“Talk about pre-scripted lies,” Irwin said. “What a performance.”
Sykes looked into the camera, her eyes filled with compassion. “My deepest condolences to the Parker and Steele families,” she said. “The senseless killing of Evelyn Parker-Steele should never have happened. She was the fourth victim of a cold-blooded serial killer—a murderer who should have been brought to justice months ago. As U.S. attorney, I would never have tolerated the kind of misguided street vengeance that has been the hallmark of the sick individual who continues to stalk the streets of our city.”
Irwin had a pen and a pad and was either taking notes, writing a rebuttal, or drafting the mayor’s concession speech.
“I will not politicize Evelyn’s death,” Sykes said.
“Could have fooled me,” Irwin called out, still scribbling.
“But I will politicize the need for the kind of bold leadership that will give our police—and our entire law enforcement community—the support and resources it needs to protect our city and its citizens from those who seek to do it harm,” Sykes said. “Thank you. Are there any questions?”
Reporters started shouting, and Irwin stepped up to the television and turned it off.
“I don’t want to watch Muriel Sykes answer a bunch of bullshit questions that Damon Parker planted with the press,” he said. “The man’s a powerhouse. He just endorsed our opponent, and it’s only going to get worse. I have a script for a stopgap commercial the mayor can shoot immediately, but it’s a Hail Mary. Once the public finds out that Rachael O’Keefe has been kidnapped, they’ll forget that she’s a child murderer, and Damon Parker will spin her into a martyr who was falsely imprisoned, found innocent, begged for protection from NYPD, and was thrown to the wolves by an insensitive, uncaring mayor. Nothing personal, Stan. I’m just trying to point out how they’re going to skewer you.”
“No, no, Irwin,” Spellman said. “I’m convinced. I’m voting for Muriel.”
Diamond gave his best friend a half smile. “We’re not dead yet, Stan.”
The mayor didn’t look convinced. “What do you suggest?”
“I suggest that we find Rachael O’Keefe while she’s still alive, and bring in the Hazmat Killer—or as many of them as are out there.”
He said “we,” but he was staring directly at Kylie and me when he said it.
“Can you do it, Detectives?” Diamond asked about as casually as a guy asking his buddies if they could come over and help paint the garage. “Can you?”
“Sir,” I said, “NYPD will do everything in our—”
“I don’t care if you can do it!” the mayor erupted. “I only care if you can do it while I’m still in office. I need to be there for the victory dance, and it damn well better happen before Election Day, because after that, I don’t give a flying fuck!”
He stormed out of the studio with Irwin Diamond right behind him.
Cates looked at us and shrugged. “Like I said—crazy as a shithouse rat. Keep me posted,” she said, and followed them out the door.
Shelley Trager hadn’t said a word to us since we came in. Now he walked over to Kylie and put a hand on her shoulder.
“I’m going back to my office,” he said softly. “Meet me there in five minutes. We have to talk.”
He too left the studio, and Kylie and I just stood there.
“I’ll wait for you in the car,” I said. “You go talk to Shelley.”
“No,” she said, looking as close to shell-shocked as I’d ever seen her. “Go with me. Please.”
Chapter 55
“At least the haystack is getting smaller,” Kylie said as we walked past the carpenters’ shop toward Shelley’s office.
“I’m not up on all the hip cop talk,” I said. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means we’ve been looking for a needle in a giant haystack. On Monday we had about eight million suspects. But this lead narrows it down to a handful of people who could have known where Rachael was going. It’s a much smaller haystack.”
“And we’re looking for two needles,” I said.
We entered Studio 1 and took the elevator to the fourth-floor production offices. Kylie led the way down the hall to Shelley Trager’s corner suite. The door was open. “We’re here,” she said.
Shelley looked up from his desk. “We? Oh…Zach.”
“Do you mind?” Kylie asked. “Whatever you have to tell me, you can say in front of Zach. He knows everything.”