26

Monday afternoon, Lanier told Glitsky that this would be a good time to come down and talk to the troops. With the rash of killings lately, Lanier felt overwhelmed. It was bad enough when it was the usual gangbanger mayhem and carnage, but when regular citizens got killed, it felt to him like another matter entirely. And regular citizens were taking an especially serious hit over these past two or three weeks, first with Elizabeth Cary, then Boscacci, and now this Executioner and his two victims last Friday.

Hanging up with Glitsky, Lanier stood, stretched and walked out into the inspectors' area. The desks of his twelve people were placed back to back, in team pairs, and over the years a line of metal filing cabinets had slowly grown like a vine out from one of the walls so that it now nearly bisected the space, isolating the inspectors area from the lieutenant's office. Even so, over the past half hour, Lanier had been aware of inspectors drifting back in for their paperwork, or simply to get the decks clear for tomorrow.

Now, he got himself a cup of coffee in the main room. He hadn't yet taken his first sip when Glitsky showed up. In another minute, eight homicide cops stood or sat casually around the partnered desks of Dan Cuneo and Glen Taylor.

Lanier wasted no time. "I know all of you are busy with your own cases, and a couple of you are on the Boscacci force, but in light of these Executioner killings, Deputy Chief Glitsky thought it might be helpful to do some brainstorming. Abe?"

Glitsky looked over the inspectors' faces, realizing with some surprise that most of them had never worked personally under him. Of the assembled group, only Sarah Evans and Darrel Bracco had been homicide inspectors while he'd run the detail. Of the other four— Belou, Russell, Glen Taylor and Dan Cuneo— two were almost complete unknowns. The other two, Cuneo and Russell, had actually investigated Glitsky in the weeks before last year's shoot-out. It was common knowledge that they still weren't among his fans. So it was not as congenial a group as Glitsky might have hoped.

Still, he needed their cooperation. "First, I'm only here because Marcel asked me to come down. I've been working with a small team on the Boscacci killing, and frankly, we haven't made much progress. Marcel tells me it's basically the same situation with these Executioner hits, although we've got the ballistics match, that connection between the victims. My question is whether there's another one."

Sarah Evans spoke up. "Nothing's leaping out at us, sir. The elderly woman, Edith Montrose, lived alone, and has no local survivors, although a son and a daughter have both flown in from out of state for the burial. Neither of them had ever heard of the other victim, Philip Wong. And Mr. Wong's wife, Mai Li, didn't know Montrose."

Evans's partner, Darrel Bracco, added his voice. "We're close to eliminating robbery, too. We wouldn't know for sure with the Montrose woman, but Mai Li hasn't found anything missing. Both of them look like, pardon the phrase, executions."

"Am I missing something?" This was Dan Cuneo, sitting at his desk, playing some imaginary bongo drums between his legs.

"What's that, Dan?" Lanier asked.

The inspector stopped drumming. "Well, you've got this Boscacci thing on the one hand, and the two executions on the other." He turned to Glitsky. "Aside from the fact that we've got very little on any of them, I don't see any connection at all."

"I don't either," Glitsky said. "But along with no connection, I see total evidence of two slugs. No witnesses, no prints, no forensics, no motives, no nothing. Am I wrong?"

"No, sir," Evans admitted, speaking for the rest of them.

"This spark any ideas for anybody?" Glitsky asked.

"Does what spark any ideas?" Cuneo asked. "Nothin' from nothin' leaves nothin'."

"Wait a minute," Belou stepped out from behind her partner, Russell. "We do have another open case with that profile."

"Hell, Pat," Cuneo said, "I've got about a dozen myself if you want one."

"Yeah," Lanier interjected, "but are any of them citizens?"

"Elizabeth Cary was," Belou said.

"Yes, she was." Glitsky filled in for those who didn't know. "Couple of weeks ago now, Elizabeth Cary, a middle-aged, white housewife, was gunned down at her front door, one bullet in the heart. The shooter left no sign except a nine-millimeter casing."

"Was there a slug?" Cuneo asked.

Belou shook her head. "No. Through and through, then through the drywall and stucco out the back of the house. We had CSI look for a whole day. They couldn't find it."

"So we don't know if it was this Executioner or not?" Russell asked.

"Right," Glitsky said. "He left us nothing. Now my question to all of you is: why does this sound familiar?"

"Excuse me, sir." Cuneo had straightened up in his chair. "So you're saying you think because we got nothing on these separate cases, that they're related. With respect, that seems like a stretch." He got agreeing nods from at least Russell and Taylor, and went on. "It's like saying beer isn't water, and milk isn't water, therefore beer is milk."

"I realize that." Glitsky, knowing what he'd come down here to propose, was prepared to remain unruffled. "And of course it's a good point. But on the other hand, since we've got nothing on these four homicides in this past fortnight, maybe the only way we'll catch a break is to go outside the box. We can expect this Executioner to hit again, and until he's kind enough to leave us a clue, maybe we ought to work with what we've got."

"Which," Evans said, "I thought was nothing."

"No, Sarah, not quite," Glitsky said. "We've got only the ballistics connection if we're looking at the Twin Peaks killings. But if we go on the assumption, first, that Boscacci may have been an Executioner victim . . ."

Cuneo nearly jumped out of his chair. "Wait wait wait! You're really losing me here, sir. You're saying maybe the Executioner killed Boscacci? Next is Kennedy maybe, too, huh?"

Lanier came to Glitsky's defense. "No one's denying it's a reach, Dan."

"If we had anything else at all to follow up on the Executioner's victims," Glitsky said, "I wouldn't waste anybody's time talking about this. But the fact is, we don't have anything."

"And nothing with Boscacci either," Cuneo said.

Glitsky: "Not quite. We believe it's likely he was shot with a silenced weapon. In fact," he turned to Lanier, "that's why we need to have the lab reexamine the slugs from Twin Peaks."

"They already ran ballistics," Lanier said. "And the Boscacci slug was deformed so they couldn't cross-check."

"I know," Glitsky said. "I'm not talking about ballistics." He talked to the group. "Boscacci's slug had a fairly distinctive scuff. Sometimes, if a silencer isn't fitted properly, it scuffs a slug as it leaves the barrel, and normal ballistics wouldn't pick it up, especially if the slug is deformed. But," he added, "they get a visual match with the Twin Peaks's slugs, maybe we're in business."

"So these are pro jobs," Taylor said.

"Maybe," Glitsky said. "In any case, it would be worthwhile to find out if anybody in Twin Peaks heard a gunshot. Or," he turned to Belou, "near Mrs. Cary's home?"

"Yeah, but so what?" Cuneo asked. "Every witness says they heard nothing, which is the answer every time I ask anything. They didn't hear nothin', they didn't see nothin', as far as they can recall if their memory serves them at that particular point in time they were out of the area code if not the hemisphere when the incident occurred. Then what? We're going to consider that some kind of positive evidence?"

Glitsky remained calm. "At least positive enough so that the ATF will supply us with people who bought silencers. These we interview and try to find some connection between any one of them and any of the victims. At least it's doing something, instead of just waiting for another strike."

"And meanwhile," Taylor said, "when the Executioner does hit again, then what?"

"Then, if he leaves us anything at all, we move on that, of course. But until we've got something better, we've got to eliminate other options, the best one being that a silenced weapon has killed four people instead of two."

"And," Lanier said, "we can know the answer to that by, say, tonight, if we all go out and canvass now, when witnesses are likely to be home."

Evans chuckled softly. "That was subtle, Marcel."

Lanier smiled all around. "Thank you. I like to think it's the key to effective management."

"So we're approved on the overtime?" Russell asked.

This was always a thorny issue. Lanier hesitated, looked over to Glitsky, who nodded. "Put it all on the event number," he said.

"One more thing," Cuneo said. Everyone turned to him. "When we started talking about Boscacci, you said, first, you were going on the assumption that he was one of these Executioner victims. Was there something else?"

A muscle worked in Glitsky's in his jaw. "I said first?"

"I believe so. Yes, sir."

Another minute. "Sorry," he said, "it's gone."

*     *     *     *     *

When Hal and Linda North came out of their son's guarded room at the hospital, Wu and Hardy were there in the hall to meet them. After Wu introduced Hardy, Linda smiled and said, "Dismas? Wasn't that the name of the good thief on Calvary?"

Hardy forced a smile. He didn't feel remotely friendly. "That was him," he said. "Not too many people know that. He's also the patron saint of murderers."

Linda tightened, drew herself up. "Andrew isn't a murderer."

"No, ma'am, he isn't."

Hal spoke up. "After all we've been through on that score, it's good to hear somebody say that. So you're telling me we've got a chance?"

"Don't get me wrong. We've got some tough days ahead, but there's some reason for guarded hope. There have been some developments in your absence. Besides, of course, this suicide attempt." He fixed them both with flat eyes.

Linda read his look. "You probably think we're horrible to have gone away, don't you?"

"It doesn't matter what I think," Hardy said. "Maybe I wondered a little."

"About what?" Hal stepped protectively in front of his wife. "About what?" he repeated. "Us going south?"

Hardy said nothing.

"I asked Andrew and he said he was fine. He knew that we'd had the reservations for months and he was adamant we should just go. It was only for three days. He said he'd be fine. He was getting used to Youth Guidance. We didn't know he'd do anything like this. How could we have known?"

"Mrs. North," Hardy said, "Mr. North. I'm not accusing you of anything. It's none of my business how you run your lives. For Andrew's sake, though, it might be helpful if we knew where we could find you if we need to contact you while this is going on, but . . ."

"He knew where we were." Hal was growing hot. He turned to Amy. "I was sure he'd have told you."

"No, sir. He didn't."

"He can talk to us anytime," Linda put in. "Both of our kids can. Hal and I, we're always there for them if they need us."

"There you go." Hal took an aggressive stance between them, but spoke to Wu. "You could have called Alicia at home. You have that number. She could have reached us. Easily."

"How did you find out?" Hardy asked. "About this?"

"I called the YGC to talk to Andrew as soon as we got home this morning. They told me. Then I called Hal and we came straight here."

But Hal continued at Wu. "I still don't understand why you didn't think to call the house. Alicia could have called and gotten us back here hours ago."

Wu matched his gaze, tightened her lip, turned to Hardy, who came to her defense. "Your daughter wasn't home, sir."

"What? Of course she was. We both talked to her."

"We did," Linda said. "She was home. Absolutely. She called us."

"On her cellphone?" Hardy asked.

"Yes, I think so." Linda looked from Hardy to Wu, then back to Hardy. "You're saying she could have called from anywhere."

"I'm telling you," Hardy said, "that when they found Andrew in his cell this morning, they called your home first, then sent a squad car by— this is at four a.m., remember— and nobody was there. The first person they could reach with any connection to Andrew was Amy, at her apartment."

"I don't believe that," Hal said.

"You check it out," Hardy replied. "Won't take you five minutes."

"Now you're calling my daughter a liar." Hal directed his ire at Hardy. "Hey, you know what? We don't need to take any more of this crap from you or anybody else." He turned to Linda, grabbed her by the elbow. "Let's go. That's the end of this."

But she held back. "I want to know the truth about Alicia."

"You just heard it," Hardy said.

"It doesn't matter," Hal snapped. "It's another ploy to make us feel guilty and ultimately, I'm sure, to pay him more."

"Pay me more? Here's a flash for you, pal, if you haven't already heard. I'm doing this for free." Hardy was by now so mad at the man's blindness and arrogance that he was tempted to throw a punch. Blood pounded in his ears. He felt he had to raise his voice to get above it. "And firing Amy? There's a brilliant idea! Never mind how Andrew is going to feel if the one person who's been standing by him since his arrest deserts him, too. You think that's going to help his state of mind? His self-esteem? Of course, worrying about what Andrew's feeling isn't something you do much, is it?"

Linda stepped in front of her husband. "How can you say that? I love my boy. I do."

Hardy forced himself to some semblance of calm. "You know, Mrs. North, I'm sure you do. But doesn't last night tell you that maybe he's not getting the message? That maybe he feels alone and deserted in the world?"

"That's not because of us," Hal said. "Our kids have had everything they need their whole lives, every opportunity." He looked to his wife, took her hand, came at Hardy. "You keep wanting to bring this back to me and Linda. We are not at fault here. This is all because of Andrew— the lies he told, how he acted, who he is. He's always been such a difficult kid. This is not me and Linda. We have been damn good parents."

This, Hardy realized, would never go anywhere productive. "Look," he said, "I've got two kids myself. Teenagers. I know what you're talking about. My wife and I get a chance for time alone, we take it, too. But I might suggest— and this is true with me and my wife and maybe every other set of parents on the planet— that maybe you're not as in touch with your son's feelings as you think you are. He did, after all, just try to take his own life."

After a short and tense moment, Linda broke the silence. "I'm going back in to him," she said, "for when he comes out of it. Come on, Hal. Are you coming?"

With a surly look back at both Wu and Hardy, and no comment, Hal took her hand, and together they turned back toward Andrew's room.