88 Killer (26 page)

Chapter Sixty-Nine

Brownsville, Brooklyn

March 12, 11.45 p.m.

H
arper was sitting on the hood of his car looking out over the destruction with Denise. Eddie Kasper was in the back of an ambulance talking to a young female paramedic with cute dark brown eyes.
Any opportunity
, Harper thought.

‘What now?’

Harper looked at Denise. ‘We’ve got twenty-four more individuals to talk to, so we can hope that they’ve heard of Sturbe or that they know where Heming is hiding. But how helpful are they going to be?’

‘No sign of Heming, then?’ she asked.

‘He wasn’t here. The guy I took out said he was “cleaning up”.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘I’ve been trying to work it out.’ Harper took a call on his cell phone. It was Mark Garcia. ‘Where are you?’ said Harper.

‘Just taken our arrests to the cells. I’m back at McRory’s. Where are you?’

‘I’m still at the scene. You found something?’

‘Yeah, we found the black cards. They all just have the address in Borough Park. They were ditched in the toilets, torn-up and flushed. They weren’t careful. Quite a few pieces were on the floor.’

‘So what’s the news?’

‘One of the cards didn’t have the address on it.’

‘What did it have on it?’

‘We only got two pieces of it. On the right hand side it just says SS and 88. The word
Obedience
is in the top right corner.’

Harper said, ‘Thanks. Not sure what it means. The SS, the 88 and the motto . . . Hold on, Garcia.’

‘What?’

‘The other cards. Did they have the 88 on them?’

‘Not that we found.’

‘Neither did the card we found in Lukanov’s place with Denise’s name on it. Keep that card, Garcia, I want to see it. It might be the killer’s card, which means he might be out tonight, with a new target. Oh, and one more thing . . .’

‘What’s that?’

‘We need the name on that card. They could be in danger. Get the sewers checked out. The card might be somewhere.’

‘You’re kidding? You want me to search the sewage?’

‘It’s someone’s life, Garcia, and I never kid.’

Harper called the investigation center and got through to Swanson, who had returned earlier.

‘What you got, boss?’

‘We’ve got the potential of a hit tonight,’ Harper said.

‘What’s the lead?’

‘Black card with the moniker 88 and the letters SS.’

‘No name, I guess.’

‘No name. We just got the half with the SS and 88.’

‘What do you want me to do?’ Swanson asked.

‘I want to see if we can get as many patrol cars on the streets of Manhattan as possible.’

‘Yeah, right – double overtime. I’ll ask, Harper.’

‘Put me through to Lafayette, can you?’

‘Sure, but he’s gonna say the same thing.’

Harper waited. The SS. The Nazis’ elite force. The previous card didn’t have the SS written on it. Perhaps there were different cards for different things. Some with names, others not.

Lafayette picked up. ‘Yes, Harper.’

There was silence on the line. Harper was thinking again.
SS
. . . Then he made a connection. What was Heming going to clean up? He was going to clean up any shit that could incriminate him.

‘Jesus!’ shouted Harper. ‘We got to go!’

‘Harper, what is it?’ demanded Lafayette.

‘I got to go,’ Harper repeated. He disconnected and slid across the hood of the car. ‘Get in,’ he ordered Denise.

The car was moving in an instant, eating up gravel and screeching out of the gates.

‘What is it?’

‘They found a black card with the letters SS.’

‘So what? We know Sturbe was a member of the SS. Our killer likes to use these monikers and symbols.’

‘Yeah, that’s what I thought too. If I’d seen it, I’d have known immediately, but I didn’t. I just heard over the radio.’

‘What would you have known?’

‘The SS doesn’t stand for the
Shutzstaffel
or whatever it was. It’s the last two letters of a name. All the cards have names on, right?’

‘Becky Glass,’ said Denise. ‘Was that Becky’s card?’

‘Not Becky Glass,’ said Harper. ‘Becky Glass is dead.’

‘Then what?’

‘There’s only one possibility. Her kids – Jerry and Ruth Glass.’

Chapter Seventy

The Safe House, Manhattan

March 12, 11.47 p.m.

J
erry and Ruth Glass were being held in a well-used temporary safe house in the city on 14th Street. It was a two-story building with an anonymous-looking façade, a used Chevy out front and a yard scattered with kids’ toys like any normal family home.

Inside, a female cop was sitting reading, as the social worker assigned to the children sat beside her watching television. Upstairs, the two kids lay fast asleep in the same room, where they felt safest.

There were usually two cops on duty, but at the moment there was only one. The rota only changed one cop at a time to ensure continuity, but that meant that often, the cop at the end of his or her shift would leave dead on time, while the relief cop often turned up late – so at shift changeover, the house was at its most vulnerable.

Unknown to anyone in the safe house, a car was heading towards them, the driver looking down at his watch. His slot was narrowing. A few minutes had gone already. He had to be quick.

On the other side of town, speeding towards the house, were Denise and Tom. Harper reached his hand out of the open window and put a siren on his car. He drove like a bullet through the greasy streets. It was coming together in his head.

‘How do you read it?’ she asked.

‘Someone made the connection. We put out the information about what the child said. We didn’t mention the children, but the killer must’ve worked it out. The papers were full of it. And they reported the fact that Becky had two children. He spotted the link.’

‘Who called it?’

‘They’re protecting the organization, I guess. Heming might be on it himself, or even Sturbe.’

‘You think they’re different people?’

‘I don’t have time to think. I know we’ve got two names, that’s all.’

They shot through dark streets, their fear palpable. Harper called through to the house, but the line was dead. They called the police radio. It was switched off. A major violation. Harper hit the steering wheel.

He then called the precinct. ‘Swanson, I’ve got someone after the kids in the safe house. I need a number. Find out the name of the officer on duty or the social worker, and get me a cell-phone number.’

‘I’m on it,’ said Swanson.

The killer turned into the street. He felt his neck tensing and twisted his head around. He was gripping the wheel too damn tight as well. He parked on the opposite side of the street and got out of his car. He breathed deeply. He was a little late. The world seemed silent for a second. He moved around to the trunk and opened it. He took out two body bags, a thick rope and a climbing grapple. Then he walked across the street, checked his gun and looked up. He saw the lights go out in a downstairs bathroom. They were not expecting any trouble.

He walked around the back of the house. He needed to silence the children. It was as simple as that, but it didn’t feel good. It wasn’t part of what he wanted to do. He felt angry about it, angry and disappointed that he’d left a clue. He looked up at a large oak. It wasn’t close enough to the window, but that didn’t matter. He climbed up the tree, eased himself out on a branch, and then tied the grappling hook to the rope and swung it in a large circle. He released it. It skittered on the tiles and slid down, missing the chimney stack. He tried again, leaning out more. The throw went further. The hook slapped on to the higher tiles and went over the peak. He tugged slowly until the hook bit, and then dropped the rope. It hung down the guttering and right in front of the bedroom window.

He climbed down the tree, sweating from the exertion. When he reached up and tested the rope, it was fixed nice and firm.

He put one hand as far up as he could and jumped, reaching up higher with his second hand. His upper body was strong and he slowly pulled himself up the rope. One hand over the other, slowly advancing towards the window where the kids were sound asleep.

Harper’s cell phone finally rang. He switched off the sound of the siren and answered.

‘Garcia here. I’ve got the cell phone of the officer.’

‘Go ahead.’

Harper took the number and immediately cut Garcia off and dialed the officer. He waited as the ringer started up. The cop finally answered. ‘Hi there, it’s Candy.’

‘Candy, nice to know your first name. My name is Detective Tom Harper of North Manhattan Homicide. Are you with anyone?’

‘Just me and the social worker.’

‘Where’s the second officer?’

‘They haven’t turned up yet, but they should have been here by now.’

‘Okay, Officer Candy, listen up. We’ve got reason to believe that someone has the location and identity of the kids. Have you seen or heard anything at the house?’

‘Nothing, Detective, it’s all quiet here.’

‘That’s good. But this killer is smart. Listen to me. Don’t get alarmed, but I want you to stay on the phone and go upstairs.’

‘Have you called patrol?’

‘Yeah, everyone’s on their way. We’re on our way. Just keep calm.’

‘Okay, I’ll go check.’ The officer stood up and walked to the stairs. She pulled out her gun and switched on the light. The cell phone returned to her ear.

‘Anything?’ said Harper.

‘Nothing,’ she said.

‘Check the kids.’

‘I’m going up,’ she said and walked slowly up the stairs. She felt a cool breeze down the corridor and edged into the children’s room.

‘What do you see?’ asked Harper.

‘They’re both sleeping,’ she said, feeling relief rise in her stomach.

Harper thought for a moment. ‘How about the window?’

‘It’s wide open. I’ll shut it.’

‘Was it open when you left them?’ said Harper.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Candy.

‘Then it might be too late,’ said Harper. ‘Pull your gun. He’s there already.’

‘Oh, Jesus Christ, oh no,’ she said.

‘What?’ Harper said urgently. ‘Come on, Candy, keep it together.’

‘Shit, shit, shit.’ Her voice was high and trembling.

‘Help me here, Candy.’

‘I’m looking outside. There’s a rope hanging down from the roof.’ She leaned out of the window and saw the rope swinging right down to the ground. Across the street, she noticed a red car that hadn’t been there before.

‘There’s a car parked across the street. It wasn’t there earlier. It’s red. License-plate is not visible.’

‘Shit,’ said Harper. ‘Check the beds
now
.’

The police officer raced over to the beds. Neither child was visible. For a moment, she dared not look, the only sound Harper’s breathing in her ear.

‘Are the kids there?’ said Harper. The officer placed the phone on a bedside cabinet, took a deep breath and pulled back both covers. She picked up the phone.

‘Harper,’ she whispered. ‘They’re safe. Still sleeping.’

‘Thank God. We’re on our way – we’ll be there soon as we can.’

The police officer put down the phone and checked the children’s breathing, the fear subsiding slowly. She turned to the door and the fear returned immediately.

He was standing in the dark, behind the door, no face, a gun out in front of him. He motioned her towards the window, his finger on his lips to indicate that she should remain quiet. Her heart felt as if it had stopped.

He pulled the gun from her hand and threw it on the bed. He then took her handcuffs and cuffed both hands behind her back.

The officer couldn’t help herself. ‘Please stop. You can walk away from this. This house is surrounded by cops. You’ll never get away. Just leave the kids and walk. You’ve still got time.’

He pulled the rope through the window, wrapped it three times around her shoulders and arms and tied it.

‘Please don’t hurt the children,’ she said.

He forced her to the window and pushed her out. She dropped a few feet then jerked to a halt. Her body strained as the rope pulled around her shoulders. She dangled there beside the tree.

The man turned to the now waking children. He opened his backpack and took out the body bags. He looked at the phone on the side. All he could hear was a voice calling for the officer. He picked up the cell and put it to his ear, then he killed the call.

On the other end of the line, Harper hit the wheel. ‘We’ve been cut off.’ He screeched around a corner.

‘What?’ said Denise.

‘It means he’s in the house.’

Chapter Seventy-One

The Safe House, Manhattan

March 12, 11.59 p.m.

A
s they arrived at the safe house, Harper looked for the car parked across the street. It was gone. Harper got out of the car, Denise following quickly behind. He told her to wait at the entrance and walked around the house. At the back of the house, he saw a strange shadow. There was something large hanging from a rope.

He felt his pulse quicken and for a moment he thought the figure was dead. Moving closer, he saw a female officer with the rope pulled tight around her shoulders.

She saw Harper in the dark and called out, ‘He’s gone. He’s taken the kids.’

‘We’ll get you down,’ shouted Harper.

‘No,’ she said. ‘You’ve got to get him. I think they’re alive. I caught his license-plate as he drove off.’

Harper was astonished. ‘Well done, that’s got to help.’

‘I feel so guilty,’ she said. ‘I was looking after them.’

‘You shouldn’t have been alone,’ said Harper. She told him the license-plate and Harper called it in immediately to Dispatch.

With a racing pulse, he moved quickly into the house. The social worker was sitting in an armchair facing the TV, motionless. Denise flinched. ‘Are you all right?’ Harper asked.

‘He said he’d kill them if I moved,’ she explained, a look of terror across her face.

‘Did you see what he looked like?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘He was wearing a balaclava.’

‘Stay here,’ said Harper. Denise sat beside the woman and comforted her while Harper ran upstairs. A moment later he reappeared in the living room. ‘There’s nothing there. He was hiding in the closet. I need to haul the officer in the window. Denise, I need your help.’

He turned to the social worker. ‘What happened? Just tell me.’

‘He took them, in two bags. Black bags.’

Harper called base and gave them the lowdown. They’d send an ambulance, and backup was already on its way. He then took Denise upstairs and together, they pulled Officer Candy Simons back through the window. They untied her and she flung her arms at them. ‘Leave me, for God’s sake. Go after him.’

Harper and Denise headed for the car. They had no idea which way to turn.

‘What about the car, Tom? Where do we go?’

‘I’m thinking,’ said Harper.

‘So am I. And I think the reason the kids aren’t dead is because he’s not tortured them yet. That’s what he needs to do before he kills. Mark them and torture them. We’ve got time, but it’s not much.’

Harper looked at her for a second. ‘Let’s go.’

As they sped back to Brooklyn, Harper reckoned that the kids would soon be in a lock-up or worse. He knew the driver of the red car wouldn’t risk speeding, but would keep to the legal limit. That was their advantage. They had the license-plate out there. Someone had to spot it.

He called up Eddie Kasper who was back at the scene in Borough Park, helping the clean-up. ‘I need to know the places these guys go when they’ve got something to hide. You’ve got twenty or more prisoners – find out which ones are most afraid and cut them a deal. I need a lock-up, a location, anything.’

‘I’ll see if anyone knows anything,’ said Eddie.

Harper hung up.

‘How did he know where they were?’ asked Denise when they arrived at McRory’s.

‘I don’t know,’ said Harper. ‘But I will find out.’

It took ten minutes for the red car to turn up on the police radio.

‘What have you got?’ asked Harper.

‘There’s a red car parked in Bedford-Stuyvesant. Plates match. It’s just been taken inside a lock-up of some sort.’

‘Don’t spook him,’ said Harper. ‘He’s got the two children. Just give us the location and tell them to set up roadblocks. If he drives off again, I don’t want him getting far.’

They traveled for about ten minutes. There was silence in the car. Harper turned into the street that Dispatch had given him and killed the lights. He then called the patrol car.

‘I’m going in direct. Got to see if the kids are still there. Most likely, he’s switched cars, come from the side street.’

Harper and Levene got out of their car. Ahead of them was a row of lock-up garages in a courtyard. Tall buildings flanked the lock-ups and two alleyways led between these buildings on either side.

‘You hold back,’ said Harper. Denise stood at the car as ordered. She watched as Harper walked towards the row of garages. He looked inside the one that was open, but it was pitch black. There wasn’t much light in the courtyard. The greasy asphalt shone in the moonlight, but the whole area was full of shadows and alleys. Whoever had taken them could be anywhere.

Harper held his Glock firmly in his right hand. He crept to the left of the lock-up, down a side street then came back. Hearing something, he turned quickly. It was a low thump. He listened intently. Someone was inside the garage, kicking at something. That meant that the driver had probably left the kids.

His pulse raced. The two children were still in the car then, still alive. Harper started to run back towards the lock-up. He only half-caught sight of something over to his right – a red cigarette end or a glint of light. The sound of a gunshot woke the night. A bullet hit the ground by Harper’s feet and ricocheted into a large metal door. Harper heard the patrol cops in the distance; they had started to run towards the sound. He pointed his gun into the alley and fired six shots into the darkness.

Nothing. Whoever had been there, had gone. Harper stared at the scene, trying to work out what had happened.

Denise was standing by the car, hidden in darkness. Harper decided he couldn’t wait another minute for patrol. He had to chase the killer down. He got up and started towards the alley, trying to get cover before heading into the darkness.

Harper hit the wall and leaned into the alleyway, gun first. It was too dark to see a goddamn thing. He stepped into the shadows. It was a risk, but he figured the sound of the uniformed officers running and shouting could have spooked the killer.

As Harper disappeared into the alleyway, a figure appeared from the next alleyway up and moved to follow him.

From the far side of the alleyway, Denise stared out, her hands shaking. Alone and exposed, she could hear the running footsteps of the two patrolmen coming up behind her and suddenly felt afraid. Her heart beat fast, and her legs felt weak.

‘It’s all going to be okay,’ she told herself and moved a couple of steps towards the alleyway. She stopped by the side of the car. At that moment, a shadow emerged about fifteen yards in front of her – a figure holding a gun. Denise stared across at the killer. The shaking moved throughout her body. She steadied herself and tried to breathe.

From where she was, she could see the garage and the alleyway where Harper had followed the killer, but the killer had doubled back and was now behind him. What could she do? Her throat was dry.

Denise tried to remember what Mac had told her, but she couldn’t. The whole psychological change that Mac talked about was already happening to her. ‘You’ve got to be a predator to stop your body preparing yourself to die.’ She knew she couldn’t shout to Harper. She was unarmed. The killer would turn, take her out and then wait for Harper.

She reached into the car and pulled out the keys. Slowly, she moved around to the back of the car and lifted the trunk, her eyes on him as he walked down towards the first alleyway.

She reached in and felt around until she gripped the handle of the lug wrench. She pulled it out and felt the weight in her hand. ‘Become the predator,’ she whispered.

Denise needed to get across to the killer just as he turned into the alleyway. She would have to move silently, so she removed her shoes. Watching and waiting, she was the predator now, both eyes forward, body still, ready to pounce. He was moving to the corner of the alley: if she left it any longer, he would be able to catch up with Harper. She had to act now.

Denise sprinted across the open ground, her feet making a low slapping sound, nothing more. She hit the wall within a few seconds and moved quickly to the corner. She leaned in, held the wrench hard, raised it to her shoulder and then turned the corner.
Think Predator. Act Predator. It’s life or death
. She needed all her power, but it was working. She wasn’t scared. Not at all. She was angry. This killer had Abby, had the two kids. Denise moved lightning fast, reaching him in two large strides. He heard her and turned, but that didn’t help him. As he turned, Denise smashed the lug wrench across his temple. The killer’s head twisted. She saw the whites of his eyes, white teeth and that was all. He was falling in front of her.

His head twisted into the ground, he lost control of himself and his gun hit the ground and skidded into the dark.

‘Harper!’ shouted Denise. ‘I got him!’

The killer rose slowly. ‘What the fuck . . .’ he said, but the lug wrench came down again, hard on the head. No mercy. One specific target. She hit him again on the same spot. ‘On the floor!’ she screamed. ‘On the fucking floor.’ He didn’t obey. She hit him twice, as hard as she could. Blood splattered her hand, but she kept him there and screamed, ‘On the floor, flat on the floor!’

She could hear Harper running up the alleyway. The man stirred and tried to speak. She hit him again. ‘Do not move,’ she shouted.

The body at her feet lay still on its front, a large wound on his head, blood creeping across his skull and on to the ground.

Harper appeared, his gun trained on the body on the ground. ‘What the hell?’ he cried. ‘Who is it?’

‘It’s him, Tom. He doubled back on you. I saw him coming after you. I had to take him out.’

Harper just stared. Denise stood, her heart pounding, her body feeling strong and powerful, the lug wrench poised for another blow.

The killer lay prostrate, groaning in pain, his right hand clutching the wound. Harper flashed the light over him then pulled out his cuffs and jumped on the body, cuffing him.

‘Well done, Denise,’ said Harper. He rolled the body over. ‘Let’s see what we got.’ Harper’s flashlight illuminated the face staring up at them and he felt the shock jolt him.

‘It’s Jack Carney,’ said Harper. ‘You’ve attacked a cop.’

Carney groaned. ‘I tried to fucking tell her. She’s brutal. Just kept hitting me. Jesus Christ, my head.’

‘Save your strength, Jack,’ Harper said. ‘Where did you come from?’

‘Hate Crime Unit got the call from Dispatch. We got here a few minutes before you.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Denise. The lug wrench clattered to the ground. ‘I didn’t realize.’

‘You didn’t fucking check,’ said Carney. ‘Just lucky you didn’t have a gun.’

Harper knelt and uncuffed Carney. ‘Where are they, Jack? Did you see?’

Carney motioned to the building opposite. ‘There’s a garage. Second along. He parked in there, then I heard him lock the front, so I went around the back. He’s gone already. Are the children okay? I didn’t check if they were in the car.’

‘We don’t know. We hope so. Can you walk? We need to stick together.’

Jack was helped to his feet. Denise decided to say nothing and just looked at the ground. She picked up Jack’s gun and handed it back to him. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Listen, lady, this goes nowhere, right? Nowhere. No one finds out I got pummeled to the ground by one of our own, by a civilian. By a woman.’

‘All right, Jack, this stays here, but let’s get back to the garage,’ said Harper.

‘I got the whole thing on the radio, got here fast as I could. I should’ve identified myself. I didn’t fucking see her. She must’ve been hiding.’ Carney grimaced through the pain.

Behind them, the patrol cops arrived. ‘We’ve got a man down,’ said Denise. ‘Call for Emergency Medical Support.’

‘Scrub that,’ said Jack. ‘There’s no one down and no need for a medic yet.’

They moved across to the garage. Harper sent the patrolmen around the back entrance.

‘We’ve got to break this,’ said Harper.

Denise ran back for the lug wrench. She smashed down repeatedly on the lock until the old wood shattered.

Harper kicked the door and the lock finally gave. They dragged it open. Denise ran to the trunk of the car and lowered her head to speak. ‘Ruth, Jerry, can you hear me? It’s okay, this is Dr Levene. If you’re in there, let us know and we’ll get you out. You’re safe now.’ She heard a kick from the car. ‘It’s the children!’ she shouted. She ran over to the car and tried the trunk. Locked. She called, ‘It’s okay, you’re safe. We’re with the police.’

The kicking continued, frightened, irrational thumping of panic.

‘Stay still, you’ll hurt yourselves.’

Denise tried to force the lock with the wrench but it didn’t budge. She passed it to Harper. He tried but also failed.

‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Harper. He ran to the back of the car, a knife in his hand. He pushed the blade under the rim and tried unsuccessfully to pop the trunk latch.

He looked around and had a second idea. He opened the back door and found the seat lever. He pulled out one seat and cut a hole through to the trunk. Denise stood at his shoulder. ‘Be careful,’ she said. Harper ripped back the material with his hand. They waited a moment.

Two small hands, like two petals of a flower, reached out and turned in the dark air.