Harper looked at the tired faces of the people in front of him. Two men who looked like they just got out of bed stood shivering in the wind. Behind them, three more of the team from the Transfer Facility. Their faces were cynical and bored.
Harper walked across. ‘This is a homicide investigation, gentlemen. I apologize for the disturbance, but we need your help. You’ll go back to bed when this is over, but our victim never will. So no wise-ass bullshit. We’re serious about finding that kill kit and we’ll keep the whole plant closed down until we do. Understand?’
The men nodded one by one. ‘That’s good. Now let’s locate the dock and the barge.’
He turned as the CSU trucks started to unload. Several men and women all wearing white suits tramped across the concrete.
‘First up, what happens when the trash gets here?’
The Operations Manager took Harper through the routine. Eddie Kasper took the Logistics Supervisor back inside with the truck number.
Within fifteen minutes, they came back together. Harper gathered the team.
‘We’re in luck,’ he said. ‘Our garbage is sitting on a barge in Dock Four. It’s due to leave later tonight, so we just made it. The garbage truck unloads in one of bays sixteen to twenty-two, which means the trash will be on the right section of the barge. We’ve been through the options. There’s no way we can jump on board and start sifting. We’re going to crane the rubbish back on shore, and sift it load by load. Any questions?’ There was silence. ‘Well, let’s get going.’
Harper searched with the team throughout the night, staring out over the vast mountains of trash as far as the eye could see. It seemed like an impossible task. At six, he lay down on a bench in the warehouse and closed his eyes. An hour later, he felt someone pushing his shoulder. He looked up.
‘Eddie, what’ve you got?’
‘We got something,’ said Eddie. Just then, Rick Swanson burst in. His blue suit was stained at the knees with dark wet patches, his hands were black with dirt, his jacket was covered in unpleasant-looking detritus. Behind him, Mary Greco was a five-foot-two picture of perfect cleanliness in a plain white tank top and jeans. She was wearing gloves and holding a plastic bag high in the air.
‘Five fucking hours in Harlem’s shit for forty-two-thousand dollars a year, Harper! No sleep, no nothing. It smells worse than a body in that dump,’ said Swanson.
Harper clapped. ‘But you found it! You’re a hero.’
‘Six fucking hours.’
‘You said five,’ said Eddie. ‘Either I’m not hearing things right or that’s one quick hour.’
‘Fuck you,’ said Swanson. ‘Six or seven hours, what’s the difference?’
‘How comes he’s all dirty and you’re clean, Greco?’
‘They offered us white suits, but Mr Macho found the onesies a little effeminate.’
‘I’m not wearing a fucking Babygro.’
‘No, you’re wearing cabbage and diapers by the smell of you.’
‘You got it, though, am I right?’ said Harper.
‘Yeah, we got it, all right,’ said Swanson.
‘What’s in there?’
Swanson took off his jacket and threw it straight into the bin. ‘I can’t wear this no more. It’s going to remind me of stamping through a container of putrid Harlem crap.’
‘What’s in the bags, Swanson? Focus.’
‘He’s not as smart as he thinks,’ said Swanson. ‘He’s bagged the lot together. We weren’t getting anywhere until the canine unit brought in the sniffer dogs.’
‘We would’ve been another twelve hours,’ said Mary. ‘And this macho pig moans like a girl with a broken nail. Every five seconds. I couldn’t stand it any more.’
‘We got a rag of Capske’s blood from Forensics and they found it. You know what? I hate being second to a dog.’
‘In every way, Swanson,’ said Mary Greco. ‘In every way.’
Rick Swanson muttered something. He pulled off his shoes and put them in the trash too. ‘The fucking canine unit… if they’d come first, I wouldn’t have ruined my suit and shoes.’
‘The department will clean your suit,’ said Harper. ‘For the last time, what’s in the bag?’
‘The whole shebang. Gloves, remnants of wire on a wooden spool, knife and overalls.’
‘Weapon?’
‘No gun.’
‘Let’s get it straight to the lab.’ Harper looked at his team. ‘That’s good work, guys. Real good work. Let’s hope they find something for us to go on.’
Chapter Twenty-One
Denise Levene was wearing a smart black suit, a white blouse and glasses. She breathed slowly, trying to control the nerves that were making her hands tremble. It was impossible to know if what she was doing was right for her, but it no longer mattered. She needed progress.
She walked right back into the North Manhattan Homicide investigation room and stood there. She felt her world begin to click back into place. No one looked up. No one noticed her. She looked down at the old blue carpet, at the tar spots, at the discarded gum that had turned gray.
She held back tears, but they were not tears of fear, they were tears of pride. She had made it through the door. She had thought about it a hundred times, and every time she’d backed out, unable to even make it to the door. Now she was there.
Mark Garcia turned. He was wearing a pink shirt and even from a distance, Denise could smell his cologne. It took a moment for him to identify the woman in front of him, to place the pale face that he hadn’t seen for three months. Then recognition dawned on him. ‘Hey, fellas, look who’s come back home!’
The other detectives turned. Apart from Gerry Ratten, they’d all worked the American Devil case. Harper felt the hairs on his neck stiffen as he turned and saw Denise standing there in the doorway, in the same black suit that she’d worn the day he met her, when she was safely ensconced in One Police Plaza as a psychotherapist who looked at the aftermath of trauma and kept her distance from the streets.
Rick Swanson had pulled on his gym kit, a Yankees sweat top and a pair of black sweatpants. He was a mean and cynical son of a bitch, but even he felt the atmosphere and smiled.
Garcia took a glance around the room. The detectives of Blue Team were a tight group and Denise had worked with them and suffered for it. A team didn’t forget that. Garcia started to clap. The others joined in. And Denise Levene stood, her cheeks flushed red, not knowing where to look. Harper stared at her, brimming with pride and a strange fear. Whatever she’d been through, they had to make sure it wasn’t repeated.
The clapping died down. ‘How the hell are you?’ said Swanson. ‘Took your time. I thought as a psychologist you could’ve healed yourself.’
‘I’m wondering how you’ve all got time for applauding some amateur profiler when you’ve got a case to work. I hear it’s a bad one.’
She walked directly to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup. Harper sidled up. ‘Denise,’ he said. ‘I—’
‘Don’t say a goddamn thing or I’m going to break here.’
Harper closed his mouth, took a step back, let her regain composure. ‘Welcome home, Denise,’ he said.
Denise leaned her back against the wall and took a look around the room. ‘Feels odd to be back in here. Nice cubicles. You’ve been busy building.’
‘You haven’t seen the Captain since he spent some time in the Bronx.’
‘Always captures the big ideas, doesn’t he?’
Harper nodded. ‘You get anywhere with Abby?’
‘Yes, thanks to you. I met some real morons. The worst was Leo Lukanov. Leo gave a false alibi for the
