Alpha Kill - 03 (20 page)

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H
armony and Fil arrived at the Division of Special Projects office forty-five minutes after Venn. He’d used the time waiting to call his boss, Captain David Kang, and bring him up to speed on the investigation, about which Kang currently knew nothing.

Kang was in an upbeat mood, and in fact had been almost continuously since he’d received his commendation last summer as a result of the Salazar job.

“Sounds like you got things worked out, Joe,” he said carelessly.

“Not really, Cap,” said Venn. “In fact, I’m floundering a little.”

Kang said, “You’ll come good, I guarantee it.”

Venn put down the phone. He’d done his duty, kept his superior in the loop. He didn’t need any further help just at the moment.

Shortly after that, Venn got a call from Lieutenant Brady to say Beth was finished with the sketch artist.

“She did good,” said Brady. “Gave us some damn detailed pictures of those two guys. Now, all we’ve got to do is find them in a city of eight million.”

“Assuming they haven’t skipped town yet,” said Venn. “That’s what I would’ve done.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Brady sounded glum. “The bald guy, the one who was in the car, looks kind of East European. Doesn’t narrow it down much, though.”

Venn said he’d be there in a few minutes.

Then Harmony and Fil turned up, and he filled them in on the events of the evening.

“I’ve been running a search on Paul Brogan,” Venn said. “Haven’t found much, apart from a bunch of online research papers he’s authored. And he’s on the hospital’s website, with a short bio. Doesn’t have his own site.” He nodded at Fil. “You’re much better at this kind of thing than I am. See if you can find anything more. We’re looking for, I don’t know what. Things he may have done that have pissed people off. Anything that might give us a clue as to why he was murdered.”

“Where are you going?” asked Harmony.

“To pick up Beth from the precinct house,” he said. “I have to assume she’s a target. It’d be a help if you came with me.”

*

O
n the ride back to the office, Beth sat in the backseat. She looked pale but composed. Harmony kept glancing back at her until it became clear this was annoying Beth.

The two women had met several times before, back when Venn and Beth were together. Sometimes they’d all gone out for drinks after work, Harmony bringing along whichever boyfriend she was currently dating. It was never the same one twice in a row. Venn didn’t think any guy could keep up with Harmony for long.

Beth and Harmony had gotten along great from the get-go, something Venn found surprising given Harmony’s cynical, suspicious nature. It was she who’d continually urged Venn to pop the question to Beth. Tonight was the first time they’d seen each other since the breakup, and Venn felt the awkwardness in the air.

At the office, Fil nodded politely to Beth, whom he’d never met before.

“Anything?” asked Venn, as they seated themselves. He’d brewed coffee earlier, noted the pot was almost empty, and started fixing some more. They were going to need it.

“Not a lot,” said Fil. “Like the bio on the hospital site says, Dr Brogan is from Minneapolis. Graduated from med school here at Yale, then did his residency training in Chicago, and worked there as an attending until 2011, when he came back to New York.”

Venn glanced at Beth. She nodded. “Yes. That’s accurate.”

Fil looked apologetic, as if he was telling them things Beth could easily have given them herself, but went on. “He had no particular sub-specialism, treating adults with a wide range of psychiatric disorders. Mostly state hospital work, though he conducted a number of private sessions each week, including at the Bonnesante Clinic as we already know. Plus occasional psychiatric evaluations on behalf of the courts.”

Fil went on to list two incidents from the NYPD database, occurring within the past three years, when Dr Brogan had reported being harassed by patients or former patients of his. On one such occasion, an arrest had been made. Both times, the patients were female.

It had nothing to do with the current situation. Venn was sure of it.

“Politically, there’s nothing noteworthy either,” said Fil. “He’s a registered Democrat, but not especially active as far as I can tell.”

Once more, they looked at Beth for confirmation. She nodded.

“No, Paul’s politics are –
were
– low key. He donated to a few conservation causes, but he wasn’t exactly a firebrand.”

“Rivalries at work?” Harmony suggested.

“Again, no,” said Beth. “I mean, medicine is pretty cut-throat, but not literally. He was a well-liked man. He didn’t screw anybody over to get his job, and he didn’t exploit his residents or others he worked with.”

They continued for a half-hour, poring over what Beth knew of the dead man and what they could find online. He had no family, having grown up an only child and having lost his parents several years earlier. He’d never been married and had no kids.

Venn stretched in his chair, easing the knots out of his arms and back. “Damn it,” he sighed. “There may have been clues in his apartment. And now it’s a burned-out shell.”

Harmony was looking at Beth. “You thought of something?” she said.

Beth frowned faintly. “Nothing, really... but Paul had a thing for backing up data. He was obsessive about it, to be honest. Everything he wrote, every paper and report and essay, he’d keep multiple copies of, on disks and flash drives, which he’d spread out in various locations, like work and his apartment.”

“That could be something,” admitted Venn. “So we get a warrant and search his office at the hospital.”

“I wasn’t thinking only of that,” said Beth. “He left a bunch of flash drives at my apartment. Said you could never be too careful. He once joked that I was the guardian of his legacy, if ever something happened to –” Beth broke off, fell silent.

Venn gave her a moment, feeling uncomfortable. Beside her, Harmony laid an arm across her shoulders. Beth let it rest there.

Gently, Venn said, “I need to get those flash drives, Beth.”

She nodded.

Venn stood. Harmony said, “How we gonna do this?”

“We have to assume the guys who killed Brogan are looking for Beth now,” Venn said. “They may know where she lives. Probably not, but it isn’t worth taking any chances. So: you and Beth stay here, with Fil. I’ll go alone.”

Harmony said, “But if these guys are waiting there at the apartment... You need somebody to watch your back. Like me.”

Venn thought about it. “Okay. The three of us go. You, Beth and me. You and Beth wait in the car, keep a lookout.” He glanced at Beth. “If you feel up to it.”

She said simply, “Yes.”

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T
he SUV stayed well back, parked in a side street so that Drake could just make out the front of the apartment block from where he sat. Skeet was in the backseat. The twins, Herman and Gudrun, were in the station wagon watching the rear of the building. Rosenbloom was back at the safe house in Bowery. They’d call him if they needed his input.

Which Drake didn’t think likely.

Walusz had approached the building with infinite care, circling it until Drake found the spot he wanted and told him to park. They had all of the guns under the backseat, including the M16.

There was, so far, no sign of any police presence.

To Drake, that meant one of two things. Either the cops didn’t think Drake knew the Colby woman’s address, and therefore hadn’t bothered to post a guard detail on her apartment. Or, this was a setup, a sneakily designed trap, and the moment Drake and his people approached the building they’d be ambushed.

In either case, Drake was certain Colby wasn’t home. The lights were all out, and she was most likely staying with somebody else, maybe even overnight at whichever police station she’d gone to.

The guy on the phone hadn’t called back to suggest any particular course of action. Drake was damned if he was going to hang around at the safe house, waiting for instructions. He’d done enough hanging around while incarcerated for the past eight years. So he decided to check out the Colby woman’s apartment at the address he’d been given. Just to see if there was a chance, any chance at all, that she was home, and home either alone or without a bunch of cops guarding her.

Drake was accustomed to studying locations for long periods. Before some of the major heists he’d pulled off over the years, he’d been meticulous in his preparations, scoping out the locales sometimes for hours at a time, looking for potential weak points, places where the cops might concentrate their efforts and their numbers and gain an advantage. In exactly the same way now, he examined the apartment block and its surroundings, trying to figure out where the ambush might come from, if in fact there was one set up.

Probably, he thought, the cops would be waiting inside the apartment.

He wished the arms cache Skeet had built up had contained some kind of explosive projectiles. Hand grenades, or RPG launchers, or even CS gas canisters. Armed with weapons like those, Drake might consider storming the apartment and flushing out anybody inside.

But a direct assault under the current circumstances, with small arms, and just the four of them - he didn’t include Walusz, who’d have to stay in the car to effect a quick getaway if needed - wasn’t a good idea. The cops would be prepared, and would have superior manpower and firepower.

No. Drake would watch the apartment a while longer, and then leave somebody, Skeet or the twins, to keep an eye on it overnight. Maybe the Colby woman would return in the morning.

If not, Drake would try the hospital.

The apartment building was off the main streets and the traffic in the vicinity was light, one or two cars passing by every minute. Drake glanced at each one, quickly noted nothing of interest, and turned his attention back to the building.

At a little before one a.m., as tiredness was beginning to catch up with Drake and he felt his eyelids start to slide downward, a vehicle came round the corner and drew to a stop fifty yards down the street from the apartment. It was a four-wheel drive, a Jeep of some model. Sleepily, Drake watched the driver’s door open and a man get out. The shadows cast by the streetlights obscured the man’s details, but his silhouette suggested he was big.

He walked quickly toward the apartment building, passing through the pool of light cast by one of the lamps.

Drake sat up hard in his seat, adrenalin jolting him fully awake.

God damn it, he was so tired he’d starting dreaming.

He squeezed his eyes tight shut, drove his knuckles into his thighs, using pain to ensure he was awake. Leaning forward, he peered through the windshield, tracking the big guy as he strode toward the front doors.

He passed beneath another lamp, and this time Drake knew he wasn’t dreaming.

As if the guy was somehow aware of Drake’s stare, he faltered in his stride and turned his head to look across the street. Giving Drake a full-on look at his face.

“Jesus Christ,” Drake breathed. “I do not believe it.”

Beside him, Walusz glanced over.

It was a face he’d last seen in the courtroom, at the initial trial, more than eight years earlier. A face that had been in the same location in the gallery, every day of the trial, and which had on the final day, as the judge handed down the verdict, held a look of quiet triumph.

Joseph Venn.

The guy didn’t appear to see anything  of interest and continued walking till he reached the doors. He entered a code on the keypad outside and after a second pushed open the door and went in.

Drake was paralyzed for a full ten seconds, aware all the time that Walusz continued to look at him curiously.

Then the spell broke. He pummeled the dashboard rapidly with both fists, like a boxer working out with a medicine ball.

“Holy shit. Joe Venn,” he said. “Holy shit. Joe Venn.”

The mantra burst forth from Drake’s chest, over and over, like a chanted prayer of thanks to some pagan god who’d come through for him.

From the backseat, Skeet was hollering, “What?
What?
”, not understanding but caught up in Drake’s excitement all the same. Drake twisted in his seat and reached back and grabbed Skeet’s greasy, lank hair in a grip of manly affection. If the position hadn’t been so awkward, he would have hugged him.

“It’s Joe Venn,” Drake gasped, almost sobbing.
“Joe Venn.”

“You mean -” Comprehension dawned in Skeet’s raddled eyes.

“The cop who busted me. Put me away. He’s here in New York. He’s just walked into that building. He’s here, right in front of us.”

Though Drake knew that Skeet had never encountered Venn, and had no direct connection to him whatever, he saw tears streaming down the man’s face.

“Awesome, man,” Skeet whispered. “Truly awesome.”

Drake picked up his phone, his hand trembling, and called the twins.

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V
enn found the drawer with the flash disks immediately, just where Beth had said it would be. There were around ten of them, and he scooped them all up and put them in his jacket pocket.

He’d stepped through the front door of the apartment with his nerves at a screaming pitch, bracing himself for the attack that never came. He’d flipped on the lights, roamed the apartment quickly with his Beretta drawn, found the place empty.

Out there on the street, he’d experienced the faintest tingling at the back of his neck, and had looked round. But the street was empty, apart from parked silent cars and a solitary man walking his dog.

The cop instinct was so finely tuned, it was sometimes overly sensitive.

Before leaving the apartment, he couldn’t help but look round. He’d never been there until now.

So this was Beth’s home. Despite the unfamiliarity of the place, he recognized traces that were unmistakably hers. The furniture, for one, in a modern, funky style he had to admit he didn’t much care for (but would never dare admit to Beth). The heavy drapes she favored over the front windows. And the pictures on the walls, watercolor landscapes painted by her mother, which had hung in Beth’s and Venn’s own house just three months earlier.