Bone Thief (18 page)

“
INTER-NET
”

 

That was the headline plastered across the morning edition of the
New York Post.
The article itself, which spanned two pages, indicated that the crazed killer who had been holding the city hostage was luring his victims through the Internet. The
Post
credited sources close to the investigation for the information. The story prompted one particular call to the Task Force tip line. It was from a Cathy Spenser, who claimed to be with Clarissa Parsons the day she was hit by the car at the Kings Plaza Shopping Mall. She said Clarissa was at the mall to meet someone she had corresponded with over the Internet. Margaret was assigned to talk to the girl.

Behind the wheel of her Plymouth, Margaret headed over the Brooklyn Bridge, allotting Howard Stern his three minutes before his raunchiness became just intolerable. She surfed the car's radio waves, searching for an easy-listening station, preferably the hits of the forties.

The voice of WNYB's news anchorman, Paul Waters, startled her. “It's a very sad day for District Attorney Jack Parsons and family as they bury their only daughter in the family mausoleum at Long Island's Pinelawn Cemetery. It was only eight short weeks ago that Jack Parsons won a stunning victory over Donald Fruman of Brooklyn, capturing Manhattan's coveted DA seat. Undisclosed sources inform us that a serious investigation has been launched into the circumstances surrounding the young girl's death. Now this…Need guns? Need ammo? We got plenty. Come to Al's Sporting Goods on Route 25 in East Islip. We stock—”

Margaret hit the radio's off button, silencing the barker's assault, and fought the Flatbush Avenue rush-hour traffic. The Plymouth's speedometer registered fifteen miles per hour. But she knew that was about ten miles over her actual speed. She finally made her way to Bergen Street, where she broke from the string of endless vehicles and made a left turn.

“444” was etched across the third step of the first four-story brownstone on the block. A girl was sitting to the left of the numerals. With its clean facade and recently painted ironwork, the house was an anomaly against the decay of a neighborhood trapped between tenement wars and regentrification.

“Detective Aligante?” the girl asked timidly as Margaret got out of her car.

“You Cathy Spenser?”

The young girl nodded, bewilderment flooding her deep-set eyes.

“Let's go inside,” Margaret suggested.

“There's a coffee shop around the corner. Can we go there instead? I've become a prisoner of my room.”

Margaret assented, and they walked in silence on uneven pavement. Inside the shop, they found a booth away from the window and the blinding morning sunshine.

“I knew something bad would happen. I knew it the moment she told me she was meeting some stranger at the mall,” the Spenser girl said.

“Why is that?” asked Margaret, feeling a strong sense of compassion for the girl. She was at such an impressionable age. It was a pity to see her tormented by disturbing circumstances surrounding the death of a friend. And who was this stranger the Parsons girl was to meet? Could the man have been the killer?

“Look, I know you're a cop and everything, but…you got a cigarette? I'm sorta bent out of shape.”

“They don't allow smoking in here.”

“I need a rush. I'd die for a Camel.”

“That's a smelly animal. Not worth the effort.”

The girl chuckled.

When the waitress appeared, they both ordered Coke.

“What did you mean when you said you knew something bad would happen?” Margaret asked.

“It did, didn't it?” Tears collected in the girl's eyes. “The cops wanted to know what Clarissa was doing at the mall. I said she was meeting some guy and she got stood up.”

“What guy?”

Cathy's eyes drifted. “Clarissa, she was into this game.”

“What kind'a game?” Margaret felt her heart race.

“I don't know exactly…something about this guy…She was supposed to meet him for the first time at the mall, but he was a no-show. I bumped into her at Aubrey's Bookstore, and then we went over to Sweet Delights. The cashier there had a surprise for the both of us. Real nerdy type, ya know? Anyway, we're just about to leave when he hands us both a bag of fruit drops. Says we won the prizes.”

“Prizes?”

“Miss Sweet Delight and Miss Perfect Confection. I was Confection!”

Margaret smiled. Teens these days. “What happened after that?”

“We left the sweet shop and split up. I was gonna do some shopping. I needed boots. Clarissa was going home to see if the guy had left her any messages.”

“Messages?”

“On her e-mail. The guy called himself Godsend.”

“Our guy is playing with fire. The DA's daughter?” said Margaret incredulously into the car phone as she headed north on Flatbush Avenue. “The Spenser girl says Clarissa was supposed to meet a guy at the mall. He seemed to be a no-show. But how's this for a scenario? After the Spenser girl and Clarissa split up, Clarissa does meet with Godsend. He attacks her and tries to drag her into his vehicle.”

Driscoll figured out the next step. “But she gets away and, in her panic, runs headlong into the path of the oncoming station wagon. It's been known to happen before. Look at that hate crime in Howard Beach where a gang of whites, brandishing baseball bats, chased down a black youth. The kid ran directly into traffic on the Belt Parkway and was hit and killed by a speeding automobile. That's a very viable theory, Margaret. Where are you headed now?”

“Over to St. Vincent's to speak with a Doctor Stephen Astin, Clarissa's lead physician. Any word from Moira?”

“None yet. Listen, keep me in the loop if anything else looks even remotely related to our bone thief.”

“You got it.”

 

Margaret parked the Plymouth on West Eleventh Street and sauntered toward the stately hospital's visitor's entrance. She flashed her shield at the uniformed security officer, who directed her to a bank of elevators that would carry her to the third floor. Inside the elevator, Margaret checked her watch. She'd be right on time for her meeting with Doctor Astin. At the third floor, the elevator doors opened. Margaret stepped off and headed down the corridor in search of room 335, the doctor's office. Finding it, she stepped inside. A nattily dressed gentleman who spoke in a soft, effeminate voice was conversing with a strikingly handsome man clad in a dark blue suit that would have rivaled any one of Lieutenant Driscoll's. Hickey Freeman or Hart Schaffner & Marx came to mind. Margaret read the handsome man's nameplate:
COLM F. PIERCE, M.D
.,
CHIEF OF RADIOLOGY
. The softspoken gent told Doctor Pierce he would relay his message to Doctor Astin word for word, then turned his attention to Margaret.

“You must be Sergeant Aligante,” he said.

“Yes. I have an appointment with Doctor Astin.”

“I know. I'm Bartholomew Wiggins, Doctor Astin's assistant. He told me to expect you. And you're right on time,” he noted, checking his watch. “The good doctor offers his apologies, though. He was called into surgery not ten minutes ago.”

“Oh, I see.”

“You may wait for him here if you'd like, or, if you wish, you can visit Chez Francois. That's our cafeteria.”

“I could use a bite to eat.”

“It's well worth the trip,” said Doctor Pierce. “The place is on a par with Four Seasons,” he added, dead-pan. “Their tuna melt has just become the eighth cardinal sin. Would you like company?” he added, mindful of his promise to his badgering parents concerning the police; instead of them being all over him, he'd find a way to be all over them. He'd begin by turning on the charm.

Margaret hesitated, casting a curious stare at Pierce, who returned the stare with a smile.

“Why not?” she said daringly. “Lead the way.”

 

“I recommend the meat loaf du jour,” the counterman said to Margaret.

“Howard, this lady deserves your tuna melt,” said Pierce. “It's actually my recipe. I like to give Howard the credit,” he whispered to Margaret as he selected an apple from a display of fresh fruit.

“Let me guess. You moonlight as the hospital's nutritionist,” said Margaret.

“No. The position was filled. I had to settle for radiology.”

“Maybe you should put your name on the list. You never know when there might be an opening.”

The suggestion brought a smile to Pierce's lips. But he soon got back to business. “So you're the police officer making inquiry into the death of the Parsons girl?”

“In fact, I am,” she said, helping herself to a cup of coffee. “How did you know that?”

“Hospitals are like small towns, where news travels at lightning speed. Put it on my account, Howard,” he said, gesturing to the attendant.

“Does the radiology department buy lunch for all the visitors?”

“My horoscope suggested I make a new friend.”

“Let me guess, Sagittarius?” Margaret ventured.

“Perish the thought! I'm the model Aquarian.”

Pierce escorted Margaret to a corner table, where a window overlooked the city's skyline.

“I've never met a radiologist before. Tell me, are you all such food connoisseurs?” asked Margaret.

“No. Just me,” he said.

Margaret bit into her sandwich, amused. It was an generous fusion of tuna, mayonnaise, and Jarlsberg cheese.

“Well?” Pierce asked.

“For a hospital cafeteria, not bad. I'll give it a six.”

“We haven't discussed dessert. At La Patisserie. Over on Twenty-third?”

“Tell me, do you hit on all the visitors?”

“Can't fault a guy for following his horoscope. Libra? Right? Let's see if the stars will make an exception for you today.” He walked over to a newspaper rack, returned with a
New York Post
, and turned to the horoscope page. He read aloud, “Throw caution to the wind. You deserve a break. There's always time to get back to your responsible life. Indulge yourself and enjoy invitations that might arise.”

“Does it really say that?”

“You disbeliever.” He handed her the paper.

There it was, in black and white, but how did he guess my sign? she wondered.

“But I am sympathetic, for as a true Catholic, and I assume you are, what with a saint's name and all, this must be heresy,” he said.

“I'll burn in hell for sure, and all my bones will be scattered.”

“Oh, what a loss.”

Godsend may be safe. But, was
he?
Just how tenacious was this computer-savvy intruder? There was much to do to cover his tracks.

The phone rang on Driscoll's desk and the Lieutenant picked it up. It was Moira.

“Where on earth have you been? I've been scouring the city for you.”

“Been doing my job. You're gonna love the progress I've made on the case. Check your computer, Lieutenant. You've got mail.”

Driscoll positioned himself in front of his monitor and hit the e-mail icon. “Catherine's” latest communication from Godsend filled the screen. A surge of adrenaline flooded through Driscoll's body as he read the killer's latest message.

“Where are you?”

“Home. Don't you wanna hear my plan on how I'm gonna capture the bad guy?”

“Moira, if you think for one minute—”

“What? You think I should just ignore his offer?”

“On the contrary, I think his instructions are to be followed exactly. But it won't be you following them.”

Driscoll's voice filled the room. “Listen up, everybody. This may be our one good shot at this guy, and I don't want any screwups.” He moved toward the easel that had been placed in the middle of the Command Center.

“This is a plan of the Toys R Us parking lot. There are two ways in and out. I want each entrance covered by two cars. I'll be in the TARU van with Danny O'Brien. Sergeant Aligante, and Detectives Butler and Vittaggio will be inside the store. Danny's hooked up a pole camera so that he and I can see everyone who goes in or out. I'll be in radio contact with the three officers inside the store and will give them a heads-up when anybody goes in we think looks good. I borrowed encrypted radios from Technical Services so that if this guy's got a scanner, he can't pick us up. We take him outside the store. Is that clear? I want everybody in this room to understand that. The last thing we need is to have some civilian or Toys R Us employee get hurt. Also, I decided against letting the Toys R Us people know what we're doing. They might inadvertently give it away and spook the guy. We take him as he goes through the exit doors. Coming out. You got that, coming out! Sergeant Aligante, Liz, and Luigi will approach from the rear, and Danny will be up front with me. Cars two and three will pull up in front of the store, and cars four and five will block the exits from the parking lot. Once he's taken down, I'll ride back to the house with him along with Sergeant Aligante and Liz. Everybody else will meet back here. OK? Any questions? Good. We've all done this a hundred times before. Everybody knows what's expected of them. Cedric will hold down the office. See Sergeant Aligante for your assignments. Liz, Luigi, over here.”

Both detectives walked over to Driscoll.

“When you guys get inside, grab a baby stroller and throw a couple of packs of Pampers in it. It'll look more natural if you have something to push around. Besides, you never know, Luigi, you may get lucky some day.”

Liz laughed, and Vittaggio looked embarrassed.

“Seriously, I put you two inside because I trust you the most. Keep your eyes open and use your heads.”

“Will do,” said Butler. Vittaggio was still trying to recover.

Driscoll wished them luck.

“Margaret,” he yelled. “When you're finished…” He pointed to the inside of his office.

Margaret finished giving out the assignments and walked in to meet with Driscoll.

“Yes?”

“What do you think? Will he show?”

“My woman's intuition says yes. It's obvious the guy likes to play games, and Moira's set the game ball in motion.”

“Think we'll be able to spot him?”

“I think he'll give himself away. He'll be a lone male, waiting in aisle three for Moira.”

“That's why I want you in there.”

“I know. I'll know him when I see him. I'll
feel
him.”

“All right, but remember, stick to the plan. We take him as he comes out.”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” she said mockingly.

“I want you to be careful. This guy's no joker.”

“I know. I've seen his work.” Her tone turned serious.

“OK, then. Let's rock.”

Driscoll stood up from behind his desk, and he and Margaret walked out of the Command Center together.

“Hold on a sec.” Driscoll ducked back inside the squad room. “Cedric?”

“Over here, Lieutenant.”

“Call the Division dispatcher and have them keep all radio cars away from the shopping center. I don't want some nosy cops snooping around and scaring him off.”

“You got it. Anything else?”

“Yeah. Here's a radio. I want you to monitor what's going on out there. If anything goes wrong, you can switch to Division and get us help right away.”

“Good thinking, Lieutenant. I am, as always, ever-vigilant.”

“Thanks, Cedric. Wish us luck.”

“Lieutenant, when you're as good as you are, you don't need luck.”

“Never hurts, though,” said Driscoll and in a flash, he was gone.