I quickly headed toward the raised platform on the far-left side of the gym, skipping every other step until I reached the long row of ellipticals lining the railings. Looking down at the main floor, the arrangement of the barbells and weight bench bars clearly formed the shape of a cross.
What the fuck?
At this height, I could also see other areas of the gym more clearly. Through the wall of broken glass windows at the back of the gym, I was able to see the rooms with the racket ball court and the boxing ring where Gianna had been training just that morning. Written in red spray paint, the word ‘wrath’ defaced the vinyl floor of the ring.
Wrath?
I shifted my gaze to take a closer look at the spray-painted walls I’d seen when I first arrived. If I wasn’t mistaken, two of the scrawled words spelled out ‘lust’ and ‘greed.’
I heard a thumping on the stairs and looked over to see Pete Milano following the path I’d just taken up to the platform. Pete was a lieutenant with NYPD and a client at The Mill. Although I knew he was a cop, it was strange to see him in uniform. I was used to seeing him in sweatpants and his standard gray NYPD t-shirt.
“Pete,” I greeted with a nod and accepted his offered handshake.
“Hey, man. Tough break. I came here as soon as the call came over the radio.”
“This is brutal. I haven’t even begun to wrap my head around it. There’s just so much destruction.”
“You ain’t kidding. I was just talking to Detective Warhol. He said whoever it was cut the phone lines so the alarm company wasn’t notified, then gained entry through the service door in the alley. The frame was chipped, and he found a heavy-duty paint scraping tool on the ground. Forensics will dust it for prints, and hopefully, we’ll get a lead.” He paused, glanced around at the damage again, then frowned. Raising a hand, he pointed down toward the barbells on the main floor. “Is that a cross?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what it is.”
“This looks more like a hate crime than anything else. Do you know anyone who might do this?
“I think I have an idea,” I stated wryly. “Although, the cross and the words spray-painted on the walls are throwing me off.” I stared hard at the bright red, sloppily painted words, trying to recall if Gianna had ever mentioned Ethan being a religious fanatic.
“Throwing you off, how?”
“I’m dating this girl, and it’s very possible her husband may have done this. His name is Ethan Walker. She left him a while back after he knocked her around one too many times,” I told him, deliberately avoiding the horrific details out of respect for Gianna’s privacy. “We recently found out the Cincinnati police are looking for him. She thinks he’s here in New York. The thing is, I don’t remember her saying he was some kind of religious extremist.”
“Wait a minute. Did you say, Ethan Walker? He doesn’t happen to be a cop, does he?”
“Yeah, actually, he is—or at least he was. I heard he was suspended from the job. Why do you ask?”
Pete let out a low whistle and shook his head.
“Shit, your girlfriend was married to that guy?”
I didn’t bother to correct him that she was still married to him. Instead, I zeroed in on the fact he’d even heard of Ethan in the first place. I was fairly certain the NYPD didn’t make a habit of knowing the business of the Cincinnati Police.
“Yeah, so. Why do you say it like that?”
“If we’re talking about the same dude, the Cincinnati police aren’t the only ones looking for him. He’s a fucking nut job. I’m talking serial killer nuts. He had a secret apartment of sorts. It was weird—like a sadomasochist den. Now, all of this is making sense.”
“What do you mean?”
“I saw pictures of the place. The imagery was a sadist’s delight, and he seemed obsessed with the seven deadly sins.”
“You saw pictures?” I was trying to piece together what he was saying and realized my questions kept coming fast and furious.
“Yeah, the FBI sent them over just a few days ago. It was like seeing pictures from the movie set for Seven—you know, that movie with Brad Pitt? Anyway, it was really messed up shit. An APB on this guy went out to precincts all across the country. I have to call my Captain. If you think this might have been done by Ethan Walker, the FBI is going to want to know.”
41
Derek
Forty-five minutes later, I watched as the police taped off the exterior of my building and a forensic team bustled about warning everyone not to touch anything. I anxiously paced, holding Maisie in my arms. Considering everything, I didn’t want to leave her alone. She whined and nervously licked my face, sensing my unease.
“I know, girl. Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”
I took in her big round eyes and black button nose. If anything had happened to her, I don’t know what I would have done. If this lunatic was able to bypass my security system to get into The Mill, accessing my apartment would be a walk in the park. And if this was, in fact, Ethan who did this, I was terrified for Gianna’s safety as well.
I’d tried to call her several times, but it went straight to voicemail. It was infuriating. While it wasn’t unusual for her to have her phone off, I needed to know if she was okay. I’d already been questioned by Detective Warhol, but he wasn’t forthcoming with any details about Ethan Walker. He told me I needed to stay put until the FBI arrived. I still didn’t know why the FBI was involved, but from the looks of what was going on outside, I assumed I’d find out soon.
Two unmarked SUV’s had just pulled up with blue lights flashing through the windshield, signaling they were the FBI. Hopefully, I’d finally get some answers to whatever the hell was going on.
Four people emerged from the vehicles. After talking to the responding officers for a moment, they split off in various directions, with the lone female agent heading straight for me. She was dressed in a sharp, navy pantsuit and carrying a briefcase.
“Derek Mills?” she asked as she approached, flashing her badge.
“That’s me,” I replied cautiously.
“I’m Agent Gregory, FBI. I work out of the New York field office, Division of Violent Crimes. Is there a place we can talk privately?”
“Yeah, sure, my office. Follow me.”
I hadn’t been inside my office yet and silently wondered if that had been destroyed as well. Unfortunately, whoever did this didn’t show prejudice. Even though the office door had been locked, breaking through the hollow wooden door hadn’t been difficult.
Once inside, I found the desk had been cleared of its contents. Everything was scattered all over the floor, including my six-thousand-dollar Apple desktop, lying face up with a coffee mug smashed into the middle of the screen. Fitness posters had been torn from the walls, and all the files from my filing cabinet had been torn up.
Fuck.
I had insurance that should cover the monetary costs of things, but there was no way to replace the hundreds of hours’ worth of paperwork. Frustrated and pissed off, I kicked aside the debris to make a path to the small table and two chairs in the corner. I sat down, positioned Maisie on my lap, and motioned for the agent to have a seat across from me.