It was Driscoll. He had sobering news. They had found victim number two.
Chapter 13
Margaret poked her head inside Driscoll’s office. “Lieutenant, there’s a call for you on line two. You’re not gonna like who’s calling. It’s from the office of the Chief of Detectives,” she said.
Here it starts, thought Driscoll. From this day forward, every higher-echelon moron with a star on his shoulder would be looking to get into the act. He picked up the phone and hit line two.
“Stand by for Chief Walters,” came the voice on the other end.
“Hello, John. How are you holding up?” asked Walters. Walters was the second in command at the office of the Chief of Detectives. He was an old-time Bureau veteran, and he understood just how the game was played. Thank God it was Walters, thought Driscoll.
“I’ve been better, Chief. How are things there?”
“Heating up, John. Santangelo wants to see you at nine o’clock tomorrow morning in the conference room. He says to bring the pretty sergeant with you.”
“Will do,” said Driscoll begrudgingly.
“Take care, John. See you in the morning.”
As soon as Driscoll hung up the phone, his head began to pound. Goddamn it, he thought. “Things are heating up” was an understatement. They’ll want a head to chop off if this case doesn’t turn around soon. Well, this head is staying right where it is.
At eight-thirty the next morning, Margaret and Driscoll were ushered into the oak-paneled conference room on the twenty-first floor of One Police Plaza. Bill Walters was already there, as were several Captains and Inspectors from the Detective Bureau all seated around a large table.
Walters took Driscoll aside and whispered, “Santangelo’s in rare form today, so be careful.” Driscoll nodded, grateful for the tip, and took a seat next to Walters. Margaret sidled up next to Driscoll. At precisely nine, the door opened, and Chief of Detectives Joseph Santangelo walked in. He was a man who was universally despised throughout the Bureau. Behind his back, his squad commanders sarcastically called him “the World’s Greatest Detective” due to his constant meddling and ridiculous suggestions. Basic investigative work escaped him. Over the years, the nickname had been shortened to simply the “World’s Greatest.” He had risen directly from the rank of Inspector to Chief of Detectives, skipping over several more qualified candidates. It was widely rumored that he had some politician in his pocket. Nothing else could explain how he had gotten so far. After seating himself at the head of the table, he nodded to the midlevel ranks and turned his attention to Margaret.
“How nice to see you again, Sergeant.” He fancied himself a ladies’ man.
“Thank you, Chief.” The man made her skin crawl.
“Now, John, what have you got for me?” he asked, turning his attention to Driscoll.
“Chief, we’ve been proceeding in the usual manner, but nothing concrete has turned up yet.”
“Goddamn it. That’s not what I want to hear. I’ve got the Police Commissioner calling me every hour. The Mayor’s office has been all over me, and the goddamn press is up my ass. And all you can tell me is that you have nothing concrete? What the hell are we paying you for?”
Walters broke the tirade.
“Chief, John is our best squad commander. Everything that can be done is being done. Maybe it’s time to start a Task Force. Let him pull in some people from other squads.”
“Give him whatever he wants,” barked Santangelo. “But if I don’t see some progress, he’s gone. Can I make it any clearer? This guy is butchering women on my watch, and I won’t stand for it. I won’t.” Santangelo looked at his watch. “I’ve got a briefing with the Police Commissioner in five minutes. I’ll leave Chief Walters to work out the details with you. Whatever the hell you need. Just get it done, or I’ll find someone that will. Can I make it any clearer?” The Chief stood up, and made a quick exit. Driscoll wanted to haul off and punch the bastard.
Walters leaned over and put his hand on Driscoll’s shoulder. “Don’t take it personal. It’s just his way.”
Driscoll scanned the room. Everyone avoided his gaze but Margaret. He placed his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze, letting her know that he was all right.
“OK, John, whadya need?” asked Walters.
“Three and thirty,” Driscoll replied, letting the Chief know he wanted three sergeants and thirty detectives. “And Chief, I don’t want any deadbeats.”
It was well known in the Bureau that when a Task Force was formed, a sharp squad commander would unload his worst detectives. That, Driscoll was hoping, would not be the case here.
“Your call. You put the names together and give them to me. How are you fixed for cars?”
“I figure I’ll need ten additional cars, and a surveillance van.”
Walters turned his attention to a slim, suited man seated across the table from him.
“Inspector Malloy, you will arrange that with Fleet Services. And call Gallagher over at the Technical Aide Response Unit (or TARU, as some call it) and give him a heads-up. Anything else, John?”
“Not that I can think of now, Chief.”
“You gonna run this out of your office?”
“Yes, sir. I have everything I’ll need there.”
“OK, any questions? No? Dismissed.” All the nameless suits got up and walked out.
“John, you and Margaret stay here for a minute,” said Walters. When the room was empty, the Chief spoke. “I know you two are doing everything you can. Don’t let Santangelo wear you down. If any squad commander can get to the bottom of this one, you can. If you need anything on the QT, you come directly to me. You got that?”
Driscoll nodded his head.
“I’ll want daily updates. And be careful of press leaks. You speak only to me. No one else. And John, one other thing.”
“Sir?”
“Stay clear of the FBI.”
“Yes, sir.”
On the elevator ride to the Command Center on the fourteenth floor, Driscoll’s thoughts were of Walters. He was a clearheaded professional, not a loudmouthed buffoon like Santangelo. For that, Driscoll was grateful. And while Driscoll’s thoughts were of Walters, although she didn’t know why, Margaret’s thoughts were of Driscoll. A brave and unwavering Driscoll. Hell, he’s a married man, for God’s sake. Margaret bit down hard on her lower lip.
Chapter 14
Margaret had interviewed Mr. Thornwood and his two granddaughters, the customers in the video store where the McCabe woman was last seen alive. The interviews had added nothing to the investigation. Ms. Clairborne was right: Thornwood and his girls hadn’t even seen Deirdre McCabe. There were no records of any shoplifting on the part of the OTs, and the local precinct, the 68, had had only two radio runs in the area of the video store that night. One drunk-and-disorderly, and one single-car automobile accident involving an elderly woman who took a turn too sharply and clipped a parked car. Thomlinson had run the store’s account holders’ list for criminal records. Nothing active. Thomas Whiting, seventy-two, had been arrested in 1984 for stock fraud, and Alice Hathaway, now forty-five, had been busted for prostitution when she was twenty-three.
Driscoll mulled over these “revelations” as he put up with bumper-to-bumper traffic on East Broadway. He and Thomlinson were headed for the Medical Examiner’s office on First Avenue. Because of a water main break on Allen Street, all traffic had been diverted onto Canal. Driscoll placed the emergency flasher atop the cruiser, turned on the siren, and veered the Chevy north on Centre Street, leaving behind a string of cars and taxicabs.
The NYPD was now galvanized. The total resources of the department were at Driscoll’s disposal. Cedric Thomlinson was to be Driscoll’s house mouse, the lead detective who would speak with Driscoll’s authority and coordinate the efforts of the additional police personnel. In spite of what each member of the Task Force thought of Thomlinson, they knew he was acting on direct orders from the Lieutenant, and therefore, so were they. In his new capacity, Thomlinson had already been in contact with Telephone Control, the NYPD’s own internal telephone equipment server, and asked that ten additional phone lines be installed inside the Command Center. He would soon be calling TARU to secure the electronic equipment that might be needed. That electronic equipment would include such items as listening devices, telephone taps, trap-and-trace units, and videotape equipment. Thomlinson would also oversee the force’s telephone tip line. The tip line was a separate phone line the public was encouraged to call with information that may be relevant to the case. The number was furnished to the news media and to the publishers of the daily newspapers, and was included at the close of every broadcast or newspaper article about the case. It usually prompted a number of crank calls and dead ends, but each call was assigned to a detective, and it became his or her responsibility to track down the lead.