Richard Hawke - Speak of the Devil

“Okay,” I said. “So Diaz pulls his pistol. What then?”

“Cox drew and fired.”

“And he hit Diaz right between the eyes.”

“Not exactly. But close.”

“Did Diaz get his shot off?”

Carroll shook his head once. “He did not.”

“That’s fast shooting on Cox’s part,” I observed.

“For which I am grateful.”

I took a sip of my coffee. The eggs on all three plates were untouched and going cold. I looked over at the mayor. “How’s all this sound to you?”

“Officer taking a man into custody and failing to detect that he has a weapon? Frankly, I’d like to have his badge. But we have special circumstances here.”

I picked up the letter.

Enjoy the show.

Your Nightmare

Tommy Carroll leaned forward. His shadow eclipsed my plate. “You make instant decisions and then you live with them. You know how that is. Listen, Fritz, we want our citizens to feel that they’re safe. That’s our job. ‘Hero cop kills massacre suspect in shootout in Central Park’ versus the ugly and embarrassing truth. I like choice number one. Either way, the scum is dead. Cop-killer scum at that. It’s a shortcut to justice, but in the end it’s still justice.”

“In the end it’s a cover-up, Tommy. You know your history. The cover-up’s always the thing that ends up biting you more than the crime itself.”

Mayor Leavitt chimed in. “We’re trying to control history this time, Mr. Malone. That’s why we’re telling you all this.”

“We need to catch the guy, Fritz,” Carroll said. “He’s still out there. We thought we had him yesterday. We thought Cox killed him. But Cox only killed part of the problem.”

I quoted, “ ‘The nightmare has just begun.’ ”

“We’re not releasing the information that Nightmare contacted us two weeks ago,” the mayor said. “Categorically not. I hope I’m clear on that, Mr. Malone. It’s crucial. This letter does not exist.”

“We’re calling him Nightmare?”

The police commissioner answered, “This is an operation. We need a name for it, and that’s the name we’re going with.”

“It’s an operation no one knows about,” I observed.

“Exactly.”

“You don’t even know if it’s one guy or a half-dozen.”

“Doesn’t really matter at this point,” Carroll said. “ ‘Nightmare’ covers however the hell many of him there are. Or them. I don’t give a damn about that right now. Beginning in another hour, my next headache is the press. They’re clamoring for a clarification from us about why we think the two incidents aren’t related.”

“I saw that Rebecca Gilpin’s presence at Barrymore’s was surgically removed from the news accounts. Good work on somebody’s part, but how long is that going to last?”

“Not long enough, I’m sure,” Leavitt said.

“Why not just say she was there? Try your luck with the copycat story.”

“Because the story stinks,” Carroll answered. “This was a fricking bomb. Not the most sophisticated bomb, but still not something a copycat freak is going to whip up in one afternoon. We put the blanket on Miss Gilpin’s presence at Barrymore’s partly to buy time. But also because at this point, if the word gets out, the chance of an actual copycatter increases. As of this moment, Miss Gilpin is essentially under house arrest. Nobody gets to her. As soon as she’s stabilized, we’re taking her out of the city to an undisclosed location. Nightmare has had two cracks at her. That much, at least, is over.” Carroll gave me a rueful look. “Shortest job you’ve ever had.”

“He doesn’t mention her specifically in his letter,” I said.

“Taking a shot at Rebecca was strictly to piss me off,” Leavitt said. “I’m being messed with here, Mr. Malone. That’s part of the M.O.”

“And you’re sure about that?”

“I am.”

“What about the possibility that someone might have a specific beef with Rebecca? Or a fixation? You know the kinds of loonies who latch on to celebrities. So far, she’s the common link here.”

Carroll responded, “Fine. Of course. That’s just it. It could be all of those things or none of them. Hell, I’d love to think that getting Miss Gilpin off the scene shuts down the problem. That’d be nice. But how stupid do I look? This Nightmare character is clearly a psychopath. We have no reason to think that he’s gotten his ya-yas out and is just going to go away. He wants something. Besides the thrill he must be getting from blowing people away, he wants his goddamn million dollars.”

“So if you’re not planning on letting people in on the fact that this nutcase is trying to blackmail the city, what exactly are you planning to tell them?”

“First thing we’re doing is we’re sticking with the story that the two events are not related. We don’t want people thinking we’re suddenly under siege. Unfortunately, Miss Gilpin is the key to that, and we don’t know how her situation is going to play out. It’s going to take a lot of spin once people discover that she was in that restaurant. But right now the plan is to isolate the two incidents. The parade? Diaz did it. Diaz is dead. Loco cabeza . Hero cop to the rescue. All is well. Case closed. On to the next incident. The bombing at Barrymore’s? We just don’t know at this time. God’s truth. But we’re going all out to find out who’s responsible, and as soon as we know, we’ll apprehend the responsible party or parties. That’s the line. It’s also the truth.”

“It’s nice when those two coincide, isn’t it?” I picked up the letter and read it one more time. “Do your investigators know about this?”

Carroll fielded the question. “There’s nothing in that letter that assists the investigation.”

“I would think that its very existence assists the investigation.”

“Our teams are sifting through the restaurant. They’ll put the bomb back together. That might tell us something. They’re interviewing everyone they can locate who was at or near the scene last night.”

“Nobody’s interviewed me,” I said.

“We know what you know,” Carroll said.

I indicated the letter. “And I know more than most.”

Leavitt folded his cloth napkin precisely and set it on the table. “Commissioner Carroll says we can count on you, Mr. Malone. I knew your father. Not terribly well, but we had some dealings. And of course I knew his reputation. I had great respect for Harlan Scott.”

“So did I,” I said, maybe a little more tersely than I needed to.

“Tommy says you caught his best genes.”

“Well, Tommy ain’t the most poetical hen in the house. But I’ll take the compliment.”

Leavitt nodded. “I understand you were planning at one time to follow in his footsteps.”

I glanced over at my father’s successor, who was giving his fork a hard look. “I took a few steps in that direction,” I said. “Some things happened and I made an adjustment. I decided the badge might be a little too heavy to carry around after all. I like being a little lighter on my feet.”

Carroll set the fork down, made sure his eyes were nice and dead by the time they met mine. The mayor didn’t seem to notice. He leaned forward and took the letter from me and gazed at it grimly. “We want you to help us stop this creep from doing any more damage, Mr. Malone.”

I picked up my coffee mug. “I’d be happy to, Mr. Mayor. But genes or no genes, I don’t know what you think I can do.”

“We’re going to pay him,” Leavitt said.

“You’re going to pay him? You’re going to give this creep a million bucks?”

“That’s what he wants in order to stop. I’m not going to have him ravaging my city. He’s proved his point.”