He wondered if the plan he had set in motion at the library would produce results. So far, he hadn’t seen any reports about his message. Or news of the librarian’s death. The police seemed to be spending all their time working a murder on Staten Island. He’d never even been there. Still, the killer seemed to have adopted a pale imitation of Ott’s techniques. He was pleased at the flattery yet puzzled. If the media didn’t know about the eye stabbing, how did this other killer learn his signature?
When his phone rang, Ott answered it immediately. It was noon. “Hello, my lovely girls.”
On speakerphone, with the noise of the workers buzzing around him, his wife and both of his daughters giggled and chatted with him about their days. His wife caught him up on their homeschooling progress, and his daughters regaled him with a story about their cat getting stuck in a tree. The conversation kept him smiling for over an hour.
Then the red-haired woman he’d noticed the other day walked past and yelled about the computer bag lying on the floor of the loading dock, citing a safety hazard. She tried to soften the comment when she realized the bag was his, but she had already made a poor impression.
“Sorry,” the redhead apologized. “When you work around messy men all day, you tend to jump the gun on little things. I forgot you were even back here. So quiet I didn’t even notice you.”
She stepped around the desk and stood just a little too close to Ott as she added, “It’ll be nice to be able to talk to everyone over the computer. The drivers prefer radios and the office people like cell phones. You seem to be the answer to all of our problems.” She gave him a big smile.
Ott nodded but didn’t hold eye contact for very long. But he watched her as she walked away. She had something, some way about her, that was alluring without being wildly attractive. Maybe it was experience? Whatever it was, the image of her smiling face stuck in his head.
A shout caught his attention. Two men were standing on the loading dock arguing about how to load tires into a long truck that couldn’t make the turn to back up to the dock.
Ott stood and stretched, then walked over to where the tires were stacked and looked at the pedestrian walkway down to the street, where the truck was stopped. As much as he liked to remain invisible, sometimes it was irresistible to show off what he could do.
He turned to the loading dock manager and said, “I’ve got an idea.”
The burly manager turned and said, “Anything’s gotta be better than taking the tires by hand one at a time.”
Daniel grabbed two tires and walked down the pedestrian ramp to the street. He had the driver back up a few feet, then open the side door to his truck. He set both of the tires down, one on the ground and the other propped on top of it and leaning against the truck.
When he hurried back up the ramp, the entire loading dock crew watched with anticipation. Ott thought he had it right. But what if his idea failed? He would feel like an idiot.
The loading dock crew watched silently as he ran back and grabbed two more tires. He looked up at the group staring at him. “If it doesn’t work, I’ll help you load the tires by hand.”
He released one of the tires and watched it roll in a straight line down the ramp. By the time it hit the tire lying on the ground, it was really moving. It bounced up and off the tire that was upright against the side of the truck. It landed exactly where it needed to.
The entire loading dock erupted in applause. The manager moved his massive body toward Ott and said, “How in the hell did you figure that out?”
Ott smiled. “Simple physics. It dictates everything in our lives. I just know how to use it to my advantage.”
Chapter 34
When I got back to my office, Dr. Jill St. Pierre, the forensic scientist, was sitting at my desk, reading my copy of Men’s Health. As I walked through the squad bay, her dark eyes rose from the pages of the magazine. The fact that she didn’t smile when she saw me told me her new information wasn’t good.
Since St. Pierre was sitting in my leather office chair, I took the hard wooden chair next to my desk. I purposely didn’t say anything as I prepared for the bad news. Whatever it might be.
She said, “I heard you had to make a trip to One Police Plaza. I decided it was better to wait here in case they were sending you back to clean out your desk.” Her sly smile made me laugh.
“Technically, I didn’t have to make the trip. Only Harry Grissom did. I met him down there for support.”
“Anything change on the investigation?”
I shook my head. “We have to keep the mayor’s office better informed.”
“Isn’t that the same rule they give every time?”
“Seems like it.” I glanced around to make sure no one was close by. “C’mon, Jill, you didn’t come all the way up here to chat with me about my morning. Whatcha got?”
She started slowly. “I have a preliminary profile of the second blood sample from the Elaine Anastas scene.”
“Could you match it to anything?”
“Yes.”
I sat up straight and almost clapped. “You think it’s the killer’s blood?”
“Nope,” she said, dashing my hopes. “But there is a connection. The second sample? It matches a homicide victim killed in Atlanta eight months ago. Hollis tipped us off to the connection and we’ve been working with Atlanta PD.”
I was baffled by what she’d just revealed. Finally I said, “How is that possible?”
St. Pierre shrugged. “I provide the scientific data. Detectives usually do the interpretation.” She handed me a manila envelope.
“What’s this?”
“Atlanta PD gave us all the reports from the case. They are scanning photographs to email us. They even offered to send a detective up here. And just like here, they think this homicide could be related to several others in the Atlanta area. Apparently these cases have been bugging them for the last eight months.”
I leaned back in the chair, thinking about what she’d just told me. When I looked up, the forensic scientist was glancing over one of the reports from Atlanta.
“What do you think this means?” I asked her.
“That’s your area, not mine,” St. Pierre said. “But I’d theorize that if your killer is getting cute like this, it’s probably a sign he’s bored. He has to make things more interesting. And that could be extremely dangerous.”
Chapter 35
It was late afternoon by the time John Macy, the mayor’s aide, showed up again at Manhattan North. He wore a Brooks Brothers charcoal suit, a red power tie, and an extraordinarily smug expression.
Macy said, “I told you the mayor needs to be informed.”
I wanted to reply, And I told you I was busy trying to catch a killer. I hope you haven’t endangered someone else’s life by distracting me. But in deference to Harry Grissom, I just smiled and nodded. I had promised Harry that I wouldn’t make any waves.
Macy didn’t help with my plan. He said, “I can’t believe I had to go through that much trouble just to get a detective with the NYPD to fill me in on a case. I’m busy too. You have any idea how many people work in the mayor’s office?”