They studied Bryan’s notes regarding the last three levels for the next hour, pausing only to cover up the notes and make a fuss over the kids when they got up. After a few moments, Gina shepherded the boys into the Yankee room and served them breakfast there, leaving Mallory, Gunner and Ross to work.
Level Seven featured murderers, those who in other ways are violent against neighbors, as well as suicides, and, most obscurely, those who sinned against religion through blasphemy. Each group was punished outrageously, of course, drowning in rivers of blood, boiling in the desert, or burning from a rain of fire.
“Shit,” Gunner sighed. “He’s already got that rain of fire trick down. Are we gonna have to deal with another terrified crowd?”
“Maybe he considered the crowd his Level Seven,” Ross shrugged.
“Maybe not, Mallory countered. “Maybe we’re right about Level six. Maybe he was just warming up.”
Level Eight posed another problem: it was subdivided into 10 sections focusing on different sins, but, according to the notes, these sinners were all guilty of some form of fraud: pandering to those in power, weaseling unearned blessing, or seducing with lies to gain profit. Again, punishments were symbolically appropriate, like fortune tellers having their heads twisted backwards or thieves having their bodies stolen.
Gunner whistled a long low note. “If he wants to punish all the liars, con artists, bullshitters, and weasels, this guy’s gonna haveta blow up all a’ Manhattan.”
Level Nine featured the big gun himself: this was where Lucifer was punished. He, like all others assigned this lowest depth of Hell, was judged to be guilty of treason. The punishment here was eternal remorse, not in fire, but in ice.
Mallory shook his head. “There is no way to tell what this guy is going to do next.”
Gunner nodded. “But we can’t just wait for him to make his next move—”
The phone rang. It was Tizzie. Four cars of detectives were a couple of blocks away. “The troops are here,” Mallory said. “We need to get Gina and the boys out safely.”
“You got it.” Tizzie shot back. “You said you needed something else? Name it.”
“When you get back to the office? In my top right hand drawer is a copy of the case file. In there you’ll find a Ticketmaster customer list. Behind that are the interview reports for each of them identified as witnesses.”
“What do you need us to do with them?”
“I need you to contact their jobs, check attendance records for this week.”
“All of’em? The prints on that horny divorced babe and the guy with the kids came up empty. You still want to check them out along with the rest?”
“Just to be sure. We can’t arrest all of these people, but if you can verify absence from work when the murders occurred, narrow the numbers, then we can at least bring those in for questioning.” Mallory watched Gunner remove an American Express card from his wallet, hold it up, then make a check mark with his free hand.
Mallory nodded to his partner, spoke into the phone. “How about running a check on their credit cards for, say, the last couple of months? I know I’m asking a lot—”
“Hey, this prick violated your home. You want us to frisk every guy in Manhattan, you got it.”
“Thanks, Tizz. Then with credit cards? We need to see if any odd purchases pop up. Weapons, gasoline, anything.”
“Whatever it takes. See you in a few minutes.”
Mallory thanked him again, explained the evacuation plan he had in mind. Gina would drive the kids, Gunner following in his car, Mallory in his own. As they passed, their fellow detectives would fall in line behind them, block any unknown cars from following, making sure Mallory’s family got away clean.
Gina had taken charge, packing bags of clothes, toys, pillows, and blankets, loading the mini-van in the windowless garage, so no one could see what she was doing. The fellas thought it was great to have a surprise day off from school. They leaped into the mini-van like they were going on vacation. But fear made the corners of Gina’s eyes fill, her lower lip tremble. Mallory gave her a hug, kissed her.
“I’m sorry for all of this,” he whispered. “We’ll end this as quickly as possible. With you and the fellas safe, I’ll be able to concentrate on stopping him, okay? Don’t worry.”
Gina glanced over at their sons bouncing around in the car. “Get him, Frank. Whatever it takes.”
Gina pulled out of the driveway, Mallory and Gunner were already in their cars, in the street, waiting. Ross left his car there, rode with Gunner. After the escort, Ross and he would go back to Gunner’s, where the detective could shower and get dressed. Everyone was scheduled to meet in the squad room by 10 a.m.
The plan was executed with precision, Mallory spotting no less than five unmarked detective vehicles falling in behind, then pulling over any driver who drove more than two blocks in the same direction as Gina. Mallory felt badly for the poor civilians unlucky enough to be on the road behind them, but frankly, if hassling civilians meant Gina and the boys would be out of danger, he could live with it.
When Gina pulled into the driveway of her mother’s home the only other cars moving in either direction belonged to NYPD detectives. The plan worked, his family was safe. Mallory blew Gina a kiss, drove on, not wanting to chance their guy coming around a corner and seeing him by his in-laws’ house. He looked in the rear-view mirror, saw one of the detectives pull over to keep an eye on the house. The others followed Mallory for two more blocks before circling back for a double check as they had agreed. He dialed Tizzie.
“Everything’s quiet, Mal, they got in safe,” Tizzie reported. “Sal and Johnny are taking the first shift, and we’ll keep a car by the house.”
“Thanks Tizzie, you’re really coming through here.”
“Don’t get me wrong, kid,” Tizzie chuckled. “You’re still a weirdo, but you’re our weirdo. NYPD protects its own.”
Mallory’s next call was to his partner. Upon hearing Tizzie’s latest motto, Gunner chuckled into the phone. “There’s a bumper sticker for ya. But you know what? I feel better. At least we can fall back on the squad. For the first time since this whole mess started, I feel like we’re getting back some control.”
Mallory pulled into his driveway, climbed out of the car. “Don’t jinx us.”
As he entered the house, the phone rang. He snatched it off an end table, looking at the Caller I.D. readout: his sister Maggie. “Hey Mags—”
“Frankie! It’s Daddy! He can’t catch his breath. The cab driver won’t take him in his condition. I can’t drive him alone. I can’t do it.”
Mallory ran back out of the house, hit the locks, home phone still in his hand. “What happened? Is it his arthritis?”
“He’s going to miss his surgery, Frank!”
“Surgery? What surgery? He’s going in to discuss test results—”
“He can’t breathe, Frank. It’s the cancer.”