Chapter Thirty-three
New York, the present
At 7 A.M., Bogle, Lemmon, and Polk met NYPD detectives Frank Thompson and Pete Childs, and FBI special investigator Julie Crasmore at the FBI’s lower Manhattan office. All three of the MBI agents looked badly in need of coffee, which made sense since it was only 4 A.M. Los Angeles time. Polk in particular had a ragged appearance—skin an unhealthy gray, eyes bloodshot, and thick bags giving him a basset hound look. Still, after introductions were made, hands shaken, coffees poured, seats taken around the conference table, and blueberry muffins grabbed, that didn’t stop Polk from ogling Crasmore.
“Jesus, I must be seeing things,” he said between bites of his muffin, crumbs tumbling out of his mouth. “When did the FBI start hiring knockouts?”
Crasmore, other than wrinkling her nose, ignored him and spoke directly to Bogle. “I talked with Sam Goodman last night. He’s not convinced what you have in Los Angeles is SCK. He thinks it might be a copycat.”
Bogle shrugged. “It might be a copycat, but from what I’ve been told you guys kept a tight lid on the specifics of how SCK operated.”
“That’s right,” Thompson said, gruffly.
“So if it’s a copycat, someone told him SCK’s secret, and that someone might be SCK himself.”
“What do you propose?” Crasmore asked.
“We attack this from two angles. Angle one, make a list of everyone in New York who knew SCK’s methods, and since Polk is such a charmer—”
“That I am,” Polk agreed, more blueberry muffin crumbs tumbling out of his mouth.
“He’ll interview everyone on the list, and see if any of them spread any tales they shouldn’t have,” Bogle continued. “If they did, Polk will figure it out. He’s got a certain way about him for worming out information.”
“You better believe it,” Polk said.
“No kidding. After a while, the guilty party would rather confess than spend another minute with him,” Lemmon offered.
“We all got our ways,” Polk said.
“Angle two,” Bogle continued, “is we try to figure out what happened to SCK. That means going back to his last killing and looking at all arrests and accidents from that day to three months after when you expected SCK to kill again. Not just arrests leading to five years in custody, but longer stays since SCK might’ve revealed his trade secrets to a cellmate who decided to carry on the tradition.”
“Why accidents?” Childs asked with a smirk. “You think SCK’s been in a coma for five years?”
“Who knows? Anything’s a possibility with this mess. If he was hurt badly enough, maybe he was in rehab all this time. Or he could’ve ended up in a nursing home, and confided in an orderly who was as much of a psycho as SCK. All I know is we got to do this systematically. SCK didn’t just disappear. Something happened to him five years ago.”
Crasmore thought this over. “SCK ending up in prison is probably our best bet, but you’re right, we also need to look at accidents, illnesses, and assaults that led to extended hospital stays. This is going to be a tall order, but it makes sense.” She gave Detective Thompson an apologetic smile. “Frank, you mind working with Polk on getting that list together and helping out with the interviews?”
Thompson gave Polk a sideways glance. “As long as he doesn’t get any crumbs in my car,” he grumbled.
“I can’t make any promises,” Polk said.
Crasmore pushed herself away from the table and stood up. “Let’s see if we can finally crack this damn SCK case.”