It was six hundred square feet of cement block, mold, and rat droppings, with a corrugated metal garage door for vehicles and two wire-reinforced glass windows caked with decades of grime.
It had served them well for Kang and the three houseguests who followed. Now they were driving back to Crane Street to prep it for number five.
“You realize we’re starting to cater to women,” Dave said as they drove over the recently renamed Ed Koch Queensboro Bridge to Queens. “First Evelyn. Now Rachael O’Keefe. Looks like a trend. I think we should spruce the place up.”
Gideon smiled. Dave was nervous, and the best way for him to cope was to make light of everything. Gideon played along. “Like how?”
“I don’t know,” Dave said. “I’m thinking lace curtains. Or maybe a mint on her pillow every night. Or how about a nice clean spackle can for her to shit in? Chicks dig those little amenities.”
Dave could always make Gideon laugh, and today was no exception. “Enough comedy,” Gideon said. “Let’s get serious. The DA’s office just let it leak that they’re releasing O’Keefe tomorrow at noon.”
“I thought they were going to turn her loose tonight.”
“They are. The story they leaked is just bullshit to throw off the press and the picketers. Her sister, Liz, is picking her up at two a.m.”
“Did Mer…did my…” Dave knew that Gideon was getting his information from Meredith. He hated the fact that she’d been dragged into it, but she was their only link to O’Keefe. The only way he could deal with it was to avoid talking about it. “Do you know where they’re going?”
“Jersey. They have an aunt who spends half the year in Florida, and they’re using her house.”
“So we follow them, case the neighborhood, and figure out when to—”
“No,” Gideon said. “There’s no time for that. What happens if we’re casing the neighborhood, and she packs up and moves to an undisclosed location—and I mean really undisclosed—one that Meredith can’t point us to? The only thing we know for sure is where she’s going tonight, which means we have to grab her tonight.”
“Won’t she have an escort on the trip to Jersey?”
“Definitely not,” Gideon said. “According to my source, she has an escort as far as the front door, and then she’s on her own. The city of New York won’t spend another nickel on her. They’re not bodyguards. As far as they’re concerned, she’s just some bitch who murdered her little girl and got away with it.”
“Not for long,” Dave said, a total convert to their mission. “Not for long.”
Chapter 42
“Would you like my take on the Hazmat Killer?” Cheryl asked. “Or as Zach pointed out—the Hazmat Killers.”
“Cheryl,” Cates said, “I’m happy to hear you even have a take. Shoot.”
“Donald Li, the profiler Donovan and Boyle brought in, is a detective, not an analyst. Working with what he knew, he profiled the killer as white, male, strict parental upbringing, connected to fundamental religious principles. The killer expects God to punish wrongdoers, and when the offender slips through the cracks, our killer becomes the punisher. I have no argument with that, but it’s pretty rudimentary, and won’t get us very far.
“I have the advantage of working with two very smart detectives who figured out that these victims are not the type to simply jump into a car with two strangers unless it seems like they have no choice. Two men posing as cops could do it. But I think these guys did more than pose.”
“Meaning what?” Cates said.
“Meaning they think like cops. They knew exactly how to track and kidnap their victims. They have a keen grasp of forensic techniques, and they know enough to leave no viable clues. They could be pretending to be cops, but they’re so good at it, I think it’s more likely that they’re real cops. Or maybe ex-cops.”
“Anybody who watches enough episodes of CSI has a keen grasp of forensics,” Cates said. “It doesn’t prove to me that real cops were involved.”
“Captain, I can’t prove anything. That’s what your detectives do. My job is to study a pattern and come up with a profile. Based on the logistics of the crimes—kidnapping, torturing, transporting the victims’ bodies—I agree with Zach and Kylie that this is the work of a team. Real cops work in teams.”
Cates nodded. “I’m listening.”
“I do a lot of one-on-one therapy sessions with cops—especially detectives. They bust their asses for months, even years, tracking down and locking up criminals who they are positive are guilty, and then for one reason or another, the bad guys go free. I don’t have to tell you how frustrating that is to the arresting officer. I’ve done exit interviews with dozens of cops who resign or retire early because they’re fed up with the justice system. More than a few have said to me, ‘It was either quit the job, or one day I’m going to end up putting a bullet in the back of one of their heads.’”