Oliver Stark - 88 Killer

She walked right back into the North Manhattan Homicide investigation room and stood there. She felt her world begin to click back into place. No one looked up. No one noticed her. She looked down at the old blue carpet, at the tar spots, at the discarded gum that had turned gray.

She held back tears, but they were not tears of fear, they were tears of pride. She had made it through the door. She had thought about it a hundred times, and every time she’d backed out, unable to even make it to the door. Now she was there.

Mark Garcia turned. He was wearing a pink shirt and even from a distance, Denise could smell his cologne. It took a moment for him to identify the woman in front of him, to place the pale face that he hadn’t seen for three months. Then recognition dawned on him. ‘Hey, fellas, look who’s come back home!’

The other detectives turned. Apart from Gerry Ratten, they’d all worked the American Devil case. Harper felt the hairs on his neck stiffen as he turned and saw Denise standing there in the doorway, in the same black suit that she’d worn the day he met her, when she was safely ensconced in One Police Plaza as a psychotherapist who looked at the aftermath of trauma and kept her distance from the streets.

Rick Swanson had pulled on his gym kit, a Yankees sweat top and a pair of black sweatpants. He was a mean and cynical son of a bitch, but even he felt the atmosphere and smiled.

Garcia took a glance around the room. The detectives of Blue Team were a tight group and Denise had worked with them and suffered for it. A team didn’t forget that. Garcia started to clap. The others joined in. And Denise Levene stood, her cheeks flushed red, not knowing where to look. Harper stared at her, brimming with pride and a strange fear. Whatever she’d been through, they had to make sure it wasn’t repeated.

The clapping died down. ‘How the hell are you?’ said Swanson. ‘Took your time. I thought as a psychologist you could’ve healed yourself.’

‘I’m wondering how you’ve all got time for applauding some amateur profiler when you’ve got a case to work. I hear it’s a bad one.’

She walked directly to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup. Harper sidled up. ‘Denise,’ he said. ‘I—’

‘Don’t say a goddamn thing or I’m going to break here.’

Harper closed his mouth, took a step back, let her regain composure. ‘Welcome home, Denise,’ he said.

Denise leaned her back against the wall and took a look around the room. ‘Feels odd to be back in here. Nice cubicles. You’ve been busy building.’

‘You haven’t seen the Captain since he spent some time in the Bronx.’

‘Always captures the big ideas, doesn’t he?’

Harper nodded. ‘You get anywhere with Abby?’

‘Yes, thanks to you. I met some real morons. The worst was Leo Lukanov. Leo gave a false alibi for the evening when Abby disappeared, and it transpires that Dr Goldenberg saw him the day before in a car outside the house. So we’ve got extra time on the case.’

‘That’s good. You were brave to go over there.’

‘Well, I’m feeling better. I’m here to return the favor.’

‘Profile?’

‘I can try.’ Denise spotted a wiry fair-haired man in one of the new cubicles, who had eyed her a few times. She nodded towards him. ‘Is he the competition?’

‘The kid in the corner with the snarl? He’s the FBI’s boy. New profiler from the New York Field Office. He’s squaring up for a battle. He’s heard about you. You’re all we talk about.’

‘Only to piss him off, I hope.’

‘Yeah, only to piss him off. Second-rate, unfortunately, even though he’s trying.’

‘Well, let’s hope that’s good enough.’

Harper laughed. ‘You’re going to kill him. It’s not a fair fight. Not fair at all.’

‘Where are you on the case?’ asked Denise. ‘We’re waiting for something to break,’ Harper told her. ‘We found the killer’s kill kit last night. We’re just checking out leads.’

‘Good, that’s progress.’

‘Well, I’ve got the case-files set up for you. Take your time, just as long as you’ve got something by this afternoon.’

Denise looked up. ‘No honeymoon period? This really is like old times. Where are you headed?’

Harper picked up his coat. ‘I’m going to check out some barbed-wire manufacturers.’

‘Lucky you,’ said Denise.

North Manhattan Homicide

March 8, 12.30 p.m.

Harper arrived back at the precinct. He had news about the barbed wire to give Lafayette. What he had was good but he needed something more. He approached Eddie. ‘I got your message. Where are they?’

‘In the interview room.’

‘How sure are you?’

‘It’s good, Harps.’

They headed straight for a small interview room that had been set up with three phones. Three Chinese cops were on the phones, speaking in Mandarin.

‘They traced the number, like I asked?’ said Harper.

‘Just like you asked.’

‘And they got something?’

‘They did. Harps, you were right.’

‘I don’t care about right, I care about catching this guy. Let’s see what they got.’

‘The purple serial number you found on the spool was our only lead,’ said Eddie. ‘We’ve been chasing that number all morning. We reckon the barbed wire is a Chinese import, and the serial number had an import number next to it. We traced the import number through shipping number via customs. We’re tracking down manufacturers.’

Harper looked around him. ‘In China?’

‘There aren’t too many barbed-wire manufacturers importing to the US, so we’re down to the last one. But I don’t know that the number will give us anything. Even if we find where it came from, we might not see where it went to.’

Harper put his hand on the shoulder of one of the guys. ‘Anything?’

Detective William Hong nodded. ‘We think we’ve got the manufacturer. They’re tracing that batch number, might be able to tell us where it was sent.’

‘Call me the second you know,’ said Harper.

He walked back into the investigation room and sat down by Denise, on an old plastic chair. ‘How’s it been?’ he asked.

‘Okay.’

‘No progress?’

‘Not yet. I’m just absorbing all the details. It’s not nice.’

‘No,’ said Harper.

‘There’s nothing on the bullet. You anywhere with that?’

‘They can’t ID the bullet. It’s so mangled. It’s just a lump of metal. I’m going to get it looked at. There’s something more to it. Why, what are you thinking?’

‘I need to know what kind of gun he used. It might tell us something.’

‘Like what?’

‘Confidence with a gun, military background, who knows.’

‘They say it was a 9mm bullet.’

Denise nodded. ‘I went through the sequence of events, the witness statements, the confession letters, the forensic details, the autopsy protocol. Then I went through it all again.’

‘And?’

‘He’s not a political animal. He’s a sociopath. I agree with you — I think there’s something else, too. Something…’

William Hong emerged from the interview room and called across. ‘Harper, we’ve got it. This consignment was headed for Washington. Then headed for a commercial supplier.’

Harper turned. ‘And where did they send it?’

‘It’s been a ride. The commercial supplier sent it to a local state wholesaler. They found the order. We know the shop this spool was bought from.’

Eddie Kasper took the faxed copy of the import order. Chinese letters across the top of the paper. ‘If he’s a right-wing pro-America freak, Harper, do you think he knew he was buying Chinese barbed wire?’