“A bigshot judge,” Looper said, glancing over at the body in the limo. “Not good for our side. Da Vinci’s liable to show up here with his nuts in a knot.”
“Most likely,” Beam said. “Maybe we can be gone. What’s the story?”
“Uniforms got the call and arrived no more’n ten minutes after the shot was fired. Nobody heard the shot. Nobody saw anything.”
“Busy intersection,” Beam said, glancing around. “Where was the limo driver through all of this?”
Nell said, “He stopped here for gas, then while the tank was filling went inside to get a morning paper for the judge. It’s the judge’s regular limo service, and his regular driver. Since the tank had been almost empty, the driver chatted for a few minutes with the clerk. Then he paid for the paper and went outside. He thought at first the judge was dozing, then noticed the window was down and saw the hole in his forehead. He said he opened the door, gonna try to help. Then he saw it was no use and shut the door, came back into the station, and called the police.”
“You sure he said the window was down?” Beam asked.
Nell gave a little smile. “Yeah. I specifically asked. The chauffeur’s a sharp guy. After phoning the police, he went back outside and stood by the car, made sure nobody touched anything. He paid by company credit card, but he still hasn’t even touched the receipt sticking out of the pump.”
“Did he see anybody leaving the scene?”
“No one. And he said he looked in all directions. Nobody saw anything. It’s a slow morning, and the next people to arrive at the station were police.”
“What about the clerk?”
“No help there,” Looper said. “She didn’t even know anything was wrong until the driver went outside with his paper and came running back in.” He felt his shirt pocket. “Christ, I need a smoke.”
“That’d be smart,” Nell said. “Don’t you smell the gas?”
“Yeah. It makes me want a smoke.”
“You addicts.”
“Any other customers inside the station?” Beam asked. “Somebody wanting coffee or shopping around for junk food?”
“No one,” Looper said. “Just the driver and the clerk. It’s quiet in there, but you can hear the traffic. Seems to me that if neither of them heard a shot, there was probably a sound suppresser on the piece. And I got a glimpse of the entry wound, most likely a thirty-two. Our guy.”
Beam nodded. “That how you see it, Nell?”
“Unless that letter J is different from the rest.”
“It isn’t,” Beam said.
“Then the shooter was our guy. This was a regular stop for the judge, usually just so the driver could buy a paper. But this time the limo needed gas, so opportunity presented itself. Way I see it, the killer musta moved fast when the driver went inside. Walked over to the limo and knocked on the window. The judge pressed the power button so the window’d glide down and he could talk to whoever’d knocked, and pop!”
“Sounds right,” Looper said.
Beam looked again at the scene. There was another set of pumps beyond where the limo was parked, so visibility wasn’t good from the street. Probably no one driving past would notice someone standing alongside a vehicle gassing up, or think anything about it if they did. As for the black limo, they were common as roaches in New York; it wouldn’t have attracted any attention.
“A judge this time,” Looper said, tapping his barren shirt pocket again. “Da Vinci’s gonna shit a brick.”
They stood silently for a few minutes, watching the ambulance pull away with the judge’s body. A white and silver tow truck, belching noxious diesel exhaust, vibrant bass notes, and gleaming in the sun as if it had just been washed and waxed, arrived to transport the mayor’s limo to the police garage. The limo would be dusted for prints, black-lighted, vacuumed, and partially disassembled.
Beam didn’t think it was a waste of time. It was always possible the killer had left something, even if he hadn’t gotten inside the limo. We all leave a wake as we move through life.
His cell phone vibrated in his pocket.
Da Vinci hadn’t waited long to get into a frenzy. “You at the Parker scene?” he asked Beam, over the cell phone.
“We’re here,” Beam assured him. He filled in da Vinci on what little there was to know.”
“So we’ve got the red letter J tucked under the wiper, and it looks like the judge was shot with a thirty-two caliber slug.”
“Could be a thirty-two. We’ll know soon as they do the postmortem, then ballistics can see if we’ve got a match with the other JK shootings.”
“It’ll match,” da Vinci said glumly. “Remember Raymond Peevy?”
Beam didn’t have to search his memory far. “The shitbird who shot up a van full of kids on the Verrazano Bridge about five years ago?”
“Yeah. It was six years. He lives in California now and grows grapes. The late Judge Parker refused a prosecutor’s appeal on a verdict that set Peevy free on a technicality.”
“Can’t think of a better way to become the late Judge Parker.”
“Why we’ve got us another JK killing, Beam. You and your team have gotta nail this bastard before the commissioner nails me. I’m the one talked you up, Beam, and I told it true. You’re the best one to get inside this freak’s mind, anticipate him, be where he is, and stop his evil heart. Are you working toward that goal?”
“You know damn well I am.”
“Okay, okay. “Da Vinci seemed to calm down.
“Why do you think he uses a thirty-two?” Beam asked.
“It’s what he has. Scumbags like JK usually don’t go out and buy weapons. They use what’s at hand.”
“He doesn’t use a twenty-two, like some pros,” Beam said. “Three or four in the head at close range. A thirty-two’s got more punch, but it isn’t as sure as a thirty-eight, forty-five, or nine millimeter.”
“It’s had enough punch so far.”
“True. But this is such a careful killer, you’d think he’d want to make sure his shots counted.”
“They can count, with a thirty-two.”
“If the shooter knows how to use one. Or increases the load.”
“So you’re saying he’s a gun nut and a good shot, but not a pro?”
“Or he knows guns and is a good shot trying not to look like a pro.”
“Hmm. Could be you’re overthinking this.”
“Could be,” Beam admitted.
“And at this point I’m more interested in results than in theory.”
“Understandable.”
“I’m asking, Beam, please don’t disappoint me.” He sounded as if he thought Beam really had a choice.
“I’m trying not to disappoint anyone,” Beam said.
“Aren’t we all?” da Vinci said.
Sometimes Beam wondered.
He slid the phone back in his pocket and watched the glowing taillights of the truck towing the limo disappear around the corner like the watchful red eyes of some retreating animal.
The city was full of predators.
Gina had always thought Carl Dudman was the one most responsible for setting Genelle’s killer free. It wasn’t only that he was jury foreman. She’d watched him in TV interviews after the trial, a big man with sandy hair and an easy smile. He had charisma and confidence and it was obvious that things came easy to him. What would it be like to be a man like that in this world, instead of a helpless young girl like Genelle?
Gina had some idea, only she wasn’t as helpless as Genelle had been. She was four years older than when her twin sister died, and she was wiser. She was also more determined. She’d always been more determined than Genelle, and obviously the stronger of the two. They’d both known it almost from infancy, and their parents had reinforced the knowledge. Their father had loved them both, but he was fond of saying Gina had self-confidence coming out of her pores. Of course, he was right. And now Gina had a mission. A celestial responsibility that only a surviving twin could understand. She had a duty to her dead twin.
