By 2:30 AM, Mallory and Gunner were back at the hotel. Uniforms were now everywhere, many more than during the previous day’s investigation. They guarded entrances, elevators, stairwells, the lobby. Mallory showed his gold shield to a bored uniform. “Who’s in charge here?”
“That would be Lieutenant Danvers.”
The partners exchanged shocked glances. Gunner smirked humorlessly, “Maybe we’re already off the case.”
“Back to walking beats.” Mallory added.
“Steady midnights.”
“Hunts Point.”
“Always in winter.”
“During a snowstorm.”
Gunner grinned. “Heaven.”
They strode quickly across the lobby.
Even at this hour, Lieutenant Danvers was dressed well but conservatively, and clean shaven Danvers turned away from the front desk, and beckoned them to follow. He led the partners down the hall of executive offices, traveling a considerable distance before speaking. “The staff is unwilling to be seen with us, and understandably so.”
Gunner seemed miffed by the comment. “Why ‘understandably so,’ Lieu?”
Instead of answering, he opened a door, revealing a room lined with filing cabinets. Paper work was the murder weapon here, a mountain of it. All of the cabinets had been emptied; papers piled four feet high in the center of the blandly tiled floor. There were overtime forms, expense reports, pay slips. It would have seemed an innocuous mess except for the well-adorned foot sticking out from beneath. The glossy black shoe was expensive, stylish. So was the black silk sock. And the tailored, sharply creased, gray pant leg.
Mallory edged around one side of the paper mountain, observing an elbow and portion of an upper arm clothed in dark blue. The angle suggested the center of the mound had been formed over the victim’s head. Gunner stepped around the other side, careful not to touch any of the evidence. After a moment, he called out, “Mal, look.”
He did. Index cards stuck out from beneath the victim’s shirt cuff. Worst of all was the hand; small, delicate, effeminate, clutching a crisp white linen cloth. Gunner paled. “This is Hanky Man.”
“Colleagues identified him as James Farley. We’ll get positive ID once Crime Scene works the room, but this was your liaison yesterday, correct?” Danvers didn’t wait for an answer; he already knew. “The presence of index cards suggests we’ve got an aggressive, competitive killer on our hands.”
Gunner looked up from the body. “Competitive, Lieu?”
Danvers shook his head sympathetically. “Sorry to say it guys, but the killer chose this man precisely because he was with you. I say competitive because this guy is speaking directly to you now, challenging you.”
Mallory pointed to the index cards peeking from the victim’s cuff. “And his challenge might be worse than it seems.”
Danvers and Gunner fell silent. The top card showed a dark Roman numeral:
IV
“If our friend here was number four, we’ve got problems. Whitfield was marked number three,” Mallory looked up at his partner and supervisor. “So, where are murders number one and two?”
Danvers shrugged. “William Hill, of course. He was your number one.”
Mallory stood up. “With all due respect Lieu, he wasn’t marked as such.”
“What do you mean?”
“The index cards found at the crime scenes here were each marked with Roman numerals. The cards at Will Hill’s crime scene were not.”
Gunner nodded. “He’s right, Lieu. No number, Roman or otherwise.”
Mallory headed for the door. “I’ve got to get a file in my car. Then I’ll show you both what I mean. While I’m gone, see if we can get Crime Scene to release the index cards.”
He returned quickly, file in hand. He showed Gunner and Danvers a page he had dog-eared. The copy was clear enough, but the handwriting was small and cramped, which made it hard to read:
I spy him sneaking away. He is a pre-level opportunist, nothing more. Hide in plain sight will he? Leave his seat as if to pursue the guilty? Clever soul. Clever soul.
“So?” Danvers asked.
“It’s right there,” Mallory urged.
The other two read the passage again, glanced at each other, shook their heads.
Mallory sighed. “We believe the writer is referring to Will, yes?” The others agreed. “Well, then, there it is; he clearly describes Will as a ‘pre-level opportunist, nothing more.’”
Danvers raised an eyebrow skeptically. “And this is significant because?”
“What if the reference to ‘pre-level’ goes with the Roman numerals? That would suggest our guy is basing his actions on some specific organizational method. It seems to me that each murder is assigned a numbered level. Will was pre-level, whatever that means, so he didn’t get a number. Whitfield was a level three, our pal Hanky Man a level four. Our guy is building to something, using a pre-existing pattern of some kind to which he keeps referring. Find the organizational model, we will be that much closer to understanding the pattern, which might help us figure out how to catch him.”
Danvers hitched his shoulders. “Any idea what organizer he’s using?”
“Not yet. But we’ve got to search the entire hotel.”
Gunner and Danvers said it together: “Why?”
“To find the bodies assigned Roman numerals one and two.”