Jeffery Deaver - The Devil's Teardrop

"Quit, fired or took a leave of absence?" Kincaid asked.

"Not sure." Nance paused. She continued. "We couldn't get as many credit card records as we wanted, because of the holiday, but he's staying at the Renaissance under his name. And he checked in after a noon flight from Hartford. United Express. No advanced purchase. Made the reservation at ten A.M. this morning."

"So he left just after the first shooting," Lukas mused.

"One-way ticket?" Kincaid's question anticipated her own.

"Yes."

"What do we think?" Lukas asked.

"Goddamn journalist is all, I'd say," Cage offered.

"And you?" She glanced at Kincaid.

He said, "What do I think? I say we deal with him. When I analyze documents I need every bit of information I can get about the writer."

"If you know it's really the writer," Lukas said skeptically. She paused. Then said, "He seems like a crank to me. Are we that desperate?"

"Yes," Kincaid said, glancing at the digital clock above Tobe Geller's computer monitor, "I think we are."

In the stuffy interrogation room once more, Lukas said to Czisman, "If we talk off the record now… and if we can bring this to a successful resolution…"

Czisman laughed at the euphemism, motioned for the agent to continue.

"If we can do that then we'll give you access to materials and witnesses for your book. I'm not sure how much yet. But you'll have some exclusivity."

"Ah, my favorite word. Exclusivity. Yes, that's all I'm asking for."

"But everything we tell you now," Lukas continued, "will be completely confidential."

"Agreed," Czisman said.

Lukas nodded at Parker, who asked, "Does the name Digger mean anything to you?"

"Digger?" Czisman shook his head. "No. As in gravedigger?"

"We don't know. It's the name of the shooter-the one you call the Butcher," Lukas said.

"I only call him the Butcher because the Boston papers did. The New York Post called him the Devil. In Philadelphia he was the Widow Maker."

"New York? Philly too?" Lukas asked. Parker noticed that she was troubled by this news.

"Jesus," Cage muttered. "A pattern criminal."

Czisman said, "They've been working their way down the coast. Headed where, don't we wonder? To Florida for retirement? More likely the islands somewhere."

"What happened in the other cities?" Parker asked.

"The International Beverage case?" Czisman responded. "Ever hear of it?"

Lukas was certainly current on her criminal history. "The president of the company, right? He was kidnapped."

"Details?" Parker asked her, impressed at her knowledge.

Czisman looked at Lukas, who nodded for him to continue. "The police had to piece it together but it looks like-nobody's exactly sure-but it looks like the Butcher took the president's family hostage. The wife told her husband to get some money together. He agreed-"

"Was there a letter?" Parker asked, thinking there might be another document he could examine. "A note?"

"No. It was all done by phone. Well, the president tells the kidnapper he'd pay. Then he calls the police and hostage rescue surrounds the house, yada yada yada, the whole nine yards, while the president goes to his bank to get the ransom. But as soon as they opened up the vault a customer pulls out a gun and begins shooting. Killed everyone in the bank: the International Beverage president, two guards, three customers, three tellers, two vice presidents on duty. The video camera shows another man, with him, walking into the vault and walking out with a bag of money."

"So there was nobody in the house?" Lukas asked, understanding the scheme.

"Nobody alive. The Butcher-the Digger-had already killed the family. Looks like he did it after she called her husband."

Parker said, "He hit them at the weakest point in the kidnapping process. The police would have the advantage in a negotiation or in an exchange of the money. He preempted them." He didn't say aloud what he was thinking: that it was a perfect solution to a difficult puzzle-if you don't mind killing.

"Anything in the bank's security video that'd help us?" Cage asked.

"You mean, what color were their ski masks?"

Cage's shrug meant, I had to ask anyway.

"What about Philly?" Lukas asked.

Czisman said cynically, "Oh, this was very good. The Digger starts taking the bus. He'd get on, sit next to someone and fire one silenced shot. He killed three people, then his accomplice made the ransom demand. The city agreed to pay the ransom but set up surveillance to nail him. But the accomplice knew which bank the city had its accounts in. As soon as the rookies escorting the cash stepped outside the door of the bank the Digger shot them in the back of the head and they escaped."

"I never heard about that one," Lukas said.

"No, they wanted it kept quiet. Six people dead."

Parker said, "Massachusetts, New York, Pennsylvania, Washington. You're right-he was on his way south."

Czisman frowned. "Was?"

Parker glanced at Lukas. She told Czisman, "He's dead."

"What?" Czisman seemed truly shocked.

"The partner-not the Digger."

"What happened?" Czisman whispered.

"Hit-and-run after he dropped the extortion note off. And before he could collect his extortion money."

Czisman's face grew still for a long moment. Parker supposed he was thinking: There goes the exclusive interview with the perp. The huge man's eyes darted around the room. He shifted in his chair. "What was his scheme this time?"

Lukas was reluctant to say but Czisman guessed. "The Butcher shoots people until the city pays the ransom… But now there's nobody to pay the money to and so the Butchers going to keep right on shooting. Sounds just like their MO. You have any leads to where his lair might be?"

"The investigation is continuing," Lukas said warily.

Czisman stared at one of the prints. A pastoral landscape. He kneaded the water mug manically.

Parker asked, "How did you follow him here?"

"I read everything I can find about crimes where somebody has no qualms about killing. Most people do, you know. Unless their raison d'être is killing-like Bundy or Gacy or Dahmer. No, most professional criminals will hesitate to pull the trigger. But the Butcher? Never. And when I'd hear about a multiple homicide that was part of a robbery or extortion I'd go to the city where it had happened and interview people."

Lukas asked, "Why hasn't anybody made the connection?"

Czisman shrugged. "Isolated crimes, small body counts. Oh, I told the police in White Plains and Philly. But nobody paid much attention to me." He laughed bitterly, waved his arm around the room. "Took-what?-twenty-five dead before anybody'd perk up their ears and listen to me."

Parker asked, "What can you tell us about the Digger? Hasn't anybody gotten a look at him?"

"No," Czisman said, "he's a wisp of smoke. He's there and then he's gone. He's a ghost. He-"

Lukas had no patience for this. "We're trying to solve a crime here. If you can help us we'd appreciate it. If not we better get on with our investigation."

"Sure, sorry, sorry. It's just that I've lived with this man for the past year. It's like climbing a cliff-it could be a mile high but all you see is a tiny spot of rock six inches from your face. See, I have a theory why people don't notice him."

"What's that?" Parker asked.

"Because witnesses remember emotion. They remember the frantic robber who's shooting someone in desperation, the cop who's panicked and firing back, the woman screaming because she's been stabbed. But you don't remember calm."

"And the Digger's always very calm?"

"Calm as death," Czisman said.

"Nothing about his habits? Clothes, food, vices?"

"No, nothing." Czisman seemed distracted. "Can I ask what you've learned about the accomplice? The dead man?"