“Has Dr. Mulrooney had any visitors lately?”
“Students.”
“Any adults?”
“No.”
“Have you seen this guy hanging around?”
I showed him the Unabomber Xerox, which I now carried everywhere.
“No.”
“When was the last time you saw Dr. Mulrooney?”
“Yesterday afternoon. Left the building at his usual time, around one.”
“Did he seem worried? Scared? Distracted?”
“Seemed normal.”
The door opened. The guard went first, leading me down a thinly carpeted hallway to a hollow core door I could have opened by sneezing on it. The first two keys didn’t work, but the third was a charm.
I thanked him, and he waddled off. The office wasn’t much larger than the elevator, and certainly more crowded. All four walls were lined with crammed bookshelves. A desk sat in the corner, covered with papers and folders and clutter. An older model Dell rested on the desk, the monitor partially obscured by Post-it notes, a screen saver bouncing around a Microsoft logo.
I nudged the mouse, and the Windows desktop appeared, which was almost as cluttered as his real-life desktop. I clicked on Outlook and read a few e-mails. Nothing interesting. Then I clicked on the Start Menu and looked at Recent Documents. Nothing there either.
I searched his real desk next, uncovering a combo phone/answering machine beneath a stack of student reports. A number four blinked in the red LED window. I hit Play and began going through drawers.
The first message was from me, canceling our appointment. The machine beeped, and the next message played.
“… you’re going to die…”
The voice was a whisper, barely audible. A few seconds of silence followed, then a beep.
“… today…”
More silence. Another beep. I found the volume control and turned it up.
“… did you like the video, Jack? You’re next…”
That seriously weirded me out. I pressed Play and listened again. The sex of the speaker was impossible to determine. I tried to find the Eject button to save the tape, but the machine had no tape – this was a model that recorded digitally. Whispers could be voice-printed, but I didn’t know if unplugging the machine would erase the data on the chip. I left it alone for the time being.
The desk yielded no secrets, save for a single key with a round green tag that Mulrooney had carefully labeled House spare.
I pocketed the key, closed the door behind me, and took the stairs back to the frog.
“I need Dr. Francis Mulrooney’s home address.”
He had a large black binder labeled Faculty Directory, and I learned Mulrooney conveniently lived a block away, on Fifty-eighth.
The walk was pleasant, though my cheap shoes pinched my toes. Mulrooney’s building was an apartment, three stories, two tenants per floor. The single key fit both the security door and his door, on the ground level. I knocked first, in case he had a dog, and when no noise erupted from within I went inside.
His dwelling was the opposite of his office, everything neat and tidy. I gave the place a thorough toss, beginning in the kitchen, then the bedroom, bath, and living room.
Like his office, I couldn’t find any signs of a struggle. Unlike his office, there were no messages on his answering machine.
I found an address book, tucked it into my pocket, and locked the door when I left.
Abducting someone isn’t very hard. Mulrooney was a slight guy, short and thin. A reasoner, not a fighter. A large man could have muscled him into a car or truck within a few seconds, without attracting much attention. Or he could have been drugged, or tricked, or gone someplace with someone he trusted.
I stood on the curb and called Officer Hajek at the Crime Lab, asking if he had time later to swing by Mulrooney’s office to see what could be done with the answering machine. He promised me he would.
“… did you like the video, Jack? You’re next…”
I shuddered.
This wasn’t the first time I’d been a target, but that didn’t mean I was used to it.
I walked back to my car, acutely aware of my surroundings.
CHAPTER 26
HERB WAS WAITING for me in my office. He looked to be in good spirits, and cradled half a large bag of Chee•tos. His walrus mustache had a distinct orange tint. It matched his orange fingers, orange shirt, and orange tie. That’s how I knew for sure Herb wasn’t the killer; he would have left an easy-to-follow trail.
“Morning, Jack. You look upset. Saw the captain?”
“He looking for me?”
“That’s the buzz around the station.”
Great. I left the garbage bag containing the latest video on my desk, told Herb I’d be back in five, and headed for the lair of Captain Bains.
As expected, Bains didn’t greet me with flowers and a big hug. The large vein in his forehead bulged out when he saw me, and I heard him grind his teeth; not a happy sound.
“Goddammit, Daniels. I recall ordering you off the case. Do you recall that?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“And since then you’ve been involved in an arson, a high-profile arrest outside your jurisdiction, and your face is all over national news telling the media you’ll stick your foot up their collective asses.”
“They aired that?”
Bains made a face. I made one as well. At least he didn’t mention the shots fired at Diane Kork’s. When a police officer dischargers her firearm, there’s an automatic IA inquest and a mandatory visit to the department shrink. I didn’t have time for either.
“You’re suspended, Jack. With pay. Report to the commissioner tomorrow at nine a.m.”
“What?” That clocked me from left field. “What’s the charge?”
“Does it matter? Pick one. How about official misconduct? Insubordination? Acting like an ass on CNN? The superintendent wants your job, and it seems like you want to give it to him. I need your badge and gun.”
I was so furious, I could spit. I spoke through my teeth.
“This isn’t a good time. He’s hunting me.”
“Who is?”
“The killer.”
“The killer’s in Indiana, in a coma. Case closed. Take a week off and let this blow over.”
“Bud Kork isn’t the guy we’re after. The guy we’re after came by my apartment last night and gave me another videotape. A videotape of Dr. Francis Mulrooney getting skinned alive.”
The anger melted off the captain’s face. It was replaced with a tired kind of sadness. When he spoke, the venom was gone.
“He’s dead?”
“You remember him?”
“I’m the one who asked him to assist on the Charles Kork case.”
“Well, I’ve got thirty minutes in screaming color of him dying an agonizing, horrible death. And it was dropped off at my house, Captain. I’m a target. You can’t pull me off now.”
Bains didn’t seem to be listening. “Francis was my cousin,” he said in a soft voice. “I used to baby-sit him when we were kids.”
“I’m sorry.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. “He never mentioned that.”
“Did you bring him in on this?”
“I had an appointment with him, but had to cancel. I think he knew someone was stalking him, but didn’t mention it to me. There were some threatening messages on his office phone. The same person also threatened to kill me.”
Bains put his hands on his desk and stared at them, spreading out his fingers.
“I know the suspension is bullshit, Jack. It’s out of my hands. But the paperwork hasn’t been done yet, the official charges haven’t been filed.”