Too Many Murders

tended to leave Holloman alone.

And it was such a beautiful day, he thought as he walked back to Cedar Street and County Services, where the first thing he would have to do was lodge his sidearm with the duty sergeant. Just as well it hadn’t been a prolonged shootout; he didn’t carry spare rounds in a dress uniform. This hadn’t been a nasty case in that respect, either. His wife and son had suffered, but no one had tried to gun him down, even including on the Green this morning. Too insignificant a target? Well, Mr. Ulysses, you keep on thinking that way.

“The Commissioner will be lodging his.38 as soon as he comes in,” he said to Sergeant Tasco. “We don’t know whose round nailed the sniper, so both weapons will have to go to Ballistics for a test fire.”

“Sure thing, Carmine.” Tasco looked a little stunned. “After all these years, the Commissioner finally used his old long-barreled.38! I didn’t know you packed a long barrel too.”

“Better aim at a longer distance,” Carmine said. “Came in handy this morning.”

“How close were you?”

“About thirty yards.”

“But the sniper was farther away than that by far!”

“When under fire, Joey, run toward the guns, not away.”

He went upstairs on foot, to find Delia had already put chairs out for the meeting sure to happen; she was composed and efficient, apparently taking the threat to her boss and her uncle in stride.

Abe and Corey came in with the Commissioner; Carmine’s team were more rattled than Silvestri, who glanced at the wall where the wilted arum lily had hung.

“Thank God you got rid of it,” he said to Carmine as he sat down. “Mickey has a weird sense of humor.”

“I’m putting up pictures of Desdemona and Julian instead.”

They were all seated, including Delia, but no one seemed to want to open proceedings.

Silvestri spoke: “Is this a campaign of terror?”

“Ulysses would like us to think so, sir,” Carmine said.

“Are we any closer to catching the bastard? Do we even know who he is?”

“The who is still in the wind,” Carmine said seriously. “I have vague ideas, but nothing strong enough to send my other suspects home yet. However, I do think we’re closer. Why? Because the evidence is mounting. How’s Danny?”

“He can go home from the hospital in three or four days. Poor Netty’s the basket case.”

Abe and Corey exchanged a glance not lost on Carmine; it said, as if spoken aloud, that Danny’s winged arm would save Bart Bartolomeo’s life. Simonetta had bigger things to discuss than Bart and a charity banquet.

“I’m going to fill in M.M.,” the Commissioner said in his noarguments voice. “His security clearances are probably higher than the other President’s, but I don’t care anyway. Chubb is more important than Cornucopia in my book. It’s been around far longer and benefited the world one helluva lot more.”

“Yes, sir, no one would deny that, or your decision to fill him in,” Carmine said patiently. “Among other things, two of our murders were committed inside Chubb colleges. Chubb’s under attack too. There is an element of terror involved, and that fact gladdens my heart. It says that Ulysses is very worried. He’s trying to send us in a dozen different directions at once, like racked-up balls on a pool table. Imagine the chaos if the sniper had picked off M.M., the Mayor, Hank Howard and however many more he managed to get before someone found out where he was roosting. Shots echo, the leaves would disperse the sound, and a good marksman with a Remington.308 would have kept on plugging away. We’d have been inundated with Staties, Feds, you name it. The place would have boiled over, and in the confusion Ulysses would have had time to smooth out the tracks Erica made him leave.”

“May I ask a question?” Delia ventured.

“Ask away,” Carmine said.

“I gather you think the sniper was prepared to die. Does that mean he’s a political assassin? A man prepared to die for an ideal? It does, doesn’t it?”

“A question needing to be asked,” Carmine said. “However, I don’t believe the Reds are so swimming in assets that they can afford to sacrifice good men for relatively nothing. I think of them as pretty much like us-scratching to make ends meet. The USSR is rich, but the USA is richer. Cornucopia is yielding them secrets, admittedly, and items with military applications must be at the top of their wish list. But it’s my opinion that the whole operation is entirely at the discretion of Ulysses-that Moscow’s interest is insulated from the realities Ulysses is facing. Erica Davenport had to be Moscow’s mistake rather than the KGB’s, so you can bet those in Moscow responsible are busy covering their asses. It’s up to Ulysses to remedy Moscow’s blunder, he’s aware of that. From what I know about him, he’d use his black arts to search the market for a professional assassin, a man without political ideals of any kind.”

“But to die?” Delia’s face paled under its makeup. “A professional assassin would want to live to enjoy spending his fee, which I imagine would be very large indeed.”

“Delia’s right,” said Abe.

“What if this is his dream job?” Silvestri asked. “What if he’s got a family somewhere, and Ulysses offered him so much money that they’d be comfortable for the rest of their lives? Like, multimillions? If he’s not a political idealist, then that’s the only other reason I can think of that would tempt him to burn his boats and take the job. It must be part of his pact with Ulysses not to be taken alive, otherwise the whole fee wouldn’t be paid.”

“That’s brilliant, sir!” Corey cried, the lieutenancy rising to the forefront of his mind. Not that his compliment was meant insincerely, just that under ordinary circumstances he would have said nothing. “A man might do it for his family.”

“Snipers,” said Carmine, “are in a special category. They don’t see their prey close up after they’ve made a kill. All they see is a two-dimensional effigy in their sights, then a heap on the ground. Like a fighter pilot. It’s clean killing, in that you shouldn’t ever see the mess you’ve made. So I can understand how a man might become a professional sniper, yet still retain a part at least of his humanity.”

“Well, the chaos never happened beyond whatever Channel Six can make of it,” Silvestri said, sighing. “Between now and two this afternoon I have to fabricate a convincing story for my interview with dear old Di of the Post and whatever lady shark is anchoring Six’s News at Six on Six. After Di, I have to face the out-of-town journalists. A crazy, huh?”

“Someone with a grudge against Town and Gown,” Carmine said with a grin. “We’ll have to hope that we can put a name to him from his prints, but somehow I doubt his prints are on file with anyone. He’s a foreign national, probably from East Germany via Brazil or Argentina. I’d pull all the stops out, sir, give him any background you like, and say we’re not releasing his actual identity to protect the innocent.”

The Commissioner got up, wincing. “I’m getting too old to play chasings across the Green,” he said with a grimace. “And I fired my sidearm at last! What a bummer.”

“What happens now, Carmine?” Abe asked.

“We go to Judge Thwaites and we ask for search warrants for the homes, other properties, and offices of Mr. Philip Smith, Mr. Gus Purvey, Mr. Fred Collins, Mr. Wal Grierson, and Mr. Lancelot Sterling,” Carmine said. “They have the money to pay five or ten million to a sniper. In one respect this morning’s fracas was a godsend-Doubting Doug will be so fired up he’d give us warrants for anyone except M.M. and Delia’s Uncle John.”

“We don’t have the manpower,” Corey said, frowning. “If it’s to work, we have to hit them all at once. Why chickenfeed like Sterling, Carmine? He’s not a billionaire or anything like.”

“By the pricking of my thumbs,” Carmine said. “He’s a sadist, which makes him interesting. As to the manpower, name me a better time to pull cops off ordinary duty than in the aftermath of a sniper attack. Various substances are being flushed down toilets, arsenals buried inside mattresses and walls, and every hood in Holloman has his head in the sand. That will go for Mohammed el Nesr and the Black Brigade too. We’ll fill the air with the sound of sirens, and everyone will think we’re on the trail of assassins.”

“Offices first?” Abe asked.

“No, homes first.”

Face downcast, Delia started clearing the chairs away.

“Delia, you get Wallace Grierson,” Carmine said. “You’ve already taken the Oath, now I hereby depute you as a detective sergeant in the Holloman Police Department. Grierson’s a waste of time, so you’ll be safe even if I can’t issue you with a sidearm. But the search has to be thorough. I don’t want any of the Cornucopia Board imagining that I’ve played favorites. Most of them have cabins in Maine-the Maine Staties can deal with them, with particular attention to barns, sheds and bear traps. I’ll call them while Tasco assembles the troops, who don’t have to know