“She has no home address in Manhattan,” Amira said.
“’Cause she’s living underground in one of those Belows,” Halladay said, “like Shinsky was.”
“And if so, we can’t just send MPD SWAT down there to find her,” Jon said. “We don’t know if whoever does might be GS sympathizers and let her go.”
“So what now, boss?” Halladay said to Jon, with a sneer. “Now that you seem to be back in the game.”
“I was always in the game, Frank,” Jon said with pride, which dwindled when he saw their faces. “I just… hit a few foul balls.” They both smiled, and he felt confident they were still on his team. Whether the Mayor was, however, he was unsure. “We need the evidence that I was brought here to find. So we’ll shake down the NYU teachers—at least one of them is bound to be in their condo right now because of the storm and Dayfall coming. But first we’ll start at The Office, to confirm that Sturm was Mallory’s contact.”
“Better take me with you this time,” Halladay said. “Or she’ll have you thinkin’ the Pope is behind all this.”
“Don’t worry about me—the blinders are off. Amira, while we’re gone, do whatever you can to find Shinsky or Sturm. And see if you can find out anything more about the third perp, the pyro, now that we know what was happening there. And send us a map of the underground that’s easy to use on our phones, please.”
He and Halladay took the nondescript patrol car, even though they could have walked the three blocks to The Office, because Sturm was still out there somewhere and might possibly see them if they were on foot. Obviously knives had been her weapon of choice recently for stealth purposes, but a former Navy SEAL would be good with guns as well, and probably even a sniper rifle. There was also less cover than usual now that the storm had driven so many people indoors, to wait it out until the Dayfall. So Halladay kept his eyes open even while driving, as Jon scanned the rest of the report about Mallory’s fiancé. He didn’t have to read too much of it to see that Amira was obviously right in her assessment of the situation, and his disappointment with Mallory continued to mix with the newfound excitement at the progress in the case.
Along the way, Halladay asked him why they had to talk to her when they already basically knew that Sturm was the killer to whom she passed the names. Jon didn’t respond to the question, but he knew the answer. He wanted to bring some closure to this relationship that had been extremely brief but nonetheless more promising than any he’d had before. And he wanted to find out, if possible, whether Mallory was intentionally deceiving him or just being deceived herself. He was still clinging by a thread to the hope of a relationship, because he had never felt as good as he did in the few times he’d spent with her.
22
They parked in the nearby garage, not wanting to draw attention to themselves by doing so illegally on the street, and made their way to The Office under a couple of umbrellas they’d grabbed at headquarters. Once inside, Mallory caught Jon’s eye when they were halfway to the bar, but her initial smile faded when she saw his expression and the big Scottish cop accompanying him. The place was semi-busy, but they found two stools toward the middle and waited for her to approach after she’d finished serving another customer.
“Do you want a drink?” she asked, obviously wondering why they were here and sensing a bad vibe.
Halladay pursed his lips and shook his head no, but Jon said, “I’ll take a Whisky Sour this time.”
“You really want one?” she said. “Or is that just another metaphor?”
Jon tried not to notice how her ice-blue eyes flashed in lovely contrast with the dark lashes, brows, and wisps of hair on her forehead, and he held out his phone to her with Sturm’s picture displayed on it. She reacted initially, but quickly gained her composure.
“What about it?” she said.
“Is this your GS contact, the one you give the names to?”
Jon could already tell that it was.
“I told you I didn’t want to give you any more information about this,” Mallory said, “because I don’t trust the police.” She looked at Halladay. “Why is he here?” She was asking Jon, but the older cop answered.
“I’m here to make sure he doesn’t end up in the back room with his brain hanging out.”
She looked back at Jon, her face flushed, and said, “Was it a mistake for me to give you that list?”
“No,” Jon said, “but it was a mistake for you to give it to this person.” He pointed at the picture on his phone. “You’ve gotten a lot of people killed.”
“What are you talking about?” she said softly, then looked around a little to make sure no one was eavesdropping.
“Those lists were not people to protect,” Jon said as he pointed at the picture, “they were people to murder. This woman is the Dayfall Killer. She’s a vicious mercenary, hired by GS to brutally mutilate her victims in order to cause panic in the city. And there are two other killers on the loose, too.”
“Gar Render would never do something like that,” she objected.
“Gar Render also paid two professors at NYU to falsify research for the same purpose. We’re on our way to get the evidence to prove it right now. And what’s more, you were fed a bunch of lies about what happened to your boyfriend. We investigated it and found out that Gotham Security wasn’t avenging his death—they were the ones who killed him, and then took advantage of your grief to enlist you.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said after a moment, but she put her hands on the bar to steady herself, and her breathing was a bit uneven.
“I didn’t want to believe it myself,” Jon went on. “I wanted to believe you. But there’s too much evidence.”
“We don’t have much time here, Jon,” Halladay interjected, but there seemed to be a hint of compassion in his voice.
“Mallory, I need to know,” Jon said. “Did you lie to me, or did you just not know this was going on?”
She clenched her jaw and looked at the floor, silent, and some of the customers from along the bar were starting to notice her discomfort. So was the other bartender at the far end of it—Bree was wiping at a glass but was obviously concerned for her boss. And Mallory’s father had noticed, too, because he actually dragged his old, half-intoxicated body out of a chair in the corner and approached the two cops with a fist raised in the air.
“You damn goons get away from her,” he shouted, waving the fist shakily. “Leave her alone!”
Before Jon could respond, Halladay jumped off the stool and faced down the old man with his gun out, pushing him backward toward the corner with his forearm extended. It was restrained enough that Mallory’s dad stayed on his feet until he plopped back in his chair, but violent enough to startle everyone in the bar.
“And stay there,” Halladay grunted, gesturing with his gun before he holstered it and headed back to where he’d been sitting.
“Get out,” Mallory said, looking up—not loudly, but very seriously. “Get out of my bar.”
“Come on, Casanova,” Halladay said, grabbing Jon’s arm. “Nothing else to do here… unless you want to arrest her for aiding and abetting?”
“No,” Jon said, a bit stunned, but allowing Halladay to usher him out. “No, I don’t.”
Outside on the rainy sidewalk Jon was too preoccupied to open his umbrella, so the older cop started assisting him with it, saying as he did, “That went well.” Jon jerked the umbrella out of his hands and finished opening it himself, heading down the street in the direction of the garage. The big Scotsman had to hurry to keep up.
“Did you have to do that to her dad?” Jon asked when they were back in the car.