explain?”
“I’ve been explaining!” I snapped. I rammed in first, looked at her and said, “Remember I said something bad was going to happen and I couldn’t stop it? Well this is it!”
TWELVE
The body was in the woods, on the east side of the freeway, where it borders the mouth of the creek. Frank and the crime scene team were already there when we arrived, and the uniforms had cordoned off the area with yellow tape, suspended like bunting from tree to tree. She was Hispanic, about twenty-two, lying on her back in a small clearing, looking up at the sky through the canopy above. Her elbows were bent and her hands were on her chest, bound with a silk handkerchief. She had a short skirt that had been pulled up around her hips, and her legs were splayed. She had no panties. There was bruising around her mouth and neck, and a big, ugly black bruise on her windpipe. Frank was squatting by her side. He glanced at us but didn’t say anything.
