Текст книги "Panic"

Автор книги: Nick Stephenson

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Chapter 6

Mary eyed the clock on the wall of her office and groaned. It was nearly eight a.m., and she hadn’t taken a break since she’d been called out in the middle of the night. Her report glared at her from her monitor – yet another case with no leads. Nobody had witnessed the attack, and the area had been wiped clean, not so much as a speck of dust out of place. Which meant Mary had no blood spatter, fiber, or DNA evidence to work with. Which also meant that Captain Oakes would bust a blood vessel when he found out. Mary put her head in her hands and closed her eyes. Shit.

She raised her head again and stared at the screen, watching the cursor blink impatiently. Her headache returned, throbbing behind her eyes and squeezing the inside of her skull like a vice. She reached for the coffee cup. Empty.

“Jordan! What the hell is going on?”

Captain Oakes burst into the room, slamming the door into the wall as he came. The cheap shutters on the windows rattled in protest. He crossed the tiny office in one step and slapped both palms down onto the edge of Mary’s flimsy desk. His considerable weight caused the whole thing to rock side to side. Oakes smelled of cigarette smoke and cheap cologne and wore a thick moustache that, at this range, Mary could see was stained with coffee. His fat face was red and sweaty, as it always was when he got angry about something. Which was pretty often.

“I want answers, Jordan. Don’t tell me this is another dead end? It’s my ass on the line right now,” said the Captain.

Bullshit, thought Mary. She resisted the urge to say it out loud, but she knew Oakes would hand her over on a silver platter the second he needed to escape blame himself. Instead, Mary drew a deep breath and composed herself.

“Three victims were found dead at the scene. One Caucasian male was shot in the head, two Caucasian females killed by…” Mary paused. “Other methods. The ID checks at the club brought up details of another girl with them who wasn’t found at the scene.”

“Suspects? Leads? Anything?”

“Not yet, sir. But we’re working on it.”

“Well, you’d better work faster. I’ve got enough with the commissioner up my ass about helping the FBI with this dead senator case, I don’t need this gang warfare shit hitting the papers as well.”

“I don’t think it was gang-related, sir.”

“I don’t give a shit what you think, Jordan. Just get me some answers. Find out who the girl is and get me some answers.”

“We know who the girl is, sir. Christina Logan. Daughter of New York State Senator Logan.”

“Shit. The FBI are going to want in on this one too. Get them on the phone.”

“Already done, sir. They put me in touch with Senator Logan’s office. His assistant is setting up a call for later this morning.”

“You better get me something solid, Jordan,” Oakes growled, “I can’t go back to the commissioner with another dead-end case. You’ve got until Monday to find me something useful or I’ll have your ass working the graveyard shift for a year. Understood?”

Mary nodded. She was used to working weekends anyway. The Captain grunted something and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The shutters rattled again and the room fell silent. Mary groaned and resisted the urge to punch the computer screen. Conjuring a solid lead out of thin air was going to be impossible, but she’d be damned if she’d work nights for a year. She had seen what that did to people.

Mary flicked off the screen and screwed up her eyes in an attempt to relieve her headache. She picked up the phone and dialled Senator Logan’s office for the third time, praying she could get through to him before he had a chance to speak to the FBI and ruin any chance she had of finding some answers.

Chapter 7

The mid-morning New York City sun rose just high enough to peek over the tall buildings that surrounded Columbia University’s Morningside campus as ten thousand students, parents, and faculty members congregated on the lawn. The sea of light-blue caps and gowns bobbed up and down as the crowds milled about, waiting for the master of ceremonies to announce that everyone should take their seats. This Saturday morning in mid-May marked the 259^th academic year’s Commencement ceremony, where the University would grant degree certificates, medals, awards, and honorary degrees to its students and prominent members of the community. The ceremony was due to last until the early afternoon, and tradition mandated that the entire event would be held outdoors on the Low Plaza lawns, come rain or shine.

Leopold hoped for the latter as he pulled on his cap and gown and made his way toward the stage at the head of the gathering masses, just in front of the university’s statue of the alma mater that looked out over the entire north side of the campus. He climbed the shallow steps to the stage and took a seat next to an elderly woman, probably one of the senior faculty members, who nodded politely as he took his seat. Leopold sat quietly, watching the crowd gather, and wondered how long the ceremony would take.

The view was impressive. The lawns were surrounded on all sides by the grand University buildings, including the dominating visage of Butler Library to the south and the dome of the Low Memorial building to the north. The disjointed murmurs wafting up from the crowd suggested nobody was paying attention quite yet, but the noise levels were beginning to rise.

Leopold felt his cell phone buzz underneath his robe and reached into his jacket pocket to check who was calling. The name Mary Jordan flashed up on the screen and Leopold grinned. Finally.

“Morning Mary, long time.”

“I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time,” said Mary, barely audible thanks to a bad signal. “I need you to meet me as soon as you can. There’s been another move on a state senator.”

The crowd began to take their seats and Leopold put a finger over one ear, trying to hear Mary’s voice through the noise.

“I knew it! Another staged suicide? Or has our killer given up the pretense?” he said, cupping a hand over his mouth and trying not to shout.

“Actually, it’s not a murder,” said Mary, “but we think it’s the same perp. This time we’re dealing with a kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping? The police don’t usually ask for my help unless there’s a body to examine.”

Leopold’s voice was loud enough that the elderly woman sitting next to him to raised an eyebrow. Leopold cupped his hand over his mouth again.

“The police aren’t the ones who called,” said Mary. “Christina Logan, the daughter of State Senator Christopher Logan, was abducted early this morning, and two of her friends were killed outside a mid-town nightclub. The senator received a phone call demanding thirty-five million dollars in ransom in exchange for her life. Logan asked for you by name. It seems you’ve earned yourself something of a reputation.”

Leopold leaned forward in his chair and took a moment to think. “I’m in the middle of something right now. Sounds simple enough for the police to handle,” he said, eventually.

“Just hang on, I’m getting to the good bit,” said Mary, her voice getting more animated. “The senator received the ransom demand yesterday, two hours before Christina disappeared. Now he can’t get hold of the kidnapper to agree to an exchange.”

Leopold sat up straight. She had his attention. “Okay, you’ve given me something to think about,” he said. “Tell Senator Logan I’ll take a look. When does he want to speak?”

“The senator wants to meet you today. In two hours. I’ll text you the address; just meet me there.”

“Good. I’ll make my way over there as soon as I can. There’s just something I have to take care of first.”

Mary hung up. Leopold stood and walked to the front of the stage, where the Master of Ceremonies was checking the microphone and leafing through his script. He could feel the eyes of the elderly woman with the raised eyebrows on his back.

“Excuse me.” he tapped the robed man on the back of the shoulder.

“Mr. Blake, hello! Good to see you here bright and early! What can I do for you?”

“Something’s come up, I’m afraid. Have to go. Please give my apologies to the Dean,” said Leopold, turning to leave.

“Something more important than receiving a doctorate from one of the world’s leading universities?”

“Honorary doctorate, actually,” he replied, “and yes, I’m afraid so. Please be kind enough to drop it in the mail. Thank you.”

He walked briskly away before the old man had a chance to respond, and texted Jerome to come and pick him up. He made his way down the steps and onto the lawns, squeezing his way through the thick crowd of students and parents. After a few minutes of jostling, Leopold finally made it off the campus and onto the street. Jerome arrived thirty seconds later and pulled the dark Bentley Mulsanne to the side of the road. Leopold pulled open the rear passenger door and slipped inside. He updated the bodyguard on the conversation with Mary, and they set off toward the senator’s East Hampton address.

“How do you know it’s the same guy?” said Jerome, turning his head.

“Who else would target a senator’s daughter on US soil? There are definitely easier targets. This is clearly someone trying to send a message.”

“What message?”

“That’s the thirty-five million dollar question. I’ll know more after a chat with the senator. How fast can you get us there?”

“It’s maybe two hours,” said Jerome, “but once we get out of the city I can probably make up for lost time.”

“Good. Don’t be afraid to put your foot down.”

Once free of the New York City traffic, the Mulsanne glided effortlessly through the Suffolk County back roads, lined on either side with green trees and a horizon specked with the occasional gated community and small town. Despite the ultra-high spec of the Mulsanne, Leopold hadn’t been able to help adding his own touches to the car’s cabin. In addition to the standard features, he had installed a wireless system that could sync directly with his cell phone and add extra functionality – such as call tracing, digital encryption, and satellite connectivity to ensure he always had a signal. Leopold always made sure he had the best equipment money could buy, and his money could buy a hell of a lot.

Jerome turned on the radio and tuned into a news channel to pass the time. The two men whose voices came through the Bose speaker system were discussing the stolen military weapons story, and the conversation was getting heated. He asked Jerome to turn up the volume. According to a reliable source, one of the men claimed, a large supply of prototype explosives had been stolen from a secure facility in Maryland three days before, and the authorities were at a loss as to how it had happened. Leopold wondered whether this was what had put Coleman in such a bad mood. The news story was cut short as the commercials started playing.

Leopold pulled his cell phone out of his coat pocket and noticed a missed call from an unknown number, probably Mary leaving another message about the case. He dialed his voicemail and punched in his access code, absent-mindedly rubbing his temple in an effort to numb a sudden headache. The morning’s workout hadn’t been kind to him, and he was looking forward to finishing the meeting with the senator as soon as possible and taking a long, hot bath. But that would have to wait. The electronically altered voice that greeted him wasn’t Mary:

Good morning, Mr. Blake, I notice you’ve been taking quite an interest in my recent work. I’m flattered by the attention, but I’m afraid this is where the fun has to stop. I look forward to finally meeting you in person, although I expect the feeling won’t be mutual.

Leopold frowned and hooked his cell phone up to the car’s wireless stereo system. After a few seconds, the devices synced and he cranked up the volume.

“Jerome, what do you think of this?” He played back the message through the car’s speakers.

“I’ll run the tracer and see where it leads,” said the bodyguard. “You do remember I told you to keep this cell phone number private, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course. I haven’t shared it with anyone. Even Mary has to dial through a password-protected proxy to get through. Looks like whoever called me didn’t want to be found.”

“He probably just used a scrambled line,” said Jerome, pressing a series of keys on the car’s touchscreen panel. “The system will work out the origin of the signal eventually. It’ll only take a minute.”

“Unless he’s used a scrambled signal. In which case we’ve got no chance of tracking it.”

“Hang on. We’ve got company,” said Jerome, putting both hands back onto the wheel.

Leopold turned in his seat and looked out the rear window. A black SUV was approaching fast, straddling both lanes of the road. He could make out at least two people inside, although the windshield was slightly tinted so he couldn’t be sure. He could hear the roar of the SUV’s engine as it approached, straining to beat the pace of the Mulsanne.

“Hold on,” said Jerome, planting his right foot to the floor.

The Bentley surged forward, carried by the huge twin-turbo V8 engine under the hood, and the SUV started to fall behind. The bodyguard eased the car around the winding roads, letting the speed fall slightly to avoid throwing them into a ditch. The SUV kept pace, then began to gain ground again as they found themselves on a long stretch of road where the Bentley’s precise handling was no advantage. The noise of the Mulsanne’s engine filled the cabin as the car sailed forward, pulling away from the SUV by a few feet. Leopold turned to face the front and saw the speedometer hit ninety miles per hour, ninety five. One hundred. Then he saw the bend approach.

Jerome steered into the turn and the Mulsanne’s computer-assisted traction control kicked in. The system engaged the rear brakes for a split second and sent more power to the outer wheels, helping guide the heavy chassis round the tight corner. Unfortunately, the SUV had no intention of making the turn, and increased its speed on approach. Leopold already knew what would happen next. He felt the car lurch forward with a deafening crunch as the other vehicle slammed into their back, sending the Bentley spinning out of control. He heard the sound of screeching metal and then there was darkness.

Chapter 8

The first thing Leopold noticed when he woke was the smell of gasoline and metal. As his ears began to function he could hear the Bentley’s chassis groaning under its own weight and the sound of footsteps crunching through broken glass. His vision returned, and he could just about make out the still body of Jerome in the driver’s seat and realized the car had been tipped upside down. He heard the door wrench open and felt a strong grip pull him out onto the road by his ankles. Fading in and out of consciousness, he saw the same thing happen to Jerome.

“Is he alive?”

Leopold made out the husky voice, though he couldn’t see whom it belonged to. From the accent he guessed its owner was Eastern European, probably Czech.

“Looks like it,” said another voice.

“Good. We can have some fun.”

He felt a kick to his side and let out a gasp. The two men jeered and positioned themselves at either end of his body, one grabbing him by the arms and the other supporting his legs. They hoisted him off the road and effortlessly carried him over to the SUV, tossing him into the back seat. The door slammed close to his face, causing him to finally snap out of his daze and sit up. His headache had suddenly gotten a lot worse. He stared at the two men, fixing their faces in his mind. Both were a little over six feet tall, with shaved heads and arms as thick as their legs. Imposing, but not in the same league as Jerome. Both carried handguns tucked into their jeans and both had an assortment of tattoos on their bulging forearms. They glared back menacingly, showing their yellow teeth, close enough for their breath to fog the glass. Leopold looked over to where Jerome had been lying. He had vanished.

The two men must have sensed something was wrong and immediately turned to where the bodyguard had been seconds earlier, expressions of confusion on their ragged faces. They stalked over to the upturned Bentley and drew their weapons, searching for their prey. One of the men stepped toward the front of the car and peered around the crumpled hood. That was when Jerome attacked. The bodyguard’s palm connected with the man’s throat, choking him as his larynx collapsed and his airways filled with blood. In the split second it took the injured man to realize what had happened, Jerome grasped his forearm, turned on his heel, and flipped the man over his shoulders with such force that Leopold heard him shriek as he smashed into the road.

He watched the giant bodyguard quickly bring his palm down onto the man’s elbow while pulling the wrist upwards, snapping the arm. The Czech squealed in pain and horror as bone sliced through his tattooed skin, falling silent as Jerome slammed his skull into the asphalt. Grabbing the unconscious man’s firearm, Jerome raised the weapon level with the other attacker and fired, just as the second assailant brought his own gun up to take a shot. His head exploded in a mist of crimson and he dropped to the ground, just a few feet away. Leopold saw Jerome lean in closer to the first man, checking for a pulse, before walking back to the SUV and opening the door to help his employer out onto the road.  Leopold took a moment to look up at the towering bodyguard, whose features had softened.

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” said Leopold, noticing the look of concern. “Who were those guys?”

“Didn’t get a chance to ask, I’m afraid.”

“Well, I don’t think we’ll get any useful information out of this guy,” said Leopold, pointing at the body lying nearby. “What about the other one?”

“No pulse. Blood loss and head trauma were too much for him.”

“And you didn’t think it might be a good idea not to kill both of them? The police are going to be swarming all over the place. This looks like an execution. Not exactly self-defence.”

“Relax. It’s my job to keep you alive, so if I’m in any doubt I put your safety first. It’s an unfortunate outcome, but it’s manageable. Let me handle the cleanup.”

“Fine, but be quick,” said Leopold, turning his attention to the ruined Bentley. “We’re already late as it is.”

Chapter 9

The black Mercedes S65 AMG swept silently through the quiet East Hampton roads. Mary sat in the back, fully insulated from the outside world, and soaked up the view. Impossibly huge houses sailed past on either side, most of which were set back from the road and locked up behind heavy metal gates. Each house sat on acres of pristine lawn and most were nestled close to the woodland areas that seemed to stretch all the way out to the horizon. One or two had security guards standing in plain view by the front door.

“Not far to go now, ma’am,” said the driver, turning his head.

Mary nodded and pulled out a small makeup mirror. She adjusted her hair and added some foundation to the dark circles under her eyes. The result was just about acceptable, but hopefully the senator wouldn’t be looking too closely. Not with everything he had to worry about, anyway.

The car pulled around a corner and the houses disappeared, leaving just an empty road lined with trees. After thirty seconds they reached a clearing to the right and a set of large iron gates. The car pulled up and the driver opened his window, leaning out of it to reach the keypad mounted near one of the pillars. He punched in a code and the gates jostled open, swinging slowly backward to allow the car passage. Mary couldn’t make out a house yet, only a long driveway lined with trees and immaculately trimmed bushes.

“Just half a mile or so to the house, ma’am,” said the driver, as he started the car moving again.

Mary had assumed that the senator had money, but she hadn’t expected him to own a large estate in one of the most expensive neighborhoods in the world. She couldn’t help but feel slightly intimidated, but quickly shrugged it off and concentrated on what she was planning to say during the meeting.

Mary had been surprised that the senator had agreed to see her at such short notice. Usually, the NYPD was kept out of the loop in high-profile cases like this, especially when the FBI got wind of what was going on and started fencing other departments out. This time felt different though, and the veteran police sergeant wasn’t sure what the senator was expecting from her. He had sounded a little distant on the telephone, a little distracted. Mary supposed that was probably a normal reaction to finding out your only daughter had been kidnapped by a violent psychopath, but there was something niggling at the back of her mind. Something just didn’t feel right, but she couldn’t work out what it was. Hopefully, Leopold would be able to shed some light on the situation. As usual.

The senator’s house loomed into view, and the Mercedes rolled up to the front door. The asphalt gave way to white gravel and the tires crunched quietly over the neatly raked stones before stopping near the entrance archway. The driver stepped out of the car and rang the doorbell. One of the house staff answered, a middle-aged man in a smartly pressed uniform, who said a few words to the driver that Mary couldn’t quite make out. The driver nodded and opened the rear passenger door for her, tipping his cap as she climbed out and went inside the house. The front door opened up into the entrance hall, an enormous atrium clad in white marble, with ceilings that stretched a full three stories into the air. Mary saw another man walking toward her, dressed in a dark blue uniform and body armor, with a large handgun holstered to his hip. It looked like a .45 SIG Sauer.

“Senator Logan is upstairs at the moment, ma’am,” said the security guard, drawing up close enough that she could smell his cheap cologne. “Perhaps you would be comfortable waiting in the drawing room? The senator will come down when Mr. Blake has arrived.”

Mary took a second to look the man up and down, a force of habit from years of sizing up potentially dangerous suspects on the force. She could tell he carried at least one other concealed handgun, and probably a bladed weapon sheathed to his calf, judging by the cut of the trousers. His face was pockmarked and scarred, suggesting occupational damage, and his expression was passive. His eyes gave away nothing. This guy was clearly a pro, but probably not in charge. That meant there must be others.

“He’s not here yet?” said Mary, trying to sound casual. “Okay, I’m sure the drawing room will be fine, thank you.”

“I’m sure they won’t be long getting here, ma’am.”

The security guard, whose name tag identified him as Viktor, led Mary through several long hallways before they arrived at a large, plush room with four luxurious armchairs positioned to face the open fireplace on the back wall. Another guard stood at the window, who turned to greet them as they entered. This man was of similar build to Viktor, but a few inches taller, with a shock of white-blond hair instead of the crew cut that Viktor wore.

“Please, sit,” said the blond.

Mary took a seat in one of the soft armchairs, and Viktor left the room without a word. She turned to look at the blond, who was also clearly carrying a multitude of hidden weaponry, and checked his name tag. She smiled.

“So, your name’s Dolph?” she asked. “Like Lundgren? Did your parents have a sense of humor?”

Dolph didn’t respond, but Mary was sure his blank expression flickered momentarily. Probably best not to test the patience of a heavily armed security guard who looked like he could punch through walls. She turned away and pulled out her cell phone. No calls yet.

Mary hoped Leopold would get there soon. He would arrive, no doubt, with some insane theory about the case and a list of unlikely leads to chase up. Not a shred of evidence of course, but Mary could usually rely on him to get results. At least professionally. On a personal level, Mary didn’t even know where to begin with Leopold, but she knew that life was always a little more interesting when he was around. She smiled to herself and kept her eyes on the door.