close, just went through training together, remaining aware of each other, the way two lions are.
‘You know it all comes flooding back. Come on up.’
Harper pushed the door and found his way to a small elevator. He reached the fifth floor and walked down the dark corridor to Jack’s apartment. The door was open.
‘Come right in, buddy.’
Jack Carney and Tom Harper were of similar height, but apart from that they were about as different to look at as you could get. Harper was big, strong in the shoulder and with strong features. Carney was like a dark wiry animal you’d find surviving some terrible arid landscape on scraps. He was hardened Brooklyn stock.
‘Jack.’
‘Tom.’
‘I could’ve met you somewhere.’
‘No need, I don’t want to put you to any trouble. How’s Dr Levene?’
‘She got pretty shaken up by those four thugs.’
‘They don’t play by normal rules,’ said Carney. ‘Been dealing with them for years and they continue to surprise. We’ve got all our ears to the ground down at Hate Crime. Is that where your investigation is heading?’
‘Lukanov is involved. We also got an 88 moniker at the crime scenes of David Capske and Abby Goldenberg. You ever seen that?’
‘Sure, neo-Nazis use it. Means Heil Hitler.’
‘Yeah, that’s what I understand. We’re going to need your help, Jack.’
‘Any way we can.’
Harper looked directly at Jack. He looked good. Still sharp. ‘Shit, you look ten years younger than me.’
Jack’s blue eyes searched Harper’s face. ‘You think? Maybe it’s just because you look like shit.’
‘I got my ass kicked in the ring.’
‘You could handle yourself better than that — what happened?’
‘Shit happened.’
‘I guess. Was he that good?’
Harper smiled. ‘No, he wasn’t. I was that bad.’
‘Now that’s what I’ve been telling people all over. There’s something up with the world. The strong are being ousted by the weak, you know. Who was it, Tom?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Someone took the focus and fight out of you — who was she?’
‘There wasn’t anyone, just had a bad night.’
Carney smiled. ‘Sure. I’ve had bad nights like that plenty of times. You want a drink?’
‘No, thanks. I want to find out about these fucked-up groups. These neo-Nazis.’
‘They come out of the woodwork. America has lost its confidence, right? An economic ecosystem, just like the dust bowl — you take too much and the whole thing turns to desert. People are losing their livelihoods out there. So they find someone to blame.’
‘You notice it in Hate Crime?’
‘Sure do. The economy goes down, hate crime goes up. Being rich is the only way to fight against racism.’
‘Horrible thought.’
‘The worse things get, the more scary the politics get, the worse it is on the streets. Low-level frustrations tipping over into full-scale turf wars. Poverty and desperation are only half of it.’
‘And the other half?’
‘Politics. The rhetoric from the government, the ruddy-eyed American dream. People on the streets hear it and it creeps into their blood, but it’s nowhere to be found where they live, so they get to think that someone stole it from them.’
‘Understandable.’
‘Leo Lukanov. People like that. They’re told that the Mexicans or the Koreans or the Jews have taken their dream. You need to look carefully at dreams, Tom. Yours too. The dream is always a fake, and the man who sold it to you is long gone, so you need someone to blame.’
‘Yeah, I guess.’
‘Someone once told you that you’d be happy, didn’t they? But it went belly up, right? The girl left, the world became gritty and real. It’s called waking up. Hardest thing in the world is waking up.’
‘Waking up isn’t hard, it’s keeping clean once you see how things are.’
‘Damn right,’ said Carney.
Harper looked around the apartment. ‘You push two ends of a piece of metal and at some point, it buckles. That’s all it is. We’re the buckle.’
‘Hey, I like that, Tom. Look at us. Old buddies.’ Jack laughed. ‘Where the hell did it all go wrong? You married, Tom?’ And when Harper shrugged: ‘That’s what I’m talking about. The dream didn’t turn up, did it? I’m living in this tiny room and working my ass off for less than 40K. Happy? When did the pursuit of happiness get so fucking hard, Tom?’
Harper shook his head. He felt it too. It was hard. Life had fragmented — communities blistered and split apart in the heat of poverty and need. Everyone was on their own. There was no community.
‘If I could afford it, you know what I’d do?’ Jack went on.
‘No.’
‘Buy a plot of land and farm the soil.’
Tom laughed. ‘I just can’t see you as a farmer, Jack.’
Jack smiled. ‘Maybe you’re right. All dreams are bullshit.’
There was a silence. ‘Enough of that,’ Jack said finally. ‘Let’s talk about your case.’
‘We’re not sure about Lukanov.’
‘You’re not sure it’s him or you think there are others involved?’
‘He attacked Abby and Denise, there’s no question about that, but we’ve got nothing on the Capske shooting. And it seems a different crime altogether. Much more brutal.’
‘Except the barbed wire? That’s a physical link between Lukanov and the crime scene, right?’
‘Not quite. The print was on the post, not the barbed wire. It wouldn’t hold up in court. We’re trying to match up some fibers.’
‘What kind of fibers?’
‘Looks like wool. Left on the barbed wire. Probably from the killer’s coat.’
‘You ransacked Lukanov’s place?’
‘Yeah. He’s a member of this neo-Nazi group. We haven’t got the name.’
‘They’re called Section 88,’ said Carney. ‘They’re new or it’s a new set-up. We’ve not got much on them.’
‘But there’s something more. Lukanov’s scared.’
‘What of?’ asked Carney.
‘Something, someone — not sure. Maybe the organization itself. Any evidence they hurt their own?’
‘It happens, yeah. Usually in prison, if word gets around that someone’s talked.’
‘No big player out there frightening these lowlifes?’ asked Harper.
‘Unless it’s the leader. But we’ve not been able to infiltrate the hierarchy. They’ve kept themselves hidden and they never talk even if they get caught.’
Harper stood up and walked about the small apartment.
‘There’s something else,’ said Jack. ‘Let’s have it.’
‘I want to talk about Esther Haeber.’
‘Who?’
‘Esther Haeber. Two months ago, you were involved in the investigation. I spoke to the Investigating Officer, Hilary McCain from Brooklyn Homicide. She’s a tough investigator, but she’s not stupid. Far from it. She got a prosecution out of it, but she wasn’t a hundred per cent on it. She said you knew the case. The perp was one of your regulars.’
