As the group dispersed, another detective said, 'Sarge, there's a call for you in your office.'
Bolinger gave Farnhorst a look of warning not to abandon his post and got up from his seat. It felt good to stand. The two of them had been sitting for more than two hours.
'Tell you what,' he said to Farnhorst, 'take five, but don't make me go chasing you down. I got sandwiches coming.'
Bolinger picked up the phone in his office. It was Unger.
'How's it going?' the agent asked.
'Fine,' Bolinger said impatiently. 'I've got a potential breakthrough, so I can't talk.'
'A breakthrough?' Unger asked.
Bolinger sensed a hint of alarm in the agent's voice. 'Yeah,' he said warily.
'You… did you find Lipton?' Unger said unable to disguise the concern in his voice.
'No,' Bolinger replied suspiciously. 'But I may have some information that will get a lot more people than you and me looking for him. But you don't have to worry about it. I've got the whole thing under control.'
Bolinger was about to hang up when Unger shot back, 'I want to come down and see what you've got, Bob. I… I really want to get going on this case. I've got some things of my own that I can't talk about over the phone, but I may have a breakthrough, too.'
'Fine,' Bolinger said, feigning as much interest as he could. 'Come on down.'
Bolinger could and would mobilize his people under the auspices of the Frank Castle investigation. He had that authority and he would use it. He wanted to be the one to bring Lipton down. But on a grander scale, this was an FBI case, and once they found out that murders as spectacular as the ones Lipton had committed had occurred across state lines, they would step in and grab the whole deal. A special task force would be assigned, and a Fed would run it. Bolinger could only imagine the publicity over a murderer set free with the woman who helped him sitting on his hit list. He made a mental note to contact Casey Jordan. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to keep someone with her in the event that she really had seen Lipton following her. Meanwhile, every Fed in the country would be clamoring for a piece of this case. It would certainly be enough to make Dean Wentworth forget about his string of bank robberies.
But if it had to be a Fed running the show, it might as well be his Fed. He'd seen Unger's type before. He was burned out before his time, lackadaisical and ineffective. Bolinger could control him. But at the same time, in the interest of staying as close to the case as he could, Bolinger would do his best to make it look as though Unger had outdone himself. He wanted the FBI to think that Unger was not only capable but the best choice of agent to see the investigation to its finish.
CHAPTER 31
James Unger arrived in his charcoal suit, freshly pressed, and an electric blue Italian tie. His hair was slicked back off his big, high forehead and glistening with gel. Bolinger and Farnhorst looked at the agent and then at each other. Unger was a caricature of himself, a trumped-up nerd. The detectives probably would have burst out laughing if it weren't for the unusual emotion burning in the agent's eyes.
Unger had a hard time controlling those emotions as he sat through his computer session with Bolinger and Farnhorst. Things were even better than he'd imagined. The timing of the disk was perfect. They now had spectacular evidence that Lipton was a homicidal maniac of epic proportions. Unger's mind was racing with the kudos he could win if he played this right. This case would change his entire career. But he had to play it right, and part of that meant not saying a thing to anyone about knowing Lipton's whereabouts until he had the media in place.
So it was with great self-control that he listened to Bolinger's exposition about where they were in the investigation and what direction the disk would now take them. The air in the room grew stale, and the early afternoon sun glared down through the windows of the squad room. Unger had shed his jacket and an anxious sweat stained the armpits of his shirt, but still he managed to remain calm, with his tie snugly knotted at his throat. Finally, Bolinger drew to a close.
'So what I'm proposing, James,' he said, 'is that you call your office in Atlanta and set up a conference call with your boss and whoever is directly above him. I'll be the one to suggest that you head up the investigation because of your familiarity with the case and how far you've taken it to that point. The important thing is that we don't lose the case.'
Farnhorst looked on with open amazement. Bolinger shamefully averted his gaze. It was uncharacteristic of him to conspire with someone he didn't know or like, but this was a once-in-a-lifetime case for Bolinger as well.
Unger was unfazed by the local detective's obvious embarrassment at the ruse. He grinned knowingly at the seasoned cop, and it was the closest he had come thus far to divulging the ace he held so closely.
'I'll set up the call,' he agreed. 'But let's wait until tomorrow.'
'Shouldn't you…' Bolinger began.
'No, I know how to handle this, Bob,' Unger said with a casual familiarity that made Bolinger bite the inside of his cheek. Unger stood to go. 'You get this stuff together. I've got some calls I need to make and I'll meet you back here around five. I've got some ideas and I think you'll be able to help me execute them, but I have some work to do first.'
With a nod, Unger left the detectives staring after him.
'What an asshole,' Farnhorst muttered. 'Geez, Bob, if that's not enough to make you puke, I don't know what is.'
Bolinger took a deep breath and sighed. 'Well, there's not much we can do about it. We can step up our search for Lipton on the premise of the Castle investigation, but we sure as hell can't start calling around the country asking after the women on this list without the Feds. I can only imagine the shit we'd catch if we got out in front of them and trampled on their case.'
'Their case?' Farnhorst said disdainfully.
'Yeah,' Bolinger said, turning somberly toward his burly friend. 'It belongs to them now no matter how hard either you or I wish it wasn't so…'
CHAPTER 32
Lipton pitched his voice into a low, gruff mumble, identified himself as Kurt Lamb, and asked for Casey Jordan. The receptionist funneled him to Gina, who began a series of questions that bordered on belligerence.
'I gotta speak to her,' Lipton persisted in his disguised voice. 'It's an emergency. I'm a client. At least she told me I was. I just met her through her husband. She'll know me.'
At the words 'client' and 'emergency,' Gina's protective toughness melted away. She became conciliatory and even apologetic when, after several minutes on hold, she got back on the line and explained that she had tried every means she knew of getting hold of Casey.
'I've left messages everywhere, Mr. Lamb,' Gina said. 'I'm sure she'll be checking in, and I'll make sure she gets right back to you. Where can you be reached?'
'No,' Lipton said with an evil grin. 'I can't do that. I'll have to get back in touch with her myself. When do you think would be a good time to call? Do you have any idea when I can reach her?'
'I'm sorry, Mr. Lamb,' Gina said. 'The office is closing now, but I've left word at her home as well to call me. I wish you'd give me a number.'
'No,' Lipton said. 'I'll just call her at home tonight. Don't worry about it.'
'All right,' Gina said with concern. It wasn't like Casey to just disappear during the day without even checking in. 'If you don't get her for any reason, she usually gets in around eight in the morning and you can reach her first thing.'
'Fine,' Lipton said, punctuating the end of the call by snapping the phone shut. He sat in the front seat of his van with the air-conditioning blasting. A double layer of clothes, while essential to a perfectly clean crime scene, was an inconvenience in the heat. The fact that someone might see him going into Patti Dunleavy's apartment was of no consequence. The police were looking for him anyway. The thought of being so bold actually pleased him.
It wasn't long before the girl arrived home at the upscale apartment complex. Lipton knew her car, and when she pulled into a shady spot only a stone's throw from his own van, he slid out of his seat and slithered into the bowels of the van, where he could watch her safely from the shadows. Around him were the tools of his trade: roles of tape, a ladder, coils of rope, sharp knives, and tools ranging from James bars that could open back doors to fine wire cutters and soldering irons that enabled him to tamper with phone and electric systems. A metal desk was built into one wall. The same van had served him well over the years and had seen a lot of miles. Even when his aunt was alive, Lipton had kept it at her lake house, out of the way, unnoticed by anyone.
When Patti had disappeared up the decorative white stairway, he sat down on the swivel chair that was bolted to the floor in front of the desk and flipped on his computer. With glee, he pulled up his special files and went directly to Patti Dunleavy. He had only recently composed her story, and now he reread it with satisfaction, taking the time to add a few particularly titillating lines to her imagined sexual proclivities. Twice again, he read her story, immersing himself in a trancelike state in which his whole universe stopped and focused its entire energy on the destiny that awaited the haughty young girl who begged to be subjugated.
If she knew, if any of them really knew the way in which their sexual essence was contributing to the enhancement of his genius and the virility of his power, he believed they might willingly go to their death. But that wasn't their nature. He shook his head no. It wasn't their nature. They were too stubborn and self-consumed to stop and think. So he had to take it from them. It was his due.
Stirred from within, Lipton picked up his phone off the front seat and dialed Patti's private number.
'Hello?' she said. She sounded fresh to Lipton, as if she'd just come out of a long, cool shower. He imagined her wrapped in a towel, her hair draped about her shoulders in dark, wet strands.
'Patti,' he said urgently, 'this is Professor Lipton. I'm in serious trouble. Everything's all right, but Casey told me I should call you. She said she'd meet me at your apartment.'
'My… she didn't say anything to me,' Patti said. She was flustered and uncomfortable. 'I haven't heard from her. What's wrong?'
'I'm on a cell phone right now,' he told her. 'Casey told me not to talk on the phone. She just said to meet her at your place. I'm on my way. I just wanted to let you
