Стюарт Вудс - Desperate Measures

Dino picked up a phone and dialed a number. “Get them on the speaker phone,” he said.

“We’re here, Commish,” a man’s voice said.

“Okay,” Dino said, “what we’ve got present here is a bicoastal team to investigate a series of homicides apparently occurring on both coasts, fairly simultaneously. I’ve already assigned a team to the East Coast killings, and present is the West Coast team. I propose that we have a daily conference call to share what each group has. We also have the relevant ME at each end. Everybody on board?”

There was a positive chorus of noises from both coasts.

“Also, I’ve asked two other people with homicide experience to join us. Both are retired NYPD detectives, both outstanding ones: Stone Barrington, who is an attorney in New York, a former detective, and my NYPD partner for many years; and my wife, Vivian Bacchetti — who likes to be called Viv — who is very experienced in these things as she also was an NYPD detective, and is now chief operating officer of Strategic Services, a worldwide security company. Anybody object to them helping out?”

There was a positive rumble at both ends.

“There’s a stenographer in New York who is transcribing our conversation and will issue notes on our discussions from time to time, so we won’t forget anything. Since the killings started in New York, I’ll ask Lieutenant Greg Martin to give us a summary of what has been learned there, then we’ll hear from the LAPD team. Greg?”

“Thanks, Commissioner,” Greg said. “We’ve had four homicides on the Upper East Side of New York, all fitting a pattern: the victims were all young women of small stature and slim build, with blond hair, all very pretty. They appear to have been taken from their neighborhoods to what the killers believe is a secure location, stripped, beaten severely, and raped. They were then killed by suffocation or strangulation, and their bodies were bathed, their bodily cavities irrigated, and their personal makeup applied to their faces. Their clothing was laundered. Then they were dressed again, placed in a large plastic garbage bag, and dumped in municipal trash bins. All were discovered on garbage trucks, except for one, who was found when her body was dumped at a municipal facility. In some cases, identification was found on the bodies, in others they were identified by fingerprints, DNA testing, or photo ID means. No evidence of any kind relating to their killers was found on them. That’s all we’ve got.”

“Thanks, Greg,” Dino said. “Moldy? Give us your rundown.”

Moldy read from notes. “The subject was found on the back lot of a movie studio, where Commissioner Bacchetti, Mr. Barrington, and Mrs. Bacchetti were attending a social event in connection with a board and stockholder meeting of Centurion Studios. She had been dumped in a lake that’s shaped to resemble a river, a lake on studio property, where two other bodies have been found in the past five years. There’s fairly easy access from a road. Her appearance was similar to the New York victims: small, pretty, and slight of build, with blond hair. And her corpse had been treated in much the same way as the New York victims. No DNA, traces of fibers, or other evidence of the killers were found on her body. She was identified from her driver’s license, found in a small purse, tucked into her vagina. She had a Third Street address, in Santa Monica, and she was killed on the same night as the fourth victim in New York. That’s it.”

“All right,” Dino said. “I believe we can say without contradiction that there is more than one killer involved, on more than one coast, and that they are working in league with each other. Their motives are unknown, unless we believe it possible that the killers may have a motive to embarrass Stone Barrington or me, or both, which seems unlikely in the extreme. Am I missing anything?”

Moldy spoke up, directing his voice toward the phone. “Greg, what have you learned about the employment of your victims?”

“One was a copilot for a charter airline, new to the job, two were secretaries or office workers, the last was an actress, working mostly in TV commercials. There appears to be no employment connection among them. How about yours?”

“She is an actress who may have visited Centurion Studios in pursuit of her career, but we have not been able to ascertain who, if anyone, she saw here. She had no appointments at the studio.”

“Greg,” Dino said, “what steps are you proposing?”

“Commissioner,” Greg replied, “we have identified two NYPD officers, one a detective, who resemble the victims in a general way in size and hair color, both very pretty. We are considering making one of them a presence on the Upper East Side over a period of days, under the strictest surveillance at all times, to see if she attracts the attention of the killers. In addition to surveillance, she will be equipped with an electronic means of signaling distress, to help keep her safe. Our detective is also extremely skilled in personal protection techniques. This plan will require a large commitment of personnel and equipment and will require your personal approval before beginning. Our supervisor and the chief of detectives have already approved the plan.”

“Then you may consider the plan approved,” Dino said. “Be very careful, but don’t waste any time. Moldy?”

“Commissioner, we continue to investigate by every means at our disposal.”

“All right,” Dino said. “Does anyone have anything else to contribute?”

“Commissioner,” Greg said, “we do not place any credence in your theory that the killers’ motive is to embarrass you. Mr. Barrington, maybe. If he’s being watched, we might identify the watcher, and if we did, that would constitute a major break in the case.”

“Stone,” Dino said. “Do you mind being surveilled in connection with this case?”

“Yes, I do, most emphatically,” Stone replied, “and I doubt very much if it would produce any leads.”

“Greg, you and your team are authorized to surveil Mr. Barrington, whether he likes it or not, starting when he lands at Teterboro on his return to New York.”

“Yes, Commissioner, when will that be?”

“Stone?” Dino asked.

“Six o’clock tomorrow evening at Jet Aviation, Teterboro,” Stone said, “but I think it’s a waste of time and manpower.”

“Objection noted,” Dino said, “and ignored.”

Stone flew his new airplane home, with Faith in the right seat. He had never flown an airplane coast-to-coast, nonstop, because he had never owned one with that much range. He landed with plenty of fuel still aboard.

As he shut down the engines at Teterboro, Fred pulled the Bentley up to the door and supervised the unloading and reloading of Stone’s and Faith’s luggage, while Dino’s people loaded his and Viv’s luggage aboard his police vehicle. They were the first to drive away, but another black SUV lurked on the sidelines.

“Mr. Barrington,” Fred said, “the policemen in that car have told me that they have orders to never let you out of their sight, except when you’re at home. What shall I tell them?”

“I’d like you to tell them to go fuck themselves,” Stone said, “but that wouldn’t help. I’m not in any danger, but Faith may very well be.” He called Faith over. “I want both of you to understand this,” he said. “You two are not to be out of sight of each other except when in your living quarters. Fred, at all other times, I want you armed and ready to intervene should anyone — and I mean anyone — approach Faith.”

“Yes, sir,” Fred replied.

“Faith?” Stone said. “Are you on board?”

“I can take care of myself,” she said. “I’ll go armed.”