Oliver Stark - 88 Killer

‘Detective Carney,’ said Denise.

Jack Carney turned. He stared across the precinct investigation room. His eyes were clear blue. He was handsome and confident. ‘You must be Dr Levene. Good to meet you.’

‘Thank you for agreeing to help.’

‘Not a problem. Harper gave me four names: Raymond Hicks, Patrick Ellery, Leonard Lukanov and Thomas Ocksborough.’

‘You know them?’

‘I know them as Ray Hicks, Paddy Ellery, Leo Lukanov, Tommy Ocks. I’ve done a quick check. I know a couple of them pretty well. That’s not usually a good sign.’ He smiled. Denise smiled back.

‘You married?’ he asked.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Is that relevant?’

‘I don’t know yet,’ said Carney. Denise stared. ‘Come on, I’m kidding you. You got to loosen up, Doctor. This is no comedy show down here, so we’ve got to cheer ourselves up.’

‘Can we concentrate on these four guys, rather than my marital status?’

‘Sure,’ said Carney. ‘Let’s go find a seat somewhere.’ He led Denise into one of the interview rooms, asking, ‘You got any indications of hate crime on this missing girl?’

‘Such as?’

‘Words, symbols… any indication that it was because of her religion?’

‘No. There’s nothing except this attack which happened much earlier.’

‘But you think these guys might have held a grudge?’

‘That’s what I’d like to take a look at. Where do they hang out?’

‘Brooklyn.’

‘Any chance you can take me on a tour? Maybe speak to them?’

‘These aren’t nice characters, Dr Levene — you sure you want to?’

‘I’m sure as long as you can spare the time.’

‘You’re not going to like what you see. They’re sick little thugs and they believe what they spout. It’s pretty hard not to react and I know you’re the kind to react.’

‘Don’t worry about me,’ said Denise.

The third name on the list was Leo Lukanov. Carney and his partner muscled up close to the door. They were an intimidating pair. They knocked hard and loud and shouted out ‘NYPD — open up!’ They kept it going until the person inside felt that this was drawing too much attention to him.

The door opened. Leo Lukanov stood there. Close-cropped blond hair, pale blue eyes, full red lips. He was wearing a tank top, the number eighty-eight tattooed on one shoulder above an iron cross, some SS symbols on the right. Denise shied away immediately. She hadn’t expected the Nazi symbols.

Carney stared at Lukanov. He was strong and wiry. He didn’t smile or speak.

‘This is Dr Levene, Leo. Now you be nice and answer the lady’s questions or I’ll serve this warrant here and tear your digs to pieces.’ Carney waved a warrant. Denise had been told that it wasn’t real, but it didn’t need to be. Leo Lukanov’s eyes settled on her. ‘She’s working on the disappearance of Abby Goldenberg,’ added Carney.

Denise looked at the big tattooed figure ahead of her. He was cold, difficult — not bright, she guessed.

‘Mr Lukanov, you were questioned in relation to an alleged bias-attack on Abby Goldenberg,’ said Denise. ‘Do you remember the allegation?’

Lukanov smiled and leaned against the door. ‘The girl who thought someone grabbed her ass and shouted “Let’s fuck a Jew”? It was just wishful thinking. She couldn’t even say who grabbed her ass and who shouted something.’

‘Is that right?’ said Denise.

Leo leered forward. ‘Some girls just want to improve their bloodline,’ he said. ‘Maybe you like the look of what you see, too?’

The back of Carney’s hand hit Lukanov’s shoulder. ‘Be polite, retard.’

Denise flicked open her notes. ‘This your line, Leo, sexually motivated hate crime? You into that — hate and lust? That make you tick?’

‘We didn’t do nothing. She imagined it. We were shouting all kinds of things. Just walking and shoving. Nothing about or against anyone. She must’ve got confused.’

‘You’re wearing some Nazi symbols,’ said Denise. ‘Do you hate Jews?’

‘I don’t take political stances, lady.’

‘She also heard someone say, “Die you kike bitch”.’

‘She misheard.’

‘She heard it twice.’

‘She misheard it twice. Some kids, some Jews, they’ve got a persecution complex. One of us says something innocent and because we’re wearing Nazi symbols, they get confused and bitter. We’re the victims, here.’

‘I think we all know you’re lying, Mr Lukanov. Those symbols are offensive.’

‘HCU will tell you that it ain’t a crime. Pro-Nazi symbols aren’t anti-Semitic in their own right, did you know that?’

‘Is that right?’ asked Denise.

Jack Carney nodded and twisted his mouth.

‘You heard or seen or know anything about Abby’s disappearance?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘You know anything?’

‘No,’ said Lukanov. He took a rolled cigarette from behind his ear and lit it.

‘You ever think about going round to her house after she reported the four of you to the police?’

‘No, we never thought that.’

‘Don’t get smart, Leo, or I’ll put it about that you’re an informer.’

‘Sorry, Detective.’

‘You be very sorry, Leo, now answer the questions.’

‘Look, lady, we might do some shit, but we don’t do no serious shit.’

Denise looked at him. She sensed that he was capable of cruelty. ‘I’m just saying, Mr Lukanov, that one story going around my head is about the four of you, becoming angry that some little high-school girl gets you all a night in the cells. Must’ve been embarrassing. Two of you lost your jobs on account of it. What do you say about that?’

‘I’d say you should stop telling stories,’ said Lukanov.

‘You have a few drinks, decide to go see her. Maybe you follow her into the woods. Maybe things got out of hand and maybe you hurt her, maybe worse.’

‘Fuck you. Is she allowed to make these fucking allegations, Detective? Fuck you, bitch.’

Jack Carney moved in close and pushed Leo’s head against the door. He held it there tight. ‘Don’t you ever speak like that to anyone in my company, Leo, or you’ll be in serious trouble.’

‘You got a car,’ said Denise, ‘between you?’

‘Answer the question, deadbeat,’ said Carney.

‘Yeah, Paddy rolls.’

‘What is it?’

‘Red Ford.’

‘We’re going to check this car, we’re going to check your story, Leo. I want to know where you were at five-fifteen on Thursday, February 26.’

‘Don’t remember,’ said Lukanov.

‘Try,’ said Carney.

‘Do whatever, some kid runs away, that’s all and I get the fucking shakedown.’

‘What were you doing?’

Leo thought for a moment. ‘Nothing. Finished work, probably having a drink with Paddy.’

‘Where?’

‘We go to the pool hall.’

Denise nodded. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Lukanov.’

They left him at the door, returned to the car and drove off.

‘What did you think?’ said Carney.

‘Nice boys,’ said Denise. ‘Leo’s the one hiding something, though.’

‘You think?’

‘Yeah. The other two we found didn’t seem as cagey or as aggressive.’

‘He’s bad news all right. A little sadist. You should try to get a warrant to turn him over.’

‘I’ve got nothing at all to put him at the scene.’

‘Well, I hope it helped,’ said Carney. ‘You want to try Tommy Ocks? He’s not blessed with looks or brains. And his politics stink too.’

‘Let’s make it a full house,’ said Denise.

Crown Heights, Brooklyn

March 7, 9.03 p.m.

Brooklyn wasn’t Brooklyn any more. That’s what Martin Heming was fond of saying. He walked with his head high, an odd little twitch in his neck making its presence known every few paces. Heming was born and bred in Brooklyn, schooled and beaten and mugged in Brooklyn. His first kiss was a Brooklyn kiss, his first love was a Brooklyn high-school beauty queen whom he had won, married, beaten and lost. And now, the whole world was caving in, even in Brooklyn.