victims one through three, it makes no difference. We want to know where he stalks so we can set a trap. Our best bet, therefore, is public locations that these women visited frequently. So, for Amy Lloyd-Gardner, we’ve got Madison Avenue. She was a shopper through and through. Jessica Pascal went to two places most frequently, the Baptist church and the campus at Columbia University, but she walked home via Madison Avenue. We’d suggest the Baptist church is not a good trolling area, although he certainly stalked her there, so with her we red-spot Columbia and Madison. Elizabeth Seale has the widest geo-profile. She’s all over the city, but she was, on three occasions, on Madison Avenue. Her most frequent spot, though, was the airport, LaGuardia. Grace was at LaGuardia four times and also at a shop on Park Avenue, just around the corner from Madison. Even Mary-Jane travelled via LaGuardia once. See the two red spots? Madison and LaGuardia. It may be, gentlemen, that this is a map of your killer ’s trolling and stalking zones.’
He continued. ‘We also came up with something interesting. The Triborough Bridge toll road that runs through Ward’s Island connects in the north to the Major Deegan Freeway, which takes you up to the Bronx, and in the south to Grand Central Parkway, which takes you direct to LaGuardia. The east side of Manhattan is only a few minutes’ ride. That’s the killer ’s stretch of road.’
‘That’s interesting, guys. That’s great work,’ said Harper. ‘Did you find any place they might have met the same employees? We’re guessing that the first three knew him through his work. Is there anything to connect them?’
‘Not a single place. Every victim in the last month visited numerous clothes stores, coffee shops, hairdressers and beauticians, but we know which stores they went into and there’s no crossover at all. Unless the killer himself moves between these stores.’
‘Is that possible?’
‘Well, we can look into it, Detective, but it’ll take a little time.’
‘Do that. That’s good. So what do we do with this information?’
‘Given our two points of fixed information, the proximity to his primary route and the crossover of victims, I’d suggest we set up observation posts at Madison Avenue and LaGuardia.’
‘Stakeout?’ said Kasper. ‘In New York City? At LaGuardia Airport? In Madison Avenue on Thanksgiving?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘How the fuck are we going to find a nondescript man like that? He’s clever; we don’t know if he’s going to show. It’ll be like searching for a snake in a snakepit.’
‘Any action we take that might find this killer is likely to be high-risk, labour-intensive and painstaking,’ said Harper. ‘I think we’ve got to do it.’
It felt like something. Harper went straight back up to see Captain Lafayette. Lafayette smiled. ‘They went for it, Harper. And they want you to get out there and brief the press. They won’t saturate the area, but they’ve given us an extra forty patrolmen, so it’s going to feel different.’
‘That’s great, Captain. Let’s hope it works, but I need you to make another call.’
‘Shit, Harper, what now?’
‘We got his stalking areas outlined and we want to put up a full surveillance operation on the two red dots on the map — Madison and LaGuardia.’
Lafayette stared across, trying to judge the seriousness of Harper’s suggestion, but Harper didn’t blink. ‘Jesus. Set it up, Harper. But set it up with the manpower you’ve got. I’m not asking for more men. We’ve got to have something to show before we call in another favour.’
‘That’s fine. We’ve got the capacity. I’ll go ahead.’
Harper left Lafayette’s office feeling good. He looked at his watch. Time was running short and putting together an operation like this would take at least twenty-four hours. He had a hell of a lot of work to do. He just hoped to God that something would interrupt the killer’s cycle in time.
Chapter Forty-Three
Marty Fox’s Office
November 23, 12.15 p.m.
Marty Fox was already late and the elevator seemed to be stuck on the sixteenth. He looked up, rolling his shoulders back as he felt the clammy sweat on his silk shirt. He shouldn’t have run. Rushing through the crowds in a cashmere overcoat really could crease a nice shirt. He was thinking about dollar signs on his credit card bill and how he was going to transfer a thousand bucks without his wife’s persistent questions. He’d park the car two streets away on his way home and tell her it was in for a service. The idea pleased him, and he suddenly looked happier. He had promised his wife that he would never have another affair, but it hadn’t quite worked yet. Some temptations were once-in-a-lifetime and Joanna Anderson was one of them.
He knew he had spent too much money on impressing Joanna Anderson with a first-date lunch. Over four hundred bucks for a piece of poultry with some salty sauce and no fries. Still, French cuisine impressed women; no wonder it was so expensive. Joanna was a rich man’s mistress and looked like it. Hell, he knew she was a totally economically unviable fuck. He could maybe afford getting one night out of her, but he’d have to make it a memorable one. After that, the till was closed and he knew a burger joint wouldn’t spring Joanna’s locks. She was about eight levels out of his league.
The elevator finally arrived and a family of four identical overweight individuals in velour tracksuits came out, all holding hands. Marty thought that family therapy should be deemed illegal as a matter of course. Nothing worse for a family than a psychologist. He was standing in the lift, his back to the shining fake gold interior, when he saw Nick Smith striding towards him. Marty felt uncomfortable. He’d taken Nick off his books and not even told him. He always preferred the coward’s way. Nick put out his hand to hold the door, and entered the lift. He looked at Marty but didn’t speak.
The doors shut and the lift started to climb. Finally, Marty couldn’t bear it any more. ‘Hey, Nick, I passed you to Dr Bartholomew because he’s trained in DID. It’s a specialist area and I’m worried I can’t help you. He’s a great doctor.’
Nick remained silent.
‘Are you going to see Dr B. now, Nick?’
Nick shook his head. ‘I’m coming to see you, Dr Fox. You’re my doctor.’
‘That’s not possible, Nick, I’ve transferred your file. I’ve spoken to Dr Bartholomew. It’s all set up.’
‘I’d prefer to stick with you, thanks,’ said Nick.
‘You don’t quite understand. I’m not willing to treat you. I can’t help.’
‘You are helping, Dr Fox. I rang your PA and got her to transfer me back over to you. I told her it was a mistake. She was happy to oblige.’
Marty was open-mouthed as the two men stood side by side, waiting for the lift door to open on Marty’s floor. Marty decided that small talk with a guy like Nick was pointless and might as well wait for the couch where at least he got paid for it. He looked down, and his eyes focused on Nick’s black leather shoes. They were covered in mud. He looked up to his hand. It was shaking.
In the office, Marty pulled off his coat and watched Nick prowl around the room. He was going to throttle his fucking PA as soon as he got a spare moment. He turned to his unwelcome client. ‘You want to take the weight off your feet there, Nick?’
‘I don’t feel good,’ said Nick.
He didn’t look good, either. His face was pale, his body was shaking more obviously and Marty could see panic in his eyes.
‘Calm yourself down, Nick. It’s a panic attack. It’s not real. Let me get you a glass of water. Just sit down.’
But Nick wasn’t listening. He was shaking and shivering more violently now. His eyes were staring ahead, fixed on some point in the distance. Marty went across and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Sit, my friend.’
Nick cried out as the pain in his head increased. Marty sprang back, frightened, and looked around his office as if there might be someone there to help. Nick started to crouch down, wailing, his head swaying. Marty wanted to run out of there. This guy was seriously strange.
