Текст книги "Crime after Crime"

Автор книги: Tara W. Kent

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 8 страниц)

Chapter Four

              Allen Sampson lacked patience for unscheduled visits, especially from his clients.  In his estimation, just about the worst thing that could happen to a psychiatrist is their patients actually needing help.  Yet here was Alexander Kane, disheveled and rambling about a brilliant new plan.  Unless his plan was to go on a shooting rampage, Allen planned on double-billing him for interrupting his lunch.

              “Slow down, Alex, and talk like a human being.  Pretend, for argument’s sake, that I actually want to hear what you’re saying right now.”

              Having celebrated his fiftieth birthday with his wife the previous week—his wife being cruel enough to actually place fifty candles on the cake—Allen felt as if every second he spent with his clients was a second of personal time he could have used to sit back and enjoy his utter hatred of the world around him.

              Stopping in the middle of the room, Alex could not calm down, but simply let the entirety of his new idea explode from his mouth in two simple words.

              “Method acting.”

              Allen blinked.  “Great.  Sounds golden.  You go do that.”

              Allen took his carefully prepared sandwich from the napkin laid on his desk.  Alex smacked it out of his hand.

              “You don’t get it!”

              Eyeing the sandwich, tragically spilled across his antique Sarouk rug, Allen spoke without even looking at Alex.

              “You’re right, I don’t.  Here I was, thinking you were just an over-excited narcissist with a less-than-mild case of histrionic disorder.”  He looked up.  “But you come in today and tell me that you’re a genius method actor who’s found the solution to all of his own problems, yet still needs to share them with a psychiatrist.  What you haven’t told me is why it’s my problem, and why I need to hear about it when I could be eating seasoned pastrami with Charroux mustard and coriander.”

              Alex grinned.  Allen couldn’t tell if he didn’t notice the disdain in his voice or if he just didn’t care.

              “Derek Fox thinks that America won’t buy me as a detective.  I’m too soft, he says.  Not hard-boiled.  So all I have to do is become a detective and I’m golden.  And you can help me.”

              “Absolutely.  Your first case is to hunt down whoever turned my life into one big practical joke, cuff him, and bring him in.  I’d like to throw several books at him.”

              “I don’t need your help coming up with a case, Allen.  I need your help getting into the NYPD.”

              Allen raised an eyebrow.  “I think I see where you’re going with this.  I don’t love it.”

              “Come on, man!”  Alex’s posture drooped a little bit.  He looked like a child whose parent wouldn’t buy him his favorite toy.  “I know you’ve helped them out with profiling in the past.  Just pull some strings, tell them you have a client who might benefit from shadowing one of their detectives for a while.  I can’t possibly be the first actor who’s ever done it.”

              Closing his eyes and placing one hand over another on the desk, Allen sighed as he settled into a more serious tone.

              “I can’t tell the NYPD you’re my client, Allen.  You aren’t on my books.  As far as the paperwork is concerned, it’s a lie.”

              “Why wouldn’t I be on your books?”

              “Because of the…other services I’ve rendered for you.  I don’t really want the IRS knowing how I acquire certain clients’ payment.”

              Alex paused.  He didn’t feel great about what he had to say next, but he was desperate to prove himself to Fox, and he didn’t want to waste any time.

              “Well then, tell the commissioner I’m a friend, or a colleague, or whatever you have to tell them.  Because if you don’t make this happen for me, I’ll let everyone in New York know about the little betting ring you’ve got going on here.  And my guess is that some of the other bookies in town won’t be much too pleased about some white-collared elitist honing in on their territory.”

              Allen puffed his bottom lip out for a second as if he had to think, though it was a pretty quick decision.

“Fine.  I’ll call Commissioner Bradley up tomorrow, and maybe he’ll pass the message on to Chief Woodside.  If Woodside approves it, he might let you hang around the station doing interviews for a few days.  Just don’t be disappointed if it isn’t all you cracked it up to be.  Real police work is nothing like your beloved Derek Fox shows.  You might be there two weeks without ever leaving the bullpen.  Last time I did consultant work for Woodside, he had me coming in every day for a month before they made an arrest.”

Alex nodded.  “If that’s what it’s all about, then that’s what I want to do.  All I care about is looking like a detective on camera.  I’m there to learn how to imitate the detectives.  It’s not like I’m going to be following them around and actually solving crimes.

Allen shrugged.  “Great.  Excellent.  So happy you came to see me.  Now get out.  I’ll text you when Bradley has an answer for you.”

“Thank you so much, Allen.  And don’t worry.  Your back-up career is still our secret.”

Relief swept over Alex.  This was all he needed.  Nothing too fancy.  Nothing too intense.  Just something real, something he could take with him to the next audition to show that he had at least some basic understanding of police work.  Leave the action to the writers.  I’m just there to study and have some fun.

Turning to leave, Alex stopped at the doorway and turned around.

“Oh, and hey, Allen?”

Allen looked up.

“How much money should I put on the Jets this weekend?”

Alex ducked behind the other side of the door as Allen hurled a large textbook on addictive psychology across the room.

Chapter Five

              “No.  No, no, no, no, N-O no.”  Kim sat opposite Chief of Police, Captain Darrell Woodside.  She was fuming.  He did his best to appear sympathetic.

              “Look, Kim, I’m sorry.  But Kane is one of the most celebrated actors in New York, something we don’t see a lot of on the East Coast.  And if there’s one thing we don’t see a lot of here at NYPD, it’s good press.”

              Crossing her arms, Kim blew a strand of hair out of her face so Chief Woodside could see her rolling her eyes.  His voice more stern, he leaned forward and stared her down.

              “We do see a lot of bad press, however, especially when two of our best detectives go on a three-month losing streak with no solved cases between the two of them.”  This grabbed Kim’s attention.  She sat up and met Woodside’s harsh gaze.  “To be frank, I’ve been thinking of splitting you two up.  I know he’s like a brother to you, but I can’t help but guess that you’re holding back Newport’s abilities.  He finished at the top of the academy for his attention to detail, details that our case study writers didn’t even intend to matter.”

              Kim’s heart sank a bit.  She knew that, on some level, Woodside was right.  Her friendship with Newport wasn’t solving any cases, and lately there’d been something of a rift between them as they grew discontent with each other’s performances.  He was like a brother, but he was estranged.  With each attempt she made to get closer to him, he dove further into cases that still never wound up getting solved.

              Woodside noticed Kim shaking subtly, biting her lip with her eyes turned down at the floor.  That was enough of the guilt trip.  His voice softened again.

              “Sorry if I seem too harsh, Kim, but I have to level with you.  Commissioner Bradley owes this Sampson guy for some consulting work he did before I made Chief.  Sampson’s work was good, too.  I don’t think it’s good enough to justify wasting our time with some actor who wants to see what ‘real’ detective work is all about, but there you have it—it’s happening.  And I just can’t justify putting the guy with detectives who’re out there solving their cases.  So, effective today, you and Newport are being promoted to Alexander Kane’s babysitters.”

              “Fine, sir.  But don’t expect our case record to get any better, even if he is friends with some hotshot consultant.”  Kim stood up to leave, too irritated to wait for dismissal.  Turning toward the doorway, she stopped and addressed Woodside once again.  “Out of curiosity, how does this Sampson guy know our actor in the first place?”

              “Sampson’s his psychiatrist,” Woodside chuckled.  “Oh yeah, I suppose you should know.  Kane is known for being something of a narcissist.  Best of luck, Daniels.”

              She stormed out of the chief’s office, her head spinning with whirlwind concerns for her current case, as well as her position on the NYPD.  Yesterday, a woman was found to have been killed in what appeared to be a room full of spectators.  Aside from some cigar ashes and a few clothing threads on the seats at the poker tables, not one of them had left behind any physical evidence.  The victim didn’t match a single missing person’s report, which actually made sense, if she had died less than twelve hours beforehand, but it still put a dent in Kim’s burning need to solve the case as quickly as possible.  And now, she and Newport had to drag around some deadweight reject from the acting world, a world she despised as being no more honest than the perps she brought in—used to bring in—every day.

              Kim stopped dead in her tracks as she approached the bullpen.  The room was quieter than usual, free of its usual hustle as the NYPD collectively sat back to watch the antics of their newest honorary member.  Alex stood at the water cooler, trying to impress a handful of female officers.

              “Seriously though, I’m the only one in here without a badge.  Shouldn’t someone cuff me?”  The officers giggled as he worked them the way he worked every camera.  “If you’re lucky, maybe one of you can get me into the back of your cruiser.  There must be a warrant out for my arrest; my looks have been known to kill on more than one occasion.”

              Kim felt like she was about to vomit in her mouth.  Kane was the precise type of man that she despised, with the sort of dress and haircut more appropriate to someone ten years his junior.  She sighed and approached Jacob’s desk.

“So, Woodside has a new assignment for us.  You’re not going to like it, but—”

              “We’re to escort Alex Kane while we solve the Rat Pack case, until either the case is solved or he feels he’s learned enough to move on.  Captain Woodside told me this morning before I filed my report from yesterday.”  Jacob looked up at Kim’s bewildered expression.  “What’s the matter, Detective Daniels?  Were you not informed?”

              She did her best to compose herself.  “No, no, I was.  Just now.”

              “Hmm.”  Jacob returned to the paperwork on his desk.  “You should probably call him over here.  I was just about to brief Officer Phillips on our initial findings.  Woodside wants him to join our team should we require any technological assistance.”

              “How does Woodside know anything about Officer Phillips?”

              “I mentioned him twice in my report.  Once for helping us discover that there were multiple participants in the murder (something I technically knew already), and once for helping you find the speakers from which the music originated.  He thinks that, with better computer equipment, he can find the remote source directing the signal to the speakers.  Since we ended up discovering a speaker in each corner of the room, his assumption is that there may be a high-bandwidth wireless source nearby.  The speakers bore no connection to each other that we could find, so something must have put out a strong enough signal to hit all four speakers at the same time.”

              “And Phillips can find out where the signal is coming from?”

              “That’s our hope,” said Jacob.  “Right now I’m working on his official title so he can begin the team.  He wants it to sound—and I quote—cool enough to be its own movie.”

              Kim peered over Jacob’s shoulder.  “P.I.I.—Private Internet Inspector.  N.E.T.—Nascent Electronics Team.  How is he a team?  Is he supposed to be leading us in this scenario?”

              Jacob shrugged.  “This isn’t really my forte.  What do you think of this one?”

              He tapped a line on his notepad, which read C.R.A.I.G.—Computer Reconnaissance and Artificial Intelligence General.

              “Really?  General?  I think we should stick with calling him Officer Phillips.  If Woodside wants to promote him—to General, especially—he can earn it.”

              Phillips stood near the water cooler, not far off from Alex, though not engaged in Alex’s conversation.  He appeared to be scrolling through something on his smart phone, but Kim caught him occasionally looking up at her and Jacob.  She hated to admit that his puppy-dog eyes were actually somewhat endearing.  Between Phillips and Alex, her team had gained both a dog and a child.  Or perhaps Alex was the dog.

              “Now, which one of you lovely ladies wants to pat me down?”

              All right, that’s it.  Kim snapped her fingers and called to the officers.

              “Girls!  Briefing room.  Now.”

              Phillips looked up from his phone.  “Just them?  What about the rest of the officers on the scene yesterday?”

              Kim flashed him a half-smile, though Phillips couldn’t tell if it was genuine.  “You can come, too.”

              She turned and walked off toward the briefing room, Jacob standing to follow.  Several other officers grabbed notepads and pens from their desks as they stood to join the procession.  Alex stood, indignant.

              “Hey, Officer Ginger!  I think you’re forgetting someone.”

              Kim pursed her lips, more than a little irked by the muffled laughs of the male officers.  Alex could feel the floor shake as she covered the room in a few long strides, standing face-to-face with him.  He backed up a little bit, fighting the urge to tug on his collar, showing his nervousness.

              “What did you just call me?”

              Alex stammered for a response.  Jacob chimed in.

              “I believe he called you ‘Officer Ginger,’ Detective Daniels.  A probable reference to your hair color, though the phrase is often associated with your pale tone and freckled skin as well.”

              Kim took in a deep breath.  “Thanks, Jacob.”

              “Of course, ginger is also a spice, but it’s improbable that he would be referencing such a thing.  Unless something about your personality has somehow relieved him of his gastrointestinal woes, which ginger is prone to do.  In fact—”

              “Thanks, Jacob!”

              Jacob’s eyes widened in realization.

              “Oh, you’d like me to be quiet.”  He turned to Phillips.  “When she speaks in that tone, it means she’d like you to be quiet.  It’s a good thing for anyone to know before speaking with her, although curiously she appears to only use it with me.”

              Fists clenched, Kim felt her fingernails digging into her palms.  The pain was a nice relief from dealing with the pompous windbag in front of her and the clueless genius behind.  She grabbed Alex by his shirt and held it tight.

              “My name, as far as you’re concerned, is Detective.  Not Detective Daniels, not Detective Kimberly, and sure as hell not Officer Ginger.  You do not use my real name, you do not give me ‘cute’ nicknames.  You address me only by my title.  Do you understand?”

              “Mostly,” Alex nodded as best he could in Kim’s grasp.  “I was only confused on the one part.”

              “Which part?!” she squeezed his shirt even tighter.

              Alex gasped.  “Who are Daniels and Kimberly?”

              Kim let go of Alex, who knocked the water cooler over trying to keep his footing.  She couldn’t feel good about herself, threatening someone so stupid.  But that wasn’t going to stop her.

              “Those are the names of the ‘officer’ who’s going to put a bullet in your crotch if you mess up my investigation.”

              She turned and walked away, speaking to him over her shoulder.

              “Get your spoiled ass to the briefing room, Kane.  You’ve got a lot to learn.”

              Kane scratched his head as he fell in line.  She was by far the most attractive woman he had ever met.

Chapter Six

              The whiteboard against the far wall of the briefing room contained very little, apart from a few photos of the crime scene along with some preliminary information gathered on the scene. A red bit of yarn was taped near one of the bottom corners, tied in a loop through a hole punched out of a thin packet. This was the information Phillips had printed from online, reviews of Rat Pack Entertainment, the apparent name of the makeshift casino in which they’d found the body.

              “All right, listen up,” said Kim.  “Most of you were on the scene as this information was discovered, and there hasn’t been too much new information in the past twenty-four hours, so I’ll try and keep this briefing…brief.”  A few of the officers chuckled.  Kim rolled her eyes.

              Alex leaned over to Phillips.  “She rolls her eyes a lot, doesn’t she?”

              “I only transferred to the Major Case Squad yesterday, so I don’t know her too well.  But yeah, yeah she does.”  Phillips grinned.  Alex suddenly got the feeling he’d seen the young officer before, but he wasn’t sure where.

              “Hey, where did you say you transferred from?”

              “I didn’t.  But I, uh…well, actually,” Phillips fumbled around for the right words.

              “You two!” Kim snapped.  “Pay attention.  Hell, Kane, I thought you were supposed to be studying this.”

              “Apologies, Detective,” said Phillips.  Alex made a motion as if zipping his lips.

              Phillips shrugged at Alex.  Alex’s question would have to go unanswered for the time being.

              Maybe he just has a familiar smile, Alex thought.  Just about every time you see a smile in this city, it feels like the first you’ve ever seen.

              “Anyway,” Kim continued, “what we’ve got so far is a woman stabbed in the back and held to the ground as her heart was torn out through her back.  Forensics is having trouble identifying the weapon due to tearing around the wound.”

              Alex grimaced at the photo Kim pointed to as she spoke.  He’d never seen anything so gruesome before.  In Time After Time, characters usually died off-camera.

              “Despite what might be referred to as an elegantly laid out crime scene, our killer wasn’t so graceful about the heart’s removal.  We have no idea why it was removed or whether the killer kept it, but the size of the wound after the killer’s hands penetrated the opening suggests the killer may be an adult male.  This is also suggested by the very nature of the attack itself: saliva left on the floor, as well as hairs ripped from the victim’s scalp, indicate that the victim’s head was held down as the heart was removed.  According to Detective Newport’s profile, we’re looking for someone with serious control issues.  Detective Newport?”

              Jacob stood up to address the board as Kim took his seat.

              “As Detective Daniels has already implied, we may be looking for someone with a deadly inferiority complex.  The killer’s choice to stabilize the victim by the top of her head, and the relative lack of evidence that she was able to put up a struggle with her lower body, implies that he was straddling her from behind during the kill.  There is no indication of sexual activity, but it’s possible that the killer derives some sexual pleasure out of the kill itself.  Interestingly, his decision to stab the victim from behind is impersonal.  Whatever sensation he may have gotten from her struggles, he opted not to see her face.  Now, the—”

              Jacob noticed Alex shifting uneasily, his hand raised in the air.  Kim followed Jacob’s gaze to Alex and exhaled quickly through her nose.

              “We don’t raise our hands here, Kane.  If you have a question, be a good boy and ask at the end of the class.”

              Jacob waved her off.  “It’s all right, Mr. Kane.  What is your question?”

              “Who is she?”  Alex’s voice shook nervously.

              “Who is who?  Detective Daniels?  You should probably ask her; I’m still trying to figure it out.”  Several of the officers laughed.

              “No,” Alex said impatiently.  He pointed at the photos on the whiteboard.  “Her.  You keep calling her the victim, but you haven’t said her name once.  You know her name, don’t you?”

              Jacob blinked for a second.  He knew people thought of him as detached, but he wasn’t the only detective on the squad by far who would exclude a victim’s name from the briefing.  When first introducing the squad to a case, it was generally considered safe not to let anyone get too attached.  Especially a case like this one, when there were still so many details missing.  With the manner in which the woman was killed, it would be personal enough to most of them already; sympathy was one of the unfortunate side effects of being human.

              “My apologies, Mr. Kane.  We generally leave personal details until the end of the briefing, since we usually investigate the victim’s family first.  But since you asked, her name was Virginia Winters.  We eventually found a purse tucked under one of the poker tables at the scene, with her identification inside.  All we know about her so far is her name.  We also have an address from the ID, but there was no cell phone.  Officer Phillips is in charge of getting us in contact with surviving relatives.”

              Kim frowned.  She hadn’t been consulted on this.

              “Well, Kane,” she said.  “Is that good enough for you?”

              “Sure thing.”  Alex dropped his eyes a little.  Kim wasn’t sure what his deal was.  One second he was joking around, the next second he wanted to know the victim’s name.  He was going to take some getting used to.

              Jacob continued.  “Now, note that not only did the killer control the victim, but possibly the crime scene as well.  The underground casino appears to have been the setting for a poker game with the highest stakes imaginable.  When the vic—when Ms. Winters busted, she gave up her life.  What’s interesting about the alleged game is that we recovered chips, but no cards, save for a King of Spades from what appears to be an antique deck.  The chips in question were hand-made, though intricate.  Made apparently of painted wood, each chip bears the logo of a perfectly symmetrical spade.  This may have some relation to the King of Spaces left on the victim’s—Ms. Winters’ back, but it might be perfectly random, or just a preferred aesthetic choice by the killer.  As of now, we’re not sure.”

              Maria chimed in here.  “We have a lab right now analyzing some of the chips to see what kind of wood and paint was used in their creation.  We’re not sure if it’ll tell us anything, but it’s worth a shot.”

              “Thank you, Doctor Langley,” Jacob nodded.  “Of course, we aren’t sure of a lot of things, but we do have several reasons for believing that the game was organized by one person.  First, all of the chips were in neat, perfectly arranged piles.  It seems implausible that a room full of people would have straightened their chips individually, meaning it was probably done after the kill occurred.  Since the pile Ms. Winters knocked over remained scattered on the floor, however, it seems unlikely that our killer went around straightening each pile himself.  It was more likely done by request, or even out of respect for the game’s organizer.  This leads to some speculation that the chips knocked over belonged to the killer himself, and he may have neglected to clean them up when the kill took precedence over his lesser compulsions.

              “He also may have wanted to avoid bloodstains on his poker tables, all of which were new and appeared to have been recently made due to their nearly pristine state.  There were no logos visible on any of them, so tracking down their manufacturer may prove difficult.  All of this pales in comparison, however, to the control placed over the game’s participants.  A common POW torture method seems to have been utilized, possibly as a means of brainwashing: the killer played one song on loop, with no method we can figure out so far of controlling the loop from within the casino.  Due to the music selection, our killer is currently being dubbed the ‘Chairman of the Board,’ with his spectators and possible co-conspirators being referred to as the ‘Rat Pack.’

              “Please keep in mind that most of this is, at this point in the investigation, pure conjecture.  That being said, these are the best leads we have to go on.  If Ms. Winters really did take part in a poker game with her killer on the night of her death, we can presume that they knew each other, at least as acquaintances.  Once Phillips gets us in contact with friends and family of the deceased, we are looking for someone organized, calculated, and thorough.  Our Chairman is possibly someone in a position of power, yet someone who feels as if they have a long way to go before they can run things the way they want to.  At the same time, if our preliminary speculations regarding the poker game are accurate, then he does have at least some idea of the sway he holds over others.  Either way, we are looking for a very complicated, very dark individual.”

              Jacob changed places again with Kim.  She drew a long breath, taking in everything that had been said.  “So,” she asked, “do we have any questions?  Comments?  Concerns?”

              Alex again raised his hand, even more hesitantly this time.  Kim looked at him flatly.

              “Yes, Kane.  What is it now?”

              He paused for a second, unable to speak.  Suddenly, the words issued from his mouth faster than he could process them.

              “I think I know her, the victim.”  Eyebrows raised all around the room as everyone turned to look at Alex.  “And what’s more…I think I know who might have killed her.”

              Silence covered the room.  Jacob was the first to break it, sitting up straight with one eyebrow raised and the other furrowed in confusion.

              “Well,” he said.  “That was fast.”