Cold was slumped over the control panel, his head turned to the side. He was looking back at Lenny with an empty eye socket. Lying flat in the center of his back was a red letter J cut from some kind of cloth.
Lenny reeled backward.
Justice Killer!
He found himself sitting on top of his magazine in the orange easy chair. It was difficult for him to breathe. He was squeezing the chair’s arms hard enough to leave permanent indentations. This was badder’n bad.
Bodyguard career’s all over. Nobody gonna hire me now.
In a dark dream, he fumbled with his cell phone and called the police.
It didn’t take them long to get there.
They were right downstairs.
55
Beam stood next to da Vinci as they watched Richard Simms’s body being removed, Cold Cat leaving his expensive, tastelessly furnished Manhattan apartment for the last time. The paramedics tending the gurney craned their necks, taking a final, lasting look around, as they guided their burden through the door. They knew they’d never see anything like this again.
“Dizzy modern,” one of them said.
“Martha Stewart’s nightmare,” said the other.
“We’ve been had,” da Vinci said.
Beam couldn’t disagree, so he said nothing.
Nell was sitting over on the leopard-skin sofa, running Lenny the bodyguard through his story again. Beam knew it would be essentially the same as the first time. Lenny was telling the truth, just not adding that there would have been more police nearby, outside and in the building, if they hadn’t been redeployed to protect Melanie Taylor. Everyone had assumed she would be the Justice Killer’s next target.
Looper entered the crowded apartment, sidestepped some busy crime scene unit techs, and made his way over to where Beam and da Vinci stood. He’d been talking to neighbors and double-checking what the doorman had told the uniforms who’d been first to arrive on the scene.
“Nobody saw or heard anything unusual,” Looper said. “The doorman noticed no one suspicious entering or leaving the building either before or after Cold Cat’s death.”
“The usual professional, clean job,” Beam said.
“And the public’ll be delighted this piece of shit was flushed away.”
“He was shot from outside his recording room,” da Vinci said. “So if the killer didn’t use a sound suppressor, folks in the next unit might have heard.”
“He used one,” Looper said. “Nobody heard a thing. And the medical examiner says it looks like a. 32 slug did the work.”
“We’ll know soon enough if it’s a match with the other slugs fired by the Justice Killer,” Beam said.
“Do you really have any doubt?” da Vinci asked.
“No.” Beam looked at Looper. “You check out the parking garage, Loop?”
“Yes, sir.” Very formal in front of da Vinci. “Tenants drive in and out with a plastic card they insert in a machine that raises and lowers a gate. Code’s changed once a month.”
“The kind of gate somebody can walk around?” Beam asked.
“No, a genuine gate. All fancy iron or steel. Like a see-through overhead door.”
Beam looked thoughtful. Somebody had sure as hell gotten into the parking garage. “They set the bodyguard’s BMW on fire, took the elevator up, and shot Cold Cat.”
“You make it sound simpler than it must have been,” da Vinci said. “This had to be carefully planned.” He looked at Looper. “Did anyone in the building notice somebody slip into the parking garage when they drove in or out?”
“We’ve checked just about everyone who has an entry card. Nobody saw anyone on foot coming or going as they used the gate.”
“We’ve diverted a lot of human assets to protect the Taylor woman,” da Vinci said, “but this building was still pretty much crawling with cops. You’d think at least one of them would have noticed something worth mentioning.”
“Two, sir,” Beam said.
“What’s that?”
“There were only two undercovers in the building at the time of the shooting. Two more outside.”
“Okay,” da Vinci said, “not exactly crawling. Our killer still ran a hell of a risk, getting in here and taking down Cold Cat. How’d he even know the apartment door would be unlocked?”
“It wasn’t unlocked. Latches automatically when it closes. He either picked the lock or slipped it. Wouldn’t have been much of a problem, since it wasn’t dead bolted or chained from the inside, after the bodyguard shagged ass outta here to try to save his car.”
“Any doubt the car was deliberately set on fire?”
“Arson investigator says there’s no doubt about it. Somebody shoved some rags under it and put a match or lighter to them.”
“Then waited for all the action that would eliminate the bodyguard and serve as a distraction, so he could make his way upstairs and do his thing.”
“Why’d he risk the car fire business?” Looper asked. “Why didn’t he just shoot the bodyguard, then go on in and take out Cold Cat?”
“He has ethics,” da Vinci said. “Morals. He doesn’t want to harm innocent people.”
“He’s a goddamn psycho,” Looper said.
Da Vinci looked as if he might want to argue, then seemed to relax. “I’m only going by what Helen the profiler says. This is a basically moral man.”
“For a nut case.”
“For a nut case,” da Vinci agreed. He looked over at Beam. “Too bad you didn’t get a better look at this sicko when you were chasing him the other night. If it was really him.”
“It was,” Beam said.
“Then one thing we learned,” da Vinci said, “is he can run like a striped ape.”
Beam wandered over and looked into the recording room through the open padded door. There was blood on the control panel, the chair, the floor. While the rest of the apartment was extravagantly decorated, the recording room looked high tech and all business. Cold Cat, with his backup, could spend a few hours in here and make a million dollars. Beam thought it was amazing.
He saw that Nell was finished with Lenny the bodyguard. She was slipping her notepad into her purse, coming over to join him. Behind her, Lenny was sitting with his bowed head in his hands, staring through spread fingers at the floor.
“Some bodyguard,” Nell said.
“Probably not very experienced,” Beam told her. “Cold Cat must’ve seen all the bulk and figured Lenny was a tough guy.”
“Tough he might be. Smart he’s not.”
“A man who loved his car too much.”
“There you go,” Nell said.
“Aw, damn!”
Everyone looked to see who’d spoken.
They saw an African American man about five feet tall who would have looked even more diminutive if it weren’t for his built-up boots. He was wearing an electric blue suit that was tailored tight at the waist and had exaggerated shoulders. His drastically upcombed hairdo was probably supposed to make him appear taller but simply made it look as if his head were exploding. He’d ignored the yellow crime scene tape across the door and plowed on in.
