Chapter 54
I felt like a Christian walking the halls of the Roman Colosseum on my way to judgment in the arena. Every pair of eyes that set on me made me feel uncomfortable. For some reason, all FBI offices made me feel this way.
A lot of people don’t realize that when it comes to law-enforcement agents and employees, the NYPD is much larger than the FBI. We number almost forty thousand cops, while the FBI has only approximately fifteen thousand agents active at any given time. The NYPD even has offices outside New York City. After the 9/11 terrorist attacks, NYPD and city officials felt the FBI could have done a better job providing them with information prior to the attacks, so now NYPD detectives are in several Middle Eastern cities as well as European cities. There’s even a contingent of uniformed officers at the Vatican so visitors from New York City can feel reassured if there’s a problem and they need to turn to a trusted element.
I was here at the FBI offices today to meet with Emily Parker. She knew my preference was to meet at a restaurant or coffee shop so I didn’t have to venture into federal offices like this, but today she’d forced me to come here. Her “invitation” was making me feel like she was playing a prank on me.
Emily greeted me with a hug as she met me in the hallway and led me back to her cluttered cubicle. Before I could sit on the hard plastic chair next to her desk, I had to move aside a pile of files and notebooks. Though who was I to criticize, given the unruly stacks currently covering my desk and floor? Especially since I understood she probably knew exactly where to locate everything she needed. With a mind like hers, filing systems were a waste of time.
Emily smiled and said, “What’s so important that I got Michael Bennett to actually come to the FBI office voluntarily? Honestly, the only thing that surprises me more is that you’re not in custody.”
“Ha ha,” I replied. “All jokes aside, I need a sharp brain like yours to consider something we discovered about the killer.”
“I can’t wait to hear this one.” She scooted her chair away from her desk and closer to me.
I cleared off a space on her desk and carefully laid out copies of the crime-scene photographs from New York, San Francisco, and Atlanta. I explained in great detail exactly what Hollis and I had discovered, not only about the bloody crime scenes but also the deliberate arrangement of the collections of objects found inside the victims’ homes in each location. I explained our interpretation of them as the killer’s way of tallying up his murders.
Emily was attentive but silent, never interrupting me as I explained our theory. That was a sign of a professional law-enforcement agent. Too bad more FBI agents didn’t follow her example.
When I was finally finished, she looked me in the eye and said, “Impressive. I usually only hear about a personality mosaic this elaborate being pieced together by one of our people down at the Behavioral Analysis Unit at Quantico.”
“What do you think of our theory?”
“It’s pretty convincing,” she said. “And I’m even more impressed knowing you guys came up with it on no budget, very little time, and using only crime-scene photos and public newspaper databases. But not all of the crime scenes have these messages. Like the one on Staten Island.”
“That bugs the shit out of me. I’ve been over those crime-scene photos and back to that apartment several times. Nothing. I don’t know if the killer was interrupted and had to leave or if there’s some other explanation. But I still think we’re onto something.”
Emily said, “Maybe the message at the Staten Island crime scene is tiny. Or just not as obvious as these, like a handful of buttons or some grains of sand. Something someone could have accidentally swept up or knocked over. Based on your theory, this guy clearly needs to taunt us. That’s ballsy.”
I smiled at her dispassionate evaluation of our killer.
She said, “So what do you want from me?”
The research you promised me, I thought, but before I could answer, I heard a voice.
“Detective…?”
I turned in my seat and recognized FBI ASAC Robert Lincoln from our previous meeting at One Police Plaza. He wore a gray suit with a red power tie and stood at the entrance to Emily’s cubicle, snapping his fingers like he couldn’t remember my name.
I recognized it as an old trick meant to put me in my place, but I fell into the trap anyway. I offered, “Bennett.”
“Yes, of course. What brings you down here? I was under the impression that the NYPD had no use for the FBI.”
Emily saved me. God bless her. She said, “Detective Bennett was just updating me on their multiple-homicide case. He’s linked the killer we’re investigating here to previous homicides in San Francisco and Atlanta.”
That caught the FBI supervisor by surprise. “Really? Do you have all his reports, Emily?”
She nodded.
Lincoln said, “And you’ve confirmed this?”
Emily nodded again.
“Open an FBI case on it. Get in touch with the other jurisdictions. They may be more interested in our help than the NYPD has been.” He looked at me. “We’ll keep you up-to-date on our case.” He paused and threw in a quick, “As time permits.”
I smiled and said, “Of course.”
Lincoln asked, “Who will be my contact?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Macy, John Macy. Technically, he’s with the mayor’s office. You two should hit it off.” I gave him John Macy’s card and Lincoln walked away without another word.
Emily looked at me. “You handled that pretty well. You’re full of surprises today.” She pulled out a blank notepad and said, “I think I have an idea of what I can do for you. I’ll run everything in your reports, and in the forensic reports, through every database. I’ll also see about getting police reports from the two Atlanta suburbs who refused to cooperate with the NYPD. I’ll even see if I can find some travel patterns.”
I said, “Emily, you are absolutely the best.” And then, “What took you so long?”
She gave me a perfect smile and said, “First, tell me something I don’t know. Second, I think we just made it official. We’re both on the same case.”
Chapter 55
Somehow, even after everything I’d dealt with during the day, I made it home with energy to spare. I felt excited to engage with my children or even go for a bike ride with Mary Catherine, if that’s what she wanted. We hadn’t been riding quite as much as the three times a week she’d intended when we bought the bikes, though we’d ridden enough that I could tell the difference in my endurance.
As usual, as I walked to my apartment, I looked forward to experiencing one of my great joys in life: a greeting from my beautiful children. I didn’t care that as they got older, fewer and fewer of them physically met me at the front door. Tonight I just wanted to be with them. Any of them.
So it was a major disappointment when I opened the front door and found no sweet little ones there to greet me. No one at all. Not even the littlest girls, whom I could usually still count on to be excited to see me.
The apartment felt eerily quiet. Something was different. I called out, “Mary Catherine? Chrissy, Shawna?” But I got no response.