‘Go on.’
‘These murders weren’t spur of the moment. There’s no obvious motive for any of them. What we do know is that they were planned. These people were targeted. In each case, the killer seemed to befriend them or at least get them to trust him before he whacked them. The bookstore girl let the killer get really close to her, close enough to write a fake number on her arm. Hanrahan and Vasey allowed him into their apartments. Maybe they all knew him, or maybe he’s just an excellent con artist. Whatever, to me this sounds like the work of one killer or group of killers.’
Cesario leans back in his chair and puts his arms behind his head, bringing them perilously close to two tall cactus plants flanking him. Just like his predecessor often did, thinks Doyle.
‘There’s a lotta supposition here, fellas,’ says Cesario.
He rocks a little, ponders some more, makes a decision.
‘I can’t ask the Chief of D’s to give us the other cases. Not on what we got so far.’
Doyle is almost out of his seat. ‘Lou-’
Cesario raises a warning finger.
‘But I want you to look into this. Talk to the precincts working the other cases. Talk to Homicide. You find anything more concrete that ties these DOAs together, then I’ll put in that call to the Chief of D’s.’
Doyle realizes it’s the best they’re going to get. He can’t blame Cesario. After all, what they’re talking about here is a possible serial killer. The task of stopping someone like that is a heavy responsibility for any squad commander to take on.
He sees Cesario reach for a file from his in-tray. He’s moving on to his next job. Meaning this discussion is over. Holden starts to rise from his chair.
‘Something else,’ Doyle says.
Cesario raises his eyes just as Holden lowers himself back onto his seat, like they’re on opposite ends of a see-saw.
Doyle says, ‘If we’re right, and this is a serial killer, what if it’s not just these three?’
Both Cesario and Holden stare at him. ‘You got somebody else in mind?’ Cesario asks.
Doyle hesitates. He wonders, Is this a step too far? Maybe I should quit while I’m ahead.
‘Lorna Bonnow,’ he says.
‘Who?’
‘Lorna Bonnow. A DOA up in the Two-Seven. She was rammed by a car.’
‘Uh-huh. And you single her out because. .’
Because the same guy wasted her too. Because he told me so.
‘She was also targeted. A guy called her up, told her that her husband needed her. When she got to the street, he took her out. It was clever, it was planned. Just like the others.’
‘Anything that connects her with Vasey?’
‘Not that I’m aware of.’
‘Anything that connects her with Vasey’s patients?’
‘Has the Two-Seven been in touch to say they think this might be the work of a monster terrorizing New York?’
No, not that, although they did wonder why my name cropped up in their investigation.
‘No.’
Cesario breathes out heavily through his nose. ‘Cal, this is already bigger and badder than I would like. Please don’t go roping in every unsolved DOA simply because it doesn’t smell right. Work on what you got already. When you’ve tidied those away, I’ll think about letting you loose on the rest of the city’s problems. Dinner first, dessert later. Now get out of here.’
They step out of Cesario’s office. Holden says, ‘Lorna Bonnow? How did she get into this?’
Doyle shrugs. ‘I heard about the case. It sounded like it might be the work of our man.’
Holden looks as though he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘
‘I could be right, though.’
‘Yeah, and maybe he shot JFK too. Maybe he sabotaged Apollo 13. Hey, maybe he’s got green hair and a permanent smile and he’s about to blow up Gotham City.’
As Holden walks away, Doyle calls after him, ‘Did I ever tell you I was thinking about changing my name to Bruce Wayne?’
When Doyle gets back to his desk, he finds he has a visitor. As he approaches, she affixes a welcoming smile. He could fall for a smile like that. If he were fifty years older.
‘Hello, Mrs Sachs. How are you?’
‘How am I? I’m alive. At my age, I don’t have much else to be grateful for. If this body were a building, it would be condemned as unsafe. Not fit for human habitation. The aches and pains I have, you don’t want to know. A young man like you wouldn’t understand the purgatory I go through every day. And why should you? You have your whole life before you. Enjoy. Don’t worry yourself about poor schmucks like me.’
Doyle smiles. ‘The way I see it, you got a lot of mileage to get through yet.’
‘Mileage? What I got left you can’t measure in feet, let alone miles.’
Doyle laughs. ‘So what can I do for you?’
‘I saw Mr Repp again yesterday.’
Good, thinks Doyle. That clown finally saw the error of his ways.
‘Did he put your mind at rest?’
‘Well. . not exactly.’
Uh-oh, Doyle thinks. What’s the idiot done now?
‘What did he say to you?’
‘He told me that. . that my Patricia isn’t in Chicago.’
Oh. Okay, Travis. So maybe I misjudged you. Maybe you did the decent thing after all.
‘No?’
‘No. Apparently she’s moved to Hawaii.’
I take that back, Travis. You’re an asshole.
‘Hawaii?’
‘Yes. Waikiki.’
‘He offer any proof?’
Mrs Sachs reaches for her purse. The same one she brought to their first meeting. The leather one with the silver clasp. Click, it’s open. She dips a leathery hand inside. Takes out a photo, just as she did last time.
Doyle looks at the picture. A beach that could be any beach. A woman that could be any woman. But she has a face that presumably belonged to Patricia Sachs.
Doyle asks, ‘Do you think it’s her?’
‘I want it to be her. It looks like her.’
‘What does Repp say?’
‘He’s pretty sure it’s Patricia. He says the man who traced her there is good at his job. But he wants to be sure, so he’s offered to go out there himself.’
‘Which he’ll bill you for, I suppose.’
‘I have no doubt of that, Detective. But as I said to you before, this isn’t about money. It’s about my daughter. If he’s right, and Patricia is alive. .’
Mentally, Doyle groans. He wants to take this old woman by her bony shoulders, look her in the eye and say, Mrs Sachs, your daughter is dead. It’s tragic, it’s upsetting, but it’s true. Now cut your ties with Repp and get on with your life.
But that’s the problem. Because he’s not sure how much life she will have in her once she learns the truth. It’s as though there’s a current running from daughter to mother: switch off one and maybe the other’s lights go out too. Doyle isn’t sure he wants that responsibility. And if he’s wrong about Repp. . If, by some slim chance, Repp is not scamming her. .
‘What do you believe, Mrs Sachs? Deep down, what do you think? Do you believe your daughter is alive or
