“In a way it’s too bad he was the first. I think part of the reason Bingham keeps rejecting my series theory is because the series began with him.”
“This is unbelievable,” Bob said when Laurie had to pause with the arrival of their food. “I haven’t seen anything about this in the media at all. Nothing. Zip.”
“There was a mention of the double death in this morning’s Times,” Laurie said. “But it was in the second section. It got barely a squib. But you’re right, there’s been no mention of the other cases.”
“What a scoop,” Bob marveled. He glanced at his watch. “I’ll have to move on it if I’m going to make tomorrow morning’s paper.”
“But there’s more,” Laurie said. She went on to tell him that the cocaine involved was coming from one source, was probably contaminated with a trace of a very lethal compound on top of being extremely potent, and was probably being distributed by a single pusher who somehow came in contact with upscale young people.
“Well, that’s not exactly true,” Laurie corrected herself. “It might be two people. On most of the cases that I’ve investigated, two men have been seen going into the victim’s apartment.”
“I wonder why two?” Bob asked.
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Laurie admitted. “There are a lot of mysteries about this whole affair.”
“Is that it?” Bob questioned. He was eager to leave. He hadn’t even touched his food.
“No, that’s not all,” Laurie said. “I’ve begun to get the feeling that these deaths are not accidental, that they are deliberate. In other words they are homicides.”
“This keeps getting better and better,” Bob said.
“All of the bodies were found shortly after death,” Laurie said. “That in itself is unusual. Single people who die alone are usually not found for days. In all the cases I’ve investigated, a phone call led to the discovery of the body. In two cases the victims called their significant other beforehand. In all the others, an anonymous tenant in the victim’s building called the doorman to complain about strange sounds emanating from the victim’s apartment. But here’s the catch: based on medical evidence, these complaints about noise came several hours after the time of death.”
“My God!” Bob said. He looked up at Laurie. “What about the police?” he asked. “Why haven’t they gotten involved in all this?”
“Nobody buys my series theory. The police aren’t the least suspicious. They consider these cases to be simple drug overdoses.”
“And what about Dr. Harold Bingham? What has he done?”
“Nothing so far,” Laurie said. “My guess is he wants to steer clear of such a potential hot potato. Duncan Andrews’ father’s running for office; his people have really been leaning on the mayor, who’s been leaning on Bingham. He did say he’d talk to the commissioner of health about it.”
“If these are homicides, then we’re talking about some new kind of serial killer,” Bob said. “This is hot stuff!”
“I think it’s important for the public to be warned. If this can save one life, it’s worth it. That’s why I called you. We’ve got to put the word out about the contaminant in this drug.”
“Is that it then?” Bob asked.
“I think so,” Laurie said. “If I think of anything I forgot to mention, I’ll call you.”
“Great!” Bob said, getting to his feet. “Sorry to run, but if I’m going to get this into tomorrow morning’s paper, I’ve got to go directly to my editor.”
Laurie watched Bob weave through the crowd of people waiting for tables. Looking down at her veal swimming in a pool of oil, she decided she wasn’t hungry herself.
She was about to get up when their Irish waiter reappeared with the bill.
Laurie looked after Bob, but he was long gone. So much for his offer to pick up the tab.
“What time is it?” Angelo asked.
“Seven-thirty,” Tony said, checking the Rolex he’d picked up at the Goldburg place.
They were parked on Fifth Avenue just north of the Seventy-second Street entrance to Central Park’s East Drive. They were on the park side of the avenue but had a good view of the entrance to the apartment house they were interested in.
“Must take this Kendall Fletcher a long time to put on his jogging shorts,” Angelo said.
“He told me he was going jogging,” Tony said defensively. “You should have called him yourself if you weren’t going to believe me.”
“Here comes somebody,” Angelo said. “What do you think? Could that be Kendall Fletcher, banker?”
“He doesn’t look like a banker in that getup,” Tony said. “I don’t understand this jogging stuff. Who’d want to dress up in Peter Pan tights and run around the park at night? It’s like asking to be mugged.”
“I think it’s him,” Angelo said. “Looks like the right age. How old did you say Kendall was?”
Tony took a typed sheet of paper out of the glove compartment. Using the map light, he searched for the Kendall Fletcher entry, then read: “Kendall Fletcher, age thirty-four, Vice President Citicorp.”
“That must be him,” Angelo said. He started the car. Tony put the list back in the glove compartment.
Kendall Fletcher had come out of his apartment building dressed to run. He crossed Fifth Avenue at Seventy-second Street and began jogging as soon as he reached the park.
Angelo headed for the East Drive. He and Tony kept their eyes glued to Kendall as he made his way down the Seventy-second Street transverse to the drive, where he turned north into the jogging lane.
Angelo motored about a hundred yards past the man, then pulled over to the side of the road. With the blinkers on, he and Tony got out.
Kendall wasn’t the only runner out on the drive. As Angelo and Tony watched him approach, a half dozen other runners passed by.
“I just don’t get these people,” Tony said with wonderment.
Just before Kendall reached them, Angelo and Tony stepped into the jogging lane.
“Kendall Fletcher?” Angelo asked.
Kendall came to a stop. “Yes?” he said.
“Police,” Angelo said. He flashed his Ozone Park police badge. Tony flashed his. “Hate to bother you while you’re running,” Angelo continued, “but we want to talk to you downtown. We’re involved with a Citicorp investigation.”
“This is not a good time,” Kendall said. His voice was firm but his eyes gave him away. He was definitely nervous.
“I don’t think you want to make a scene,” Angelo said. “We won’t take much of your time. We wanted to talk with the vice presidents before we convened a grand jury.”
“I’m in my jogging shorts,” Kendall said.
“No problem,” Angelo said. “We’ll be happy to give you a lift home and let you change. You can be out jogging in another hour if you cooperate.”
Kendall appeared wary but finally agreed. He climbed into Angelo’s car and they drove back to his building on Fifth Avenue.
Leaving a card on the dash, Angelo and Tony got out of the car with Kendall and followed him into the building. Tony was carrying the old black leather doctor’s bag. They walked as a group past the doorman, who ignored them, got on the elevator, and went up to the twenty-fifth floor.
No one spoke as Kendall opened his apartment door, went in, and held the door for Angelo and Tony.
Tony nodded several times as he viewed the apartment. “Nice layout,” he said. He put down his doctor’s bag on the coffee table.
“Can I get you men anything while I change?” Kendall asked. He motioned toward the bar.