Richard Hawke - Cold Day in Hell

Peter took a breath. “Lewis wants us to consider that Bruce Spicer is responsible for the murders of Robin Burrell and Zack Riddick.”

“Spicer?”

“It’s just a theory. But you remember that whole big fuss when Zack brought up Robin Burrell’s abortions. It sounds far-fetched, I know. But think of it for a minute. Nancy Spicer’s been in there bawling her eyes out to get off the jury. Bruce Spicer is no big fan of people who get abortions; he’s got a history of being very much an in-your-face person when it comes to that issue. Hard to call this a motive for murder, but hang in there. We’ve also got Zachary. Riddick’s playboy reputation isn’t exactly the kind of thing that endears the born-agains. What Lewis is saying is you’ve got a situation here where a person like Bruce Spicer could have been looking for some creative ways to get this trial tanked, free his wife, and rid the earth of at least two infidels.”

“Infidels?”

“I’m just saying Lewis wants us to take a strong look at this. Face it, someone is killing these people. Someone is royally pissed off. Where the hell do we start?”

I pulled out my notebook. Gottlieb demanded, “What have you got there?”

“A list of people I want to talk to in connection with Robin Burrell and Riddick.”

Gottlieb aimed a fat finger in my direction. “Put Bruce Spicer at the top of that list. Do you hear me? Chicken-liver-tossing son of a bitch. Go after him first. Born-again bastards like that should choke on their own intestines, as far as I’m concerned. I’ve got no goddamn time for those people. Him. You go get him.”

PETER ACCOMPANIED ME downstairs. There were several other people in the elevator with us, so we didn’t say anything. The moment we were outside, Peter spoke urgently.

“This is tricky territory, Fritz. Very tricky. I’m sure you understand that. We’ve got a real balancing act to figure out here. Lewis has said categorically that we are not taking his theory to the police. It’s not the most ethical call, but that can’t be helped. It’s a matter of containment. We don’t want word getting out about Nancy Spicer’s mental health problem or about her husband having been arrested. Nancy shouldn’t be on the jury-that alone would provide the defense with some serious artillery to push for a mistrial-so we don’t want them to know. But here’s the other thing. If Bruce Spicer gets approached by the police or, for that matter, by you, he could blow the whistle himself. If he simply lets the papers know that he is under suspicion of any kind for these murders, it all explodes in our face. Husband of the foreperson? There’s nothing even Sam Deveraux would be able to do at that point. The trial would be officially out of hand. Everything would collapse.”

“But if Spicer actually is the killer, he’s not going to go blabbing to the press.”

“We have no idea what he would do. Maybe it’s a catch-22 and maybe it isn’t. The point is, there’s nothing but risk involved no matter which way you look at it. It’s certainly possible that Spicer isn’t the killer. I admit, it’s a wild hunch. Then again, Lewis Gottlieb didn’t become Lewis Gottlieb with bad hunches. That old man’s got an awesome track record.” Peter glanced around, as if afraid that someone might be listening in. “Look, I know Lewis tried to whip you into action just now. And I’m not necessarily countermanding his orders. But if you’ve developed any leads on these murders that you really like, it wouldn’t bother me if you run after them first. I’m not officially chasing you off Spicer. Like I said, Lewis has a phenomenal instinct.”

“He’s also got a phenomenal hatred of born-again Christians.”

“It’s not even that. Do you remember that abortion doctor in Albany who got gunned down a few years ago? He got all sorts of threats and there was all this vilification on different right-to-life websites? You remember that?”

I did. The doctor had been shot at point-blank range as he was leaving his clinic. The shooter didn’t even try to escape. Some passersby grabbed him, but he offered no resistance. He just stood there holding a damn placard and waited for the police to come.

Peter held up two fingers. “Two things. The guy who did the shooting? He was a member of the group that Bruce Spicer is mixed up with. He was one of the people who got hauled in along with Spicer during the chicken-liver incident. Lewis did a little investigating on his own and discovered that.”

“I did crap work for you, Peter. I’m sorry.”

“Forget it. Number two. Big number two. The doctor who was killed was a close personal friend of Lewis. They went back over thirty years.”

I allowed the information to seep in. “Then we might not be talking ‘awesome instincts’ here, Peter. We might be talking someone who’s leading with his anger. What you’re telling me is that your boss wouldn’t mind revenge.”

Peter let his breath out slowly. “I don’t know what I’m telling you. That’s the whole damn problem. I know I don’t have to remind you how important this case is.”

“I know it’s important, counselor. I just hope you’re ready to let it go if things start to fall in other directions. Look, I know you and Gottlieb have spent the better part of the past ten months trying to nail Marshall Fox to the wall for Blair and Rossman.”

“But?”

“But Robin Burrell and Zachary Riddick were killed in the same fashion as those two women. If you’re cutting me loose to find out who did these recent murders, you just have to understand that I’m not going to be operating with a closed mind about Marshall Fox’s guilt or innocence. If I-”

Peter exploded. “Fox’s innocence ? Jesus, Fritz, cut me a big fat fucking break right here, you have got to be kidding!” He implored the heavens. “That son of a bitch slaughtered his…uh-uh. Forget it. Don’t even go there. We’ve got him. I don’t care if that jury does fall apart and blow away, we got the bastard who killed those two women! Our case is solid. Someone is trying to blow smoke all over the whole damn thing. That’s what’s happening. If it isn’t Bruce Spicer, it’s someone else.”

“All I’m saying-”

He wasn’t finished. “These are copycat killings. Come on, don’t get yourself all turned around. That’s exactly what the killer wants. I need you thinking straight here.” He pointed a finger at me. “We got the right killer. We got Fox. There’s nothing to investigate there. Zero. You do what we’ve hired you to do. Is that understood?”

He didn’t wait for an answer but turned abruptly and pushed back through the revolving door. It was one of those ultra-smooth revolving doors. It took the power of Peter’s force, swallowed him up instantly, and continued revolving after he was well out of it and back inside the building. I stood a moment watching my own reflection flashing in the door panels.

I SWUNG BY THE Reuters Building. A folder was waiting for me. It contained two résumés. Back at my office, I gave the résumés a look. I was just reaching for the phone to call Megan Lamb when it rang.

“Mr. Malone? This…” The wavering signal gobbled up the rest of the sentence. It was a woman’s voice.

“I didn’t catch that,” I said.

“It’s Michelle Poole. From the Quaker meeting. He’s here !”

“Who? Who’s where?” I bolted upright in my chair. “Where are you?”

“I’m in my apartment. Remember I told you I’ve been feeling like someone’s following me all the time? I felt it again when I was coming down the block just now. He’s really there. I saw him. He was definitely following me. I…I peeked out my window a minute ago, and he’s still…oh my God.”