The Squad Room (17 page)

“I’ll get him on a conference call now,” Rivera said, reaching for the phone.

McNamara picked up on the first ring. “I was actually just going to call you guys,” he said. “We have some good news here.”

“Let’s hear it,” said Morrison.

“Through campus security, we were able to get a couple of our team in to work out alongside our suspects in the gym,” he said. “A bit tough for the older guys, but we were able to keep a real close eye on our two boys.”

“That’s great,” Morrison said. “Were you able to pick up any DNA samples there?”

“Yeah, we were. We got a couple of swabs off the elliptical machines after they used them. Also, the geniuses both had water bottles with them, and they threw them out right in front of Hanrahan. Hopefully we’ll be able to take some good DNA off them, possibly prints as well.”

“Excellent. We still need more, to make sure we can rule out contamination, but that’s a good start. Do you need any extra bodies to help you out?”

“Maybe. Hanrahan’s on his way to New York with those samples for vouchering and processing, and we could always use a few spare eyes if you’ve got ’em. We’ve all been running sixteen to eighteen hours a day, with one guy staying on the car after we put these guys to bed, so I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Okay, we’ll send you two more,” Morrison said, gesturing at Rivera to make a note of it. “How about those Boston PD guys I put you in touch with—have you spoken with them?”

“Yeah, I have; they’ve been very helpful. These guys have been going to a Mexican restaurant near their dorm every night since we started, and the Boston PD know the place—they set us up with the manager, and hopefully we’ll be able to get some additional samples off of them the next time they’re in.”

“All right, McNamara, keep it up and stay safe. We’ll send you those other guys ASAP. Don’t go talking about the Yankees or anything in the meantime.”

“Oh yeah, we found that out real quick,” McNamara laughed. “Good way to get a whole bar to turn on you in a hurry. Take it easy, fellas.”

Seconds after they hung up, the phone rang again. Rivera picked up and listened a few moments, a look of concern furrowing his brow.

“Okay, where?” he asked, giving Morrison a familiar look as he took notes.
Fuck,
Morrison thought.
We’ve got another one.

Rivera hung up with a deep breath, and Morrison knew his fears were realized. “Looks like we’ve got one at a brownstone in Gramercy—Twenty-First and Park,” he said.

“Goddammit,” said Medveded quietly.

“What the fuck!” Morrison exploded, furious. “Our guys have been on these two in Boston for three days!”

“Well, let’s go check it out,” Rivera said. He grabbed his coat. “They backed right out, so we don’t have much detail yet.”

“All right, yeah,” Morrison said. “No sense jumping to conclusions, right? I’ll call McNamara back on the way.”

When they arrived at the scene—a nice brownstone typical of the quiet, moneyed neighborhood of Gramercy Park—Crime Scene was still arriving, so they had to wait a while before entering. But when they did, Captain Morrison immediately found his suspicions confirmed—but in a disturbingly uneven way.

The scene inside was eerily similar to that of the first three. The similarities were stark: even the same types of rope and tape were used as previously. Yet, though the victim had not been tortured as keenly this time—there were no bite marks on her body—her murder appeared to have been more violent. The other three had had their faces left untouched, but not this one: her model-beautiful face was distorted in places by livid bruises. Her nails were all broken, as though she’d had a chance to put up a real fight against her attacker before he’d gotten her tied up—another difference. Also, with her long, black hair, she didn’t quite fit the blonde or dyed-blonde profile of the previous victims.

“You think we might have a copycat killer here?” Morrison asked Rivera, after he’d instructed Crime Scene to bag the victim’s hands for DNA collection.

“Could be, Cap. Hard to say, though. Would that be better, or worse?”

“I don’t know,” Morrison said. “Either way, it’s bad—and it’s my ass on the hot seat. Check with McNamara—let’s see what he says about our Boston guys. I want to confirm they were there all night.”

“I just hung up with him. He says to give him twenty minutes.”

“Okay,” said Morrison, running his hand through his hair in frustration. “How many people do we have working right now?”

“Besides the ones in Boston, we’re only missing two—Galipoli and Koreski.”

“Okay, get everyone we can on this, now. We need to know everything about this victim, ASAP. I don’t like the way this looks, Frankie,” he added. “I don’t think this is our guys.”

“You think we got
another
set of psychos running around now?” Rivera asked.

“I don’t know. But I do know the press is going to have a field day with this one, and the PC’s going to have to make a statement, so we’d better have something for him. Arndt’s going to be looking for any way he can to throw us under the bus.” He grabbed Medveded to join them. “And listen,” he told them quietly, “I need you guys to say
nothing
about a possible copycat, understand? That thought stays with the three of us. This includes the rest of the task force. Got it?”

Medveded and Rivera nodded.

“Christ, do you think we should have picked up the guys in Boston sooner?” Medveded asked.

“No, we had no cause,” Morrison sighed. “We would have just tipped our hand before having to let them out again.”

Before they left the building to brave the media circus already gathering outside, Morrison dialed McNamara again.

“Hey, Pat,” he said, “can you tell me if there’s any way these guys went for a ride last night?”

McNamara sounded stressed. “Well, we didn’t see the one car move, but we still haven’t found the other car—the one registered to Anderson.”

“Tell me we sat on their dorm all night,” Morrison pressed him.

“We did, but there are multiple ways in and out. Their pattern seemed to have them leaving through the same door every day, but it’s possible we could have missed them. Does it look like we have the same stuff at this new scene?”

“Sort of,” Morrison said, “but it doesn’t feel right. There are no bite marks or lips taken, and the victim’s been beaten real badly. It just has a different feel. You got the DNA from those two in, right?”

“Yeah, O’Dell called a little while ago—it’s all in.”

“Okay; let’s see what we have, then. I need those lab results
yesterday
. And let me know if you see either of those guys this morning—it’s important, for all of our sakes, that we didn’t lose them in Boston last night.”

“Yessir.” McNamara cleared his throat. “Cap, if there’s any trouble—I just want you to know I take full responsibility for this. I don’t think we
missed them, but if we did, I know it’s me who should go down for it.”

“Well, I appreciate it,” Morrison said, “but let’s not go jumping on our swords just yet. Just give me the information on those guys’ whereabouts as soon as you have it—our asses may well depend on it.”

19

On his way back to the stationhouse, Morrison called a meeting with his task force. But before he could enter the squad room, he was met by a very flushed and visibly worked-up Chief of Detectives Arndt.

“Captain, I want you in your office, now,” he commanded, and stormed back inside.

Morrison followed him in, gritting his teeth in frustration. It was exactly what he had been hoping to avoid—at a time like this, Arndt wouldn’t be here for answers, but for the opportunity to take Morrison down a notch that he’d been awaiting for so long. And though Morrison would usually give as he got with the Chief, without the information he needed, he knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on. He took utter responsibility for his command, and if his team in Boston had let two serial killers slip past them, he had this last girl’s blood on their hands.
My days as head of this task force may be numbered,
he thought grimly as he closed the door.

Arndt didn’t wait for him to sit down.

“Captain, can you tell me what the fuck you think you’re doing here?” he shouted. “I thought your team was supposed to be surveilling our suspects 24-7. Now we have another murder—what are your guys
doing up there, sleeping in their cars?”

“Chief, we’re not sure yet whether—”

“Exactly—not sure! Not sure who’s behind this murder; not sure where our suspects from the previous murders might be; not sure what his men are doing; not sure of
anything
we need to be sure of, it seems! Can you tell me why someone so completely clueless ought to be running a squad in the first place, Captain?”

A knock on the door saved Morrison the indignity of answering. The squad Principal Administrative Assistant, Tamika Edwards, poked her head in.

“What is it?” Arndt barked at her.

“The Commissioner’s on the phone for Captain Morrison,” she said.

“Put him through—
I’ll
talk to him,” Arndt snapped. He picked up the phone. “Hello, Commissioner, Chief Arndt here. Yes. Yes, I understand, but—all right, of course. Yes, Commissioner, I’ll take care of it. No problem. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

He hung up and glared at Morrison.

“This isn’t over,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

He stormed out. A few minutes later, Tamika knocked again. Morrison picked up the phone wearily.

“Hello, Commissioner. Sorry about that.”

“It’s all right,” Harrington told him. “But look, Bill, we need this—we need it really badly. Have we gotten anywhere on the two guys in Boston?”

“Yeah, we just got possible DNA and some fingerprints delivered to the lab this morning.”

“That’s good. How much time do you need to confirm a match?”

“Well, based on the severity of the case, and if everything goes right, and if they put us ahead of everything else—”

“All right, Bill, I get it. How long?”

“Four days, generally.”

“I’ll give you three,” Harrington said. “And before you ask, that’s how long I’ll be able to keep Arndt in check. After that, I won’t be able
to hold him back. Understand?”

Morrison felt a chill go down his spine. The PC was putting his own neck in the noose in place of his. If another serial homicide turned up in the next three days, whatever happened to Morrison, the media would do Harrington ten times worse. Morrison thanked his lucky stars again for giving him such a standup man for a Commissioner.

“Thank you, Commissioner,” he managed. “I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t, Bill. Talk soon.”

Morrison emerged to a squad meeting already in progress. Everyone was there with the exception of McNamara and his team. McNamara was on conference, listening in from the field. The room went silent as Morrison joined them.

“Don’t stop on my account—let’s keep this going,” he said as he sat.

Sergeant Simmons spoke up. “Okay, where were we? Right—we now have some possible DNA from our suspects, as well as fingerprints, so right now we need to make sure they jump to the top of the list for testing.”

“We at least have results from the previous three murders,” Rivera said. “The lab has confirmed they’re all from the same suspects.”

“I think we all knew that from experience, wouldn’t you say?” Morrison said. “I’m not sold on the fourth yet, but I’ll call the Medical Examiner about that. For now, we know it’s the same two guys—let’s hope they’re our two. McNamara—?”

“I’m sorry, Cap,” McNamara said. “I know it’s my fault, but we can’t lock these guys in last night. They’re here now, but the trip to Manhattan doesn’t take that long, and we just can’t say for one hundred percent that they were here all last night.”

“It’s all right, Pat, I get it. Surveillance is a tricky business. Just stay with them for now, right?”

“Definitely, Cap. With the two extra bodies, we’ve got them blanketed.”

“Good. That’ll be all, Sergeant,” Morrison said. When McNamara
had hung up, he turned to the rest of the group. “Now listen, everyone: we have a three-day reprieve from the PC. Get that?
Three days.
After that, we will
all
be pretty well fucked—and I include myself and the PC at the top of that list. It’s like in baseball: if the team’s having a losing season, the managers are the first heads on the block. So I want all the stops pulled out. Favors, prayers, acts of God—everything. We need to get everything lined up and ready to move the
minute
we get the results back. If you don’t know what that means for you, ask Rivera or myself. Andre, get on the horn to the DA’s office—we already briefed Stan Rosenthal in the homicide bureau. Make sure the DA has everything we’ve got, and tell him we’re just waiting on the lab.”

“Yessir, will do.”

Galipoli, apparently fed up with the proceedings thus far, spoke up loudly from the back.

“What the fuck were these guys in Boston doing, anyway?” he raged. “Why couldn’t they just stay on these fucking guys the way they should have?”

“It’s a complicated situation, Galipoli,” Simmons said, trying to calm him down. “There were a lot of exits to the dorm, and—”

“No, that’s bullshit,” Galipoli said. “We’re having to pick up the slack for them, and it’s bullshit! They’re there for surveillance; they dropped the ball. That’s all there is to it.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Morrison said. “If you want to have that as a private conversation, go ahead, but this isn’t an encounter group. We’re solution-finders here, not finger-pointers, Detective. I know you’re new to the squad business, so you need to understand how this works: it isn’t a one-man show. We’re a team, and we leave the criticism to people outside this squad—believe me, there are plenty of them.”

“But all they were supposed to do was—” Galipoli started.

“Enough,
I said!” Morrison shouted. “Galipoli, you can see me after this meeting’s done. Everyone else, you know what you have to do. Get to it!”

The task force dispersed to their separate tasks. Galipoli followed
Morrison sullenly into the Captain’s office, and closed the door after them. He opened his mouth to protest, but before he could begin Morrison had unhooked a framed document from the wall and handed it to him.