CHAPTER 41
9:05 a.m., Wednesday, May 3
STRANGLER HAS A CHEATING HEART!
By Harry Cohen
NEW YORK CITY – Undisclosed sources revealed that NYC detectives are searching for a religious zealot as the chief suspect in the four unsolved strangling murders recently committed here in Manhattan. Despite being told by the man in charge of the investigation, Detective First Grade, Matt Davis, that the department had no real leads, this reporter has learned that each of the victims has been found raped and strangled. And, in each instance, a small heart has been carved on the victim’s left breast.
Sources reveal that within each of the hearts has been found two sets of initials – one set matching those of the victim, the other reading “J.C.” Each of the victims, it has been noted, has been involved in some kind of affair…
The headline on the front page of The Post screamed a warning at Davis as loud as any police siren. Matt studied the article, and wondered how in the hell the veteran reporter had found out what he, himself, had tried so hard to contain. Had it been the ME’s office that had leaked the information? He doubted it. He couldn’t believe that Ahearn would let him down. So, how did Cohen find out?
Matt knew it was a waste of time to confront the Post reporter. He would merely claim First Amendment privileges, and then threaten to sue if Davis persisted. No, he thought, that wouldn’t do any good at all. Well, Cohen could just wait in line at the next DCPI press conference. Let him try to get anything meaningful out of Deputy Commissioner for Public Information, Gil Clancy. It would be like trying to get a straight answer from Professor Irwin Corey, the double talk specialist.
“Chris, Martini, Valdez. In my office, right now!” commanded Davis. Almost as an afterthought, he added, “You, too, Wolinski.”
“What’s up Matt?” asked Freitag, as he filed past his boss and into the detective’s office.
“Good morning, Matt,” said Valdez. She smiled warmly as she passed by him.
“Mornin’,” muttered Martini. His white shirt bore a large grease stain that threatened to overshadow the garish purple flowers on his tie. Wolinski shambled past without a salutation.
Matt had scribbled several bits of information on the large blackboard, which hung on the north wall of his office. “Everybody take a seat,” he said. He crossed the room and closed and locked the door to his office.
“I feel like I’m back in high school,” whispered Martini to Valdez, who just ignored him. Wolinski appeared to fall asleep almost as soon as his ass hit the chair, prompting Matt to frown in mild disapproval. He thought of waking him, and then decided against it. Let the poor bastard sleep. If I were his age and still on the job, I’d probably want to sleep, too.
Matt walked to the blackboard, turned his back to it, and propped one foot behind him against the already-filthy wall. He looked at his three colleagues and took a deep breath. He hadn’t slept well last night, and the events of the previous evening were still fresh in his mind; especially disturbing, however, was this morning’s headline. He held up a copy of the Post for everyone to see, like a social studies teacher holding up current events’ article for his class. He pointed to the headline, which was spelled out in 60-point bold face type.
“Everybody get a look at this, this morning?”
Three of the seated detectives nodded their heads; Wolinski just snored.
“Well, what are we going to do about it?” he asked rhetorically.
Silence.
“Anybody have any idea how that bastard Cohen got this story? Anybody?”
Davis stared at Martini. “Don’t look at me,” answered the disheveled detective. “I didn’t tell that bum anything.” It was obvious he was sincere.
“Valdez?” he asked.
“Sorry, boss. I don’t even know the guy,” she said.
“Chris, I’m sure it wasn’t you, right?”
“Right,” answered his partner.
“Alright,” said Davis. “I guess it doesn’t matter how he got it. But, he got it somehow, and there’s not a damn thing we can do about it. Just make sure he doesn’t get anything else. For God’s sake, be careful. We can’t afford anymore leaks.”
“Now we’ll have to watch out for copycats,” said Martini.
“God forbid,” muttered Freitag. “That’s all we need.”
“Anyway, let’s concentrate on what we have so far,” said Matt. “And, let’s see if we can’t get something going on this case.”
He turned towards the blackboard, on which he had written the names of the first three victims: Simpson, Spiros, and McKenzie. Next to the names, he had drawn several vertical columns. At the top of the columns were the words: LOCATION, PHYSICAL EVIDENCE, TIME OF DAY, and SUSPECTS.
He now added to the list of victims, the name Linda Vogel, then turned back to the others.
“Okay, so let’s see what we’ve got.” said Matt. “Location? All four victims lived within the One-O,” he said.
“Time? All four appear to have been murdered in the evening,”
“So, that leaves physical evidence and suspects. Well, we don’t have any suspects so far, but we’ve got plenty of evidence.” Matt pointed to the column in question.
“Each victim was found with a heart carved on her breast. Each heart had two sets of initials in it. So, what does that tell us?”
Martini raised his hand.
“Yes, Martini?”
“Well, I guess it tells us that the same guy did each one,” he said.
“But, do we really know for sure it was the same guy?” asked Davis. “I mean, we assume it was the same guy. For that matter, we assume it was a guy. But, do we really know if either assumption is correct?”
“Well, there was semen present on the first three,” offered Valdez. “So we know they were done by a guy.”
“How about this one?” asked Martini. “Any semen?”
“We think so,” answered Matt. “We’ll know for sure, later today.”
“What about a bible?” inquired Valdez. “We had bibles at the first three scenes. Anybody turn up a bible here?”
“Nope,” said Matt. “No bible.”
“That reminds me,” said Valdez. “I forgot to tell you. I checked out those other bibles with Father Richter. They’re generic New Testaments, published by a religious outfit in the Midwest. They sell to everybody and anybody, including St. Jude. In fact, they had a stack of them in the rectory.”
Davis filed that little bit of information in the back of his mind.
“What else have we got?” he asked.
The room grew quiet and remained that way for several minutes.
Freitag broke the silence. “Maybe we’ve got a copy cat?”
“But how could we?” asked Davis. “Up until now, nobody even knew about the hearts, much less the bibles. No, I don’t buy it. Maybe the guy just ran out of bibles.”
Again, nobody said a word.
“Okay, let’s see,” said Davis. “What do we know about opportunity?”
He answered his own question. “Nothin—”
“But,” said Freitag, “we do know for sure that they either know this guy—”
“Or they don’t know him—” said Davis. He was extremely animated. “But, they’re expecting him—and—he knows them!”
“You mean like maybe he calls them first?” asked Martini. “Like he’s selling something or—”
“Exactly!” answered Davis. “Maybe he’s some kind of salesman.”
“That would explain how he gets in so easy,” offered Valdez. “He’s probably got a real good line of bullshit.”
“Okay, I want everybody on this,” shouted Davis. “Martini, I want you and Sleeping Beauty to re-canvas Simpson’s neighborhood. Find out if anybody there remembers any salesman around the time of the murder.”
“Right,” answered Frank. He jabbed his elbow into Wolinski’s ribcage, rousing the elder detective from his sleep.
“Valdez. Check out the area around the Spiros’ apartment.”
“Will do,” said Valdez.
“Chris, you and I will go back to the McKenzie block. Then we’ll nose around Vogel’s place.”
Freitag smiled, and began gathering up his things.
“Okay, everybody, that’s it! Let’s get moving,” said Matt.
In less than thirty seconds the office was empty.
The next morning forensics called and told Matt that, indeed, a bible had been found. It was wedged between two of the cushions on the couch, and had apparently been overlooked during the original search. Davis thanked the technician and hung up the phone.
“Thank God,” he muttered to no one in particular. “I don’t think I could take a copycat.”