The NEXT MORNING the headline in the New York Post reads:
5 DEAD WOMEN, 1 DEAD SHRINK, 1 DEAD COP, 2 MISSING DETECTIVES: CHATTERBOX SERIAL KILLER MOCKS TOP COPS
“Catch me if you can,” says killer.
“Killing is irresistible! Like a Lays potato chip! You can’t eat just one!
THE CHATTERBOX SERIAL KILLER: WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW NOW!
The New York Times is less sensational, but still:
SEVEN DEAD, TWO NYPD DETECTIVES MISSING:
ABDUCTION OF HOMICIDE SQUAD DETECTIVES PROMPTS STATE-WIDE MANHUNT FOR SERIAL KILLER THE CHATTERBOX
POLICE COMMISSIONER TO ISSUE STATEMENT
Thanks to me, across the country, Simon Purcell aka The Chatterbox Killer, is Headline/Breaking news; trending on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, his handsome face blowing up the internet. Just as Simon wanted. CNN, FOX News, and all the major networks are running the story non-stop, and I am on record as the official source.
Even Trump has been dislodged from the headlines.
The previous evening, to confirm my bona fides to the press, I release digital copies of the case files to all major media outlets. I’d accessed the files from my work-place desktop while sitting in an all-night internet cafe using my department issued password, which only proves Tommy Upton is not as smart as he thinks he is.
The abduction of two Homicide Squad detectives working the case makes NYPD look stupid, a fully intended consequence, I believe. Referring to him possessively as The Chatterbox, I disclose the killer’s connection to Livingstone; why Miranda had to die; Special Forces service in Iraq; the murder of Terry Lattimer to make it appear a suicide; Lattimer’s corruption; a fear Livingstone was planning to give him up. It’s an amazing story made even more so because it’s true.
✽ ✽ ✽
I sit in the Starbucks a block from Bumpers when The Chatterbox calls.
“Good work, Detective. Job well done.”
Unable to return to my apartment, I’d spent the night drifting and dozing in and out of sleep in a series of all-night coffee shops and diners.
“Quid pro quo, Simon. You owe me information.”
“Not so fast.”
For a moment, I fear he’ll renege on our agreement. “I did what you asked.” My voice sounds desperate even to me.
“And for this, I’m grateful. But I need more time.”
I’m afraid to ask For what?
“Do you have a vehicle?” he asks.
“No.”
I explain to Simon I am currently without wheels, stranded in Manhattan with no access to a vehicle. Not my personal vehicle, or the department motor pool. If I rent, my card will be flagged, my brothers in blue picking me up lickitty-split.
“Thanks to you, Simon, I’m isolated.”
Simon thinks this is hilarious.
“Use my car,” he says, clucking. “It’s a four-year-old silver Nissan Pathfinder parked in the back-alley behind Bumpers with the keys tucked behind the rear quarter-panel in a magnetic case. Better get a move on. I’ll call you in two hours, three at the most. Then we’ll see how smart a detective you really are.”
As an afterthought, he adds: “Drive, safe, Dex; don’t spoil my fun by falling asleep behind the wheel.”
Because I’m smart enough to know no one in New York City needs to own two vehicles at any one time, I have a thought. After disconnecting with The Chatterbox, I call Detective Kevin Jacobi of the New Jersey State Police yet again.
“Jesus Christ, Fortune.”
“You’ve seen the papers?”
“Who hasn’t? What were you thinking?”
“The Devil will have his due, Detective, the Devil will have his due.”
Jacobi is silent a moment as if he understands. “I’m not even sure if you’re still a cop, Fortune.”
“Neither am I. Last favor, scout’s honor.”
“Okay. What do you want?”
“Have you lifted security footage from the parking lot cameras at Livingstone’s office yet?”
“We have. We’ve reviewed the tapes beginning Tuesday morning at six a.m. through to Wednesday morning when our guys arrive on-scene.”
“And?”
Jacobi hesitates. I do not prompt, I do not beg.
“Tuesday morning, day before the murder, six a.m. Victim arrives at the office in his Bentley. He enters the building alone. You arrive forty-five minutes later, six forty-three a.m., enter the building alone. You exit the building forty-five minutes later. Your vehicle exits the lot.
“For the next eight hours vehicles come and go from the lot, but the victim’s Bentley stays put. We have confirmed he spent the entire day in the office with patients. At six-oh-three p.m., Livingstone exits the building and drives off.
“By now, the lot is pretty much vacant, only a few unattended vehicles scattered about. At seven p.m., a white panel-van enters the lot and parks at the far end. At eight-twelve p.m., the victim, Marcus Livingstone, returns in the Bentley. He enters the building alone.
“Ten minutes later a male exits the panel-van wearing a New York Yankees ball-cap pulled low over his eyes. He proceeds to the rear of the vehicle where he retrieves a black duffel. He enters the doctor’s building at eight-thirty p.m. Tuesday evening with the duffel in hand.
“At one twenty-nine a.m. Wednesday morning, seven hours later, the man in the ball-cap exits the building alone, with the duffel bag over his shoulder. He returns to the white panel-van and exits the lot.”
“Any details on the panel-van?”
“Registered to Budget Rent A Car. Picked up at the E 49th Street location in Manhattan by a male walking in off the street using a prepaid credit card under the name John Brown—how original. No wonder the terrorists are having a field day. So far, it’s all we know. We haven’t interviewed staff, or retrieved security footage yet. Your guys are helping us out with that.
“As for the panel-van, we have a vehicle with identical plates captured on traffic cam exiting the State of New Jersey through the Lincoln Tunnel and heading into Manhattan at two thirty-eight a.m. Wednesday morning.”
“Jersey to New York City?”
“Yes. At twelve-eighteen Wednesday afternoon the same van is seen on cam re-entering New Jersey from New York City via the same route: Lincoln Tunnel. The van travels north on I95 to The Garden State Parkway. Just over an hour later, at one-forty p.m. Wednesday afternoon, the van dog-legs back into New York State still heading north. We have a request into your own State Police for their traffic-cam footage. We haven’t heard back.”
“Thanks, Detective, this has been helpful.”
“I’m happy to be helpful, Detective Fortune, but how ‘bout some quid pro quo, here. I know, for you, having your people back safely is priority number one, I get it. But I still need to catch a killer. Sharing with me now might be the best way to achieve both our objectives. I have a feeling you’re not telling me everything you know. What do you say?”
“Thanks, Detective, but right now getting my people back is my only priority.”
Saying this, I disconnect.