You turned that woman into a pet, didn’t you?
The lieutenant avoided Mallory’s eyes while he waited for Riker to say something – anything. ‘She never saw the perp’s face. What could we do?’
‘Did you put an extra patrol on this street?’
And now the lieutenant was forced to acknowledge Mallory, for Riker looked up from his reading, and he was also showing interest in her question.
‘No,’ said Loman. ‘It was that damn virus. The uniforms were spread too thin for extra patrols.’
Mallory only shook her head. It would be gross insubordination to call him a liar out loud. Kennedy Harper was dead before the virus had grown to an epidemic in this part of town. And Loman’s men had found lots of time to visit with pretty Kennedy Harper. She had even come to the attention of the squad’s commander.
Riker selected one piece of paper with dried blood on it and held it up to the lieutenant’s eyes.
It was a moment before Loman spoke. ‘That was the last note. The perp used a hatpin to nail it into the back of her neck. Kennedy walked into the station house – dripping blood – and the note was still staked to her skin.’
Mallory knew there was only one reason for a victim to go to that extreme: it was the woman’s plea for them to take her seriously – because they never had before.
Riker read the bloodied note aloud: ‘ „I can touch you any time I want.“‘
‘That was the day she snapped,’ said Loman. ‘Told us she was leaving town. Well, we thought that was a real good idea. One of my men got her some coffee and a first-aid kit. I made her plane reservation for Bermuda.’
How kind of you, how helpful.
‘Did you do anything else for her?’
‘Yes!’ Loman turned to Mallory, and he was on the offensive now. ‘The girl was in shock. I got a police escort to take her to the hospital. And then they drove her back home. After that, all she had to do was take a cab to the airport.’
You left her alone.
Mallory edged toward the lieutenant. ‘There was no follow-up?’
‘No! What the hell for? As far as we knew, she was on the way to Bermuda.’
Chief Medical Examiner Edward Slope had arrived to give this case his personal attention. He knelt on the floor and rolled the corpse to expose a ruined face for the police photographer.
‘Well, this is different,’ said Heller, and everyone in the room turned to look at the dead woman. Flies crawled among the strands of long blonde hair that trailed from her mouth. The rope’s double knot had snagged on her teeth and pried her mouth open, spreading the lips in a death’s-head grin. ‘Looks like she almost got away.’
Only Mallory was watching Lieutenant Loman’s reaction. His face was pale, and his mouth was slack. This veteran of a thousand crime scenes was about to be sick. He was most vulnerable now, and she stepped closer, her shoulder touching his. ‘So then, the reporters stopped by with their murder tip… and still no follow-up? Sir?’
‘My men didn’t know about that.’ Again, he spoke only to Riker. ‘The desk sergeant never mentioned any reporters. As far as he was concerned, the lady was in Bermuda. He was going off duty, and it wasn’t worth his time to walk up a damn flight of stairs and talk to us. I promise you, his head’s gonna roll.’
Ah, too late.
Mallory perused the folder. ‘We need more men to work this case.’
‘Well, now you guys got two more. Just tell me – ’
‘Three,’ said Riker. ‘Make it three. You came up one short the last time you promised her some help.’
‘You got it,’ said the lieutenant. ‘We’re finished?’
Riker nodded, giving a man who outranked him permission to leave. Loman turned on his heel and started across the room. Mallory wondered if he would make it to the street before he vomited.
Dr Slope supervised the removal of the body, then remained behind to study a drawing of the apartment floorplan. Heller squatted next to the victim’s fallen purse and began to draw another diagram on his sketch pad, noting all the scattered items and their positions.
Mallory knelt beside him and studied the objects around the purse. ‘Looks like a struggle.’
‘No.’ Heller drew black crayon circles around the fallen items. ‘It’s a nice tight pattern. These things just fell out when she dropped her purse. The way I see it, she was standing here when something made her jump.’
Riker stared at the front door. ‘I count three locks and a chain, but no sign of a break-in. This woman was nervous as hell. I don’t see her opening the door for a stranger.’
‘Maybe we’re looking for a cop,’ said Mallory.
‘I wouldn’t rule it out.’ Heller pulled on a new pair of gloves. ‘But I don’t think the door was locked when the perp arrived. This woman was planning a long trip, so she ran some errands after the cops brought her home.’ He picked up a packet of fallen traveler’s checks. ‘A trip to the bank, right?’ Next, he pulled a bottle of pills from a small pharmacy bag. ‘And she refilled this prescription. But she forgot the receipt for the dry cleaner. So she came back to get it.’
Riker pulled out his cigarettes. ‘Is this a guess or – ’ ‘It’s a fact,’ said Heller. ‘The dry cleaner said she dumped out her purse to look for the receipt. But she’d left it at home. I found it on the counter next to the sink. Now remember, she’s got a plane to catch. She plans to grab that receipt and run right out again. So she doesn’t lock the door this time.’ Heller rose to his feet. ‘She’s standing here, reaching for it, when the perp startles her, and she drops her purse. I say he walked in right behind her.’
Click.
Ronald Deluthe snapped pictures of civilians on the sidewalk. He had quickly divided the crowd into categories. The out-of-towners were the people disguised as the Statue of Liberty. Their spiked crowns of green foam rubber were purchases from a street vendor working the crowd with a carton of souvenirs. The visitors smiled as they posed for the camera, then took their own pictures of the young detective with exotic bright yellow hair. He had become a tourist attraction.
All the blase faces belonged to the natives who were almost bored by murder. And lots of them fit Miss Emelda’s loose description of the hangman. T-shirts and jeans were the uniform of this neighborhood, and five of the men wore baseball caps.
Click, click.
The freelance reporters were easy to spot. They were the ones hustling every cop in uniform. The pros with real media jobs were disgorged from vans with network logos. Their technicians were setting up pole lights and carrying cameras. A brunette with a microphone was headed his way. She ignored the officers standing behind the blue saw horses. The woman only had eyes for Deluthe as she worked her way around the semi-circle of barricades – so she could be close to him.
She was pretty. He took her picture.
Click.
The reporter smiled for him.
Click, click, click, click.
She called out to him – a siren song, ‘It’s a murder, right?’
‘No comment,’ he said. This time, the crime scene was under tight control. Even the uniformed officers could not give any helpful information to reporters, however pretty they might be.
Deluthe was out of film and praying that Mallory and Riker would not show up before Officer Waller got back from the store.
He was saved. The uniformed policeman was fast approaching, elbowing his way through the crowd. Perfect timing. There was a God. Waller handed over the back-up film, and Deluthe opened the camera to remove the used roll.
A face in the crowd distracted him. The spectator was staring up at a high window while everyone else watched the front door. The young detective looked up at Kennedy Harper’s fourth-floor apartment. All he could see was blue sky reflected on glass. He reloaded the camera, but before he could snap a picture, his subject slung a gray canvas bag over one shoulder and backed up into the crowd. The bag looked like one in the trunk of Deluthe’s car, where he kept a change of clothes for a baseball game in Central Park.