The Big Scam (27 page)

“No, why?”

“Why all the interest in Garrett?”

“Ah, I think it's interesting. Here's a guy who could wind up in prison, and he's out here more or less running this three-ringer. I'm just trying to figure out what makes him tick.”

“And that's it? I'm surprised that you would burn up energy on someone like him. I got the impression that you thought his kind didn't belong in the Bureau.”

Without effort, Lansing summoned some condescension to add conviction to what he was about to say. “I do. That's why I find it interesting, because if you watch him not knowing his circumstances, it seems like this is the most important thing in his life.”

“Maybe he's not guilty of insider trading. Maybe he's just a good agent wrongfully accused.”

Lansing couldn't help but smile. “Maybe.”

Egan walked up. “Nick, they think they may be able to cover the area in two days.”

“If they can save us a day, that'd be great.”

“They're ready. The way I think it'll work best is when they get a chart for the area, I'll take the handler and her dog to any points that look like a possibility. If the dog hits on anything, we can start digging.”

“I'll have a couple of agents standing by with shovels and the evidence kit.”

Two technicians had inserted a series of the geophones about ten feet apart along the perimeter of the first area to be searched. They were mounted on thin, frail-looking rods that had been driven into the ground and linked by white cables that ran into the recording truck. One of the technicians radioed the truck and said they were ready. The piston on the truck had been raised. They said they were ready, too. The geophysicists gave the go-ahead.

The piston dropped and everyone felt the resonating thud. It fell again. The process was repeated for the better part of an hour before Egan and Dave Thornton came out of the recording truck reading a chart. They walked over to Vanko. “There's a couple of possible spots we can have the dog check while they're moving the geophones.”

“So you feel you got a good reading?” Vanko asked the retired agent.

“As good as we're going to get with this shallow search.”

“What do you mean?”

“This equipment is designed to explore what's hundreds of feet below the surface. You're looking much shallower.”

“Garrett said something the other day about changing the frequency.”

“We did. We tried a lot of frequencies. This terrain is an unusual mixture of rock and soil, hard to get a shallow reading on because the sound waves have to pass through so many different and repeating densities. But we'll give it our best shot.”

Vanko called Sheila over. “I'm not completely sold on Manny's selective memory.”

“You think he could be making this up to get off the hook?”

“He wouldn't be the first. The little he has told us seems awfully well rehearsed. But being responsible for all this probably doesn't make me the best judge. That night at the hotel it seemed like you two got along pretty well.”

“I guess so.”

“How about getting him away from T.H. for a while and see what you think.”

She walked over to the van. “Manny, I'm going to get some coffee. Want to take a ride?”

Glancing at Crowe, he said, “I could use a change of scenery. Sure.”

As he got in the car, there were a half dozen photographs on the seat. “What are these?”

“That's a case I'm working on. Twelve-year-old girl from up in East Harlem.”

He was unable to take his eyes off the image of Suzie Castillo, her naked body rigid with death. “Raped?”

“Yes.”

“Fucking animal…sorry.”

“Actually, I haven't been able to find a better description myself.”

“Who are these other girls?”

“They're missing, too.”

“The same guy?”

“We're looking into it. This whole thing is a lot of pressure on you, isn't it, Manny? All this time and money being spent on your being able to remember something from ten years ago.”

“Yeah, it is. I'm doing my best.”

“Any chance you're blocking something unintentionally because your father's name might eventually surface?”

“I don't know. I guess that could be. The mind's a funny thing, especially mine.” He smiled weakly and considered telling her about his bridge phobia to help convince her that her theory might be valid, but decided that he liked her too much to expose such a deep weakness.

Sheila pulled up to a convenience store. “What do you want in your coffee?”

“Two creams, two sugars.”

When she got back, he tapped the photos with his finger. “What do you know about the guy who did this?”

“Other than his DNA profile, not much.”

“Want to know what I think?”

She handed him his coffee. “Sure.”

“I think this guy was trying to send a message.”

“How do you figure that?”

“When it comes to leaving a body as a message, the Cosa Nostra invented it. See the way she's positioned, naked with her knees up and her legs spread. She didn't die like that. This guy is saying ‘Screw you' to somebody.”

“To who?”

He looked closer at the photo. “I thought you said this was in Harlem. It looks like Bensonhurst.”

“It is. She was taken in East Harlem, but the body was dumped in Brooklyn.”

“Sure, I remember this. About a year ago.”

“That's right.”

“I mean we heard it was a kid, but we didn't know it was anything like this.”

“What about the message?”

“I can't believe this piece of garbage did this in our neighborhood.”

“Manny, please focus. What message?”

“I think whoever he's sending the message to lives in the area.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I'm pretty insensitive, but this makes even me cringe. That's what he wants, to shove it in whoever's face. You know, like some girlfriend who dumped him, something like that. Don't the cops talk to everybody in the neighborhood?”

“They interviewed some of the residents and checked them for criminal records.”

“I don't think this guy lives around there. He has no respect for the neighborhood. You got to look for who he had the beef with.”

“There's an awful lot of people living around there, and besides, what would we look for? It'd be tough finding the connection. But I'll give it some thought.” When he didn't say anything, she looked at him. “What is it, Manny?”

“Say I could get you all the names that live around there, would you have to know where it came from?”

The radio broke the silence. It was Vanko. “When you get back, I need to see you.”

She knew he was just making sure everything was okay. “On my way.” She turned back to Baldovino. “Manny, I appreciate the offer, but the way you asked makes me think I'd better pass. Besides, with all this going on, I don't know when I'd get to them.”

“Got a pen?” She handed him one, and he wrote his cell number on the folder that had been sitting under the photos. “Just in case you change your mind.”

VANKO SAW SHEILA COMING TOWARD HIM, TALKING
on her cell phone, her lips a thin, flat line of anger.

“I've got to get back to the city,” she said.

“What's the matter?”

“That call was the task force supervisor. Another girl's missing.” When he didn't say anything, she knew what he was thinking. “This time it's real, Nick. The media's all over it. She vanished on the way home from school. They found her messenger bag with her wallet and money in it. They want all my files, and my help.”

“Where did it happen?”

“Saint Michael's. Another Catholic school in East Harlem, and like Suzie Castillo, she was wearing a school uniform. I've got to get down there.”

“I understand, but…”

“But what?”

“You know what this case was doing to you when you weren't sure there was more than one victim. Now that it's a full-blown serial killer investigation…well, I'm a little worried.”

She stepped closer. “There are some things you don't know about this case—like the autopsy—because I thought Suzie had the right to some dignity. Unless you're getting too much sleep, I don't think you want to know what's in it. But the important thing is he kept her alive for thirty-six to forty-eight hours. They need everybody they can get. So even if I have to hitchhike, I'm going.”

“Give me five minutes.”

“For what?”

“I'm going with you.”

“Okay…good,” she said, but her expression was still suspicious.

He told Egan and Straker to take over, then motioned to Bradley Kenyon and Howard Snow. “Brad and Howard are coming, too.”

“Why?”

“You said they need everybody they can get.”

“All right.”

The trip of a hundred and twenty miles took under an hour and a half. Vanko had Kenyon and Snow drive one of the vans in case surveillance was necessary. He and Sheila went in his car.

She spent most of her time on the phone, calling her contacts at the task force and Homicide, figuring out how the agents could best be deployed once they got there. As she was about to dial again, Vanko interrupted her. “Mind if I ask you something?”

“What?” she said distractedly.

“Put the phone down and talk to me for a minute.” She turned it off and locked her hands between her knees. “What do you think the odds are that we're going to find this girl alive?”

The word “alive” seemed to slap her across the face. “If you start playing the odds right now, you'd might as well drive straight to the church and start making funeral arrangements. This isn't about probability, it's about never
ever
giving up.”

“Nobody's giving up. I'm just concerned about you.”

She pivoted away from him and lapsed into a ruminative silence. The thousand-yard stare that had been so startling the first day had returned. “I'll be fine.”

“You're not fine now. Just because you were right about there being a serial killer doesn't mean that you're going to find him. What if you don't? This could swallow you whole.”

“And if I don't slow down, you're going to run and tell the SAC.”

His voice flat, he said, “I'll assume that you didn't mean that.”

“Don't assume anything. If I say it, it's what I mean.”

Vanko didn't say anything until he was sure he could maintain his calm. “I'll tell you what, we'll help with this, but when this girl is found, even if the killer isn't, you've got to promise me you're out for good. You'll move out of the neighborhood and let it all go blank.”

“I can't promise anything right now. But whatever way it goes, I will sit down with you and try to be rational.”

A small smile lifted the undamaged side of his face. “Considering who I'm dealing with, I'll accept that as a major concession.”

In the city now, Vanko stopped at a light. “What about that photographer Diaz? Anybody looking at him?”

“That was the first thing I asked. They just cleared him on DNA.”

“So much for the obvious.”

“You know, Manny said something interesting.”

“About the graveyard?”

“No. But I think, for whatever reason, there's something about that he's not telling us. No, he looked at the crime scene photos and said he thought the killer was sending a message.”

“A message? To who?”

“Someone living around there. Let's go over to where the body was found.”

With the van close behind, Vanko headed out to south-central Brooklyn. A half hour later Sheila had him pull over. “This is it.”

“This small playground?”

“She was found over by the swings.” They all got out of the vehicles.

“What are we doing here?” Snow asked.

Sheila explained Manny's theory.

Kenyon said, “And you think we're going to find whoever he was sending a message to? Bensonhurst has to have, what, a hundred fifty, two hundred thousand residents?”

“Homicide talked to the neighbors around the playground, but…Give me a couple of minutes, would you?” While the men stayed on the sidewalk talking, she walked over and sat down on one of the swings. She checked the crime scene photos, trying to determine if the positioning of the body could reveal anything further. Then she watched the people passing by for a while before rejoining the others. “There's a lot of foot traffic along this street.”

“Eighth Avenue is two blocks up. Stores, banks, bus stops,” Vanko said.

“Did you notice the church we passed? It's only a block away.”

“What's that got to do with this?” Snow asked.

“It's Catholic, both victims went to Catholic schools. Maybe there's a tie-in.”

Vanko said, “She could have been displayed for anyone passing by.”

“But there's got to be hundreds of people who live within walking distance,” Kenyon offered.

“And right now I'd like to have a list of their names.” She turned over the folder with Baldovino's cell number on it and then retrieved her phone from the van. “Manny, how's it going up there?”

“Okay, I guess. They haven't found anything yet if that's what you're asking.”

“No. If it's not too late, I'd like to take you up on your offer to get those names of people in Bensonhurst. I need everybody who lives within walking distance of Saint Teresa's church.”

“Where you at?”

She explained about the latest abduction and that the victim might still be alive.

“Let me see what I can do.”

“We need at least a half mile in every direction.”

“I'll call you in a couple of minutes.”

Baldovino was sitting alone in the van. Crowe had gotten out to smoke and was watching the seismic crew work. Manny called the club and Parisi answered. “Mike, those names Tommy's been collecting for that bank scam, do you know if any of them are around Saint Teresa's?”

“I'm not sure, some maybe. Why?”

“The Feds need the list.”

“The fuck, Manny! You telling the Feds about that?”

“No, no, nothing like that, I swear. I just told them I could get a list of names as long as they didn't ask where it came from. Mike, I thought before I offered. I could've told them how to do it themselves, but I didn't want them to know we had any connection to that stuff, you know, in case we decided to do the bank scam later on. I figured if I did, we'd be the first one they would have looked at when the bank started screaming.”

“I don't know, Manny. This has trouble written all over it.”

“I know you watch the news. That little girl that's missing up in Harlem, it's for that. It ain't going to come back on us, honest.”

“You're sure about this?”

“Remember a year ago that little girl that was found dead over by Saint Teresa's? It's supposed to be the same guy, only they think this one might still be alive.”

“Let me put Tommy on.”

Baldovino told Ida what he needed. “How long you think, Tommy?”

“Hold on.” Ida turned to Parisi. “It'll be a lot quicker if you, Gus, and Jimmy can help me.”

“What do we have to do?”

“They got four computers at the library. Everything's in the tax records. It's easy. It'll take two minutes to show you.”

“What if somebody's using the computers?”

“Gus can explain how Christian it is to share.”

Parisi took the phone from him. “Manny, with you up there, how we supposed to get them to the Feds? If they figure out it's us, they might put two and two together about the graveyard thing.”

“That kid who cleans up, John-John, he can deliver it. He knows how to keep his mouth shut.” Baldovino found Sheila's cell number on his incoming calls. “Write this number down. It's a lady agent—Sheila—have John-John call her when everything's ready.”

“Sheila, huh? Not Agent So-and-so, just Sheila. You're not getting a thing for this broad, are you?”

Baldovino could feel himself blushing. “Come on, Mike. Don't bust my balls.”

“You'd better be sure about what you're doing. I want to help with this, but let's remember why you're up there,” Parisi said. “Anything happening?”

“I've been watching the dog. They haven't gotten him off his ass yet, so I don't think there's anything worth digging up.”

“We're going to head out and take care of this then.”

Baldovino called Sheila back. “It's being worked on. As soon as it's done, you'll get a call to arrange delivery.”

“How are you going to—”

“Remember what I said, no questions?”

“Thanks, Manny.”

“I hope it helps. I really do.”

The parking lot of Saint Michael's school was crammed with cars, a large number of which belonged to the NYPD. Vanko drove up to the door and Sheila got out. “I'll be right back.”

Ten minutes later, she got in the van and handed him a stack of fliers with the missing girl's photo on them. “They're getting ready for a news conference, so I've got a few minutes.”

“Good, because we're going to get something to eat. None of us have eaten today, including you.”

“I can't leave.”

“Am I ever going to get my way?”

“Probably not very often. Sure you want to waste one on a sandwich?”

“It's not just a sandwich. I'm getting fries, too.”

Vanko found a coffee shop two blocks away. The four of them found a booth and ordered sandwiches. The news was on, and the abduction was the lead story. The reporter was standing in the parking lot of Saint Michael's. “As I speak, the New York City police are meeting inside to discuss what should be done next in the case of missing twelve-year-old Adelina Lopez. She was last seen on her way to school this morning. The police have stated that the latest abduction may be related to the year-old murder of Suzie Castillo, a student at the Miraculous Medal Catholic school, who was also on her way to school when she was reported missing. The police refused to speculate whether there could be other victims. Forensics and the autopsy in the Castillo case indicate that she was kept alive for as long as forty-eight hours after the abduction. The police have spent the day searching the East Harlem neighborhood and talking to residents in hope of finding the girl. Sources report authorities are considering their next move very carefully.”

Vanko asked, “Did it look like they had anything going on?”

“Nothing. They're rounding up known sex offenders, more out of frustration than hope. They need as many of us with experience on the case as possible to conduct interviews. Looks like we'll be at it all night. Most of these guys have been interviewed, alibied, and DNA'd. Like I said, it's pretty much out of desperation.” She took a bite of her club sandwich.

“We'll head back to Bensonhurst.”

“Thank you. I'll call if we get anything.”

Vanko threw some bills on the table. “If we don't hear from you, let's all meet here at eight tomorrow morning for breakfast.”

Half turning her back to the other two, she tugged at Vanko's sleeve. “You're bound and determined to keep feeding me, aren't you?”

 

Parisi stared at the screen as he queried lot numbers in the Kings County tax assessor's website. The library's computer room seemed too small for the four men who were pecking away with unusual diligence. Dellaporta was wedged into one of the desks and punched the keys with the merciless piston strokes of his index fingers. Tatorrio, unable to exist without some degree of human communication, hummed the music from a series of TV commercials as he tapped the keyboard with the flair of a concert pianist. Ida was the only one who knew how to type and was working at a rate three or four times faster than the others.