Oliver Stark - 88 Killer

Lukanov intended to follow the instructions. He opened the door to his apartment. The lock had been busted, so he only had to push it. He pulled off the remnants of the police security stickers pasted across the frame. The cops must’ve kicked the door down, fucking assholes.

He entered the room for the second time that morning. Most of the room was wrecked. Everything was tipped out, the floorboards ripped up, wallpaper torn down. A note from the police department had been left, with details of how to get compensation. Assholes. This was what Heming had told them all about. The cops were part of the problem.

Lukanov stared at the mess and then heard a noise in his kitchen. He turned. He suspected cops. Maybe they were going to get in a reprisal for attacking Denise Levene or for punching Detective Harper.

He called out, ‘Who’s there?’ No one replied. Was it just rats? The cops had left food and shit all over the floor with the door open. Could even be cats. He hated cats.

Lukanov heard a low cough from the kitchen. Not cats, then. An open apartment in this kind of building with the door kicked in would be quite a temptation. It might be kids or some hobo.

Lukanov picked up his baseball bat from the floor and headed towards the kitchen.

He pushed open the kitchen door and peered in. Someone was there, staring out of the window. A figure.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ shouted Leo, and he raised his bat.

The man spoke. ‘How long does it take you to find someone in your own apartment?’ He turned. ‘Hello, Leo.’

Leo let the bat fall. ‘Is that you, Martin? You scared the shit out of me.’

Martin Heming stood tall and powerful in front of him in a suit. He was clean-cut and had shaved. ‘I look a little different. I had to be careful. Police are tailing you and they’ve been hunting me. They’re searching for some tank-top-wearing, unshaven thug, so I just put on a suit, carry a briefcase and wander around Manhattan.’

‘That’s a great idea, Martin, but why are they tailing me?’ said Leo. ‘They let me out.’

‘They let you out to lure someone else out. I can’t think of one other fucking reason, Leo, why they’d let kike-hating scum like you out of the slammer. Why would they? You raced down a cop. You hit a cop. You got caught. Ellery pulled a knife.’

‘I didn’t hurt anyone.’

‘It doesn’t seem right to me, Leo.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I just got a nose for it. What did you tell them?’

‘Nothing. But they told me something, Martin. Told me you set us up.’

‘You think I’d do that? Why?’

‘To pin Capske on us.’

‘Like they’re going to believe you lot could kill Capske. You can’t even rough-up a woman.’

‘They found us, somehow.’

‘They probably tailed you.’

‘I promise, Martin, I said nothing to them.’

‘You lying piece of shit.’

‘No, Martin. Not a thing.’

‘You fucked up. You had the operation. Your first independent and you fucking embarrassed us.’

‘The cops knew.’

‘So that’s what they told you?’

‘How else did they get there so quick?’

‘They got there so quick, Leo, for two fucking reasons. The first is that you didn’t wear gloves transporting the barbed wire. The second is that you fucking emailed your squad and left the black card in your apartment.’

‘I needed the team quick. I couldn’t get hold of them on the forum.’

‘What’s the problem with email?’

‘It’s traceable.’

‘Right, the forum is anonymous.’

‘Sorry, man, sorry.’

‘You going to be sorry to me or you going to tell me?’

‘What?’

‘You tell them about Sturbe?’

‘No. You think I’m stupid?’

‘He’s in the fucking bedroom, waiting. He thinks you told them. He’s going to be coming in here and pulling your teeth out one by fucking one.’

Lukanov went pale. ‘Fuck you.’

‘You want me to call him out?’

‘No.’

‘Sturbe’s angry.’

‘I took a hit for you.’

‘You’re out, no one else is. Not Paddy, Ray or Ocks. Just you. You know what that tells me?’

‘I didn’t get caught hitting someone.’

‘You hit Harper. No, Leo, it means that you gave them some information.’

‘No, sir, not me.’

‘You know what that’s called, Leo?’

‘No.’

‘High fucking treason.’

‘I did nothing. No treason, nothing.’

‘You’re not safe, Leo. You’re like a weak point in a wall and the thing is, the weak point is the point where the wall breaks.’

‘I’m not a weak point, I swear.’

‘I’m going to go in the bedroom, talk to Sturbe; we’re going to decide what to do with you.’

Leo watched. ‘Fuck you, Martin. There is no Sturbe. You fuck. You’re just trying to spook me. We all know that Sturbe’s just a fucking game you play. You can fuck off and die, Martin.’

‘Really? You think that, do you? You think that this has no one behind it? Really? You think this is just me?’

‘Fuck you, Martin. We’ve all been up to the compound this Sturbe wants us to build and none of us have seen him.’

‘You’ve got to watch yourself, Leo.’

‘Do I?’

‘Sure you do, kiddo.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘You know what happens when you stop believing in the bogeyman.’

‘What?’ said Lukanov, his head twisting to look over his shoulder.

‘The bogeyman comes to pay you a visit.’

Apartment, Yorkville

March 10, 6.45 a.m.

The autopsy on Marisa Cohen found a third bullet. Harper had it in his hand. He needed an answer soon. Even if they caught Martin Heming, they’d need some evidence to link him to the murders.

Each bullet was too mangled and, without a cartridge, there was no way of matching it to a gun. But Harper wanted to know more.

Eddie was working with Hate Crime, conducting interviews with friends and relations of Marisa Cohen. So Harper brought Denise with him.

Denise sat in the car. ‘Where are we going?’

‘I need someone to look over the three bullets. Ballistics have nothing much, but I gave them to someone who used to work with us. He’s retired, works the odd case with the FBI. He’s one of the best. Hans Formet.’

‘What are you looking for?’

‘These bullets look different to me — so do the entrance wounds they leave. They’re tight, no expansion. Look, Hans is a genius. If anyone can find something, he will.’

‘Anything on the tail?’

‘No, he’s still in his apartment. Sleeping. He didn’t get back until after five a.m. What about Abby?’

‘We’re working on the note. Nothing yet. What am I here for, Tom?’

‘You’re here to certify I’m of sound mind and let me know if I’m not.’

‘But if you’re not, you wouldn’t believe me.’

‘Then get me to a psychiatrist as soon as you can.’

They both smiled.

‘I want to hear more about what Aaron said. You can talk on the drive over.’

Harper pulled out. Denise filled him in on the Nazi symbols used in the three murders and Harper listened intently. ‘It makes sense,’ he said. ‘You’re beginning to understand him.’

‘With Aaron’s help, I am.’

Harper and Levene arrived at the home of ballistics expert Hans Formet and walked up the steps.

‘What did the CSU find on the Capske bullet?’ asked Denise.

‘The initial ballistics report was inconclusive. They carried out some ballistic imaging on the bullet, but nothing came up on the National Network. There was too much damage.’

‘No way to tell if it was the same gun that fired both bullets?’