bag over his head.”
“Any sign of a struggle?”
“There was a garrote wire holding his neck against the headrest, and it cut into him pretty good, so we know he thrashed around some in the end. But the ME thinks that could have been death throes. We’re thinking that he was drugged, or stun-gunned, or both. Won’t know until later, but apparent cause of death was suffocation.”
“I don’t even want to ask about the card.”
Silver sat down opposite Kennedy and took a sip of her smoothie — a concoction she blended fresh every morning using fresh fruit and yogurt.
“In his jacket pocket. Says: ‘Don’t hold your breath’. Seems like The Regulator has a twisted sense of humor. Go figure.”
“Is forensics on the way?”
“Already here. NYPD is cooperating, so all systems go.”
“Give me the address. I need to get Kennedy dropped off, and then I’ll come straight there. Anything else I need to know?”
Kennedy made a face. She hated when her mother talked about her like she wasn’t there. Silver stuck her tongue out at her.
“Not really. The only piece of good news is that we have traffic cams on both ends of the block, so we might get lucky this time. Either our man wasn’t paying attention, or he didn’t care. In either case it’s good for us. I’m going to get the feeds downloaded and over to Sam as soon as we can.” Seth gave her the address.
“Was there any security at the building?” Silver rose and went to the counter, where she hastily scribbled the street number on a notepad.
“Yes, a doorman. But the parking area was remote-controlled. Looks like the killer slipped in and got into the car somehow and then waited for the victim. He was headed to Connecticut for an early weekend. Market’s closed today for the bank holiday.”
“Which implies that the killer knew his habits. It also points to surveillance.”
“I agree. Does Kennedy have school?”
“No. Just daycare. So Mom can go make a living catching bad guys.”
“Well, take your time. This guy’s not going anywhere. Ever.”
“I’ll see you within the hour.”
Silver terminated the call and turned her attention to Kennedy. “What’s with the making faces and not eating your breakfast?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I’m going to tell Miriam not to give you anything until lunch. You’ll regret your insolence. Resistance is futile,” Silver said in a robotic monotone. This would normally have caused Kennedy to crack up, but not today.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?”
“Nothing. I just hate that you have to work on days when I don’t have school. It sucks.”
“Yes, it does suck. I wish I was hanging out with you all day instead of having to do what I’m going to be doing.”
“They found another body?”
Silver didn’t like to talk about the job with Kennedy. She was too young. But she’d also just overheard half the conversation, and she wasn’t stupid.
“Something like that. I need to get moving or I’ll never make it to work. You going to eat, or is this one of your hunger strikes?”
“I’m really not hungry, Mom. I’m not trying to make life difficult.” Kennedy let loose a mischievous smirk. “Not today, anyway.”
“That’s good to know. I appreciate you cutting me some slack.”
Kennedy pushed her cereal around the bowl with her spoon and took a tentative bite, making a face like she was eating live cockroaches. She dropped the spoon into the dish with a clatter and pushed it away.
“I can’t do it. I just don’t want any,” she insisted.
“Suit yourself, princess, but you’re going to be starving all morning, and it’s nobody’s fault but your own.”
“Can’t we stop at the Juice Hut and get something? That’s way healthier. Carrot, mango…”
“Nope. We need to get going. Last chance to fill your pie hole. Take it or leave it.”
Kennedy shook her head.
“Okay. Put it in the sink, and
Silver was already mentally going through her checklist. She didn’t have the bandwidth to engage in a food tug of war with her daughter today. She rose and dumped her now-empty glass in the sink, then stood by while Kennedy approached, holding out the cereal bowl shakily. She really was just a little girl — a ten-year-old trying to make sense out of the world.
Silver didn’t want to ruin it for her and tell her that it wouldn’t get any easier from here. Let her have her illusions.
“All right. Grab your backpack, and let’s boogie. Time’s a wasting.”
They gathered their things and made for the door, Kennedy scooping up her backpack and an individual serving box of juice to have with lunch. Silver went through the exercise of locking the two deadbolts before they descended the stairs to the front entrance.
The short, crew-cut man watched as the woman crossed the street from the subway stop and made her way towards the large building that housed the FBI offices. She was practically running, which would make sneaking up on her without being detected more of a problem.
This one wouldn’t be easy. There were pedestrians everywhere, and any public assault would cause instant panic. He eyed her over his newspaper as she moved through the doors, and resigned himself to a dull day hanging around waiting for an opportunity.
He was just about to go grab breakfast in one of the greasy spoons across the street when she exited again and trotted down the sidewalk towards the garage. He had confirmed that was where the car she used for official business was kept. His senses quickened. This could be it.
The man folded his paper and walked parallel to her, sixty yards behind and at a slower gait so as not to arouse suspicion. The garage had two exits, and he’d spent time studying the layout, so he knew that he could get in through the smaller walkway or through the main auto gate. Judging by her trajectory she would almost certainly go through the main entry, so he cut down the alley and entered through the pedestrian entrance.
He was about to make a cool fifty grand.
Silver hoped the holiday traffic would be light and that it wouldn’t take too long to make it to the crime scene. She’d needed to drop in and collect her field kit and sign a few vouchers before heading out.
As she strode through the garage entrance, her phone beeped an instant message notification. She waved at the attendant as she read it and noted that half the stalls were empty — that was hopeful. As she rounded a van and texted a reply she caught movement out of the corner of her eye — just an impression, at the far end, fairly close to her car. She relaxed when she saw that it was only Hank, the neighborhood homeless man who cleaned windshields around the block for spare change. He was pushing his cart of precious treasures, one of the wheels clattering as it vibrated erratically, something wrong with the bearing.
Hank had been eking out his grim existence near the garage for the five years she’d been working out of the building. He stopped his trek when he saw her and straightened his hunched form to attention, doing his best to hold a salute. The filthy clothes and stained, cast-off overcoat did little to augment the gesture, but she waved anyway, as was her custom. He waited until she passed, and then she heard the clamor of his cart lurching back into motion.
Her mind was churning over the implications of another killing — a little over a week after the last one. The Regulator was accelerating, which didn’t portend good things given that the crime scenes were still devoid of clues. This was the worst kind of killer to pursue — one whose actions would continue until he made a critical mistake or the FBI just got plain old lucky. And that didn’t seem likely any time soon.
She stiffened as an explosion of feathers burst from between two cars, and a pigeon flapped its way noisily
