Obsessed, p.6
Obsessed, page 6
“You okay?” I tried to keep my voice calm. Inside I was burning up. Someone punched my kid!
“Feels like the time I fell off the skateboard and landed right on my face.” He didn’t sound mad. That was Trent. He tended to go with events rather than fight them.
I sat there with him for a couple of minutes. He said he hadn’t seen the bullies until it was too late. I listened, then we both went back out to the other boys to hear the rest of the story.
As we walked into the living room, Mary Catherine said, “You haven’t heard the worst of it yet.” She turned to Ricky and said, “Tell your father what happened just before you went back to Holy Name.”
Ricky said, “The guy who punched Trent lifted his shirt. He had a pistol stuffed in his waistband.”
“What kind of pistol?”
“A black one.”
The universal, unhelpful description from people unfamiliar with guns. I was able to piece together a few more questions to get a better picture of the situation.
I looked at the boys sternly and said, “For now, stay on the school grounds. Don’t risk going down to that hoop. We’ll figure out how to fix this. Is that understood?” I was satisfied as all three boys nodded.
Chapter 21
AFTER DINNER, I was dragging and ready to turn in a little early.
Brian caught me in the hallway. He looked ready for bed too but said, “Hey, Dad, you got a second?”
“Of course.”
“Eddie told me about the trouble they’re having. I could go with them one day after work and hang out at the park where they keep seeing the bullies.”
“You’re a good big brother, Brian. And I certainly appreciate the offer. But it’s better to just stay away from the park for now. I don’t want any of you mixed up with boys who carry guns. Plus, if you did something to help your brothers, someone might try to turn it around on you. You don’t want to mess with your parole. You’ve done everything right since you got released. You got a good job. You’re even taking a class at City College. I wouldn’t want to screw that up for anything in the world.”
We didn’t often talk about Brian’s stint in prison. He knew he’d made a mistake. Trying to fit in by selling designer drugs. Making a few extra bucks. But he’d gotten swept up in the excitement. He was lucky he hadn’t been killed.
I still didn’t know if his release was directly related to influence from the mayor. The mayor had said he would help after I found his missing daughter. But the mayor of New York was not known for keeping his word. Regardless, not long after I found his daughter, I got a surprise call that Brian was being released. Now it felt like a hole in my life had been filled.
A few minutes later, I was easing my head down onto my hypoallergenic, memory foam, oversized pillow. And it felt like I was using a drug. My body instantly relaxed and started to sink into the mattress.
Mary Catherine had the thermostat turned low and the room was already dark. It was perfect. Then she slipped into the bed with me and slid close, draping her arm across my chest and resting her head on my shoulder.
She said in a low voice, “Tell me about the best part of your day.”
I said, “Our first basketball practice went really well. Fiona has some serious skills. I think her talk about a scholarship isn’t too far out of line. I also think Sister Elizabeth put some of it in her head. But I liked coaching.”
Mary Catherine squeezed me.
I turned to hold her as well. “How about your day?”
“I was doing research on fertility treatments.”
“Did you learn anything new?”
“Are you kidding me? I have about five hundred more questions since reading a few articles. I can’t believe how complex the process can be. Or how it can wreck your body.”
“I thought it was pregnancy that can wreck your body.”
“So then it’s a double wreck.” She giggled then.
I lay there and held her, feeling her steady breathing and heartbeat against my body.
She propped herself up on her elbow and looked at me. “Be honest with me. How do you feel about the prospect of another child in this home?”
I considered the question as well as the tone in which it had been asked. All I wanted was to be supportive. “I think it would be great. But I need you in my life, healthy and happy. If this treatment is dangerous, then I want us to both think about it carefully.”
“You say the sweetest things without letting me know how you really feel.”
“What can I say? It’s a tough question. But I’ll think about it seriously.”
“That’s all I can ask.”
“Would a new baby speak English or Irish?”
She laughed and punched my chest playfully.
Then we didn’t go right to sleep.
Chapter 22
I WAS UP and out of the house quickly the next day. I was going to visit one of my least favorite places: NYPD headquarters at One Police Plaza in lower Manhattan almost at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge. No working detective enjoys time at One Police Plaza.
Today I had two people to talk to inside the building: Gary Avram, my main contact in the Missing Persons Squad, and Gary’s wife, Kathy Figler, a sergeant in the juvenile unit. Kathy was used to dealing with kids who caused problems. I was hoping to get her opinion on how I should deal with the bullies bothering my boys near Holy Name.
I greeted half a dozen people as I walked through the lobby. But the place definitely lacks the camaraderie found in a regular precinct. In a neighborhood precinct, there is no question you are all in this together. Here, everyone is looking out for themselves or trying to climb the ladder.
I took the elevator to the seventh floor, then found the small squad bay that held the Missing Persons unit. Most people have no idea how many missing persons there are in the United States. And when I say most people, I’m including the police. There are so many ways a person might disappear. Most of the time there’s very little to go on with a missing person.
I found Gary Avram at his standing desk, a real anomaly inside the old-fashioned NYPD. A serious power lifter, Gary was the kind of guy who told anyone who would listen that sitting was the new smoking.
He was in his usual monogrammed, long-sleeved white shirt with a blue tie, and nodded as I approached his desk. I waited in silence while he finished whatever he was working on.
After thirty seconds, he looked up at me. “This damn crossword gets harder every week.”
Gary had a prankster streak, and I swear I didn’t know if he was joking now or not. Then he put on a serious face and said, “Sorry to hear that your daughter’s friend was found in New Rochelle. But that explains why we had zero good leads on her disappearance.”
“That’s why I’m here. I have an idea. She’s the third college student found murdered in the last two months. We considered her a missing person. Do you think there might be similar victims we’ve listed as missing persons?”
Gary didn’t hesitate to reach across his absurdly tall desk and grab three file folders. He let them drop in front of me.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“I’m big, not dense. I saw the reports from your and Hernandez’s homicides. I usually look through ECMS to see if I can clear any missing persons. I saw that both of your victims were similar. Just like Suzanne Morton. College students, beautiful, bright. These are the only three in the past two years that fully match your victims.” He added, “We haven’t done much with any of these cases. The reports are all in the files.”
“Gary, this is great. I’m impressed.”
“That means something coming from a homicide detective. I know you guys think you’ve got the toughest assignment.”
I knew some homicide detectives could be openly dismissive of other units. I just thanked him and said, “Guess who I’m visiting next?”
“You must mean my wife. But if you came to our house, you’d be visiting us. If you come to the office, you’re bothering us,” Gary teased. “Kathy and I have a strict rule never to discuss work at home. We think it would adversely affect the boys.”
“Smart.”
“Even here, during the workday, she’s Sergeant Figler and I’m Detective Avram.”
“Then I won’t tell you where I’m going from here.”
“You can mention how I’m on top of things. That would be okay.”
I laughed. Most men want to impress their spouses. I’d probably say the same thing.
Chapter 23
I TOOK THE stairs down three floors from Missing Persons to the juvenile unit. There was less risk of running into command staff on the dingy stairs that few people used. The juvenile unit was housed with a few other specialty units. They didn’t even have their own squad bay.
The juvenile unit worked at containing crime by people under eighteen. Even if some of the crimes were as horrendous as adult crimes, there were rules in place to protect the young suspects. No one really disagreed, but it made working in the unit more complicated.
I’ve always believed the best juvenile crime detectives also liked working with young people. They viewed their encounters with young offenders as opportunities for them to turn their lives around. This approach became much more important to me after my son Brian was arrested for drug dealing.
I considered Kathy Figler to be one of the best cops I knew. I was glad the NYPD was putting her talents to use in something as important as the juvenile unit.
I said hello to a couple of other detectives I knew in the unit as I navigated to the sergeant’s office in the back. You could see the turnaround for the Brooklyn Bridge and a hint of the East River from Kathy Figler’s window—a prize status symbol among the inhabitants of One Police Plaza.
The petite blond woman smiled when she saw me and got up to give me a hug.
She said, “What on earth would convince a homicide detective from Manhattan North to visit the juvenile unit at headquarters?”
“Actually, or at least officially, I had to talk to your husband about some missing persons cases.”
“Detective Avram does a great job. I hope he was able to help.”
I smiled at her deadpan response. “More than anyone has helped me in months. Or, I should say, he provided me with the most efficient help I’ve had this year.”
“I wish he showed some of that initiative around the house.”
We chatted about our families for a moment, then I explained to her the problems my boys had been having down the street from Holy Name.
Kathy listened and made notes. One thing the couple shared was their intensity and devotion to their jobs. I liked that.
“I hate hearing that one of the bullies had a gun,” she said. “Ever since the city cut out funding for the anti-crime unit, we’ve seen instances of gun crime increase. The city disbanded the unit but tells everyone to keep doing what they were doing. It’s crazy.”
“Do you have any advice or insight on what my boys should do?”
“Staying on the school grounds would be the first step. I get what you’re saying about not wanting them to be afraid to walk the streets of New York. But keeping them out of the situation is smart. I’ll ask around and see if any of our detectives have heard the same sort of complaints. Maybe we can even get a security video showing the instigators so we can try to identify them.”
“I appreciate anything you can do. My boys are a little rattled.”
“Who would’ve thought we’d long for the days when there were fistfights in the schoolyards. The anti-bullying initiatives have helped in some places, but it’s still a serious issue. Everyone is focused on cyberbullying right now.”
I said, “I guess it’s easy to bully someone over the internet when you don’t even have to show your face in person.”
“And herd mentality tends to favor the bully. Sometimes whole classes start to harass a student.”
“I don’t envy you. I’ll stick with homicide.”
Sergeant Figler said, “And we’re glad you will.”
Chapter 24
I RACED DOWN the front steps of One Police Plaza, already knowing what I was going to do. Detective Gary Avram had given me some great leads.
Conveniently, the first address he’d supplied was just on the other side of the Brooklyn Bridge. I looked at the file and saw that this girl was the right age, eighteen, but appeared to have run away from home last year.
Her mother answered the door and informed me that the young woman had sent her a text a month ago, telling her she was safe but that she never wanted contact with the family again. That was not an issue I needed to get involved in.
The second missing person’s case was in lower Manhattan. Very nice three-story walk-up. Turned out, the missing girl answered the door herself. She explained that she had fallen in love and run off with another student from Barnard but came home last week. The family was so happy, they’d forgotten to let the NYPD know. Case closed.
The third missing person’s case listed the missing person’s residence as a single-family home in Queens, a few blocks from Astoria Park. I drove out there, then sat in my car for a moment to glance at the file again. If it was another wild-goose chase, at least I’d have cleared up all three leads in one morning.
Cheryl Savage was a junior at Columbia when she disappeared last fall. She had been a stellar high school athlete, playing basketball, softball, and lacrosse. Her photo showed a tall, striking young woman with neat auburn hair and a dazzling smile.
Her roommate at Columbia had said Cheryl went out one night and she never saw her again. A single security video from her dorm showed her leaving the building, dressed in a cocktail dress. No one had any idea where she’d gone, and there had been no activity on her phone since the night she disappeared.
I felt a little sad closing the file. Although I saw it all the time, I knew it would break my heart if any of my kids disappeared. I’m not sure I could ever function properly again.
A girl about seven was sitting on the home’s steps. When she looked up, I saw a resemblance to Cheryl Savage. She had the same auburn hair, and there was something about her eyes that seemed similar to the girl in the photo.
I stood back on the sidewalk to keep from startling the little girl. I smiled and said, “Hi. I need to get past you to ring the bell. Is that okay?”
The girl’s hazel eyes took me in. She looked like she was about to say something. I never heard it.
Something crashed into me on my left side. I saw a flicker of movement just before I felt the impact.
I hit a decorative light post, which sort of spun me and made me step off the curb. The cascading effect of the surprise blow and the loss of balance almost sent me into the street in front of a delivery truck.
The truck’s tires screeched as the driver laid on his horn. In New York, the horn is the first option for all situations.
The truck skidded to a halt and I managed to jump a foot back so that the front fender missed me by an inch. I heard the driver scream something at me through the closed windows.
Finally, I looked back to see the threat. A wiry man in his mid-forties stood next to the stairs with his fists clenched. He didn’t want a fight. He wanted to kick my ass.
Chapter 25
I TURNED TO fully face the man, a little dazed as the truck pulled away slowly. The driver was still yelling curses at me from the cab of the truck. I kept my eyes on the man who’d so forcefully knocked into me. I wondered how a guy that small could generate such force.
I stepped back onto the sidewalk to the left of the man. He didn’t say a word. His eyes were fixed on me.
Then he growled, “Get away from my daughter before I take your damn head off.”
It all came into focus for me. I said, “Mr. Savage?”
He stared at me, then said, “Who are you?”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my badge. “Mike Bennett, NYPD.” Instantly, the look on the man’s face told me he realized his mistake.
He took a step toward me, but I held up my hand and he froze in place. “I’m so sorry. I just saw you talking to my daughter and I snapped. Obviously, you know my oldest daughter is missing. I’m not about to lose another one.”
I nodded and straightened up. Then I moved my shoulder to make sure everything was still in the proper socket.
His expression changed. “Are you here with new information on Cheryl?”
I shook my head. “I’m looking at some other crimes.” I hesitated to use the word homicides. I didn’t want to freak him out. “I was hoping to ask you a few questions about your daughter.”
A few minutes later, I was sitting in the living room of the home. Chuck Savage and his wife, Regina, sat across from me and answered all of my questions about Cheryl.
She was a happy girl. Didn’t have a crazy dating life. No ex-boyfriends who’d threatened her. And they had not heard one word from or about her since the September evening she disappeared last year.
Regina Savage had a melancholy tone to her voice. The sort of thing I heard from homicide victims’ families. She may not have understood exactly why I was asking these questions, but she was no idiot.
Mrs. Savage said, “You’re trying to figure out if my Cheryl is dead, aren’t you?”
I hesitated as I searched for the right words. “I have no reason to think your daughter is dead. I have another case that might, and I can’t say positively, have a victim similar to your daughter’s description. I’m trying to run down every possible lead.”
The tired-looking woman lowered her head and nodded it slightly.
As cold and calculating as it sounds, I looked at Cheryl’s disappearance as a chance to gain more information. Maybe we could use it to stop this killer from claiming more victims.
Chapter 26
JUST AS I was leaving Queens, I got a text from Bill Stanton, at the New Rochelle Police Department. He wanted to meet at the Starbucks on 145th Street near Jackie Robinson Park. I told him I’d be there in less than thirty minutes. This was not an opportunity I intended to pass up, though I wasn’t looking forward to getting the rest of the information on Suzanne Morton.
