Kill Again Page 11

  “Yeah, and so do the three guys on that ‘eyes only’ list of yours. But I can’t tell you, because if you slip and say her name they’ll know who you got it from.”

  “Oh, so this cloak-and-dagger bullshit is for my benefit.” Ross snickered. “Okay, sure, what the hell? Break a federal privacy law or two, that’s no big deal, right?”

  “Join the club,” said Nick. “We have jackets.”

  “Jackets my ass. You mean those nice orange federal prison jumpsuits, don’t you?”

  Nick grinned, but didn’t answer, exasperating Ross.

  “What good’s the X-ray if you have nothing to compare it to?” Ross asked.

  “What makes you think I don’t?”

  “You sonuvabitch. Let me see it,” said Ross.

  “I don’t have it,” Nick answered.

  “You just said you did.”

  “What I said was, I have something I can compare with the film.”

  “Okay, so stop jerking me off. Bring your something here, I’ll do the comparison, and we’ll give this woman a name,” Ross said, fed up with Nick’s runaround.

  “I can’t,” Nick said.

  “Why the hell not?” Ross demanded.

  “Because of where I got it.”

  “Oh, that’s what you meant when you said ‘join the club.’ We’re both going to Club Fed.”

  “No one’s going to prison if you do what I say.”

  Ross looked back skeptically, so Nick dove into his sales pitch. “We speak for the dead, right? Well, this woman deserves to be spoken for, her family deserves to know where she is, and the scumbag who chopped her up and boiled her bones deserves to be publicly dismembered himself, but I’ll settle for putting him away for life. I don’t see the downside here.”

  The expression on Ross’s face confirmed that the last piece of information was news to him. “I’m sorry, but you did say boiled, right?”

  “I shit you not,” Nick continued. “And the sooner we ID this woman, the sooner we get this guy off the street before he does it again.”

  “How do you know that’ll happen?” Ross asked.

  “Because he’s done it before,” Nick said. “Thirty-five years ago. And I guarantee you, someone in this office is looking for those two sets of bones as we speak.”

  Nick knew he had Ross when the guy was finally speechless.

  “There’s this glassed-in coffee place outside the Alexandria, that new building next to Bellevue,” Ross said. “Go grab a cup. Gimme half an hour and I’ll bring you the damn films.”

  Inspector Wilkes appeared in the doorway of his office and stared into the Major Case Squad room, at the dozen or so detectives at their desks or moving around, all going about their business. Wilkes could keep a poker face as well as anyone, and though he smiled at one of his troops passing by, he silently fumed about how his day had so quickly gone to hell.

  It started with a call from the chief of detectives at eight-thirty, asking if he knew why Nick Lawler was late for work and didn’t bother to call. Wilkes wanted to answer that maybe if Dolan hadn’t been such an asshole to Nick and dismissed him from the case the guy would’ve shown up on time. He’d put his own trust in Nick, who’d not only led them to the bones on Staten Island, but also linked them to the eerily similar 1977 murders. It was the second time Wilkes had taken a chance on Nick, who’d come through on both occasions. And gotten screwed both times as well.

  But of course, Wilkes held his tongue with his boss, informing the chief that he’d last spoken to Nick yesterday when they were all together in the Bronx. It happened to be the truth, and it mollified Dolan enough to let it go.

  Now Wilkes had a more difficult issue on his hands. Thirty minutes earlier, at 11:32 a.m., Assistant Medical Examiner Rich Ross had called him, saying he had “a matter of extreme importance that would be best to discuss privately.” Before Wilkes could complain about driving uptown, Ross said he’d be at Police Plaza before noon and hung up before Wilkes could even answer.

  When he was in a good mood, Wilkes liked to quip “I may be an idiot but I’m no fool.” Right now, though, he felt like both. There were no dead bodies Doctor Ross needed to investigate at police headquarters. Wilkes knew of Ross’s relationship with Nick, and he, like most seasoned detectives, didn’t believe in coincidences.

  At 11:45, when Ross strolled into the squad room with a large manila envelope, Wilkes couldn’t help but feel the fine hand of Nick Lawler behind whatever was about to land on him.

  “Doctor Ross,” Wilkes said, smiling like the canary knowing he’s about to be eaten by the cat.

  “Thanks for seeing me, Inspector,” Ross said as the two shook hands. Wilkes ushered him into his office and closed the door. “Sorry I was so abrupt on the phone but I wanted to get down here as quick as possible.”

  “You brought a little show-and-tell,” Wilkes said, pointing to the manila envelope Ross laid on the desk. “I’m presuming this has to do with the bones from the Bronx.”

  “Yeah, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to show-and-tell with the blinds closed,” said Ross, referring to the faded venetian blinds hanging over the wall of windows separating the squad room from Wilkes’s office.

  “Sure, Doc,” the inspector said, lowering the blinds so they had privacy. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Any other requests?”

  “Mind if we use the lamp on your desk?” asked Ross.

  “Knock yourself out,” said Wilkes, taking a seat behind his desk.

  Ross sat back down, flipped the switch on the lamp, and pulled out an X-ray. “Do you know what an occult fracture is, Inspector?” he asked.

  “Sorry, I missed that class in medical school,” Wilkes answered.

  Ross ignored him and pressed on. “It’s a break inside a bone that can only be seen through imaging. I didn’t get your bones until this morning, but the first thing I did was x-ray the larger ones—skull, pelvis, extremities. Everything was clean except for your victim’s right tibia, which is where I found the occult fracture.”

  Ross pointed to a mark on the X-ray of a leg bone.

  “Are you gonna wait for me to ask or tell me what this is about?” the inspector growled.

  “Sorry,” Ross answered, pulling out a second film from the envelope. He showed it to Wilkes and pointed. “Here’s the exact same fracture on a second film,” he said, placing the first X-ray over the second. “The fractures on both films match up. Perfectly.”

  “I can see that, Doctor,” Wilkes growled again. ”And now you’re gonna tell me these films weren’t taken at the same time.”

  Ross admired Wilkes; the guy was smarter than he looked. “That’s right, Inspector. The second film was taken at the infirmary on Rikers Island back in February when an inmate was injured during a sexual assault.”

  Wilkes was getting tired of this. “And the inmate’s name?”

  “Former inmate,” Ross replied quickly, replacing the films in the envelope. “But her name is—or rather, was—Rosa Sanchez.”

  Wilkes was dumbstruck, but impressed nonetheless. “So you’re telling me you can positively ID the victim as Rosa Sanchez by that one little mark?”

  “Just to be sure, I had Doctor Wagner take a look,” Ross said, referring to the city’s chief medical examiner. “She signed off on it, so the answer is yes. And she sent me here to tell you personally.”

  Wilkes realized this wasn’t just a revelation. He was being set up.

  “Okay, Doc,” he said, trying not to blow. “Just so I know this is all kosher, why don’t you tell me how you magically got your hands on that film from Rikers. Or would you like me to tell you how you got it?”

  “Well, Inspector, I was going to tell you I started under the assumption that the bones belonged to a homeless person who might’ve been in jail at some point, so I sent my X-ray to the Rikers infirmary and the doctor recognized it and found the matching one belonging to Ms. Sanchez.”

  “And when I call Doctor Wagner she’ll back you
up on that,” Wilkes said.

  “Yes, sir, she will,” Ross answered.

  The inspector cracked a smile, thinking Ross was a lousy actor but he sure knew how to cover his ass.

  “I gotta hand it to you, Doc, that bullshit story you’re slinging is as good as the best phony alibis I’ve ever heard.”

  He leaned over and got in Ross’s face, unnerving the doctor so much he pushed his chair back. “But you and I both know that’s not how it went down, don’t we? What really happened was your buddy Nick Lawler got that X-ray from his pain-in-the-ass shrink friend, Claire Waters. Nick talked you into zapping those bones, and once the two films matched, you and him concocted this whole flippin’ charade.”

  When Ross didn’t answer, Wilkes knew he was right. He admired Ross for protecting the same guy he, Wilkes, was trying to protect. And Ross had also given him a card to play. Wilkes loosened up and headed behind his desk.

  “Hey, c’mon,” he said in a much friendlier, more conspiratorial tone as he sat down and relaxed in his chair. “I don’t like this any more than you do. There’s too much at stake here to get buried in political bullshit. Believe me, in this job I’ve got more than enough of that.”

  Ross couldn’t tell if Wilkes was serious. “You’re not yanking my chain, are you, Inspector?” he asked.

  “Look,” Wilkes began, “I may not like how he does it, but Nicky doesn’t give up. By coming to me this way you’ve done both him and me a huge solid.”

  “I—we did you a favor?”

  “Hell yeah. You guys gave me enough to take to my boss without having to out Nick.”

  Ross felt the tension leave him. “All Nick wanted was to get some justice for this poor woman,” Ross blurted, relieved to drop the act. “But he was afraid your chief would blame you for his actions. Yeah, he brought me the X-ray from Doctor Waters. Calling Rikers and having my boss sign off on it, though? That was all me—”

  Wilkes interrupted him by picking up the phone and dialing. “Yeah, it’s Inspector Wilkes. Tell the chief I need to see him. Now.” After a moment, Wilkes went on, “Okay, I’ll be right up.” He put the receiver down and looked up at Ross. “Thanks, Doc, you’ve been a huge help.”

  Ross was almost afraid to ask but did. “What are you going to tell your chief?”

  Wilkes grabbed the X-rays and headed for the door. “What I should’ve told him yesterday,” the inspector said, exiting.

  The glare of the sun through Dolan’s filthy windows nearly blinded Wilkes as he sat across from his boss. The chief of detectives stared at the X-rays, turning them in different directions like an adolescent looking at the centerfold of a nudie magazine. “We’re sure about this?” he asked, looking up at Wilkes.

  “The DNA will confirm it, but the ME says this is enough to ID the victim as Rosa Sanchez,” Wilkes said. “They’re leaving the announcement to us.”

  Dolan placed the films on his desk. “Let’s not rush into anything,” the chief said in that politician’s voice that made Wilkes want to wince. “We’ll give it forty-eight hours and see if your guys come up with anything on our perp,” said Dolan. “Who do you trust enough to work this?”

  This was where Wilkes had to be careful as he made his move. “Chief, I trust all my guys,” he said. “But if you wanna keep this quiet and hold on to some deniability, the thing to do is give this one to Nick Lawler.”

  Dolan got up from his chair like he was uncomfortable. He stared out the window. “Nick Lawler’s technically not a cop anymore,” he said, his voice tight.

  “All the more reason to use him,” Wilkes pressed. “This isn’t something where he’s gonna have to run around town chasing down leads.”

  When Dolan didn’t answer, Wilkes rose from his chair and joined his boss at the window so there would be no avoiding the issue. “I know he’s your boy,” Dolan said to Wilkes. “But Lawler’s turning into a loose cannon.”

  “You know, Chief, I held back yesterday but now I’m gonna say it,” Wilkes blurted. “We wouldn’t know about any of this but for Nicky. He’s the best, and he’s being sidelined by his own bad fortune. You gave the guy a break once and he came through. Give him another one now and it’ll work for all of us.”

  Dolan wouldn’t look at him. “If anybody out there finds out, we’re gonna have a shit storm on our hands,” he said.

  “That’s the whole point,” Wilkes said. “The more people know about this, the bigger the chances it’ll leak. So we keep the circle small and the information contained. Nick works it from the inside, Tony Savarese does whatever shoe leather’s necessary. If we need a third body I’ll get involved myself. And I don’t have to tell you that Nick’ll keep his mouth shut.”

  Dolan eyed Wilkes, sensing there was more. “What else?” the chief asked. “Or maybe I should be asking who else?”

  Wilkes knew this was the risky part, fearing any answer would incur the chief’s wrath. But he couldn’t back off the limb now. “We have two days to get out in front of this. Two murders barely anyone knows about that are three decades old. With an MO identical to Rosa Sanchez’s murder. We’ve gotta assume they were done by the same perp, and we need to get out ahead of him and stop him from doing another woman.”

  Dolan knew where Wilkes was going. “You want to bring in someone to profile the guy. And I’m guessing it’s Doctor Claire Waters.”

  Wilkes was impressed; Dolan had his number. “Chief, I can’t believe I’m saying it myself. But Doctor Waters pulled our asses out of the fire last year. She and Nick work well together, and she’s not gonna write a book about it or go on TV,” Wilkes said. “If we bring in the FBI they’ll leak it and that’s the last thing either of us needs.”

  Dolan knew Wilkes was right. The police commissioner and the FBI were like oil and water. Asking the feds for help of any kind was practically verboten in the NYPD. Though he didn’t like Wilkes’s idea, he couldn’t come up with anything better.

  “Do it,” Dolan said.

  CHAPTER 10

  Wilkes sat down on the plush sofa in Claire’s office, trying hard not to feel like he was in enemy territory or, even worse, that he was about to have his head shrunk. Because his dislike of doctors was surpassed only by his outright hatred of hospitals, he was more than just a fish out of water. He shifted, trying to find a place that felt comfortable. Nick sat a foot away on the other end of the sofa and Claire faced him, sitting in her wing chair, waiting for him to speak. Wilkes wished he could have held this meeting in his own office, but that was out of the question.

  “First of all, Doctor,” he began, “I need your assurance that what we discuss stays in this room.”

  “I’m a psychiatrist, Inspector,” Claire replied. “I know how to keep a secret.”

  “Okay,” Wilkes said, choosing deference over his trademark sarcasm. “Here’s the rest of it. Doc, you can’t set foot in police headquarters. Nicky, this is the last time you come to this hospital until we’re done. And the two of you are not to be seen together in public.”

  “Why?” Nick asked.

  “This town’s full of loose lips. Some reporter sees you walking down some street, they’ll put two and two together, and before we know it this whole thing is on the front page of the Post,” Wilkes answered. “We’ve managed to keep this under the media’s radar thus far and we have to keep it that way. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Claire answered sincerely. Neither Nick nor Claire liked the conditions, but as the price of admission to the Big Show, they would live with it.

  “What’s next?” asked Nick.

  “We have to find you two a home base,” Wilkes continued. “It cannot be here, Doctor, and I can’t put you in a police facility either.”

  “We’ll work at my place,” Nick interrupted, surprising Claire. “There’s plenty of room and the building’s quiet during the day. And selfishly, I can be there when the girls come home from school.”

  “It’s not selfish,” Claire assured him. “And that’s fine wit
h me.”

  “Me too,” Wilkes agreed, surprised how easy this was turning out to be. “Nicky, your cover story’s simple,” the inspector said. “You’re taking two weeks’ vacation, which you won’t be charged for. I’ll have Tony Savarese bring the files on Rosa Sanchez and the two Jane Doe cases from seventy-seven over to your house. Tony is your go-between, our pipeline back and forth. Whatever paper you need he’ll get you. Any shoe leather you need done, he’ll do. Under no circumstances are either of you to do interviews, surveillance, or any other kind of street work. And here’s the other thing—no electronic communications either. E-mails, texts, all verboten. We don’t want a digital trail coming back at us if this thing blows up in our faces. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Nick answered, “but how’s Tony gonna feel about being our errand boy? We already have Ross at the ME’s office.”

  Wilkes anticipated this. “Obviously Ross already knows you’re involved, so I don’t see the harm in you talking to him directly. But stay the hell out of that building,” the inspector warned. “And we don’t want too much communication between Ross and our office either; it’ll look hinky if anyone checks. Tony’s loyal. He’s a good soldier, he knows what’s at stake, and most importantly he’s one of us. He’ll do as he’s told and take it to the grave with him. So he’s our guy.”

  Wilkes looked squarely at Claire, but this time more like the colleague she was being asked to become. “Now you, Doc. No pressure or anything, but I put my balls on the chopping block to bring you into this. You don’t work for me but if we’re going to accomplish what we’re setting out to do, I’m going to need your complete cooperation and assurance you’ll follow orders. And I’m not asking you to do this in a vacuum. I have an assurance for you as well, and this comes straight from the chief of detectives. You’ll not be asked to do anything that’ll put your medical license or your position and standing at Manhattan State in jeopardy. Is that agreeable to you?”

  Claire was impressed. This was not the Wilkes she’d come to know. His words made her feel even more secure in what was at best a proposition filled with insecurity. “Yes, Inspector,” she said readily, “and thanks for looking out for me.”