‘You got any ideas?’
‘Plenty, and I don’t like any of them.’
‘We need to work on his background,’ she said. ‘We need to understand him. It’s still not coming together. He’s acting the part of a Nazi, but I don’t know why.’
‘You’re right about that,’ said Harper. ‘I can’t get it straight in my head. Either I’m going mad or there’s something here that just doesn’t fit. You know what I think? I think our killer knows what we’re up to. I need to work this through.’
‘Just tell me if you’re going mad,’ said Denise, ‘and I’ll get you put in a nice ward, no question.’
‘Appreciate it.’ Harper let a half-smile curve his lips. ‘Let’s get back to the station house. I’m done with praying for now.’
Eddie Kasper appeared at the front entrance ‘You okay, Harps?’
‘I’m okay. How’s things?’
‘Still no sightings of Heming?’
‘He’s pretty good at evading us. Whenever our guys show up, he seems to have already left. Like he knows. Like he’s getting information.’
‘You think he listens to the police frequency?’
‘I’d be a whole lot surer if I had him in the cell,’ said Harper. ‘Heming escaped last night, but it was a close call. This thing has wheels within wheels.’
‘I got the photographs of Heming’s place for you.’
‘I visited last night after we got the kids back. Anything new?’
‘They emailed it through. Take a look.’
Harper opened his email and glanced through the pictures. Heming’s life was a sad little affair. But he was a serious Nazi. He liked swastikas, Nazi memorabilia and Nazi combat knives. Harper looked up. ‘He’s your all- American loser with a power fetish and a perverted intellectual grasp of history and politics.’
‘Just about sums him up,’ said Eddie.
‘I want Denise to see it. She’s still not convinced that Heming matches the profile of the 88 Killer. Will you show her?’
‘Sure,’ said Eddie.
Up in the investigation room, Harper flicked through the reports that had started to come in from the house searches on all the Nazi rioters. They had photographs from over twenty homes. It was all the same. Little hidden bedrooms and garages set up like film sets of the Third Reich. There were flags, insignia, Nazi literature, swastikas everywhere and framed photographs of mass murderers from the Nazi regime.
The poverty of the lives they were leading was unsettling. This was America. Brooklyn. One of the most diverse and vibrant places on the planet, and yet these resistant little cells continued, feeding on scraps that they could interpret as reason to hate. It wasn’t life they were leading, they were in a spiritual and moral vacuum, unaware that every day, they were destroying themselves.
‘Did they get anything I don’t know about?’ called Harper.
‘They were thorough,’ said Eddie. ‘Every part of these apartments was tagged, boxed and removed. But it’ll take weeks to go through all the computer files. We’ve cracked a big organization, Harper.’
‘But left the lead psycho roaming the streets.’ Harper looked up. He could see that the hate model that Denise had out - lined would work with a man like Heming — personal slight, perceived slight, a build-up of violence and highs from the kills — but was this guy the same man who tortured Capske, killed Becky, Marisa and Esther, who was holding Abby?
Lafayette came down and patted Harper on the shoulder. ‘Good work, Harper.’
‘It’s not over.’
‘Not yet. But we got to hope, right?’
‘Right.’
‘Listen up,’ said Lafayette. ‘We just got a request from the Jewish community. They feel it’s important to respond to last night’s attack.’
‘It sure is.’
‘They want to show solidarity with the victims and give New Yorkers the chance to come together to show positive support for the Jewish community.’
‘What do they say at Headquarters?’
‘The Mayor is behind it, so we’re behind it.’
‘Could be a security risk. What are they planning?’ asked Harper.
‘There’s going to be a major vigil for the murder victims and a celebration of the Jewish community. They want to use Union Park. Thousands will show up.’
‘That’s not good news — it could just be another target for him.’
‘If you can’t stop the killer then you sure as hell can’t stop them mourning and joining together, Harper.’
‘It’s dangerous, that’s all I’m saying.’
‘That’s why I’m here. Leave will be canceled. You need to put together your team. It’ll be policed so heavily nothing could happen, but I want your eyes and ears down on the ground.’
Chapter Seventy-Three
He knew everything, past and present. He knew pain and the absence of pain. He knew success and he knew failure. He had failed. They were so fucking close. He had to think. He had to do something. Something that changed the game for good. He faced the wall in full uniform. He felt the pain again. Failure.
He took Abby Goldenberg, Prisoner 144002, out of the tiny closet that had been her cell for the past few weeks, and felt the rush of pain. He pulled her into the center of the room.
‘Reject your Jewry or you die now.’ The gun rose, pressed hard against her temple. She trembled but did not speak. He had failed. Again. His superiors would be unhappy with him. Again.
‘It is a new game I have to play now, 144002. I have to hurt them. They have children who could identify me. I need to do something that will be remembered for all time. And you are going to pay too, unless you choose differently. What have you got to say?’
‘I need food,’ said Abby.
The killer snarled. ‘No more food.’
‘Please,’ she begged.
‘My boots are dirty.’ The killer twisted the barrel of the gun tighter to her temple. ‘Every day, my father made me clean his boots. And if they were not clean, he threw them into the cellar. I had to go down into the dark to fetch them. There were no lights in the cellar. It was damp and cold and so dark. I can’t tell you how dark it was. When I was in the cellar, he would shut the door and lock it. I was in the cellar for hours. When he let me out, he would inspect his boots again. But in the dark, I could not clean them well. He would throw them down those stone steps again. Again and again, until his boots shone.’
‘Your father was unkind,’ said Abby.
‘Cruel and unkind. Yes. Now open your shirt,’ he ordered. Abby remained still. ‘It is an order.’
Abby trembled and fumbled with her buttons. He dragged her shirt open and pushed it over her shoulder. ‘You are scared to die, Abby?’ He pulled a knife from his belt and held it to her chest. She shook and swayed but refused to cry out.
‘144002,’ he said. ‘Now you must choose.’
‘No,’ she said.
‘You repent now, 144002. Reject your religion. I am here to save you. You will be one of the saved. One of the 144,000. I have to help them. It is the final time, the moment, and we must be ready. Your time has come.’
