The Anniversary Man (53 page)

′Before we go through all the crime scene and autopsy reports we need to consolidate what we have,′ Farraday said.

′What we don′t have,′ Irving said.

Farraday ignored the comment, read through some notes on a sheet of paper, and then said, ′Roarke is being processed on the B&E attempt, right?′

′He′ll be done tonight,′ Hudson said. ′We′ll turn him over to County in the morning.′

′Where′s he going?′

′We don′t know yet. All of them are overcrowded. We′ll get a decision tomorrow.′

′Make sure they tell us before he vanishes. We may need to speak to him again.′ Farraday found another sheet of paper, read over several points, and then set it aside. ′So where are we? Greg Hill is not our man. We′re sure of that?′

′There′s nothing in the house. He has alibis for pretty much every date of the recent murders. Out-of-state, three days extended weekend holiday through Sunday, August sixth. The weekend when the three kids were killed. I don′t get him for this.′

′And the wife situation?′

′Laura Hill?′ Hudson shook his head. ′She was banging Grant for a while. Grant′s wife didn′t know then, doesn′t know now. Hill admitted to hitting his wife, said he was drinking too much. A domestic situation that stayed indoors. No report filed, no complaint from the wife. We′ve not solicited any request for investigation or charge. They seem to have dealt with it.′

′Which leaves us with two assumptions,′ Farraday said. ′First, that our man knew we were talking to families with six members. Secondly, that he was the one who set Roarke up to do the Greg Hill break-in.′

′And if Roarke had actually broken in?′ Hudson asked. ′How did that fit into anything?′

′I have no idea,′ Farraday replied. ′I think that sending Roarke to the Hill house was not a diversion for us, but another fuck you from our guy. He′s ahead of us. He wants us to know that. He does whatever he has to do in order to remind us that we′re way behind on this one.′

′Roarke, Grant, Hill,′ Irving said. ′They′re all out of the frame as far as I′m concerned. Chase those and we′re up a blind alley.′

′Which gives us the crime scene and autopsy reports from the Allen house,′ Farraday said, and looked at Turner.

Turner shook his head before he even started talking. ′I am not the bearer of revelations,′ he said. He tapped his finger on a stack of manila folders on the desk. ′Six autopsies, a full crime scene report. Tox, firearms, fingerprinting, the wire to the alarm outside, lock-pick marks on the back door . . . we′ve been through everything. We found one print in the soft earth of the verge outside a window. Size eleven sneaker, generic brand, same size as the print found at the Central Park site, but that confirms nothing. No prints inside but those of the family, a couple of smudges, a couple of unknown partials on the mailbox outside. There was a mess of them around the external fuse box, but we contacted the electric company and the Allens had a registered electrician service the box less than two weeks ago. The perp left nothing behind to make your job any easier.′

′Did you get anything more on the .35 rifle?′ Irving asked. ′Firearms said that Remington Marlin produce a model called a 336. They have them chambered for a .35.′

′Jesus,′ Irving said. ′He even used the same brand of gun.′

′Well, it′s not a rare gun. So far we′ve got three hundred and forty registered in the city, and if we go county-wide we′re into the thousands.′

′Excluding the illegals, the pawn shops, the unreported thefts,′ Irving said.

′Trouble this guy goes to he′s not going to use a gun that′s registered to himself,′ Farraday said. ′I think that′s a dead-end . . . wouldn′t waste any time on the rifle.′

′Truth of the matter is that every line we′ve followed has gone dead,′ Hudson said. ′Certainly that′s been the case so far.′

′Well,′ Farraday said, ′we′re gonna have to do whatever the fuck it takes to bring them back to life.′ He glanced at his watch. ′It′s ten past seven now . . . I need you guys to get your heads together and write a proposal that I can take to Chief Ellmann at nine. We′ve had headliners on three news stations on the Allen killings. It′ll die down, but the more attention it gets the more phone calls come through from the Mayor′s office—′

Irving opened his mouth to speak but Farraday stopped him with a gesture. ′I have enough to deal with without your viewpoint on the Mayor′s office,′ he said, and rose from his chair. He straightened the stack of papers on the table and then made his way to the door. ′Nine o′clock,′ he reiterated. ′A sensible fucking proposal, not some bullshit whitewash job that we all know won′t work, okay?′

Turner looked at Irving, Irving looked at Hudson and Gifford. All of them watched Farraday as he left the room and headed for the stairs.

′Right then,′ Turner said, ′I′ll leave you ladies to it.′

′The fuck you will,′ Irving said. ′Sit the fuck down. You′re in this as deep as we are, and we′re gonna go through it all again until we have something for the Show ′n′ Tell.′

I
t was gone eleven p.m. by the time Irving arrived home. In his pocket he had a small slip of paper upon which he′d scribbled Karen Langley′s home phone number.

He made some coffee, he sat in the front room looking out through the window into darkness, and he wrestled with himself.

At eleven-twenty Ray Irving picked up the receiver and dialed her number.

′You′re an asshole,′ she said.

′Karen—′

′Don′t Karen me, Ray. Fuck you. Fuck off out of my life okay? Let me get on with what I was doing. Things were fine until you came barreling into this like some—′

′Listen to me now—′

′Ray, seriously, I haven′t got time for this. It′s late and I′m tired. I′ve had John to deal with all evening, and right now I′m going to bed, because thanks to you I′ve got more of the same situation tomorrow—′

′Everything that happens is a fucking situation, Karen. This is what I do. I deal with all the situations that no-one else wants to deal with—′

′But Ray, Jesus Christ, Ray . . . he comes home and before he even gets inside the door there′s some asshole sitting on him trying to handcuff him—′

′You have any idea—′

′Enough already,′ Karen interjected. ′This is not a conversation I want to be having right now.′

′So when? When do you want to have this conversation?′

′Never, that′s when. That′s really how I feel right now, Ray . . . that I don′t ever want to have this conversation with you.′

′You′re just running away—′

′Screw you—′

′Screw you right back, Karen—′

′I′ll tell you something, Ray . . . I might have no idea what it′s like to stand on the stairs outside someone′s apartment and wonder whether or not there′s a dead body inside, but that′s not the only thing I′m talking about. Truth is, I don′t have room in my life for someone who doesn′t talk to me—′

′Talk to you? Talk to you about what, for God′s sake?′

′About what′s going on. About what′s happening.′

′Like what? Like what I do? You want me to call you up in the middle of the night and tell you what I′m doing? Like, hey Karen, you should see this guy here. Someone came over and beat his head in. His eyes are all eight-ball hemorrhaging, all bugged out and black you know? Or how about telling you how we went over to some junkie′s place and we found mom and her three little kids all carved up by junkie dad, who′s so strung out on crack and fuck knows what else he doesn′t even realize what he′s done—′

′Ray. Shut up! Just shut the fuck up, okay? I′m putting the phone down now—′

′Don′t you hang up on me, Karen, don′t you fucking hang up on—′

′Goodbye Ray.′

′Kar—′

The line went dead in his ear.

He sat there with the receiver in his hand for quite some time, and then he hung up and sat back in the chair.

It hadn′t gone as well as he′d planned.

Like most things.

E
arly Tuesday morning, the 14th of November. Irving′s sleep had been restless and fitful. Several times he had woken with a start, images playing in his mind, disturbed and fractured. Mia Grant′s black plastic-wrapped body. James Wolfe′s hollow-eyed clown face staring back at him from a hole in the ground . . .

Everything taunted him, challenged him, made him feel impotent and weak. The Anniversary Man had defined his own proving ground, and had demonstrated his superiority without exception.

I am better, smarter, faster . . .

I am so many fucking steps ahead of you . . .

You people . . . you people make me laugh . . .

Beyond that, the stress and pressure of the investigation was beginning to show itself. Whatever relationship, professional or otherwise, Irving might have established with Karen Langley was now in pieces, and as far as John Costello was concerned . . . well, he tried hard not to think of John Costello.

He made coffee. He sat at the kitchen table. He wanted a bottle of Jack Daniels and a carton of Luckies. He wanted a break. He wanted some peace.

His pager went off at eight-ten. He called back, was informed that Farraday wanted him in his office at eight forty-five.

 

′You′re late,′ was Faraday′s greeting. His face was a blank. No sympathy, no empathy, no compassion, no understanding, no humor.

′I have more calls to deal with,′ he said. ′I have newspapers, the press people in the Mayor′s office, Chief Ellmann, the DA. I have TV stations, radio stations, even internet fucking chat-rooms posting cut-and-paste sections from newspaper articles about these killings . . .′ He leaned back until he looked at the ceiling and closed his eyes. ′I have people putting two and two together, just like we said they would, and this time they′re coming back with four. This thing is now in the public domain, Ray, and I need it gone—′

′I am doing everything—′

′I know, I know, but everything you can do is evidently not enough. I need more. I need you to collaborate with FBI profiling, with forensics, with the coroner′s office. I need you and Hudson and Gifford to burn the midnight oil. I need files reconstructed and tabulations done. I need reviews of all crime scene reports.′ Farraday lowered his head and looked directly at Irving. ′What I need more than anything in the world is results.′

Irving didn′t reply. He′d heard this before, would hear it time and again until the case was closed. He didn′t dare consider the possibility that the case might remain open.

′So go,′ Farraday said. ′Work out what you′re going to do, then tell me what you need. I′ll see if I can give it to you.′

Irving smiled sarcastically. ′TV coverage on all stations. Three hundred homicide detectives. Throw in the National Guard for good measure.′

′We are never anything other than on top of these things, Ray. You know the routine. The questions come at you, you don′t answer them. It′s a no comment scenario all the way down the line. You never give them the impression of anything but complete control—′

′I know, I know,′ Irving said, his tone betraying his exhaustion.

Farraday leaned forward, elbows on the edge of the desk, hands together as if in prayer. ′Tell me,′ he said. ′Tell me for real if you have the slightest fucking clue who this guy is.′

′I don′t have the slightest fucking clue who this guy is.′

′Nothing.′

′Nothing,′ Irving echoed.

′You don′t see anything in the group that Costello met with in the hotel?′

′We′ve checked them all out - four of them are women, for God′s sake - no records, no priors, only common denominator is the fact that they were all intended victims of some whacko way back when. The two men are clean as you get . . . nothing there at all.′

′I read the report for Ellmann. This shit sounds great on paper but you know as well as me that half this shit doesn′t work in the real world.′

′The only lead I have left is the PI that Grant hired. He′s vanished, and I have a horrible feeling that he might have been onto something and he′ll wind up in a dumpster somewhere with his eyes missing.′

′You think he was onto our boy?′

′I don′t know, Captain, I just don′t fucking know. You think about how you′d explain this kind of thing to someone who isn′t a cop. You imagine trying to explain that it′s possible to kill so many people and leave absolutely nothing conclusive or probative behind. After the fact yes, when all the circumstantial evidence corroborates a confession, but before you get the guy this shit is worth nothing.′

′You don′t need to tell me,′ Farraday said.

′So I think we should go public.′

Farraday didn′t reply. He didn′t refute. He didn′t immediately reject the idea out of hand. This told Irving that he′d considered the same route himself.

′And do what?′ Farraday asked.

′Tell the truth, or as much of the truth we need to get the point across.′

′We don′t even have a picture, not even an artist′s impression. What the fuck are we going to ask them to look for?′

′We′re not going to ask them to look for anything. We′re going to ask them to look out for each other.′

′You want to put a whole city on alert.′

′I want to put a whole city on alert . . . we field the calls, the false alarms, we get as many people assigned to this as we can, and we get this thing broken before Christmas—′

′I need it done a long way before Christmas.′

′So you need to co-ordinate with whoever you have to co-ordinate with, get the resources we need assigned to us, and we put this thing in the papers and on the tube.′

′You wanna know my view? I don′t think it′ll go.′

′So we don′t even try?′

′We try yes, but I don′t want you to come in here fists flying when it gets kicked out on its ass.′

′Fuck ′em. They don′t give us what we need they can find someone else to head up this thing.′