Chapter 11

Matthew proudly started by explaining the answer to each of the fifteen cryptic clues and how the answer fitted each clue. Jack couldn’t care how the answer fitted, but he didn’t want to burst the kid’s bubble.

Matthew explained that when he placed all the answers into a sentence, or even jumbled them up, they failed to make an intelligible sentence. So it caused him to re-examine what relevance the answers had, and how they fitted into the cipher.

He went on to explain that it was then that he noticed two small dots on only two of the clues—being clue two and clue ten, assuming at first they were printing, or typographical errors.

He used his pen to indicate the dots to the Detectives, who both leaned forward and squinted to focus on the small dots.

Matt continued to mention that he then noticed a minus sign on clue nine. After further thought, he realized it wasn’t the answers to the cryptic clues he needed, but the number of letters in each answer.

These would form Latitude and longitude coordinates. Matt then wrote down the number of letters from each clue to show the Detectives how he worked out the co-ordinates.

“44.695648 -73.991193”

Jack and Spence sat in stunned silence. They were miles behind the excited Matthew as he continued with his demonstration.

‘So you were able to work out those coordinates from the answers to the cryptic clues…?’ Jack confirmed.

Matt nodded. ‘That’s correct.’ Jack shook his suitably impressed head.

Matt then brought up the Latitude and longitude finder website on the laptop and entered in the coordinates. He then turned the laptop screen towards the Detectives.

The website showed a Google Maps satellite view of the Brooklyn Heights Library. Matt proudly grinned as he made eye contact with his students.

Even by this early stage of the demonstration, Jack counted his lucky stars this kid came along. Based on what he had seen so far, it reassured him there was no way he would have been able to do what Matt had done; even just to work out the coordinates.

Jack and Spence exchanged sideways glances of amazement at how Matt’s mind worked. Not even their intelligence boys got this far.

‘Do you know the relevance of the Library coordinates?’ Spence asked.

‘I do now,’ Matt said. ’I couldn’t work out why he would give coordinates to a library. Was it where the body would be dumped…? No, that didn’t make sense. Then I remembered the quote from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.’

’Wait… How did you know that was a Sir Arthur Conan Doyle quote?’ Jack asked.

’I’m a huge Sherlock Holmes fan… I have every Sherlock Holmes novel he wrote, and I recognized the quote was from the Valley of Fear.’

Jack’s eyes flicked to Spence. ‘Of course you did.’ Jack’s tone was riddled with sarcasm. Matt was too excited to notice.

Matt continued with his proud demonstration. He explained how he drew a nexus between the literary quote, the coordinates for a Library and the book that the literary quote was from –The Valley of Fear.

Matt deduced that the Killer was providing a clue to attend at the Brooklyn Heights Library and locate a copy of The Valley of Fear —the book the quote came from — in readiness for the next phase of the code.

‘Did you go to the library last night?’ Spence asked.

‘No I didn’t have to… I had a copy of the book in my room.’

All this concentrating was taxing on the sleep-deprived Detectives. Jack’s body demanded his overdue sleep. His eyes had narrowed to form thin slits. Both Detectives now sat with their heads firmly resting on a hand.

Matt continued with his demonstration. His speech started to quicken with excitement, as he continued with his explanation.

‘I thought to myself, Library… Book… What type of code would be the most suitable in these circumstances…? Book Code.’ Matt said.

Matt deduced from his analysis thus far that the killer was providing clues to the police, directing them to the library to locate the Sherlock Holmes novel. And by using Book Code, Matt was able to decipher the answers from the number strings.

’Did you know there is a cipher code that is actually called “Book Code?”,’ Matt asked his captive audience.

Jack’s weary eyes met Spence’s. His mouth inverted and he shook his head. He realized this was way too involved for him to have ever come close to solving.

‘Book Code…?’ Jack repeated with a frown. ‘How do you kno-’ Jack cut himself off. He waved the back of his hand at Matt. ‘Doesn’t matter… Keep going,’ he said.

‘The next part is quite simple really,’ Matthew said. ‘Let’s look at the first row of numbers in the letter.’ Matt underlined the top row of numbers that were listed in his copy of the letter.

“0416040100051201061506009010501070406004150900608050”

’If you look at the numbers it looks like a string of random numbers right…?

‘Right…?’ Jack said.

‘Wrong,’ Matt said. Jack raised an eyebrow to Spence. Spence grinned.

‘There’s nothing random about them at all,’ Matt continued. ’At first glance all the numbers look italicized, but on closer inspection, you will note that a number of zeros are not italicized.’

Matt underlined the first six numbers “041604”. He then pointed to the next zero, the seventh number in from the left, and indicated how it was not in italics. ‘This zero indicates a spacer number between the actual numbers that make up the word.’

‘How do you know this shit?’ Jack asked. His question was rhetorical.

Smiling proudly and without skipping a beat, Matt continued. ‘So this first group of numbers, “041604” is the first clue in the book code. OK. So this is how the book code works,’ Matt said to his captive audience, who despite their fatigued appearances, were actually intrigued by his demonstration and knowledge.

‘The first set of numbers, the “04”,’ he said highlighting the numbers by circling them with his pen, ’is the clue to the page number. ‘The next set of numbers, “16”’,’ Matt circled this number, so the Detectives knew exactly what he referred to, ‘is the clue to the line you need to go to on page 04, and the last set of numbers – “04”.’ He drew a circle, is the 4th word on line 04. Does that make sense…?’ His eyes lifted to Jack and Spence.

‘Sort of, yeah,’ Jack said, but in reality he was confused as hell.

‘OK. Why don’t I show you,’ Matt continued. ‘Let’s open the book.’ He lifted The Valley of Fear from the table. ‘First we turn to page 04,’ he said. ‘Why page four…?’ he asked rhetorically. ‘Because that is the first set of numbers in the book code,’ he indicated to the first two numbers in the string with his pen.

Matt quickly flicked through to page four. ‘OK… Once at page four, we count down sixteen lines.’ He pointed to the 3rd and 4th numbers in the number string.

Counting out aloud Matt counted down to line sixteen. ‘Next clue…’ He indicated the 5th and 6th numbers in the string, ‘is to count four words in from the left, which is indicated by the “04” in the number string.’ Matt again indicated the “04” with his pen.

‘One – two…’ Matt commenced to count. ’Three – four… And there you have solved your first word in the cipher… ”Lieutenant”. Lieutenant is the 1st word in the sentence.’

Jack had never seen anything like this. Both Detectives simultaneously sat back in their chairs in an unintentional synchronized movement.

‘No wonder we couldn’t work this shit out,’ Jack said. Spence just shook his head.

‘This is really a basic code…’ Matt said. ‘Once I was able to identify the code, the rest was easy.’

‘Basic code…?’ Jack’s eyebrows arched. ‘Don’t sell yourself short Matt,’ Jack said. ‘No one else has been able to break it.’

Jack couldn’t work out who he was more impressed with at this time; the sick individual who created the cipher, or Matt for being able to break it.

‘Does it make sense so far…?’ Matt asked.

‘Yeah, sort of,’ Jack said.

‘Pretty much,’ Spence added, albeit unconvincing.

‘Seriously though, it is really a basic style of code. But what makes it tough, is working out the type of book code used in the cipher.’ Matt decided to continue with his demonstration.

‘OK… I’ll do another one for you. So after “041604” – the first six numbers in the string — is the zero separator.’ He indicated the non-italicized zero with his pen, then placed a vertical line through it.

’So, you disregard this zero number and look at the next series of numbers. In this case they are “1000512”… You know what the string is because the numbers are all italicized. The next zero separator isn’t.’

Matt indicated the zero, which was the 15th number along the string, and drew a vertical line through it. ‘With me so far…?’ Matt lifted his eyes to his captivated audience. Both men nodded once in response.

‘OK.’ Matt smiled as he continued. ‘Remember the page number is the first few numbers in the string… In this case, the page is 100.’ He flicked through the pages.

‘The line the clue is directing us to is line five.’ Matt counted down the five lines. ‘And then twelve words in.’ He counted across the page. ’And voila… The next word in the code is “in”,’ Mathew declared proudly. He sat back in his chair glancing at the amazed Detectives.

‘So you went through every one of these number strings like this, and you ended up with a sentence… some sort of message?’ Jack asked.

‘Correct.’

‘Unbelievable.’ Jack shook his impressed head. ‘Truly unbelievable. Can I try one?’ Jack asked.

‘Sure. You do the next word.’

Jack studied the string of numbers looking for the zero separator. When he found it he underlined the numbers, “1061506”. ′OK,’ he said thinking it through. ‘Now, I go to page 106…’ Jack flicked through the pages of the book. ‘Count down fifteen lines…’ he counted, as he spoke. ‘And count in six words …Four. Five. Six…’ He paused to examine the 6th word in the sentence. ‘Two,’ he read.

Jack’s arching eyebrows sought Matt’s confirmation. Matthew nodded his smiling confirmation. ‘So, the next word is “Two”,’ Jack announced. He was quietly pleased with his efforts. Jack glanced at Spence who just smiled and shook his head.

‘You got it,’ Matt said. ‘I won’t go through them all here and now, unless you want me to, but-’

Jack raised a hand to Matt. ‘No. That won’t be necessary. We got it.’

Matt smiled at Jack. ‘OK,’ Matt said before continuing with his explanation. ‘So, using that method of code breaking, the sentence that I was able to decode was…’ he lifted his notes from the desk, then read,

“Lieutenant in two days time you will find the body of another dead woman a lady of the night at 40.704301-73.989686 she will have been murdered neck broken lying under bushy trees. Now you know my secret Stop me if you can Good luck Gentlemen”

Jack’s eyes widened. He looked to Spence who shared a similar expression.

Matthew continued, ‘Oh, I forgot to mention that I noticed some of the numbers in the string were coordinates,’ he said. ‘The dots and the minus sign in the 3rd and 4th row of the number string clearly had to relate to coordinates.’ He pointed them out in the letter with his pen.

‘Clearly,’ Jack said. He was of course, sarcastic.

Matt turned the laptop to face himself and typed the coordinates from the number string into the same website as before, to demonstrate they were as he had adduced.

The website brought up a satellite view of Brooklyn. The indicator marker was at the “Brooklyn Bridge Park – Main Stree.t”

Matt turned the laptop to face the Detectives, so they could see the screen.

‘Ah…’ Jack scratched at the stubble on his chin. ’So that’s how you knew the body would be at that location.’ He nodded his understanding. It was all coming together for him. ‘You are one clever lad,’ Jack said.

Following the demonstration, Jack and Spence escorted Matt to the Homicide Bull Pen where a detailed statement was compiled by one of Jack’s crew.

Chapter 12

Jack opened his eyes. He scanned his surrounds while he tried to gather his bearings. He rolled onto his side and squinted at the bright red square numbers of his bedside clock, glowing against the blackened night.

‘Seven Pee Em,’ he grunted to himself.

He flopped onto his back with an arm lying across forehead, as he stared up at the ceiling.

Although the room was darkened, the open blinds allowed the lights radiating from the street and buildings below, to softly illuminate his second story bedroom, giving off a calm, comforting ambiance about the room.

His afternoon siesta was the first time in months Jack had slept restfully, and it felt great. No sudden waking from powerfully vivid nightmares. No consuming three quarters of a bottle of bourbon, in the hope it would have a sedative affect.

No lying awake for hours, tossing and turning, watching hour-by-hour tick by, as the thoughts of this sadistic killer bounced around inside his head.

The decision to call it quits just after Matt’s demonstration, and head home for some long, overdue sleep, had well and truly paid off.

Jack had just woken from six of the most restful hours sleep he had had in a very long time, and he was not expected back at work until 8am tomorrow. He had young Matt to thank for that.

Staring peacefully at the ceiling and feeling relaxed, the rest of his body started to awaken. His hunger pangs started to remind him that he hadn’t eaten anything substantial since dinner last night, and that was only a greasy pizza. Time to eat.

---

Jack wiped his hand across the stream-covered bathroom mirror. He glanced at the freshly showered image in the smeared reflection.

He grinned when he remembered how his ex-wife used to complain about how wiping the mirror with his hand smeared hand marks on the mirror and when it dried, it created more house work for her. It was her pet hate. Well, that and standing too close to the mirror when he flossed.

He grinned to himself as he wiped the rest of the mirror clean with a hand, in a belated act of defiance. Well this ain’t her bathroom.

But it could have been; it should’ve been. Up until seven years ago, Jack was married to Caitlyn, his wife of twenty-eight years. They were the perfect couple; inseparable and incomplete without the other, or at least that’s what Jack always believed.

They have two boys, Daniel and Max and life was great. Unfortunately, the life of a career cop, particularly one working in Homicide, was not without its challenges. Jack learned the hard way that dedication came at a cost.

At some point in time everything that was important to Jack, simply evaporated.

Although living with his wife and two sons, Jack had effectively become estranged from his family through his dedication to his work.

Years of always being too busy and missing family Christmas mornings, the feeble apologies for the forgotten anniversaries and birthdays, and missing both his boys’ graduations because of a case he worked on, had finally taken its toll on his family.

It wasn’t until Caitlyn packed up their two sons and moved upstate, seven years ago, that reality hit home for Jack.

When it came to catching crooks and solving major crimes, he was a front runner in his field, but as for being a supportive and loving husband and father, he trailed a very long last.

Sadly for Jack, his memories of the good times with his boys were extremely limited. He couldn’t remember sharing any of their accomplishments.

He had no idea who his boys’ school friends were. He never had the time to teach his boys to fish, or throw a ball, or ride a bike. He never took them to a ball game, all because he was always “too busy” with his work.

Jack hadn’t been a part of their lives since they moved, but seven years on, and despite being divorced for five years, Jack still carried a picture of Caitlyn and the boys in his wallet. Max and Dan were now a lot older than the treasured photograph depicted, but that was just how he remembered them; his little boys.

Caitlyn remained the love of his life and his boys were still the best thing that ever happened to him. He just never took the time to appreciate them while he could.

---

After wiping the corner of his mouth with his serviette, Jack emptied the remainder of his glass of red, to wash down the last mouthful of his dinner. He replaced his glass and sat back in his chair at his usual ‘table for one’, patting his satiated stomach.

He casually glanced around the restaurant watching the customers seated around him, as they too chose to eat at his favorite diner. Singles, couples, small families, large families, the restaurant had them all tonight.

Like most cops, Jack was a people watcher. Whenever opportunity allowed, he would often sit and watch the actions and reactions of people in their everyday lives.

Sometimes it brought him amusement, sometimes it helped develop his understanding of human psychology and the human psyche.

As he glanced around the restaurant he hadn’t realized until now, just how acoustically challenged it was in there. Maybe it was because he was well rested, compared to other visits. Maybe it was unusually louder than normal this evening, but whatever the reason, tonight the restaurant’s acoustics were not complimentary.

The repeated sound of cutlery clanging on porcelain, and the muffled, indiscernible conversation merging into a continuous humming sound was, for some reason, annoying Jack. It grated on his nerves and he could feel the tension starting to build behind his eyes. It was time to get the check and head over to Rosie’s for a few well-earned night caps.

---

Rosie’s seemed unusually quiet when Jack arrived. At quick glance there were only ten to fifteen patrons in the entire bar, well below the 100 or so twenty-somethings that regularly frequented the premises.

He noticed that, with the exception of two males seated at the bar, most of the other patrons gathered at his end of the room. It was so quiet in fact, that only Rosie and two other girls were serving the drinks. The four other girls must’ve been sent home.

Jack sat in his customary seat at the end of the bar, farthest from the door, back to the wall, facing the street.

His first four drinks of the night were all shots. As quick as Rosie poured them, Jack raised the shot glass, emptied it and returned it to the bar.

Because it was quiet, Rosie spent most of her time leaning on the bar chatting with Jack and keeping his glass filled.

Jack noticed Rosie paying particular attention to the two males with shaved heads seated up the opposite end of the bar to Jack. They were there when Jack arrived. He quickly identified them as being ex-cons.

The Nazi swastika tattoos on their necks and face, as well as those integrated among the excessive splattering of tattoos that covered visible skin on their arms and hands, suggested they could possibly belong to a white supremacy group.

But more importantly, when both men sneered at him when he walked into the bar, Jack noticed they each had a single tear drop on the cheek under their right eye.

That teardrop tattoo was a traditional prison tattoo that indicated the death of someone while the wearer was in prison. It can be worn as a ‘badge of honor’ to show all that they had taken someone’s life, or that they had lost someone they cared about while in jail. Either way, Jack knew these guys spelled trouble.

Rosie glanced over a shoulder to the two men.

Jack lifted his chin to the men. ‘They giving you trouble?’

Rosie shifted her focus back to Jack. ’No they’re fine…at the moment. They’re just pigs…. I think they’re the reason we’re quiet tonight though.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Whenever any females came in, even if they were a couple together, they made lewd comments, disgusting comments to the women. They’re pretty intimidating… The customers just decided to leave.’

‘Do you want me to talk to them?’

‘No.’ Rosie placed her hand on Jack’s forearm and firmly shook her head. ‘No. I’m managing it at the moment.’ She indicated the weight of patrons down Jack’s end of the bar. ‘I’ve been subtly directing any female patrons to this end of the room, away from them.’

’I’ll just call a black and white to get rid of ‘em,’ Jack said.

‘No Jack.’ Rosie was stern. ‘You don’t understand. I can’t have cops running in and out of my bar. It ruins business. People will label my bar as a trouble spot and go elsewhere.’

Jack could see Rosie was concerned, but there was something about the way this petite beauty kept composed and in charge that impressed him, if not even excited him a little.

He watched Rosie while she leaned her elbows on the bar, glancing over a shoulder to monitor the two offensive male patrons. As she turned back to face Jack, she caught him staring at her.

‘What?’ She said with a suspicious grin, her eyebrows raised in curiosity.

‘How come you never married, Rosie?’ Jack asked. His alcohol-fueled inhibitions had started to relax. ‘You’re a beautiful woman. Intelligent and obviously very successful… What’s the story?’ He asked, then emptied a shot.

Rosie lifted the bottle and refilled his glass. She replaced the bottle and looked Jack straight in the eyes. In her sexiest voice she said, ‘Coz you haven’t asked me yet, Jack.’ She flashed him a cute little wink.

Jack grinned as he raised his glass to Rosie, then emptied it.

He enjoyed his one-on-one time with Rosie. It was the most relaxed he had been with her in a long time. Problem was, he was the only one drinking.

Occasionally Rosie was called to serve, if the other girls were busy, but for the most, Rosie spent her time leaning on the bar next to him, chatting freely.

Throughout the night Jack kept an eye on the two ex-cons at the opposite end of the bar. He noted at times they were looking at him. Their actions suggested they were talking about him. Jack’s radar honed in on the bad vibes emanating from these two.

Later in the evening, both men stood from their stools. One of them rummaged through his pocket and dumped some crumpled up bills onto the bar, before they made their way towards the exit door.

Without being too obvious, Jack monitored them, as he sipped his drink. He noted that both men were over six feet tall, probably six-two, and solidly built.

The muscle definition of their exposed shoulders and arms suggested they both worked out in a gym, probably when they were inside. Their heads were shaved and all visible skin was used as a canvas for tattoos of all sizes.

Jack noticed that one of the males had the words “skin head” tattooed across his forehead, just above his eye brows, in quarter inch letters. This reassured his concerns that they were probably white supremacists.

The two men paused at the door and after a brief discussion, they both turned and moved towards Jack. He knew they weren’t coming over to check the football scores, and with the wall behind him, he had only one way out – forwards.

He avoided making eye contact with them as they approached. Instead, he opted to focus straight down the bar at Rosie, as he casually moved any glass objects – ash trays, glasses, bottles etc., to his right, and out of their reach.

Standing an imposing six feet eight inches, and around two hundred and sixty pounds, Jack was more than capable of handling himself in any physical confrontation, of which he’d had many.

He was an old school copper with a short temper and he hated crooks, especially those who tried to take him on.

Back in the day, when it came to crooks, he’d rather a fight than a feed, but now he was nudging into his early fifties, he tended to choose his battles more carefully, unless they came to him. And these two were coming to him.

The two men approached Jack and leaned onto the corner of the bar, next to Jack. They glared at Jack without saying a word. They were certainly intimidating, to say the least.

Jack’s experience with the criminal element had taught him that silence was a good thing, in situations such as these. It gave him the chance to assess what their agenda was, when they spoke first.

He could assess their aggression, or intentions by what they said and how they said it. He didn’t have to wait long to find out their intentions.

Chapter 13

The man closest to Jack, the one with the “skin head” tattoo on his forehead, spoke first. ‘We were leaving coz we can’t stand to drink in the same bar as fuckin’ animals – you know, pigs and dogs… And you’re fuckin’ both.’

It was now clear to Jack. They were cop haters, out for trouble.

‘OK… Enjoy your night then.’ Jack avoided direct eye contact, but his peripheral vision worked overtime.

’Then we thought… Why the fuck should we leave,’ the first man said, looking to his colleague for support.

‘We were here first…’ the second man chimed in.

‘So YOU can fuck off… Ya Pig dog.’ The first man punctuated his comments by slamming his palm onto the bar. A loud slap sound bounced around the unusually quiet bar.

Rosie monitored what was happening from the middle of the bar. When she heard the commotion and language, she yelled out to the aggressors.

‘Hey guys… That’s enough gentleman… Come on… Time to go…or I’ll have to call 9-1-1.’

The second of the trouble makers took a step towards Rosie and jabbed a threatening finger at her. His face distorted as he aggressively yelled back at Rosie. ‘You shut your fuckin’ mouth bitch, or after we’ve fixed this cunt up, I’ll jump this fuckin’ bar and ass fuck you – make you squeal like a pig.’

Jack was incensed by the comments directed towards Rosie. He yelled at the aggressor in Rosie’s defense. ‘Hey arsehole…’

He moved to stand up from his seat. His problem was, he let his emotions cloud his judgement and rational thinking. And in turn, he momentarily exposed himself. He lowered his defenses.

Before he could move from his seat, the closet aggressor, who stood over the seated Jack at the time, struck Jack with a powerful single downward punch to Jack’s left cheek area.

The force of the blow snapped Jack’s head to his right and knocked his body in the same direction, to a position where he leaned on the bar.

He rested his head on his right forearm. The blow was forceful and momentarily stunned Jack. But he had taken better punches than that over his time and still kept going. In fact, the blow was more of a wakeup call for him to switch his survival mode back on. All they did was poke the bear.

Jack remained leaning on his arm. The punch stung, but he was fine. He was waiting to see his attacker’s next move.

‘Get up ya fuckin’ pussy. I’ve only just begun with you…’ the first aggressor said. He wrongly assumed Jack was beaten.

‘I don’t want any trouble guys,’ Jack said, to lull them into a false sense of security and make them think he was a soft target.

‘Well you got it, Pig,’ the closest aggressor said. ‘We haven’t even started with you yet.’ The man took a step closer to Jack and forcefully shoved Jack’s shoulder.

That was Jack’s cue. By leaning into Jack, his attacker was now exposed. Jack used his powerful legs to drive himself up from his seat. At the same time his large sledge hammer fist delivered a fast and powerful upper cut punch, catching the ex-con under the point of his chin. The man didn’t see it coming and was out on his feet.

An ear-piercing crack rang out through the bar. The aggressor’s head snapped back and his eyes rolled in his head. The man dropped back like a felled tree. His limp body bounced on impact with the floor and sent a muffled thud across the room.

Jack turned his focus to the second aggressor. Before the man could move, Jack snapped out his large hand with the speed of a striking rattlesnake, grabbing the man tightly around his throat.

His large fingers wrapped around the man’s trachea and squeezed hard. Jack could feel the cartilaginous tube collapsing under the force of his hand.

Gagging and gasping, the attacker tried to release Jack’s vice-like grip. He used both hands to try and free Jack’s iron grip, as he feebly tried to draw breath.

While still firmly holding the throat, Jack jabbed out a short, punch to the man’s nose. The punch stunned the second aggressor. The blood splatter suggested a break. Jack then forcefully pushed the attacker backwards, to move the man’s center of gravity off balance.

This caused the man to stumble backwards and career into one of the elevated bar tables, bolted to the floor in the middle of the bar. The force of the impact caused the attacker to bend backwards over the table, opening up the vulnerability to the rest of his body.

Jack grabbed hold of the man’s shoulders then drove his right knee forcefully up into the man’s unprotected groin area. The strike folded the ex-con at the waist and caused the man to spew his bourbon and cokes all over the carpet, in a gush of black liquid.

Jack touched his cheek. When he removed his fingers, they were bloodied from his wound. This only served to anger him further. He glanced at Rosie who stood motionless behind the bar. Both her hands covered her mouth, and her eyes were wide with fear.

Visions of what this man said he would do to Rosie flooded back. Jack gritted his teeth. He glared at the man bent forward in obvious pain. Jack grabbed the back of the man’s head then drove his knee up into the man’s face, smashing it into the man’s nose and mouth area.

As he did so he screamed to channel his energy and strength into the strike, similar to the “Kiai” used by exponents of Karate.

Blood instantly splattered outwards from the force of this final blow. The second aggressor was out cold. His limp body collapsed straight down to the floor. It lay lifeless among his own blood and vomit.

Jack was fuming. His white-knuckled fists were by his side. His eyes were wide in rage. He breathed heavily, while he glanced down at his fallen attackers.

‘Jack… Jack. You alright…?’ Rosie’s voice was full of concern.

Jack turned to Rosie. He lifted a reassuring hand to her. ’I’m OK…’ His eyes dropped to the attacker lying at his feet.

He moved over to check the first attacker was still breathing. He sneered down with contempt at the man lying comatose on his back. Jack scoffed to himself when he noted the crook’s swollen misaligned jaw. He would be eating through a straw for a while.

As he moved to check the second attacker, four uniform police burst into the bar, in response to Rosie’s earlier 9-1-1 call. The officers ran directly towards Jack, who at that stage stood over the second attacker.

They must’ve recognized the towering frame of Jack Head still standing, not an attacker, because their run slowed to a gradual walk and then stopped.

‘You OK Jobs…?’ The first officer asked, as he looked down at the two unconscious thugs.

Jack slumped back on to a bar stool, holding a hand to his cheek. ‘Yeah, good,’ Jack said.

‘Doesn’t look like it was a fair fight, Jobs,’ the senior officer commented. ‘Two of them onto one of you,’ he continued.

‘Nothin’ I couldn’t handle,’ Jack grunted. His tone was curt. He continued to cup his cheek.

’I meant for them Jobs,’ the cop said with a cheeky smirk. ‘Only two of them trying to take you on… Not a fair fight — for them…’ he clarified, grinning at his own humor. ‘Do we need a bus, or will they live?’

’They’ll live, but they’ve got a few broken bones… Just get ’em the fuck out of here. I’m sick of looking at ‘em,’ Jack snapped to the officers.

The impromptu altercation had frightened away the small number of customers who had earlier occupied the bar. The atmosphere remained quite tense for some time, after the fight, so Rosie decided to close the bar a little earlier than usual.

Jack sat on an unfamiliar bar stool in the middle of the room. He leaned his back on the bar, while Rosie attended to his facial injury.

‘I think you’re going to need stitches, Jack.’ She dabbed the wound with a water-soaked cloth.

Jack pulled his head away sharply, flinching from the pain, as Rosie touched his cheek. ‘I’ll be fine,’ Jack replied.

Rosie glared at Jack. ‘I think you could even have a fractured cheek bone, Jack.’

‘So now you’re a Doctor…’

‘Look. Why don’t I fix you a drink, Jack. I know I could use one.’

After a few short minutes Rosie returned with a large glass of bourbon for Jack and some ice wrapped in a cloth. Jack accepted the bourbon. He raised the glass, as if it was a shot, and after a brief pause, he emptied the entire glass in one gulp.

Rosie gently placed the ice pack against Jack’s cheek. It caused him to again flinch away. This time she followed his head, keeping the ice pack against his cheek.

‘Come on Jobs. It’ll do you good. You need to get the swelling down,’ she said. Jack stopped resisting.

As she held the ice pack to his head, Rosie glanced at Jack’s clothing. His shirt and jeans were splattered in blood. Her eyes moved to the carpet where the man earlier laid and it too was soaked in his blood and vomit.

‘We gotta get you outta these bloody clothes Jack. If you take them off, I’ll wash them for you, otherwise you’ll never get this blood out.’

Jack’s eyes dropped to his blood-soaked clothing. He slowly shook his head. ‘Can’t even have a quiet drink anymore.’

Rosie assisted Jack upstairs to her apartment located above the bar, and into her bathroom. Jack assessed his injury in the bathroom mirror. Rosie returned a few moments later with a large plastic garbage bag, a towel, and a robe.

Like a parent attending to her injured child, she instructed Jack to remove his soiled clothes and place them into the bag, then have a shower to clean up. The robe was for him to wear after his shower, until his clothes were washed.

---

While Jack showered, Rosie returned to the bar and cleaned up the blood stains and vomit from the furniture and carpet.

Once she had finished cleaning the bar, Rosie returned upstairs and placed Jack’s clothing into her washing machine.

Jack was still in the shower when she returned upstairs. Rosie frowned her concern. Given the length of time he had spent in the shower, there was always a concern of concussion.

Rosie knocked on the bathroom door. ‘Are you OK Jack?’ she yelled through the closed door. When there was no response, she knocked again. Still no response. Rosie slowly opened the door and peeped inside. The shower was still running. The thick steam inside resembled a Turkish bath house.

‘Jack…?’ Rosie was tentative. She edged towards the shower curtain. Still no response. She carefully peeled open the shower curtain and peeped inside.

Jack stood with his back to her. He leaned on the wall, directly under the shower rose. His arms were on the wall above his head. His head was tilted forward directing the hot water straight down onto the back of his neck.

Rosie quietly exhaled. He was safe. Her eyes slowly moved down his muscular body to his tight white ass. She smiled her approval, then slowly closed the shower curtain and quietly exited the bathroom.

She decided not to say anything to him and let him absorb the therapeutic benefits of the hot water on his neck.

Chapter 14

After his shower Jack wrapped a towel around his waist, while he waited for Rosie to finish washing the blood stains from his clothes.

Rosie’s bathroom was accessible though her bedroom. Jack wandered from the bathroom into Rosie’s bedroom and glanced around the room. Rosie wasn’t there.

He noticed a free-standing, full-length dressing mirror in the corner of the room. He approached the mirror and examined the injury to his cheek.

There was bruising yet, but his cheek had started to throb. The pain shot all the way down the left side of his face. He gently pressed on his cheek bone. There’s no fracture. Probably just bruising.

‘What’s wrong with the robe I got for you?’ Rosie asked, when she returned to her room.

Jack responded, while his focused remained on his eye in the mirror. His reflection made eye contact with Rosie, who stood behind him, with her hands on her hips.

‘Well for one, it’s too small…and the other…it’s a chick’s robe,’ Jack said.

Jack noticed Rosie had changed. She now wore a sheer white cotton robe, wrapped across her body and loosely tied around her waist.

He watched Rosie as she moved in and out of the adjoining bathroom, while tidying up after Jack. He found himself silently admiring Rosie as she cleaned up.

The front of her robe had loosened from the bending and moving, as she walked around the apartment. The robe sagged open, partially exposing most of her ample breasts.

Jack noticed the thin cotton material was see-through. Her breasts bounced around freely under the robe. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

As she moved around, it became evident to him that she was not wearing any underwear. The sight of Rosie’s near-naked form excited Jack.

‘You got changed too,’ Jack said, stating the glaringly obvious.

Rosie’s paused. Her eyes dropped down to her robe. ‘Oh. Yeah I did…’ she said, before re-entering the bathroom. She returned to the bedroom a few seconds later and continued. ‘When I put your clothes in the machine, I thought I may as well throw mine in too… Saves me doing them later.’

Jack sat on the end of Rosie’s bed enjoying the semi-clad show her domestic activities provided. ‘Sounds fair enough to me,’ Jack said.

Rosie once again re-entered the bathroom and returned a short time later holding a small white butterfly clip.

‘Let me put this on you.’ She held up the butterfly bandage to Jack. ‘It should help keep the wound together.’

All Jack noticed were her partially exposed breasts, moving freely under the light material. It was difficult for him to concentrate with the covering of loose clothing Rosie wore.

The robe hung loosely open. Her full inner cleavage was on display. Her breasts were hypnotic to him, as they swayed, bounced and jiggled freely when she walked over to him.

The loosely tied robe had parted up the front, seductively exposing her shapely right thigh, all the way up to her hip. ‘OK,’ was all Jack could manage.

Jack remained seated on the end of Rosie’s bed. Rosie straddled his leg, while she attended to his injury. ‘Hold still now,’ she instructed. She leaned forward to apply the bandage.

His eyes were now only inches away from Rosie’s breasts. She smelt so good; it was mesmerizing. He had never noticed this about her before.

When she leaned forward slightly to affix the bandage, the front of her robe fell open, providing Jack with a full view of her breast hanging free from any restraints. He noticed her large nipple was erect.

He wasn’t sure if it was the copious quantities of alcohol he had consumed earlier, or the tantalizing sight of Rosie’s semi-naked form, or a bit of both, but he knew that he wanted her so much it started to consume his every thought.

‘There… That should hold.’ She backed away from Jack to stand in front of him. ‘Now,’ she said with her hands on her hips, studying Jack sitting in his white towel. ‘What can you put on, while we wait for your clothes?’ She asked.

Jack looked Rosie up and down with a beaming smile of approval. ‘You,’ he replied. He spoke without first thinking; an unusual reaction for a man so controlled.

Rosie’s eyes flared. She smiled. ‘Excuse me,’ she grinned.

Jack stood up from the bed. His erection lifted the front of his towel. ‘You…’ he boldly repeated. ’I wouldn’t mind putting you on me,’ he grinned.

Without shifting his eyes from Rosie, Jack swept off his towel and lobbed it to Rosie.

Rosie snatched the towel from the air. Her approving eyes ran over his naked form. The sight of his large penis excited her. His proud erection was almost pointing directly at her, as Jack stood at the foot of her bed wearing nothing but a grin.

Rosie’s eyes lifted to meet Jack’s. While holding her seductive come-fuck-me eyes, she slowly undid her robe and let the tie fall limply to her side. Her untethered robe separated at the front and fell partially open, revealing a peek at what was underneath.

She then slowly peeled open her robe and, one-by-one, slid her shoulders out. Her naked body opened up to him as the robe slid slowly down her back. She let the robe fall to the floor into a crumpled heap behind her.

Jack couldn’t take his eyes off her. Her body was everything he had imagined. She wore a soft tan, which suggested sun exposure, not bottle. Her blonde hair framed the natural beauty of her smiling face looking back at him.

Everything about her was perfect. From her tight fit figure, her magnificent breasts, her curvaceous body to her long shapely legs. His erect penis throbbed his approval.

Rosie ambled seductively over towards Jack. She reached out and gently grabbed his manhood. She placed her other around behind Jack’s head. She stared lovingly into Jack’s eyes. He smiled in acceptance as she gently pulled him towards her and kissed him passionately.

The feel of her skin in their passionate embrace was captivating. She was soft, warm and seemed to fit perfectly in his arms, as he hugged her close. She smelt so good, it was tantalizing.

Rosie placed her hand on his chest and slowly, but gently dragged her hand down his chest and over his stomach as she slowly lowered herself down to her knees, in front of Jack.

Jack groaned in pleasure as Rosie took him in her mouth, while her other hand caressed his balls and gently teased his perineum.

Jack’s head rocked back and his eyes closed in the pure delight. She did things with her tongue that he had never experienced before during oral sex, and it drove him crazy.

The thought of such a beautiful woman giving him head was fantastic, but he couldn’t wait any longer. Jack had not been with too many women since his separation, in fact he couldn’t remember when the last time was; a sad consequence of being a workaholic.

Jack was unable to contain his escalating expectation. He reached down and lifted Rosie up to stand in front of him. He gently ran his fingers down the side of her face then reached around behind her head and gently pulled her closer towards him. Their lips once again met in a passionate kiss and firm embrace.

While continuing with their passionate kissing, Rosie used her body weight to nudge Jack backwards, onto her bed. Jack fell backwards, still holding onto Rosie’s embrace, still passionately kissing, with Rosie now lying on top of him.

Rosie slowly and seductively dragged her body up over Jack, intentionally, but lightly dragging her sizable breasts across his body. She stopped with her breasts near his face, a position she held momentarily, while she reached to retrieve a condom from her bedside drawer.

Taking what he thought was a not-too-subtle hint, Jack commenced to lightly suck, lick and caress her breasts. He nibbled on each of her firm nipples, producing a series of moans and groans from Rosie, while she paused to enjoy the attention her breasts received.

After selecting a condom Rosie sat straddling Jack, while she hastily ripped into the condom wrapper. Jack smiled as he watched the empty wrapper float to the floor.

Without saying anything, she held the unrolled condom up to Jack then placed it into her mouth.

Jack’s eyebrows raised in wonderment, assuming the condom was for his penis, not her mouth.

Rosie seductively slid herself back down Jack’s body towards his penis. With her face near his groin she paused briefly to examine his manhood. Jack watched on in excitement as she took hold of him.

With her eyes remaining fixed on Jack the whole time, she slowly lowered her face to his penis, and using her mouth, she slowly unrolled the condom all the way down the shaft of his erection. Jack had never experienced something so sensual before.

Once she had finished Rosie moved to straddle him. He watched on in pleasure as Rosie slowly guided him inside her. Both let out moans of pleasure when he entered her for the first time.

Their love making that followed was intense, passionate, and fast paced. The bedroom resembled a wrestling ring at times as they moved and rolled around, remaining intertwined.

Eventually, both fell spent onto Rosie’s bed, panting with excitement and satisfaction. Physically exhausted, they lay staring at the ceiling. In time they both fell asleep.

During the night Jack awoke and became aroused at the sight of his beautiful, naked companion and they again succumbed to their animal desires. They repeated their passionate lovemaking a further two more times before morning.

Jack’s eyes opened slowly from his relaxed slumber. While lying staring at the ceiling, he grinned to himself when he noticed they had inadvertently left the bedroom light on overnight.

The light’s affect was negated by the morning sunlight that had engulfed every corner of the bedroom of Rosie’s curtain free, second story windows.

Jack lifted himself onto an elbow. His eyes dropped admiringly to his beautiful naked goddess sleeping peacefully beside him.

As if purposely posed for a sensual magazine shoot, Rosie was on her back with her left arm over her head, resting on her pillow. A white satin sheet partially covered her golden tanned body, leaving her left breast fully exposed out the side of the sheet.

Her left leg was exposed from high on her hip, all the way down to her foot. He was in awe at just how sexy, how perfect she was.

Jack’s admiring gaze moved to the bed side clock. His eyebrows lifted. He quietly slipped out of bed, careful to let Rosie sleep. After all, she didn’t have to get up for work this morning.

After his shower, Jack was naked and was towel drying his hair when he walked back into the bedroom. He noticed his clothes from last night neatly folded at the foot of Rosie’s bed, but Rosie was nowhere to be seen.

There was a note sitting on the top of his clothes. He lifted the note and read it to himself. A contended smile emerged across his face.

“Good morning stud. Just gone to get us some coffee. Won’t be long… R”

Jack grinned. He dropped the note onto the bed.

---

Jack and Rosie sat at Rosie’s small round dining table sipping on their morning coffee, while they basked in their lingering after glow from the night before. It had been a long time since Jack had been with a woman and this was a union that was long overdue.

Jack lifted his cup to his lips, but paused before taking a sip. ‘You didn’t happen to see my phone last night when you washed my clothes, did you?’ he asked, then sipped his coffee.

‘No.’ Rosie’s eyes lifted to the ceiling. ‘No. I emptied all your pockets, but there wasn’t a cell in any of them.’

‘I have searched everywhere up here. I don’t know where it is,’ he said.

‘Could it have fallen out of your pocket during the fight last night?’ Rosie said.

Jack shrugged. ‘Who knows? Maybe.’

Without any urgency, Rosie and Jack finished their coffees, then went down to the bar to search for Jack’s mobile phone.

The lingering pungent aroma from the disinfectant Rosie had used last night to clean up the blood and vomit still permeated the air inside the bar.

‘Whoa. It stinks in here,’ Rosie declared. She bent down and touched the carpet she cleaned last night. ‘Still wet.’

After a systematic search of the bar, Rosie located Jack’s cell on the floor, near where he earlier sat at the bar.

Rosie examined the phone’s display. ‘You’ve got five missed calls Jack… Wonder what the urgency was last night?’ She handed Jack his phone.

‘Don’t know.’ He called his message bank.

After hanging up from the last of the messages Jack said, ‘the station was looking for me last night… Four are from the station and one is from Spence…. When they couldn’t find me, they must’ve contacted Spence… Something to do with some new evidence in the case…’ Jack pocketed his cell. ‘I’ll follow it up it when I get in this morning,’ he said.

It wasn’t until he spoke that Jack realized, that was the first time he had thought about this case since he woke from his afternoon nap yesterday evening.

‘What’s up…?’ Rosie must’ve noticed Jack’s smug expression.

Jack smiled. ‘Nothing. Just thinking about last night…’

‘Yeah…?’ Rosie said. ‘I haven’t stopped thinking about it.’

Jack smiled as he checked his watch. The time approached 8am. Rosie’s bar was less than a block from the station, so he decided he would head to work dressed as he was, in his jeans and casual shirt, to make an appearance. Then when time permitted, he could duck off home and change into his suit.

Following a passionate good-bye kiss to Rosie, Jack made his way to his office.

Chapter 15

When Jack arrived at the office most of his team had already reported for duty. He had no idea his choice of casual clothing would create such an interest.

As he strolled through the bull pen towards his office, he received an assortment of sarcastic and mildly humorous greetings from his team, fired at him at random from all sides.

‘We didn’t know it was casual clothes day, Jobs…’

‘Excuse me Sir, this area is for Police personnel only… Oh it’s you Jobs… Didn’t recognize you in your street clothes.’

‘The rubbish bins are over there… Oh sorry Jobs, thought you were the cleaner.’

Raucous laughter filled the bull pen at Jack’s expense.

In his usual fashion, the ever-serious Jack shrugged it off with a half smirk as he continued through to his office.

As Jack approached Spence’s desk, located immediately outside his office, he stopped to address the smiling Spence. ‘What’s with all the phone calls last night?’ Jack asked.

‘Off the grid last night Jobs…? No one could get a hold of you. Everything cool…?’ Spence asked. He tapped his left cheek.

‘All’s good. So, what’s up?’ Jack ignored the cheek reference.

’Last night a hooker by the street name of Desiree, aka Monica Sellers, 29 from Newark, claimed she was working in Chinatown, on the corner opposite to Amber, two nights ago…’ Spence began. ’The same night Amber went missing. She recalled seeing Amber get into a black colored luxury vehicle around 2am.

‘She couldn’t see the driver because the car had dark tinted windows, but she thinks it may have been a Mercedes. But, she can’t be sure. That was the last time she saw Amber. Thinking she had pulled an all-nighter, Desiree says she was envious until she heard the news about Amber last night.’

‘So you got called in last night…?’ Jack inferred from Spence’s summary.

‘No. I didn’t actually,’ Spence said. ’I was called, but Desiree refused to make a statement, until she finished her beat this morning… Said it cost her too much money to be off the street.

‘So I arranged her to meet me at the station this morning and I came in early to take her statement. I only just finished a short time ago.’ He lifted his chin to the statement on his desk.

Jack rotated the statement to face himself. He scanned the top page. ‘Much in it…?’ Jack asked.

‘She recognized the license plates as Jersey plates, but she couldn’t make out any of the letters.’

‘No letters at all…?’ Jack nodded. ‘That means we’re going to have to run some details through DMV to try and locate possible hits for black luxury vehicles registered in the Jersey area,’ Jack said. ’Can you get onto that this morning?

‘Will do,’ Spence said. ‘So…’ he again touched his left cheek, then flicked at finger at Jack. ‘How’s your eye?’ Spence asked. ‘Heard about the skinheads from last night in Rosie’s, when I came in this morning.’

‘It’ll heal,’ Jack said in his usual non-committal, curt manner as he continued into his office.

---

Jack relaxed in his high-backed chair causing it to recline back to a forty-five-degree angle. The clock on his office wall showed it was 11am. Where did the morning go? He saw a narrow window of opportunity to head home and quickly get changed.

It’s amazing how the human brain worked. Thoughts provided little segues that led to the recall of other thoughts, and Jack’s mind was involuntarily on a bee-line straight back to re-live his excitement from last night.

By contemplating going home to change, it reminded him he was in still in his civilian clothes. Then his mind drifted to why he was at work in his civilian clothes.

This led his recollections of last night and his passionate embraces with Rosie, and how much he enjoyed her company. His thoughts then moved to just how sexy she looked.

A wry grin filled his face as his recollections became more erotic. He even began to feel movement in his groin. He remembered just how beautiful Rosie looked this morning lying naked on the bed, fast asleep. She reminded him of a toga-wearing Greek goddess.

He was also quietly pleased with himself, thinking he was like a twenty-year-old again, being able to have sex three times in the same night with such a gorgeous woman.

A deep voice snapped him from his trance. ‘Got a minute Jobs…?’

Jack’s focus flicked towards the voice at his office doorway. Pete Unly leaned in through the door, awaiting a response.

He beckoned to Unly. ‘Sure. Come in.’

‘You looked miles away then Jobs,’ Unly said. ‘Everything OK?’

Jack intentionally ignored the question. He motioned to the visitor’s chair opposite. ‘What you got for me…?’ Jack asked.

‘Just an update, Jobs.’ Unly slid into the chair at Jack’s desk. ‘You know…On the inquiries I made with Wendy Curry… Matt’s Mom in Jersey.’

‘Oh, Right,’ Jack nodded. He forgot he still hadn’t received that update. ‘How did that go?’ he asked.

‘Pretty well actually. Nice woman,’ Unly said as he lounged back and crossed his legs. With his note pad resting on his lap, Unly summarized his meeting to Jack.

‘Mrs. Curry verified everything Matt told us. She said Matthew raced in after work without saying hello, which was apparently out of character,’ Unly emphasized. ’He then went straight to his computer in his bedroom. She found out later that he was working on decoding a letter.

’Later in the night, they watched a movie together – Sex in The City 2 on HBO. She says it finished about 10.30pm. After the movie Matt went back to his room.’

Jack reclined back with his hands locked behind his head while Unly continued with his report.

‘HBO…?’ Jack said.

‘Yep…I’ve verified the scheduling of that movie with HBO. It concluded as scheduled at 10.30pm.’

Jack nodded his approval.

‘Um…’ Unly turned a page. ‘Apparently Matt came out of his room half an hour later or so and told her he had cracked the code in a letter that a killer sent to the police. She said she didn’t know what letter he was referring to, so Matt had to update her on the circumstances of the letter.’ Unly turned another page.

‘Good. It’s what we wanted to hear,’ Jack said, ‘We need this kid in our investigation.’

Unly checked his notes and continued. ’She was with him when he rang the police station at about 11pm. She heard him tell the cop on the phone that he had solved the cryptic letter.

‘She said when he got off the phone Matt mentioned that the police were going to call him back, later that night. Matt was apparently devastated when the police didn’t call him back.’

Jack shrugged. ‘He’s a big boy…He’ll get over it.’

‘She said Matt got up early the next morning and went to the police station before work. And that’s pretty much it,’ Unly said.

‘Good. All consistent with what we know. What about her? What do we know?’ Jack said.

Unly’s eyes dropped back to his notes. ‘Ah…’ He turned a page, scanned it quickly, and then turned another page. ‘Ah…Clean skin,’ Unly said. ‘She’s a widow. Works from home in her own business as an accountant. Apparently, services clients in the greater Jersey area.’ Unly continued. ‘She owns a light blue 2004 Mazda, but Matt doesn’t drive – he doesn’t have a license yet.’ Unly closed his note book. ‘That’s pretty much it.’

‘OK, good job.’ Jack returned his chair to the upright position. His eyes fell to his desk. In a moment of contemplation, the image of Amber’s lifeless body lying under the tree like discarded trash, flashed into his mind. He suddenly remembered he was still waiting for test results.

Jack’s focus returned to Unly. ‘Can you chase up the results with the ME and CSU re yesterday’s body,’ Jack said. ‘They should have something for us by know.’

‘OK.’ Unly rose from his chair and exited the office.

Unly’s partner, Debbie Johnson smiled at Unly as they passed one another at the doorway to Jack’s office.

Debbie had waited for Unly to finish his meeting with Jack before bringing Jack’s mail to him. She placed a small pile of envelopes of varying sizes onto his desk, smiled at him and said, ‘Mail’s in.’ She flashed another pleasant smile then exited the office.

Jack checked his watch. Mail’s early today, he considered. He sighed as lifted the pile of envelopes. He slid the top envelope from the pile, predicted what it was about, then dropped it onto the desk.

He repeated the action for the next envelope in line. The third envelope caught his eye. It was a manila envelope and was larger than the others. The branding gave away what it contained.

His focus briefly shifted to the whiteboard, as he dropped the remaining envelopes onto the desk. He ripped into the manila envelope and peered inside. His large sausage-like fingers reached in and slid out the contents. It was not a delivery he eagerly expected, but it was one that had to be received.

Jack pushed himself away from his desk and exhaled loudly. He moved over to his white board and attached the ten-by-eight inch photo of Amber he just received, to the whiteboard beside the first two victims. It was an enlargement from Amber’s DMV photo.

He stood for a moment and stared at the picture. His shoulders were noticeably rounded. The photo was symbolic of his inability to prevent Amber’s murder. It was a feeling of failure that he still struggled to accept.

Jack rubbed his chin as he scanned the mounting collection of photos. Each girl displayed a ‘before’ and ‘after’ image. One image was happy and smiling at the camera lens, while the other, a gruesome crime scene photo, depicted the girls shortly after their bodies were discovered.

Moving in what appeared to be slow motion, Jack lifted a white board marker from the board’s narrow tray. His eyes briefly paused on Amber’s photo, then recorded the relevant known details relating to Amber’s murder, underneath the copy of the 3rd cryptic letter.

When he was done Jack stood back and again examined the photographs. His anger and frustration escalated. Intense anger rapidly replaced his overwhelming disappointment. Like an erupting volcano, the rage and frustration surged from him in torrents.

He pivoted away from the white board and pitched the white board marker at his office wall, like he was delivering a fast ball from the mound at Yankee Stadium.

‘FUCK!’ he yelled through gritted teeth. The white board marker bounced off the wall. The cap separated from the marker and flew off in a different direction.

Jack’s determined focus shifted to his desk. He aggressively tugged open top drawer of his desk. He removed his service pistol and slammed the drawer closed. A loud thud resonated. The drawer contents rattled and bounced about inside.

In almost robotic fashion he proved his weapon. He slipped out the magazine, catching it as it fell from the pistol. He checked to ensure it was full with rounds. He tapped the magazine lightly on the side of his pistol to ensure the rounds were lying flat.

With a sharp thrust, he palmed the magazine back up into its housing. A firm ‘click’ reassured him it was securely fitted.

He lightly pulled back on the slide and peered into the barrel to ensure a round wasn’t chambered. He was good to go.

He lifted the tail of his untucked shirt and slid the barrel of his pistol down the back of his jeans. It was time to get some fresh air, and a change of clothes.

Chapter 16

Jack and Spence burst through the door without any initial greeting. Both men had determined looks on their faces, as they quickly made their way to the interrogation viewing room window.

Having shaved and changed into his suit, Jack once again looked like a Detective. Both he and Spence stood at the window overlooking the interrogation room, where they visually summed up the suspect seated facing them at the table.

Uniformed officers had earlier arrested a male person who claimed to be involved in the cryptic murders. The arresting officers contacted Jack and summoned him to monitor the initial interview of the suspect.

The derision on Jack’s face was obvious. He glared at the unkempt, white male sitting in front of them. He was approximately thirty-five years of age with a slim build, untidy brown hair and pale complexion. He certainly didn’t look anything like what Jack had visualized the Cryptic Killer would look like.

Jack turned to Spence. ‘This is bullshit…’ He firmly shook his head. ‘We’re wasting our time here… This isn’t our guy.’ Jack was confident.

He had seen enough. Jack tapped on the glass with his pen, which was an indication to the officers in the interrogation room that he wanted one of them to come and speak to him.

A short time later the arresting officer, Jerry Carr entered the viewing room. ‘Jobs… Spence,’ he greeted as he entered.

‘What’ve we got Jerry?’ Jack inquired. ‘Why should we be interested in this guy?’ He said.

‘We were out on patrol and had just finished checking a motorist on 6th Avenue and this guy,’ he jabbed a thumb towards the male in the interrogation room. ‘Comes up to me and says he can’t take it anymore… I say, can’t take what Sir?… thinking he is some lunatic who wants to end it all… And he says I can’t take all the hiding and the feelings of guilt anymore, so I want to turn myself in-’

Jack frowned. ‘Hiding…?’ Jack was abrupt in his skepticism. ‘The fuckin’ killer keeps sending us clues to where the bodies will be dumped…he wants the attention… he’s not fuckin’ hiding.’ Jack waved the back of his hand. ‘Go on.’

The cop nodded. ‘So I say, turn yourself in for what…? And he says… The dead hookers… I’m the one you’re looking for… I killed those girls.’ The officer paused. ‘I was a little stunned at first, but I wanted him to say to me who he was,’ Officer Carr continued. ‘So I said to him… What girls are you talking about, Sir…? And the guy checked his left and then his right, took a step closer to me and in a reduced volume he says to me, I’m the Cryptic Killer… You are looking for me… I want to turn myself in… So here we are Jobs.’ The officer held his hands out to his side. His eyes flicked from Jack to Spence and back again, presumably looking for the slightest indication of approval or recognition.

‘Who is he…?’ Jack grunted.

The officer removed his notebook. ‘Ahh… His name is Bradley Scott Walker… He’s thirty-six years, born May 21, 1976. Says he lives alone at 58A Clifton Street, Brooklyn. We’re yet to confirm that though.’

‘He’s not our guy.’ Jack punctuated his comment with a firm shake of his head. ‘He’s just a nut looking for his fifteen minutes of fame.’ Jack sneered. ‘He’s wasting our fucking time.’

‘How can you be so certain, Jobs?’ The Officer asked.

‘How much have you asked about the murders, so far?’ Jack asked.

‘Nothing really. We’ve mainly been confirming his ID and running his priors, waiting for you to show up before we start.’

‘Good. Any form…?’ Jack asked.

‘Yeah… See that’s where it’s interesting,’ the cop replied. ‘He’s got a rap sheet with sexual assaults… Peeping tom. This guy’s a sex offender Jobs.’

Jack shook his head, still unconvinced.

‘How intelligent does this guy sound to you Jerry?’ Spence asked.

Ah… Actually, not very, Spence… He’s not mentally impaired or anything, he’s just not that bright.’

‘I’m telling you, he’s not our guy…’ Jack repeated. ‘I’ll show you exactly why I know he isn’t our guy…’ Jack said. ‘We’ll be there in a minute to talk to him. OK. Thanks,’ Jack said, indicating their conversation was over.

Having been informally dismissed, Jerry returned to the interrogation room.

Jack’s frowning glare met Spence. ‘I’ve been profiling the Cryptic Killer for what seems like forever and this fuckwit…’ he jabbed a thumb. ‘Is not him. I’m sure of it,’ he said. ‘Our guy is intelligent… Educated… He knows about the law and way too much about crime scenes for my liking… He is clever, cunning and very patient. I would say possibly even narcissistic.’

He lifted his chin at the suspect in the in the other room. ’Does he fit any of those characteristics to you?’ Jack asked.

Spence smiled as he nodded. ‘Not even close.’

‘Come on, let’s get rid of him,’ Jack said. He moved to the door.

---

All heads snapped towards the interrogation room door when it suddenly flew open ahead of the two stern-faced Detectives who stormed into the room.

The suspect looked up at Jack with a look of surrender, as if to concede, you got me.

Jack didn’t bother sitting down. He knew this wouldn’t take long. Instead he stood at the end of the table and leaned on his hands. He glared at the suspect.

‘My name is Lieutenant Jack Head from Homicide. I have — ’

‘I know, I know… You have been looking for me.’ The offender interrupted Jack’s introduction. That was his first mistake.

Jack glared at Walker. His eyes widened Jack jabbed a finger at Walker. ‘Shut your fucking mouth.’ He held his glare. ‘You interrupt me again…’ He leaned in towards the suspect. ‘And I’ll knock your head off…ARE-WE-CLEAR?’ Jack held his ferocious glare on Walker. ’You speak to me only when I ask you a question. Do you understand?’ Jack’s theatrics were designed to unsettle the suspect.

The outburst clearly startled Walker. He sat motionless with his shoulders rounded in subservience, clearly too frightened to reply to Jack’s question. He stared at the huge aggressive man towering over him.

Jack raised his eyebrows. ‘I asked you a question…DO-YOU-UNDERSTAND?’

Walker cringed at the volume of Jack’s voice. ‘Yes Sir,’ he timidly replied.

‘Now… I hear that you want to turn yourself in,’ Jack said.

Walker nodded, probably unsure whether he should speak or not.

‘Can’t hear a fucking nod of your head.’ Jack’s response was firm and aggressive.

‘Ah…Ye…Yes, that’s correct Sir,’ Walker stuttered.

‘Well, if we are going to do this right, we need to know where the knife is that you used to stab your last victim.’ Jack briefly glanced at Spence who returned an almost indiscernible but knowing smile. ‘We haven’t been able to recover it yet,’ Jack continued in his stern official voice.

His question contained the wrong information about the murder, to assess how much this man knew. The known cause of death had been intentionally withheld from all media reports – just for these types of interviews.

‘Ah…I… I threw it away.’ Walker’s reply was tentative.

‘You threw it away, did you…?’ Jack was condescending, as he and Spence exchanged a brief glance. Jack’s focus shifted to the arresting officer. His eyebrows lifted in an expression that screamed, I told you so.

Jack returned to the suspect. ‘Exactly where…? Where did you throw it?’ Jack continued.

‘Ah… I threw it into the East River, ri…right out into the middle.’

Jack again looked at Spence and then at the other officers. Each was aware of what had just happened. Walker had indirectly admitted that he stabbed the last victim.

All police officers in that room knew Amber died from a broken neck – not stab wounds. Officer Carr had his answer; this guy couldn’t possibly be the Cryptic Killer.

Jack returned to Walker. ′Where into the river dickhead,’ Jack yelled. ‘Was it the area where the body was found, or was it further upstream, or downstream? We are going to send divers in there looking for it, so I need to know exactly where you threw it,’ Jack said.

Walker’s head dropped. ‘I… I… I threw it into the river, near the body,’ Walker stuttered his reply.

‘I…I…I,’ Jack mimicked as stood back up from leaning on the table. He glared his contempt at Walker. He allowed a pause of silence to beat by.

Jack shook his head in obvious disgust. He opened his folder and removed a copy of the letter he received from the real Cryptic Killer and slid it across the table to Walker.

‘This is your last letter…’ He pointed to the document on the table in front of Walker. Walker nodded as his eyes dropped to the page. ‘The clues were too clever for me… So, as you are giving yourself up, you won’t mind telling me what the letter says… I’m curious as hell.’ Jack grinned as he lifted his eyes to Spence, then the uniformed officers.

Walker slowly lifted the letter. His confused eyes scanned it. His mannerisms clearly demonstrated that, not only had he never seen the letter before today, but he had no idea what it was about. He started to read,

“Mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself; but talent-”

‘I didn’t ask you to fucking read it to me,’ Jack blurted. ‘I can read that part… I asked you to tell me what it meant… The message, dipshit,’ he said. ’What’s the Valley of Fear got to do with it all…?’ Jack asked.

‘Huh?’ Walker lifted his eyes of Jack.

Walker had nothing but confusion in his eyes. ‘The Valley of F — ’ Jack stopped himself. ‘Don’t worry about it.’ He flicked the back of hand at Walker. His patience for this game was starting to thin.

’Tell me this…who the hell is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and what is his involvement in these murders you are committing? Is he an accomplice…?’

Walker’s eyebrows dipped in obvious confusion. ‘Who…?’ He asked.

Jack fell onto his hands on the table and glared at the suspect. He leaned in closer to Walker and indicated clue thirteen.

‘What about this clue here…’ he said. ’We couldn’t solve this one. It was too tough. You wrote it, so you can tell me what the answer is. I’m very curious,’ Jack said. His tone was condescending.

Walker read Clue thirteen out aloud, “Worker agonizes, before dropping off final message for third rate opponents.”

The expression on his face was obvious. He had no idea what he had just read. He looked up at Jack with a puzzled look on his face.

‘You sent me this letter, didn’t you?’ Jack said. ‘You wrote these clues, didn’t you?’ Jack didn’t wait for an answer between his questions. ‘Well, I want to know what the answer to that clue is. I couldn’t solve it.’

Walker, not too bright at thinking on his feet, tried his best response, ‘Ah…it’s been a while since I wrote this letter,’ he said. ‘I…I can’t remember…what, what the answer is now.’

Jack snatched the letter from Walker’s hands. ‘Pathetic,’ Jack said. ‘You have never seen this letter before,’ Jack blurted. Walker’s head dropped and his shoulders rounded, as if to concede defeat.

Jack shifted his focus to the arresting officer Jerry Carr. ‘Still think he’s our guy?’ Jack’s question was rhetorical. ‘Get this piece of shit out of here before I do something I’ll regret.’ Jack waved the back of his hand, then turned to exit the interview room.

Half way to the door, Jack stopped and turned back to address Jerry. ‘Better still…’ Jack locked his fierce glare on the suspect. Jack had a fixed glare that could turn stone into molten lava. ‘Charge this loser with making a false report and interfering with an ongoing investigation.’

He held his intimidating glare. ‘You wanna fuck with me… Then I’ll fuck with you,’ Jack said before turning and exiting the room, with Spence following closely behind.

Chapter 17

As expected, and consistent with the two earlier crime scenes, there was no evidence found at Amber’s crime scene.

Jack slowly shook his head as he read the reports. His reaction was not because he was disappointed at the lack of evidence being located; he expected as much.

His reaction was because this killer seemed too adept at leaving pristine crime scenes. Even the most careful killer could inadvertently drop a single hair, or leave epithelial samples, but this guy… Nothing. He obviously had a thorough clean up routine.

This further supported Jack’s suspicions that the suspect was trained in, or was certainly aware of Law Enforcement and Crime Scene forensics, and that concerned him.

The ME reported the cause of death was a clean break of the C3 vertebrae and death would’ve been instant. Fingerprint records identified ‘Amber’s’ birth name was Susan Brown. She had eight priors for Soliciting for the Purposes of Prostitution. Her date of birth on file indicated she was only twenty-four and recently lived in Brooklyn.

Twenty-Four? Jack removed his reading glasses and glanced over at Amber’s photo on the white board. Her drug abuse made her look considerably older.

Jack had just finished updating the latest known personal details of Amber on the white board when Spence appeared in the office door way.

‘Nineteen black colored luxury vehicles in the New York-Jersey area Jobs.’ Spence slid into the visitor’s chair at Jack’s desk. He gently lobbed the list of cars and owner’s addresses onto the desk for Jack to read.

‘Pity she couldn’t have been more specific about the make,’ Spence said. ‘Would’ve shortened the list…’

‘Nineteen…’ Jack grumbled. He snatched up the list. They would have to visit all nineteen vehicle owners. He slipped on his reading glasses to scan the list. ‘Shit… we got them all haven’t we…? Eight Mercedes Benzes… five series seven BMWs … Three Lexus LS’s… Two Audi A8s and one Maybach 62…’ Jack frowned. ‘Maybach…?’ Jack lifted his questioning eyes to Spence. ‘What the fuck’s a Maybach?’

‘They’re about $400K worth of motor car Jobs. They’re the chauffeur-driven cars you occasionally see the billionaires being driven around in,’ Spence said.

Jack nodded. ‘Looks like we’ve got some luxury car owners to visit tomorrow,’ he said.

---

Jack had already cleared it with Matthew’s boss so Matthew could come in and spend the afternoon viewing the first two letters from the Cryptic Killer, to see if those codes were the same as the 3rd letter.

It didn’t take Matt long to identify that the same cipher had been used in the previous two letters. He quickly identified the locations in the letters where the bodies were to be dumped; Battery Park and under the Williamsburg Bridge. Of course he was correct.

With the killer using the same cipher for the first three letters it reassured Jack should a 4th letter arrive.

Given Jack’s inability to crack the ciphers in each of the first three letters, there should be no reason why the killer would change the cipher, or so Jack hoped. That could be the killer’s first mistake.

Although he had Matthew’s assistance deciphering letters, and the sighting of a black luxury vehicle prior to Amber’s disappearance, Jack had little else to go on at this stage.

Jack decided to swallow his pride and contact the Feds to request their assistance in a psychological profile on their killer.

Jack called the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. He was informed they were aware of the case and, surprisingly to Jack at least, they were happy to look at the case files, to see what they could do to assist.

Jack arranged for all relevant information to be copied and delivered to the Feds for consideration. The results would be released to Jack once something was known.

---

“In seven hundred and fifty yards turn right…” The GPS commanded, breaking what had been a lengthy period of silence for Jack and Spence.

Both men were weary from their day’s activities. Their topics of conversation had diminished with their fading energy levels.

Jack enjoyed a brief moment relaxing in the front passenger seat, while Spence did the chauffeuring. The only problem was, the comforting warmth from the afternoon sun radiating through the car’s windows had a sedative affect when travelling for long periods without a break.

Jack looked across at Spence who was focused on the free-flowing, Morris County traffic. ‘I think we’ll make this the last one for today, Spence,’ Jack said. ‘I don’t know about you…but I’m stuffed,’ he added.

‘I hear ya Jobs,’ Spence said. ‘According to that,’ he lifted his chin to the GPS display, ‘We’re nearly there.’

‘Not before time, either,’ Jack said.

‘What number is this?’ Spence asked.

Jack lifted a clipboard wedged between his seat and the vehicle’s center console and read through the list of names and addresses.

‘Ah… This will be our 14th for the day.’ Jack slid the clipboard back beside his seat. ‘That’s thirteen black luxury vehicles so far that weren’t in New York on the morning of the 17th’.

‘And then there were six….’ Spence added, trying to remain upbeat towards their repetitive inquiries.

The Detectives had started their day early, visiting all the owners of black luxury motor vehicles on their list, who resided in the greater New York area. Thus far, all vehicle owners visited conclusively demonstrated, by way of solid alibis, that their vehicles were not in New York City on the morning of March 17th.

“You have reached your destination…” The GPS announced.

Spence slowed the vehicle. His eyes scanned for anything that resembled a house number. ‘Yeah right… There’s nothing but a huge brick fence,’ he complained, as he slowed the vehicle to a roll. ‘Where’s the gate?’ Spence said.

All they could see was a tall rendered brick wall, the top of which was covered with a creeping vine that cascaded from the top of the wall. The wall bordered the property boundary and appeared to go on as far as they could see.

After rounding a right-hand bend in the road, Spence’s question was answered. An opening in the unyielding eight-foot-high brick wall was visible ahead.

Spence pulled the vehicle over, stopping the car adjacent to the property’s driveway, to verify they had the correct address.

Both men were stunned as they gazed beyond the magnificent black ornate wrought iron gates, through to the opulence exuding from the palatial double story residence that awaited 100 yards, or more down the arrow-straight cobblestone driveway.

‘Whoa… This guy must be loaded,’ Spence said. ‘Have a look at the size of that house.’

Jack motioned towards the drive way. ‘The gates are open, Spence,’ he said. ‘Get in there before they close.’

After entering the property Spence rolled the unmarked police vehicle along the driveway towards the house, subconsciously too intimidated to exceed walking pace.

Waist high, white Iceberg standard roses, underplanted by low, square-cut boxwood lined both sides of the driveway. Manicured lawns and meticulously maintained gardens stretched beyond the roses to the perimeter boundary fences, which were softened with lush tree foliage.

Moving to the top of the drive, they entered a circular driveway that enclosed a large fountain.

Illuminated jets of water rocketed upwards from the raised rectangular pool and rhythmically danced and twisted across the fountain, reminiscent of the Bellagio Fountains in Las Vegas.

The imposing portico that protected and adorned the front entrance of the residence extended all the way to the roof of the second story.

The four oversized onyx columns that appeared to stretch up endlessly, gave the impression the building was much taller than its mere two stories.

Spence parked adjacent to the portico. Jack and Spence alighted from their vehicle and made their way to what was the largest front door Jack had ever seen; easily twice the size of a standard front door.

After a brief wait, the doorbell was answered by an attractive woman in her early thirties. She was elegantly dressed in dark blue tailored slacks and a white loose-fitting shirt, intentionally unbuttoned well down to proudly display her ample cleavage.

Oversized, gold hoop earrings swung freely from her ear lobes under her salon styled, brown shoulder length hair.

Diamond encrusted gold rings were worn on every finger, including her thumbs. She wore diamond toe-rings, gold bracelets and a very expensive looking gold and diamond encrusted watch on her wrist.

She also wore a single strand of cultured pearls around her neck. Everything about this lady exuded elegance and refinement.

‘Yes…?’ she asked, her pencil thin eyebrows raised inquisitively, as she peered from behind the partially opened front door.

‘Good afternoon, ma’am, my name is Lieutenant Jack Head and this is Detective Sergeant Doug Spencer we are from…’ His voice tapered off when he noticed the woman was not paying attention to him. Instead, she was focused beyond him, looking away over his right shoulder.

‘Shoot… Did I leave the front gates open again?’ She asked rhetorically. ‘Dear me.’ She reached to her right, out of sight.

Jack and Spence checked back towards the double wrought iron gates, which were in the process of closing. They exchanged a brief smirk.

‘I’m sorry gentlemen… Now…You were saying?’

Jack slipped his badge from his belt. ’My name is Lieutenant Jack Head and this is Detective Sergeant Doug Spencer. We’re from New York Homicide.

‘We are making some inquiries in the area and we were wondering if a Mr. Barry McDougall resides at this address.’

‘Yes, he does. Barry is my husband,’ she said. ‘Is he alright…? Why do you need to speak to him?’

’He’s fine, as far as we understand. Does Mr. McDougall still own a black Mercedes S550 with personalized license plates, I-T-R-O-C-K-S…?’ Jack spelled out.

’Yes he does, and it is pronounced “I-T” Rocks… He works in the I.T. industry. He is what you would probably call a dot.com millionaire… Or multi-millionaire, more like it,’ she smirked. ‘He’s very good at what he does,’ she boasted.

‘Does his vehicle have darkened windows?’ Spence asked.

‘Ah… Yes. Yes, that one does. It’s his favorite. He has four other cars in the garage around the side,’ she motioned to her left. ‘But the Mercedes is his favorite.’

‘Do you know if your husband was in New York City on the 16th of this month?’ Jack asked.

She thought for a moment. ‘Yes, he was actually. He was there for two days, I think. He has a lot of clients in the city, so he stays in town when he meets with them. What seems to be the problem? Why are you asking me all these questions about my husband’s car?’

‘Do you mind if we come in Mrs. McDougall?’ Jack asked.

‘Of course. I’m so sorry.’ She stepped back and opened the door fully then beckoned them to enter.

As they entered the home, they were confronted with something straight out of a magazine from the rich and famous. A huge atrium foyer the size of a grand ballroom greeted them.

The marble columns, antique mirrors and gold leafing on the walls of the spacious atrium exuded opulence. Double doors were located to the left and right leading off the expanse of the foyer.

The open doors on the left allowed a peek into the lavishly decorated lounge room.

The glazed atrium roof extended all the way to the second story ceiling and provided a feeling of open space and grandeur.

Two sweeping stair cases wound up either side of the atrium foyer’s curved walls, meeting at the second story.

‘This way gentlemen,’ she indicated two archway doors centrally located underneath the 2nd story landing.

The Detectives followed their host as she walked two steps ahead. Jack noticed her figure was seductively slim and shapely, with a narrow waist and curvaceous hips.

She had a swagger about her walk; an over-accentuated sway in the way she moved her hips and butt. Clearly a display for the benefit of her trailing guests.

They followed her through the house down a long, wide corridor that opened into a spacious and stylish sitting room.

The south facing, ceiling to floor, picture frame windows flooded the room with bright natural light and boasted an uninterrupted view of the property’s expansive and meticulously manicured grounds.

She turned to face her guests. ‘Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?’

‘A coffee would be great thanks,’ Jack replied.

‘That will be great thanks,’ added Spence.

‘I won’t be a moment,’ she said before exiting the sitting room through the same door they had entered.

Both men stood at the wall of ceiling-to-floor windows, gazing out in awe as they stared directly down the length of the massive, luxurious rectangular swimming pool.

High arching water Jets along the length of the pool spouted out from the side into the middle for effect.

Sun lounge chairs, all fastidiously placed at the same angle, lined either side of the pool. Ornate onyx columns supported the decorative roof of the oversized cabana that wrapped around the end of the pool, furthest from the house.

Tennis courts were partially visible off to the left, beyond the tree lined fence that encased the pool area.

The view of the property to the right was an open expanse of manicured lawns and gardens, with sculptured hedges and ornate fountains, strategically located throughout the grounds.

‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ Mrs. McDougall said when she returned to the room.

Both men turned to notice her re-entering the room, empty handed. She moved to stand beside Spence at the window.

‘Your grounds are simply magnificent,’ Spence said.

Smiling in response, Mrs. McDougall said, ‘Maria will bring your coffees in shortly… Shall we sit.’ She indicated the two luxurious, white leather lounges, facing one another, in front of a large open fire place. Small ornate marble columns supported the mantle ledge over the fire.

Located above the fire place was a large portrait of Mr. and Mrs. McDougall, encased in a wide and extravagantly ornate gold colored frame.

The seven feet by four feet painting depicted Barry seated in a high-backed, throne-style chair. His right leg was crossed with his left hand holding his shin.

Mrs. McDougall was posed standing proudly to his left, with her right hand casually draped over his shoulder. The jet-black background gave the impression the painting’s subjects were illuminated by a spot light.

Chapter 18

Jack lowered himself onto the lounge. The soft leather seemed to swallow him up, yet still supported him. He gestured with his pen to the painting. ‘Is that Barry?’

‘Yes, that’s right. We only had that painted last year,’ she said. ‘We were very happy with the likeness of us both.’ She smiled up at the commanding presence the overbearing portrait took in the room.

Jack’s eyes flicked from the painting to Spence, seated opposite. Their cynical eyes met only briefly, but both shared similar thoughts.

Years of working together, spending almost every day side-by-side, more time than they spent with their wives, meant each knew the other’s thoughts, and opinions, especially their critical and cynical idiosyncrasies.

Just from the brief glance the Detectives exchanged, they knew exactly what the other was thinking – gold digger.

The only way a beautiful woman such as Mrs. McDougall would be with a man like Barry McDougall, who was some twenty years her senior, would be for the financial security and the affluent lifestyle he was able to provide her.

If the painting was an accurate representation of Mr. McDougall, and judging by how accurately Mrs. McDougall had been portrayed, Jack had every reason to suspect it was, they were a real-life case of Beauty and the Beast.

Barry McDougall was depicted in the painting as a short, balding, portly man, wearing thick black rimmed glasses. His rounded, unattractive facial features had a hint of a double chin and the corpulent waist line suggested he was not the athletic type.

‘Now, Mrs. McDougall-’

‘Gloria.’ She smiled.

’Gloria. Yes, Sorry. Gloria…′ Jack corrected. ‘You said Barry was in the city on the 16th. Did he drive his car to New York?’ Jack rested his note pad on his crossed leg.

‘Yes, he always prefers to drive there.’

‘Is he likely to have loaned the car to anyone while he was in the city?’ Spence asked.

She firmly shook her head. ‘Oh no. I doubt that very much,’ she said. ‘He won’t even let me drive it.’

‘You said you thought he was there for two days. Do you know where he stayed when he was in the city?’ Jack asked.

’He always stays at the Waldorf Astoria on Park Avenue. They know him very well there,’ she said. Her face tightened a little. ‘So, why is Homicide interested in my husband?’

Their conversation paused as the McDougall’s domestic maid, Maria, entered the room carrying a tray with coffees and an Evian water for Mrs. McDougall. She placed them onto the coffee table.

‘Thank you, Maria,’ Mrs. McDougall said.

Maria acknowledged with a smile and she exited the room.

Jack continued in response to Mrs. McDougall’s question, ‘A street prostitute was seen getting into a vehicle matching Barry’s car, at about 2am in the morning of the 17th. Her body was found the next morning by the East River in Brooklyn. She had been murdered. She hadn’t been seen since she got into that black Mercedes sedan,’ Jack explained then sipped his coffee.

’Was Barry’s license plate recorded by a witness or something? How do you know it was his car,’ she asked. Jack had underestimated her astuteness.

‘No, no, the car was identified by the make only,’ Jack said. That was a small lie perpetrated so Jack could justify why they were there asking all these questions about Barry.

The reality was, Desiree said she thought the suspect vehicle may have been a Mercedes, but she wasn’t certain.

‘We’re not saying in any way that Barry had anything to do with the murder, we are just following leads,’ Jack explained.

‘There is no way Barry would pick up a street hooker Detective. That I know for certain.’ She was resolute.

‘Why do you think that?’ Spence asked.

’I don’t think it Detective, I know it,’ she replied firmly. ‘Barry is a very conservative man, a little shy even, and he would not be comfortable being with a strange woman, especially a prostitute.’

‘I see,’ Jack said.

‘But more importantly Detective, he works very long hours. He is up a 5am every morning and by 9pm he is in bed, exhausted. There is no way he would be able to stay awake until…you said 2am didn’t you….?’

‘That’s right, 2am…When do you expect Barry home?’ Jack said.

‘He is away for one more day with work and he will return then. Barry is not directly contactable when he is away on business. Because of his lengthy meetings he turns his cell phone off. I always leave a message and Barry returns my call when he has time.’

Jack nodded his understanding. ‘I will need to speak with Barry as soon as possible, preferably at the police station, to find out what his movements were on the night of the 16th.’ He handed her his business card. ‘Could you ask Mr. McDougall to call me at his earliest convenience.’

A short time later he ended the visit.

Mrs. McDougall saw the men through to her front door and out of the building. She informed them that the front gates would open automatically when their car approaches them. She bid them farewell.

---

Rosie’s was a great place to unwind after a day’s heavy workload. Fourteen houses and who knows how many miles they drove in one day, interviewing vehicle owners. It was taxing on the two Detectives.

Seated at their usual place at the bar, Jack and Spence were joined by four other members of their crew— Pete, Debbie, Ryan and Mark, who also felt the lure of a quiet beer at Rosie’s at the end of a hard day, was too good to refuse.

The bar was alive with patron numbers nearing maximum. The atmosphere was charged. Movement within the bar was limited without involuntarily bumping into someone, but no-one seemed to mind.

The normally audible background music playing in the bar was drowned out by the raised voices of party conversation amongst alcohol affected twenty to thirty somethings.

Rosie had six girls and herself working frantically behind the bar to keep the thirsty and impatient customers hydrated. Patrons stood as many as four deep leaning over and between other patrons trying to convince the bar girls to take their order next.

Jack found watching the efficiency of the girls working behind the bar entertaining for some reason. The precision with which they prepared drink orders that only seconds before were screamed at them over a crowded bar, was fascinating to watch.

On occasions they pulled down a beer from the tap with one hand, while simultaneously pouring a shot with the other, all without one drop being spilled and achieving the perfect head on the beer.

The pace of the night limited the amount of time Rosie could spend with Jack, but it was great for her business. Whenever Jack had several work colleagues in with him, Rosie usually kept away anyway, in case they wanted to talk shop, which cops invariably did. Rosie returned at intervals to top up their drinks.

Rosie and Jack spent most of the night exchanging suggestive glances and smiles at each other, on the occasions when Rosie was able to lift her eyes in Jack’s direction, or refill their drinks.

Jack and Spence discussed their day with their colleagues, the highlight of which they both agreed was the marriage miss-match of the McDougalls. The more alcohol Jack and Spence consumed, the more alluring and beautiful Mrs. McDougall became, and conversely, the more unappealing and nerdier her little husband became.

Their short-lived humor, for tonight anyway, was at Barry McDougall’s expense. That was until Spence put it all into perspective in his usual sarcastic offering,

‘Yes…poor ol’ short, fat bald-headed Barry… It must be tough being a multi-millionaire with a gorgeous young trophy wife. Probably doesn’t know what his net worth is, living in his twenty-million-dollar mansion, one hour’s drive from the city. Oh, not to mention his six luxury motor cars, nothin’ under eighty grand… How does he cope?’ Spence grinned as he raised his glass then took a sip.

‘Hope he had a good pre-nup,’ Jack said then sipped on his bourbon.

---

The Cryptic Killer investigation dominated their topics of conversation that evening. All shared the frustrations Jack experienced, with the only difference being, this was personal for Jack. For some unknown reason, the callous killer directly involved Jack in each of the murders by sending him the letters.

The killer had to know that if Jack failed to decipher the codes in time, or at all, he would feel the victim’s death was on his hands. He must know Jack’s failure to save the victims would consume him both mentally and physically.

Alcohol fueled discussions turned to what the team had tried and not tried in the investigation to date. They had trawled the social media sites, Internet blogs and video postings looking for anything that could provide them with the slightest hint of a clue, or a lead as to the killer’s identity, all without success to date.

Jack knew that with the meticulous care and planning the killer had shown in the three murders to date, suggested that he would not be so careless as to post anything incriminating in the sordid world of social media.

The investigation considered Jack’s previous collars. This included those who had been released from prison prior to the first letter being received. They even tried associates and family of previous collars. They considered offenders with prior convictions for offences against prostitutes, or offenders with anything similar to the killer’s MO, but nothing came up that suggested they were even close to the elusive and Machiavellian, Cryptic Killer.

‘What if we get a 4th letter Jack… What’s your plan with that?’ Spence asked.

Jack was in the process of raising his glass to take a sip. He paused and lowered his glass. He glanced at Spence. ‘When…’ he emphasized. ‘When we get a 4th letter…’ Jack said, then took a sip.

Spence nodded his agreement. ‘True…I suppose we have our secret weapon, though,’ Spence said.

’We do… But he’s only able to tell us where the body will be dumped, not where the victim will be taken from. I want to catch this bastard in the act, before he kills, not when he is dumping another body into our laps,’ Jack said.

The wear and tear of the investigation started to show. Some days Jack looked like shit. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, or eaten a decent meal in ages. He looked like death warmed up.

Exactly what this killer was doing to Jack’s health was the unknown. Jack was a fighter, the toughest around, and he wouldn’t give up until the killer was caught, but at what cost.

To free up Jack and Spence’s time tomorrow, Pete and Debbie offered to visit the remaining five owners on the list of luxury vehicles in the New York area, so Jack could conduct follow-up inquires at the Waldorf Astoria.

---

The time approached midnight and only Jack and Spence remained at the bar, from their work group. Rosie’s bar was still jumping and the crowd had only thinned slightly. Spence decided that he too was heading home.

Jack glanced over at Rosie to consider his options. She was midway along the bar, still serving her patrons. She was so focused and committed to her bar responsibilities, it was too hard to predict when things would moderate, so he decided that he would also call it quits for the night.

Spence reached into his pocket to retrieve payment for the tab. Rosie didn’t normally charge the guys for their drinks, but when there was so many of them from work, Jack wouldn’t allow Rosie to cover their tab.

Jack raised a finger to Spence, then removed some bills, flicked off a single Benjamin and threw it onto the lower level of the bar counter. He lifted his eyes to Rosie, but she was still too engrossed in her work to notice he was leaving.

Jack met Spence’s gaze then lifted his chin towards the exit door. Both men bumped and shuffled their way through the reveling crowd, which seemed to obligingly open in front of them, as they approached, then quickly closed up again behind them, as they made their way to the exit.

Rosie lifted her eyes over the queuing customers, still three deep, and noticed Jack leaving. She managed to catch his eye as he turned for the last time, before he exited into the street. Rosie raised her hands out to her side. With a shrug of her shoulders she mouthed, “Sorry.”

Jack smiled and nodded back to Rosie. She blew Jack a kiss and quickly returned to serving her impatient thirsty customers.

Chapter 19

It had been many nights since Jack woke in fright from his recurring nightmares. But unbeknown to Jack, for some reason it was about to happen again…

It was an unseasonably hot sunny day for March. The breeze was gentle, as Jack drove across the Brooklyn Bridge in his silver BMW convertible. The top was down to take in the glorious sunshine and fresh air.

The traffic on the Brooklyn Bridge had come to a standstill. He stood up in his car, resting his hands on the top of his windscreen. His scanned the roadway ahead seeking an explanation for the delay. Stationary vehicles stretched as far as the eye could see.

Pedestrians on the bridge’s elevated walkway were gathered half way along, peering over the side, to the roadway below at something catching their attention.

He could hear voices yelling and screaming, but he was unable to discern where they came from. Sensing he could offer some assistance, Jack jumped from his vehicle and ran to where he thought the noise originated.

Jack stopped dead in his tracks when he saw what confronted him; a horrific single vehicle accident scene in the middle of the bridge. Crowds of onlookers had gathered. People were yelling and pointing. Women were screaming and children were crying.

The bridge’s protective barrier was broken, with protrusions jutting outwards from the bridge. The small red car that had earlier lost control and crashed through the barrier, sat teetering precariously over the bridge edge.

The two rear wheels were the only part of the vehicle having contact with the bridge. The rest of car pointed downwards to the blackness of the East River below. The front drive wheels were still spinning from the jammed accelerator. The engine roared.

A fractured piece of the bridge’s barrier had wedged under the passenger side, rear wheel arch and prevented the car from plummeting into oblivion.

Suddenly, it was night time. Street lighting illuminated the crash scene. Stinging torrential rain pelted into Jack’s face at a forty-five-degree angle.

The prevailing winds, high on the bridge, approached dangerous hurricane levels. Jack scanned the vicinity. The crowd of onlookers had gone. The bridge was now completely empty; not a car in sight. The blanketing rain had further reduced visibility.

Jack held onto an undamaged portion of the bridge railing and leaned over the edge. His free hand continually wiped the flooding rain from his drenched eyes. He shielded his eyes from the pelting rain, as he looked down into the stricken vehicle through its smashed rear window.

The sole occupant of the vehicle, a young woman, had scrambled her way to the back seat. She looked up at him. Fear and desperation filled her eyes. The car creaked and rocked slightly and slipped down several inches, before coming to rest again.

The sole occupant of the vehicle grabbed at the seat in a nervous reaction. For the moment, at least, the mangled bridge barrier held on, but for how long in this driving wind?

Jack locked his arm around the undamaged railing on the bridge and slid himself as far forward as his shoulder joint would comfortably allow. He reached out his massive hand to the woman, beckoning her to grab his hand.

Her terror filled eyes locked onto Jack’s eyes, silently pleading with him to help her. The wind buffeted the pelting rain into his face and eyes, making his rescue attempt even more difficult.

The woman stretched and reached with everything she had. She lunged upwards and locked onto Jack’s hand with both her hands, clinging for her life on his extended lifeline. The sudden upward movement unbalanced the car. It creaked and moaned, then it dislodged and slowly slid from the bridge.

Within seconds, the car plunged downwards, disappearing into the darkness below. The woman, still holding onto Jack’s hand, slipped straight out through the broken back window as the car plummeted.

Once clear of the falling vehicle, Jack’s hold on her caused the woman to swing in towards him. Her body crashed into the side of the bridge with a muffled thud. The impact forced one of her hands to lose grip. She now hung for her life by only one hand, the other hand flailing about, as her body turned and twisted in the torrential conditions.

The driving rain drenched Jack’s face. His eyes blurred from the unrelenting flow of water. With no free hand to clear his vision, he shook his head to flick off what water he could, while he hung on as tight as he could.

The woman also tried to hang on, all the while, her eyes pleaded not to let her fall.

His rain-drenched hand struggled to maintain purchase on her grip. His desperation increased. He could feel the woman’s body weight pulling her down. He tried to improve his grip, but that only caused the woman to slide further from his grasp.

Regardless of how hard his huge hand squeezed her small hand, she continued to slide slowly through Jack’s hand. He hung on with all his strength.

He screamed out for help from anyone that could hear him. But no-one came. The woman continued to slowly sink further through his grip.

In desperation, he hooked his fingers upwards, as a last ditched effort to save her from slipping away. No matter how hard he tried to grip the woman’s hand, his wet hands just couldn’t hold her any longer. It was like gripping a bar of wet soap. Despite every ounce of energy and strength he could muster, the woman slipped free from his grip.

Her expressionless face stared back up at him as she slowly sank away into the darkness below him, as if in slow motion, before completely vanishing from sight.

‘NOOOOOO.’ Jack screamed at the top of his voice. His feeling of helplessness overwhelmed as the woman disappeared from view.

Jack sat bolt upright. His breathing was heavy. His pulse raced as the adrenalin coursed through his veins. His heart thumped through his chest. Perspiration dripped from his forehead into his eyes. He glanced around his room trying to recall where he was.

After a few brief seconds, Jack slumped back heavily onto his bed, cupping his hands to his face. He had just experienced yet another vivid nightmare. It was another dream where a woman’s life was literally in his hands, and once again, he failed to save her life.

As he calmed, he realized the woman’s expressionless face staring back at him from the ill-fated car in his dream, reminded him of Amber.

Jack took a moment staring at the ceiling above his bed. His eyes were wide open, without the slightest suggestion of tiredness. Trying to get back to sleep was futile after such an intense and graphic nightmare.

His mind still raced, along with his pulse rate. The glowing red digits on the alarm clock beside his bed reminded him it was still the middle of the night; 2.09am.

Jack swung his feet to the floor and sat resting on his knees, with his head cupped in his hands. After a brief pause, he slowly dragged his feet into his kitchenette. His exhausted body shuffled as if his feet were too heavy to lift.

He lifted a glass from the sink then grabbed a half empty bottle of bourbon and poured himself a drink. The first two shots did not touch the sides.

He raised his 3rd shot to his mouth, then paused. Here he was at 2am seeking temporary comfort from a bottle of bourbon. He shook his head in self-disgust, then drained the third shot. He poured his next and lifted it to his lips. He paused again. This time he lowered the glass and examined the contents.

All the anger, all the frustrations Jack had experienced suddenly manifested into overpowering rage that bubbled up inside him. In an explosive crescendo to his raging fury, he pitched his glass across his kitchen, sending it crashing into the wall. Shards of glass fragments exploded in all directions, releasing the glass contents into a vertical spray pattern up the wall.

Jack was a sorry sight. He decided it was fresh air he needed to clear his head, not bourbon shots. Jack needed to take a stroll. He quickly pulled on his track pants and donned a hoodie, before making his way down to the street.

Jack wandered aimlessly around the streets. The night air was cool and it wasn’t long before he realized his hoodie probably wouldn’t be suffice in keeping him warm.

He draped the hood over his head and threaded his hands into the hoodie’s front pockets and pressed on.

Before long he found himself strolling along The Esplanade at Battery Park. The tempting lure of a riverside park bench for him to sit and gather his thoughts was too strong to resist.

Jack lounged with his feet outstretched and his hands buried into his hoodie pockets. He stared out across the Hudson to the splattering of lights over on the Jersey side.

The tranquil flickering of the lights was entrancingly peaceful. Jack could feel the rage seeping out of him, as he reclined on the bench.

After thirty minutes of sitting and staring, his mind was blank. The thoughts from earlier in the night were a distant memory. His walk, and the exposure to the fresh night air had served its purpose. The cool breeze off the river reassured him that it was time to return home.

It was 4.30am before Jack finally returned to bed after cleaning up all the glass fragments from his apartment floor.

Jack awoke to music blaring from his alarm clock radio. The display glowed 7am. He silenced the din then collapsed onto his back.

---

With only three hours sleep under his belt, the sight of his office this morning was less inspiring than normal. Especially after a night on the drink and a moon light stroll along the banks of the Hudson.

Jack peered through weary bloodshot eyes as he studied the enlarged map of Lower Manhattan that was attached to his office information board. Three red pins and three blue pins were firmly pressed into it.

The red pins represented the locations where the victims were last seen, after leaving with a trick. Pieces of string from each red pin linked it to a corresponding blue pin that indicated the site where the bodies were dumped.

The concentration of murders was in the Lower Manhattan area, with the exception of Amber, who went missing from Chinatown, but her body was discovered on the opposite side of the East River, in Brooklyn. This location was still in close proximity to the grouping of pins.

Jack’s experience with murderers had taught him that a killer of multiple victims would often subconsciously commit their crimes within their comfort zone, that was, areas that were close to where they lived, or worked.

Jack knew that if the killer was consistent with taking hookers from New York’s more prominent red-light areas, his theory suggested that Tribeca, or to a lesser degree, further north in Greenwich Village could be the next targets. Murray Hill and Midtown appeared too far north to fit the pattern.

Jack stared at the map so intently he failed to notice Spence enter the office. ‘Have you got something?’ Spence asked.

Jack glanced at the approaching Spence, who held a café brewed coffee in each hand. ‘Thought you could do with this, Jobs.’ He handed Jack a coffee.

‘You’re a lifesaver Spence,’ Jack said.

Given the night he had, Jack had not been able to fit any breakfast in to his morning routine, or even buy a coffee, and the unappealing coffee they offered at the station was like sump oil.

Jack took a sip from his fresh hot coffee and paused to savor the taste explosion and warming benefits.

‘I want to head down to the Waldorf this morning… You available?’ Jack asked.

‘Cool, yeah sure. I’m there,’ Spence replied.

Jack paused briefly in a moment of contemplation before he spoke again, ‘Maybe we can stop off for some bacon and eggs along the way… I’m starving,’ Jack said, then sipped on his much-needed coffee.

Chapter 20

It was only a short drive to the Waldorf Astoria Hotel, following breakfast. The Detectives arrived and were greeted by the day shift Duty Manager, who introduced himself as Duncan. He was a thinly built, clean shaven man with short dark hair and over exaggerated mannerisms.

Duncan’s hand shake was weak. Jack was a man’s-man and believed that a handshake should be firm and strong. In Jack’s world you judge a man’s character by the handshake he exchanged. And Duncan dismally failed Jack’s character test.

Once the Detectives’ identities had been confirmed to Duncan’s satisfaction and the purpose of their visit was explained, he took the Detectives to his office located immediately behind the front reception desk. In his office, Duncan had electronic access to the hotel’s guest records.

Duncan tapped on his computer keyboard with a serious expression of concentration. Jack and Spence watched on. From his computer records Duncan confirmed that Mr. Barry McDougall was a guest at the Waldorf Towers for three nights, from 15th to the 17th.

‘He checked out on the 18th,’ Duncan confirmed. ‘He stayed in one of the Grand Suites – room 4514.’

At Jack’s request, Duncan printed out the electronic security records that listed every occasion when Mr. McDougall’s room was accessed via an electronic room key.

Jack examined the printed list before realizing the listings only recorded access, not egress.

‘Well of course…’ Duncan began. ‘Mr. McDougall didn’t have to swipe his key to exit his room…’ Jack and Spence exchanged a silent glance.

Jack scanned the records. ‘The records for the 16th show that Mr. McDougall’s room was accessed four times. The first was at 10.30am,’ he said.

‘That was probably house cleaning staff preparing the room after the previous guests checked out,’ Duncan explained.

Jack nodded. ‘The room was also accessed at 1pm.’

‘Mr. McDougall is a VIP guest and the 1pm access would have been by the Duty Manger, to ensure Mr. McDougall’s room was in order prior to his arrival,’ Duncan said.

‘I take it the 2.30pm access would have been McDougall moving into his room…?’ Jack said.

‘Correct.’

‘There was a further access at 6pm and another at 9.15pm,’ Jack noted. ’Nothing further on the 16th.’

Duncan returned his focus to his computer and tapped at his keyboard. After a quick search he said, ‘Mr. McDougall had a reservation for one at 8pm in our hotel restaurant. Records indicate…’ he tapped more keys. ‘He took that reservation and his meal was charged to his room.’

‘So it is fair to assume the 9.15pm entry was McDougall returning from his meal,’ Jack said to nobody.

Duncan kept reading the list. ‘Records for the 17th show nothing until 7.30am, at which time his room was re-entered.’

The Manager checked the guest records. ‘Mr. McDougall attended for breakfast in the Astoria Lounge at 6.30am. I would say the 7.30am access was him returning after breakfast,’ Duncan said.

Following a moment of contemplation, Jack said, ‘These records can’t conclusively demonstrate McDougall spent the night in his room after 9.15pm,’ he said.

‘Hypothetically…’ he continued, ‘if he had exited the room at any time after 9.15pm, it wouldn’t show on any records. If he didn’t return to the hotel until 6.30am for breakfast, the exit records wouldn’t be any different, would they?’ Jack said.

‘No, I suppose not,’ Duncan said. ‘But where would he stay if he wasn’t in his room?’ Duncan asked naively.

‘Where he stayed is not the issue right now,’ Jack said. ’It’s if he stayed here that night.’

‘Do you know if Mr. McDougall garaged a vehicle when he stayed during 15th -17th?’ Spence inquired.

Duncan tapped at his computer keys. He paused to monitor the results. ‘Ah… Mr. McDougall’s vehicle was Valet parked. So to answer your question – yes.’

‘Is there CCTV footage of the 45th floor hallway, outside McDougall’s room?’ Jack said.

‘Yes, there is.’

‘What about the garage…? Are the entries and exits covered?’

‘They sure are. And so is the garage internally.’

‘Would the footage still be available from the 16th and 17th?’

‘Sure would. They keep the footage for thirty days before erasing. If you follow me gentlemen, I’ll take you down to the security room… They will be able to answer any of your questions regarding security camera footage.’

---

The restricted-access Security Monitor Room was a small, dark room about the size of the average bedroom. Located in the hotel basement, the room was only accessible from the sub-level garage.

The incandescent light radiating from the three, twenty-inch flat screen monitors provided diffused lighting for the room. Positioned above the three monitors were six smaller ten-by-eight-inch monitors, all of which were assigned the various fixed cameras positioned throughout the hotel, mainly over the entrances and restricted access areas.

The Security Room was permanently manned by one security officer who utilized a keyboard and toggle stick to operate the pan-tilt-zoom cameras. The operator could rotate the cameras 360 degrees, zoom in and out and follow guest activity.

Using the unique numbers assigned to every camera in the hotel, the operator could key a camera number into the keyboard and call up any camera within the building to one of the larger monitors at the desk.

Every camera recorded 24-7 and all recorded footage was digitally date and time stamped for security purposes, including everything that was manually assigned to any of the three large monitors at the officer’s desk.

Shelving units housing banks of computer hard drives were located in a room immediately adjacent the monitor room.

The CCTV footage from the hallway of the Waldorf Towers 45th floor clearly showed the doorway to McDougall’s room. The security officer called up the footage from the 16th and fast forwarded it to the times listed on the print out provided by Duncan.

The footage they reviewed depicted McDougall entering his room at 9.15pm and he did not leave the room again that night.

Footage from the morning of the 17th showed him exiting his room at 6.25am and returning at 7.30am. The fact he was in his room all night exonerated McDougall from any direct involvement in the murders.

Jack asked the Security camera operator to call up the garage exits for the morning of the 17th, from midnight onwards.

At 2am McDougall’s car was depicted exiting the garage onto 50th Street. The fixed camera was unfortunately too far away to identify any facial features of the driver.

Fast forwarding through the footage, McDougall’s luxury black Mercedes was recorded returning at 4.30am.

‘Did Mr. McDougall report his car stolen, tampered with, or any damage to his car, at any time during his stay?’ Jack asked.

The Security officer tapped on his keyboard to check the list of incident reports on his computer records. After searching through a short list, he advised that no such reports made by Mr. McDougall.

Jack rubbed a thoughtful hand across his chin stubble. ‘Then the vehicle’s key had to be used to access and drive McDougall’s vehicle.’

Did McDougall loan his keys to someone…? Were his keys stolen and returned…? These were points he would have to clarify with McDougall.

Jack asked the security guard to call up the camera footage of the area where McDougall’s car was parked, to see if they could identify a person getting into McDougall’s car.

The Security Officer punched in the unique numbers for several cameras, calling them up one after the other to view their coverage, but none covered the area where McDougall’s car was parked.

‘It is impossible to cover every square inch of the garage by CCTV cameras,’ the guard explained. ‘The area where McDougall’s car was parked within the garage was unfortunately in one of those few locations where the CCTV cameras do not cover… A blind spot, if you will…’

Jack rubbed a contemplative had across his chin. From the review of footage, no-one was seen approaching the car, yet the car was captured on video driving out of the parking space towards the exit. The footage suggested someone approached the vehicle from this apparent camera blind spot.

‘That can’t be a coincidence,’ Jack mumbled. ‘The person who drove this car had to know where the camera blind spots were within the garage. Who had access to these cameras…?’ Jack said. ‘Who would know what coverage these cameras had?’

‘Only Security Staff and Hotel Management have access to the monitor room to view camera footage, usually following the report of an incident,’ the Guard said. ‘Events such as a guest who had a trip and fall, a pickpocket theft, theft from rooms, a troublesome guest, and guests collapsing from illness, such as a heart attack, are all recorded for the protection of the hotel.’

‘When a car is Valet parked, where are the keys kept?’

‘Central Parking operates the Waldorf’s Valet garage parking. They will be able to help you with that, but I’m pretty sure the keys are secured in a locked cabinet,’ the Guard said.

‘Does anyone from Central Parking ever enter this room and view CCTV footage?’ Jack said.

‘Um…’ The Guard thought for a moment. ‘On occasions the Supervisor might come in to check the garage footage if there was a complaint by a guest that their vehicle was damaged while parked.’

Jack nodded his understanding.

All relevant viewed CCTV footage was subsequently copied onto a disc and handed to Jack.

From the Security Room, Duncan escorted the Detectives to the Central Parking Valet team located at the Hotel’s 50th Street entrance. Duncan introduced them to the duty team supervisor, Brenton Wylie.

Wylie was an overweight twenty-eight-year-old male with flushed cheeks. He was articulate and appeared well educated.

It didn’t take long before Jack realized that Wylie was full of his own importance. He was an over-confident egotist with an obvious, yet inexplicable superiority complex.

‘All VIP guests of the Waldorf Towers, such as Mr. McDougall, use this discreet entrance off 50th Street, where they have access to private elevators to their upper floors,’ Wylie said. ‘If they have a vehicle, it is valet parked for them.’

‘Do you know who parked Mr. McDougall’s vehicle in the garage when he arrived on the 15th?’ Jack asked.

‘That responsibility would be assigned to someone from day shift, but I am unaware at this juncture as to who parked it,’ Wylie said.

‘Who decides where the car will be parked in the garage?’ Jack asked.

‘Parking space availability determines where a vehicle will be parked within the confines of the garage,’ Wylie replied, as if quoting a rule, or by-law verbatim. ‘Once the vehicle is parked the keys are assigned to the corresponding hook in the key cabinet?’ Wylie gestured to his right.

Jack scanned the vicinity. ‘The Key cabinet…?’

‘That’s correct. The key cabinet,’ Wylie said. ‘It is organized to mirror the garage floor plan. For example, when a car is parked in a particular spot in the garage, say parking bay C7, the vehicle’s keys are hung on the corresponding hook for C7,’ Wylie explained.

Not exactly rocket science. His cynical gaze moved to Spence as Wylie explained. His dislike for this person grew by the minute. Something about this guy rubbed against Jack’s grain.

‘OK… So where is the key cabinet?’ Jack was direct.

Wylie escorted the Detectives to a small inlet just east of the hotel lobby entrance and indicated a locked, black wall-mounted cabinet about three feet by two feet. Jack watched as Wylie used a key attached to a retractable cord on his belt to unlock the cabinet. He opened the cabinet doors and proudly showed the Detectives how the keys were arranged in the cabinet.

The front door of the cabinet opened outwards, to the right and a second internal door then opened outwards to the left, giving a winged effect to the cabinet that exposed several vehicle keys hanging on hooks.

‘Who has access to the keys that secure this cabinet?’ Jack said.

‘Only the Shift Supervisors… And yes, it is always locked,’ Wylie added.

Ignoring his arrogance, Jack scanned the immediate area. His focus locked onto a fixed camera, mounted on the ceiling to record the key cabinet.

Wylie must’ve noticed Jack had observed the camera. ‘That’s right…’ Wylie said in anticipation. ‘We have the key cabinet recorded 24-7. After all, we are responsible for some very expensive motor vehicles.’

Jack quietly instructed Spence to head back to the CCTV room and view the camera that recorded the key cupboard.

While Spence disappeared back down to the Security Room, Jack asked Wylie, ‘Can you tell me who was in charge of the cabinet key on the night of 16th and into the morning of the 17th?’

Wylie watched Spence depart before responding. When Spence was out of sight, Wylie removed a manila folder from the key cupboard. He ran his eyes over the contents of the folder.

His eyes lifted to Jack. ’It appears that I was working night shift during that period,’ Wylie said with apparent feigned surprise.

Jack’s eyes thinned as he regarded Wylie. ‘Did you allow anyone access to the key cabinet, or give anyone Mr. McDougall’s keys, at any time during your shift on the 16th or 17th…?’ Jack asked.

‘Absolutely not!’ Wylie firmly replied. He punctuated his comment by slamming the manila folder closed between his hands. His tone suggested he was offended by the insinuation.

Jack’s dislike for Wylie continued to grow exponentially. Something about this guy did not sit well with Jack. Jack responded in a direct tone.

‘CCTV footage from your cameras shows Mr. McDougall’s vehicle being driven out of the garage via that exit there…’ Jack jabbed a firm finger towards the closet garage exit. ‘At 2am in the morning,’ Jack said. ‘They are the facts…The vehicle was seen on the footage returning at 4.30am,’ Jack said. ‘Yet you tell me the keys to his vehicle never left that locked cabinet.’

‘Absolutely correct. Maybe his car was stolen… Maybe the owner gave someone his spare set of keys. I don’t know,’ Wylie said. ‘Maybe you should ask Mr. McDougall,’ he said.

‘Oh we will…’ Jack said. ’That you can be sure of.’

Although it was an emotion that was completely foreign to Jack’s character, he decided that discretion was the better part of valor… at least for the time being. He allowed Wylie to think he held the upper hand, which in reality however, was a ploy by Jack.

He was confident there would be a round two of questions for Wylie and he opted to keep his powder dry for the moment.

Jack recorded Wylie’s full name, address and contact details before he left to meet up with Spence down in the CCTV room.