“No, no, Miss Cooper. Stay with me. The man we have been looking for is William Montvale, otherwise known to the local media as the Con Ed rapist. Not only was this morning’s attempt at a rape unsuccessful, much to the delight of the intended victim, but I am calling personally to tell you that the NYPD has solved this pattern, just for you, kid.”
“I know you’re going to explain this to me, Mercer, right?”
“Make me a promise, Coop. No dates for the next seventy hours, okay? No champagne dinners, no trips out of town.
As soon as I get my hands on Montvale, I’ll be calling or beeping you, no matter what time of day or night, so you can run the line-ups and do the Q and A. Will that make you happy?“
“Delirious, Mercer.”
“Now, what you want to know is how I know the rapist is William Montvale. Is that your question, Counselor? And the answer is, the usual brilliant detective work that you associate with me and my crew, with a dash of ahem shall we say, great good luck. Make that incredible good luck. The way most crimes are solved, Alex.”
“Tell me what happened.” My heart was pounding at the idea of catching this maniac and putting an end to his little ey reign of terror before any other woman was victimized. on “When the husband came out of the bedroom, Montvale let go flustered that he let go of his knife. He bent over as to pick it up but the newspaper he was carrying in his back rer pocket got caught under the countertop and fell to the floor, too. Either he didn’t notice or he was happy just to hang on to the knife, in case he needed it to fight his way out. By the ier time the couple called their doorman, Montvale had run down the staircase and out the rear service door. Gone.
“The people were so shaken they just sat in the living room holding on to each other till uniformed responded to the 911 call. That’s when the first cops on the scene saw the Post on the kitchen floor and picked it up.”
“There’s a scoop for Mickey Diamond. Most rapists prefer the New York Post. Hope his editor likes it. Go on.”
“Cop asks the couple if the paper was theirs. They say no. It had been rolled up to fit in the guy’s pocket, so the cop unrolls it. In it, there’s a letter from the New York State Department of Parole addressed to one William J. Montvale, inviting him to come to their offices at three o’clock this afternoon and bring his birth certificate as proof of identification. Seems he just got out of state prison in New Jersey, and they agreed to transfer his parole to New York, so he could move back in with his beloved mother.”
“Make my day tell me what he did the time for in Jersey.”
“I’m trying to keep you happy, Coop. Your instincts were right all along. Four counts of rape, Bergen County. You just couldn’t come up with him ‘cause his priors weren’t in New York. Got a release to early parole because he was in that treatment center in the Jersey system, you know the one I mean?”
“Yeah, Mercer. That one where they rehabilitate rapists.
Then they send ‘em back to us all cured and well behaved, like William Montvale.“
“This guy’s a real pro. I’ll find him for you, Coop, but then you got to put him out of business forever. Is it a deal?”
“Blood oath, Mercer. What’s the plan?”
“We got a stakeout in front of his mama’s place, but once he realizes he dropped those papers, I doubt he’ll show there or at the parole office today. They’re covered just in case. We got a team checking the Jersey prison files, looking for visitors’ names, girlfriends, cousins, cellmates anybody he might run to for a place to crash. Then we’ll fan out to all the shelters and see if they got any ”John Does“ showing up today. You know I’ll get his ass. Just stick with me and I’ll hand you a lock-solid case.”
I knew he would. Nobody could do it better.
“I’m here, and I’ll have the beeper on day and night. Whatever you need, just let me know.”
‘I’ll be in touch. Keep your fingers crossed.“
I called Rose Malone and asked her to tell Battaglia that we had a big break in the case, then told Sarah Brenner to be ready to cover me for the next few days in case I got tied up on the Montvale arrest. She offered to do my two witness interviews scheduled for the afternoon, knowing that it would be difficult for me to concentrate while I was primed to rush up to the Special Victims office the minute Mercer called.
My counterpart in the Bergen County Prosecutor’s Office had been helpful to me in the past, so I reached out for him again and asked him to pull the closed case files on the suspect, just to see whether there was any other nexus? to Jersey that might be useful. Don’t cross the Hudson, I urged Montvale silently. I don’t want to deal with the delays of an extradition proceeding I just want to grab you here, let these women have a chance to confront you and put you behind bars till you outlive the ability to do this to anybody else.
Another lunch at my desk, this time consisting of a; container of light yogurt and a seltzer. I checked Mercer’s office every half-hour, but the entire squad was out in the field and the civilian aide who was handling the phones didn’t know which end was up.
Shortly after two, Laura buzzed me to announce that we had a walk-in. The last thing I needed right now was a witness without an appointment, but that’s exactly what I had. I couldn’t pass her off to Sarah, whose hands were already full with my overflow. Angela Firkin had presented herself to the lobby security officer with a crumpled piece of paper that had my name printed on it, along with the address of the building.
I invited her into my office and seated her opposite me.
“How did you get my name, Miss Firkin?” I asked, as I took out a fresh pad to begin to make notes of our conversation.
“I called the crisis hot line, told them my problem, and they told me to come talk to you.”
“I see. Did anybody mention reporting to the police first?”
“I can’t go to the police, Miss Cooper. I appreciate your seeing me without an appointment, but I was very upset and I just couldn’t go to a police station. This is a situation about a man in an official uniform, and I’m just not comfortable talking to the police.”
“All right,” I said, after getting the pedigree information I needed, ‘why don’t you tell me what happened?“
Angela Firkin was a twenty-eight-year-old woman who lived alone in a brownstone in the East Eighties. She supported herself on disability insurance and a modest inheritance, but was unable to work because she had a long history of treatment for schizophrenia.
“I don’t go out much, just walking for some exercise in the neighborhood, and getting my groceries. Almost everything else I do by mail order, by sending away for things.
“A couple of weeks ago, our regular mailman had a heart attack and we got a new guy. I have to see him a lot, ‘cause some of the things that I order are too big for the mailbox.
My book club delivery, my home shopping network things, you know.“
“Sure.”
“Well, this new guy started off fine. Then, one day, when he rang the doorbell to give me a package, he told me the Post Office had new rules. Said it was because of all the trouble the government was having with drug smugglers and, um, I think the word he called it was ”contraband.“ He told me I had to open the wrapping in front of him, so he could see what was in the box. It was just a pair of cubic zirconia earrings I ordered for myself for sixteen dollars, so I showed it to him.
“A few days later, he did the same thing with my mystery book order, even though it had a return address and everything, from the book club.”
She was telling the story easily, in a coherent narrative, so I let Angela go on without interruption.
“Then the guy, his name is Oscar Lanier it’s right on his name tag the guy comes back this Monday they with another delivery for me. This time it’s some pills,: on but over-the-counter stuff From ABC Vitamin Company. I’m on a lot of medication for my well, you know, my, as condition but I also sent away for some vitamins. So Oscar says, ”I have to search you before I let you have this the package.“ est ”I said, “What? I never heard of this before.” He said, her “New rules, I told you, new Post Office rules. I’m sure you’re okay, but it’s gotten very dangerous to go into people’s homes these days. They’re doing this to protect us.”
“I felt kind of bad for him, I mean, I wouldn’t want to go into a lot of apartments in this city. People with pit bulls and drug dealers and who knows what. So I stepped into the hallway, Oscar puts down his bag, and he starts to frisk me, like in the movies. But I’m telling you, Miss Cooper, he’s running his hands back and forth over my breasts. I say, ”That’s enough, Oscar.“ And he gives me the package and thanks me a lot.”
I asked Angela how long the encounter took and exactly where and how the mailman touched her. She
