Chapter 21

Jack printed out all four emails he received containing quotes and photographs and placed them under the victim he suspected each related to.

He stepped back to view his work. He ran a hand across his closely shaved head then extended upturned palms. ‘If these emails are supposedly clues… I’ve got nothing,’ Jack said.

‘Dare I say it…’ Spence began, treading carefully. ‘This is like the CK all over again.’

Jack nodded while he continued to study the whiteboard. ‘Yeah. I’d already considered that. The difference is… These messages…’ he flicked a finger at the whiteboard. ’Came in after these four were killed. These latest emails weren’t forewarning us of a pending murder, like the Cryptic Killer did…

‘These lot are supposedly exposing these four as pedophiles after they were killed…’ Jack said. ‘So why send them as codes…?’

Spence nodded his agreement.

‘Plus… We both know it isn’t CK sending these…’ Jack said, matter-of-fact.

Jack checked his watch. ‘I think I’ll give Danny a call. See what he thinks.’ He lifted the phone handset and dialed a number. ‘I’m not as interested in what these codes are telling us, because these vermin are all dead…’ He jabbed his head at the whiteboard. ‘I’m more interested in finding out who is sending them to me. We find who sent these and we’ll probably find the shooter.’

‘Good idea. Young Dan recognized the null cipher, so what could it hurt?’

Jack activated the loud speaker. A ringing tone pulsed from the desk phone.

When Dan answered, Jack ran through the purpose of his call. He explained the email he’d received earlier today with the message of disappointment and he explained how he’d received a number of emails around two weeks ago that each contained a quote and an image attached.

Jack asked Dan if they should be looking for a null cipher in the quotes.

At Dan’s request, Jack read each of the quotes out, while Dan wrote them down. Jack and Spence waited while Dan did his thing to decipher the quotes.

While he waited, Jack took a sip from his coffee, then spat it straight back into his cup. His face wore the expression like he’d just chomped on a turd.

Spence laughed. ‘Cold…’

‘Colder than a mother-in-law’s kiss…’ Jack said. He dropped the cup into his waste bin, coffee and all. A deep thud echoed from the bin.

‘Hey, Dad. You there?’

‘Yeah, Danny. What have you got?’

‘I couldn’t find any combination that suggested there were messages hidden in these quotes you read out to me.’

‘OK…’ Jack said in a tone of disappointment. ‘So they’re not likely to be coded then…?’

’I don’t think so.But I was thinking… Did you say each email came with a photo attached?

‘That’s right. A quote was typed in the body of the email and there was a photo as an attachment.’

’Were the attachments Jay Peg files.

‘Jay peg files…? What’s that?’

‘It’s a standard image format for photos and images. It’s an acronym for Joint Photographic Experts Group, or JPEG for short… OK. Tell me this… The attachment in the email you received will have a file name… right?’

‘Right. Got that.’

‘The attachment file’s name will be followed by a .jpeg extension, if it is a photo…’

‘Oh, right. Yep, that’s right, it does.’

‘OK. I have a hunch these images may be using what’s known as a form of Steganography.’

Jack met Spence’s equally confused gaze. ‘Steganography…?’ Jack shook his head.

’Yep. It’s basically a way of concealing an undetectable message within the photo. The easiest way to describe it is… It changes bits of useless data in images so you can’t detect it by the naked eye.’

‘So how can you be sure there are messages in these photos?’

‘I can’t be sure… But you told me someone wrote something about them sending you information via email. You said you received these photos as attached files in your emails… Are the photos of any significance to you…?’

‘None what-so-ever…’

‘OK, so, when none of the quotes were a null cipher… and none of the emails tell you anything specific, I thought the message had to be in the images.’

‘I’m not going to argue with you, Danny. I just don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Let’s test my theory. Save one of the images to your computer… Save it to your desktop for simplicity.’

Jack selected the photo of the two-faced man he suspected related to Judge Davis. When he was done, he said, ‘OK done.’

‘Great now… Open your Notepad program.’

‘Notepad. What’s Notepad. I’ve never used it.’

‘OK. A quick way to launch it is… do you see the Windows logo on the bottom left side of your keyboard…?’

‘Windows logo… Ah… Yep got that.’

‘Good. Press the Windows logo then while holding it down, press the letter R…’

‘Done. A little window with the heading “Run” popped up…’

‘That’s good. That’s what we wanted… Now simply type in “notepad” and click OK.’

‘OK… Notepad is now open. There’s a blank screen…’

‘That’s because nothing is open yet. Click “FILE” at the top left and then click “OPEN” and navigate to the image you saved to your desktop.’

‘OK… Done…. But I think something went wrong. All I’ve got is a lot of these weird computer symbols and letters and stuff. None of them make any sense.’

‘OK… Scroll all the way down to the bottom of all the weird symbols. If there is a hidden message, it will be on the last line of the code… And you’ll be able to read it clearly.’

Jack scrolled down the page. ‘Holy shit…’ Jack blurted. ’I can read that… It says, “Twofaced” and there’s what looks like a web page address… It’s written in clear English…’

‘I knew it… That’s the message he sent you. They used Steganography.’

‘But it isn’t telling me anything other than a web address or something.’

‘Whoever sent you the email wants you to visit that address. Type it into your browser and see what you get.’

‘Alright… I’ll give it a go. If I have any problems, I’ll call you back. Thanks, Danny. Good job, buddy.’

Jack pushed a button to end the call. His gaze shifted to Spence. ‘I’m over all these fucken codes, Spence… I’m just sayin’.’

‘Who needs Matthew Curry when we’ve got Dan…?’ Spence quipped.

‘OK. Let’s see what this web address has for us,’ Jack said.

He opened up Google and typed in the URL provided in the coded photograph. Jack’s shoulders slumped when a web page opened at a login screen with the instruction, “please enter your password”.

‘A lot of good that did us,’ Jack said. ‘The site this URL relates to is password protected.’

‘Just keeps gettin’ better and better, doesn’t it,’ Spence said.

Jack had a light bulb moment. He brought up Notepad to view the secret message again. ‘There’s the word “Twofaced” before the URL in this coded message,’ Jack said, flicking a finger at the screen. ‘Could that be the password?’

‘No idea. Give it a try.’

Jack returned to the password protected page and typed in “Twofaced” how it appeared in the inverted commas and hit enter. His face lit up. ‘We’re in…’ Jack said, feeling pretty clever with himself.

‘What are we looking at…?’ Spence asked.

Jack leaned on his elbows. ‘Ah… There’s only an electronic folder here named “Judge Davis”.’

‘Sounds promising…’

Jack opened the folder. A series of thumbnail photographs filled his screen. Jack double-clicked on one of the images. He leaned on his elbows to examine it more closely.

‘Ah fuck…!’ Jack blurted. He quickly pushed himself from his chair, like he’d discovered a snake coiled up under his desk. He paced the floor with his hands on his head. His breathing quickened, as he continued to pace. ‘Un-fucken-believable…’

Spence stood from his chair. ‘What the hell’s going on…?’ he asked. He moved to Jack’s side of the desk.

As he did so, Jack flicked the back of his hand at the image on the computer monitor. ‘That…!’

Spence slid into Jack’s chair and examined the screen. He quickly turned his eyes away. The full color image of Judge Davis participating in an explicit sex act with a young boy was difficult for these hardened cops to ‘un-see’, even with the young boy’s face pixelated.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me…’ Spence said.

Jack jabbed a finger at the screen. ‘That’s one of about fifty images in that folder.’ He turned away and ran his hands over his head. ‘What a fucken dog…’ he said of the judge.

‘Why would they take a photo of Judge Davis doing… that…?’

‘Now I understand the two- faced image I was sent…’ Jack began. ‘That piece of shit sat up there in his ivory tower passing judgement on people… Locking them up for their crimes, while he’s…’ Jack gestured to the monitor. ‘He’s…’ He shook his head, as he cut himself off. ‘Fucken predator… I can’t believe it.’

Spence closed the image and randomly selected five or six other images, to confirm they depicted the same horrific depravity. They did.

‘Are you OK to check the photos for the other three, using the same method Dan explained, to see if they also have a coded message hidden in the photo…?’ Spence asked.

‘I can handle just about anything thrown at me, Spence…’ Jack said. ‘But I’m afraid I can’t handle that…’ He jabbed a firm finger at the computer screen. ‘I can’t handle what these vermin do to innocent kids.’

‘Do you want me to check them…?’

Jack took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He rubbed a contemplative hand across his mouth. ‘No. I’ll do it…’ He said. He motioned to Spence to hop out of his chair. ‘I’ll go through the various steps and see how I go.’

One by one Jack opened the emails with the quotes and the photos attached. He saved the photos to his desktop, then opened them in Notepad.

Each one was identical to the Judge’s two-faced photo. Each one contained a password and a link to a password protected folder full of images relating to the person to whom the email was about.

Each of the four murder victims on Jack’s whiteboard had their own folder, with images of them abusing young kids—boys and girls.

‘How would the person who sent me these links have access to these images…?’

‘I have no idea. But, find out who sent them to you… and I suggest we’ll find our shooter,’ Spence predicted.

‘We’re gonna need some expert technical help on this, Spence, if we are to catch this shooter.’

‘FBI…?’

Jack nodded, albeit reluctantly. ‘I think so…’ As much as he hated relying on the FBI, Jack realized they needed the FBI’s specialized assistance when it came to investigating pedophiles and their nefarious activities, to help him track their killer.

Chapter 22

Annika, as she was known through her online presence, checked her reflection in the mirror as she pulled her brown hair tightly back into a bun. Her eastern-European, high cheek bones were a prominent feature of her slim face.

She lifted a blonde shoulder length wig from a wig stand and slipped in on. With a slight adjustment it sat securely in place.

A black baseball cap was next to be fitted. She used hair pins to secure it over the wig. When she was done, she checked her reflection, to ensure everything passed muster.

From the bathroom, she wandered into her bedroom. She sat on the end of her bed while she slipped on her black Nike runners and laced them up.

She stood from the bed and adjusted her black track pants. Next, she lifted a black Nike zip-up hoodie, slipped it on and zipped it up. She checked her watch.

She lifted a black back pack from the floor and checked its contents. Everything was in order. She zipped it back up. Following a cursory scan of her apartment, she slipped the back pack over her shoulders and moved to her apartment door.

With a final check of her watch, she turned out the light and left her apartment.

Once on the street she made her way to the subway, via the access staircase at the nearby intersection, where she caught the next train uptown.

At the 103rd Street stop she exited the train and made her way up to street level, via the exit at the intersection with Central Park West. After slipping on dark sunglasses, she crossed Central Park West and entered the northern end of Central Park, to commence her jog along the labyrinth of tree-lined tracks and paths, scattered throughout the park.

She trotted along the scenic path that took her around The Pool. She turned onto the Loch Walking Path, a route she was familiar with, having ran it now for the past week.

The area was particularly light-on with runners and walkers at lunch time. She continued her run along the Loch Walking Path, taking her under West Drive, via the Glen Span Arch. After one hundred yards, or so, she turned right into North Woods Walking Path and headed south.

Dense bushes of varying heights lined the track in vibrant green. Foliage from tree branches formed a canopy over the path, giving a forest-like feel, while it shaded the area from any direct sunlight.

Twenty yards along the track she stopped and checked her watch. Her chest heaved while she caught her breath. Her focus remained north, back towards the Loch Walking Path.

She waited. When a male jogger rounded the corner from the Loch Walking Path into North Woods Walking Path, running towards her, Annika squealed and grabbed her ankle.

The man jogged up to Annika. She was crouched over holding her ankle when he approached. ‘Are you alright…?’ he asked, with genuine concern in his voice.

Annika stood from her crouched position, balancing on one leg. ‘I hurt my ankle…’ She said. The man instinctively grabbed her arm when she stumbled slightly.

To steady herself, she placed a hand on his shoulder while she carefully rested her ‘injured’ foot on the ground. ‘Thank you for stopping…’

‘That’s not a problem… How is your foot?’

When the man’s eyes lowered to inspect her injured foot, Annika discreetly slipped a pistol, with a long silencer attached, from the back of her track pants and fired two rapid-fire shots into his chest. Startled birds took to flight as the sound of suppressed gun shots reverberated through the trees.

The man collapsed to his knees clutching at his chest. Annika levelled her pistol and fired once into the back of his head. The force catapulted the man forward, onto his stomach.

While she collected her casings, her attention was drawn to the sound of plodding footsteps approaching. She knelt beside her victim, concealing her weapon beside her knee. A male jogger ran over to her.

‘Are you alright…? That sounded like gun shots…?’

‘I’m fine. I ran from that direction…’ She gestured back to the south. ‘And I found him lying here…?’

‘Well… No one ran passed me,’ he reassured. The good Samaritan knelt down to check the body. As he did so, Annika lifted her weapon and fired one round into the back of the man’s head. ‘Good-bye,’ she said. His lifeless body collapsed on top of the first victim.

Annika collected her casing then checked her surrounds. All was clear. She returned the pistol to her back pack, slipped the back pack on, and quickly ran from the area.

She ran south along the North Woods Walking Path, taking her down under 102nd St Crossing, through the Springbanks Arch and out onto Central Park Driveway.

She ran passed the North Meadow baseball fields, continuing around to the West 96th Street park exit. At first appearances, she was like every other jogger who ran through Central Park.

At the park exit she calmly stepped out on the Central Park West sidewalk. She waited with other pedestrians for the walk signal, before calmly crossing Central Park West into West 96th Street. She made her way down into the subway, via the access stairs at the intersection.

At the platform she merged in with the fifty, or so lunch time travelers, waiting for the next downtown train. She moved to the back of the platform. She avoided eye contact and kept the baseball cap low over her face.

Annika positioned herself in a blind spot, away from platform cameras. While she waited, she removed her cell phone and thumbed out a message, “was good day for jog in park” and sent it off.

After checking her surrounds, she discretely slid the SIM card from her cell, snapped it in half and dumped it, and the burner, into a trash bin.

When the next train squealed to a stop, she was swept up in the rush to board the train. The doors closed and the train powered away.

---

Jack spent the afternoon trawling through Goodfellow’s laptop, after the IT guys bypassed the password login.

For the most, it was relatively clean, which was consistent with Goodfellow having deleted anything incriminating.

Of the many deleted emails IT was able to recover, none had anything to do with his predator activities. It was too clean for Jack’s liking.

‘Any luck with Goodfellow’s laptop…?’ Spence yelled from his desk.

‘No smoking guns…’ Jack said. ‘In fact… I think it’s too clean,’ Jack said.

Spence appeared in the office doorway. He leaned a shoulder on the doorway. ‘So… No emails with party invites…?’ Spence said as a question.

Jack shook his head. ‘No. Nothing like that.’

‘I find that unusual… He held parties every Saturday night.’

‘Maybe he sent out text message invites.’

‘We never recovered a cell phone, did we?’ Spence said.

‘No. And that is also unusual there was no cell at his address, given what we know about him…’

‘Any photos stored on there…?’ Spence flicked a finger at the laptop.

‘Not one photo on his hard drive,’ Jack said. ‘But what IT did say though was, Goodfellow had down loaded, and more than likely used, The Onion Router browser…’

Spence’s face remained unimpressed. ‘Should I know what that is…?’

Jack shrugged. ‘I didn’t. I think IT referred to it by the acronym, “TOR”. Apparently, it’s something used by those on the Dark Web who want their web browsing activity to remain anonymous… or something like that…’

‘Ah… The Dark Web… Now that’s getting closer to the Goodfellow we’ve come to know…’ Spence said. ‘But there’s nothing incriminating on his laptop, though?’ Spence said as a question.

‘No. All I could find is this…’ Jack flicked a finger at his monitor. ‘IT partially recovered a deleted email. The email address is legible, but whatever was typed in the body of the email was a mass of symbols and characters.’

‘Do you think it’s coding of some sort…?’

‘No. I’ve seen this before. It happens when a file has been corrupted. IT said the same thing.’

‘What’s the email address…?’

‘It looks like… [email protected].’

‘Type, “midtownpsyche.com” into Google and see what website comes up,’ Spence said.

Jack did as Spence asked. ‘Ah… OK. Midtownpsyche.com is the website of Midtown Psychiatry. It’s on 5th…’ Jack continued to search the website. ‘The Ryan is Doctor Ryan Bowen… Looks like it’s his practice,’ Jack said. ‘They also have practices in downtown and one in Brooklyn…’

‘I wonder if Goodfellow was a patient of this Doctor Ryan, or an associate…’ Spence asked with deliberate emphasis on associate.

Jack typed the doctor’s name into Google. ‘Been a shrink for twenty-two years…’ Jack began. ‘Specializes in adult and adolescent psychiatry…’

‘What else is left…?’ Spence said. ‘Pets…?’ He grinned at his own humor.

‘Good question. Says here he obtained his medical degree from…’ Jack paused. He lifted his eyes to Spence. ‘Yale…’ he said knowingly.

Spence grinned. ‘Wonder if he knew the judge…?’

‘Let’s ask him directly. Give the practice a call and arrange a visit time,’ Jack directed.

Spence pushed himself away from the door frame and disappeared back to his desk.

Jack clasped his hands behind his head and reclined his chair. He ran his eyes over the whiteboard and the four victim photos. He felt nothing for them. He held some sympathy for their families, but for these four-not a thing.

Sure they were human beings and some would say they did not deserve to be put down like mongrel dogs. But not him. To him they were nothing but vermin that preyed on innocent kids.

As a law enforcement officer, he couldn’t verbalize his true feelings. He had to continue to try and bring the offender to justice, when he’d rather give their killer a medal.

Jack’s contemplation was interrupted by Spence summoning him to the bull pen.

‘I think your phone’s about to ring, Jobs…’ Spence yelled. ‘You better get out and see this.’

When Jack wandered into the bull pen, Spence gestured to the wall mounted TV. ‘The media are reporting a double homicide in Central Park,’ Spence said.

Jack frowned. He approached the TV to listen to the report. ‘How old is this…?’ He checked his watch.

‘This is a live News cross… Uniform cops are on the scene…’

‘Did they say how were they killed…?’

‘The reporter said they were both shot… What are you thinking… Numbers five & six for the whiteboard, or unrelated…?’

‘Let’s wait and see how they were shot…’ Jack said.

‘Oh. By the way…I got us an appointment with that shrink… Ryan Bowen at 11am tomorrow.’

‘OK. Good.’ Jack’s desk phone started warbling. He jabbed a knowing thumb in that direction. ‘Hope you weren’t expecting to go home any time soon…’ he said. He checked his watch, then moved to answer the call.

Chapter 23

Jack wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder while he stood at the side of his desk and scribbled down directions to the crime scene in Central Park, provided to him by the uniform police at that location.

As he did so, his new email tone pinged. When he ended the call he checked his emails, in case it was anything urgent. His face tightened when he opened the email.

Jack fell back into his chair. He read the anonymous quote typed into the body of the email. “I thought you were healing me but no, you broke me even more”.

He opened the attachment. It was a photograph of a large teddy bear sitting on the floor. Its face was saddened and its arms were up to its head, like it was distressed.

He checked his watch, then saved the photograph to his desktop, per Dan’s previous instructions. He opened it up in Notepad.

As he expected, it was the same as the other emails he’d received. He visited the website link provided then accessed the password protected page using the password in the photo coding.

The folder provided was named “Raymond Scott”. Jack’s eyes lifted to the ceiling. ‘Raymond Scott…’ he muttered to himself. That name did not register with him.

He cautiously opened the folder. His eyes turned away when it was more of what he’d previously received. Photos of whom he assumed was this Raymond Scott with young boys and girls.

Jack opened his Google search engine and typed in “Raymond Scott NYC”. He had his answer within seconds. The search results informed him Raymond Scott was a New York City Psychiatrist. His office was located on East 102nd Street on the Upper East Side.

Spence appeared at the office door. ‘We just about ready to head up to the Park…?’ He said.

‘I think I know one of the vics…’ Jack flicked a finger at his monitor. Spence moved around to Jack’s side of the desk. He read the Google information.

‘Raymond Scott… A shrink…’ Spence said. ‘How did you—’ He cut himself off. ‘Did you get another email…?’

Jack brought the email up onto his monitor. Spence read the quote. Jack then brought Notepad up on his monitor and showed Spence the website URL.

‘You know the rest…’ Jack said. ‘There’s a folder of someone I assume is this Raymond Scott with young kids.’

‘The sender didn’t waste any time sending this email to you…’

’I expect the sender wants us to ‘out’ this piece-of-shit during media interviews.’

‘Anything there about the other body…? Two were shot…’

‘The folder with all the photos only has one name. There is no mention of a second person….’ Jack wrenched open a drawer and removed the vehicle keys. ‘Let’s get down there…’ He grabbed his jacket from the coat stand and they left the office.

Spence parked their vehicle on 102nd Street crossing, at the northern end of Central Park. A uniform cop stood guard at the crime scene tape stretched across the entrance to the Springbanks Arch tunnel, running under 102nd Street Crossing.

After flashing their shields, they made their way through the tunnel onto North Woods Walking Path.

Jack shielded his eyes as he looked skyward to the hovering media choppers, before he disappeared under the canopy of overhanging trees. ’Doesn’t take ‘em long, does it…?’ He grumbled to himself.

They followed the winding tree lined path for around sixty yards, until they were met by Sergeant Dallas Kent from the 24th Precinct.

Following banal introductions, the sergeant accompanied them to the victims, updating them as they walked.

‘We’ve got two male bodies in the shrubs on the left up there… Both appear like they were jogging through the park when they were shot…’

‘Any witnesses?’ Jack asked.

‘No.’ The sergeant scanned the overgrowth. ‘Too secluded in here…’ He checked his note pad. ‘They were found by Alan Gayle, while on his lunch time stroll through the park.’

‘What do we know about Gayle…?’

’Apart from the fact he’s pretty distressed at the moment… not much else. He’s an office worker on West 97th, back over there…’ He gestured with his pen. ‘A clean skin. No police record…’

‘OK. Thanks,’ Jack said. ‘You’ll arrange formal ID and then notify next of kin, once their identity is known…’ Jack said, as a question.

‘Will do,’ the uniform sergeant said.

Jack approached the crime scene officers processing the scene. ‘What can you tell me, Andy…?’ he asked.

The kneeling CSO lifted his eyes to Jack. ‘Hey, Jobs…’ He scanned the bodies lying in front of him. ‘This one here…’ He indicated the one on the bottom. ‘…Has two in the chest and one in the back of the head, all from close range. The firearm would’ve been almost resting on the target when it was fired.’

Jack examined the victim. The bullet’s exit wound removed most of his face. ‘So, two in the chest, which means he was facing his shooter…’ Jack began. ‘Then one in the back of the head, means the shooter was behind him…’

‘I’d hazard a guess and say when he was shot, he dropped to his knees, forward of the shooter…’ The CSU began. ‘The shooter must’ve then simply….’ He used his thumb and pointer finger to simulate a gun. ‘Bang. In the back of the head.’

Jack lifted his chin to the other body. ‘What about him?’

‘One shot only… To the back of the head…’

Jack rubbed a contemplative hand across his mouth. ‘One only…’ he said as his focus shifted to Spence. ‘Could he have been collateral damage…? Wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe he jogged up to the scene before the shooter had time to leave, so… no loose ends sort of shit…’

‘Possible,’ Spence said.

‘Do we know who they are…?’ Jack asked the CSU.

‘The one on top there is Clive Vance. He had his wallet and ID on him. He was thirty-six. An insurance salesman. Lived over on the Upper West Side.’

‘What about this guy…’ Jack flicked a hand at the other body.

‘We don’t know who that is yet. He doesn’t have any ID on him.’

Jack removed his note pad and flipped over some pages. ‘We think he is Raymond Scott. He’s a shrink over on East 102nd,’ Jack gestured towards the east side of the park. ‘Give his office a call and see if he is working today, Spence.’

Spence removed his cell and stepped away.

‘How do you know who he is…?’ The CSU asked.

‘Working off a hunch, at this stage…’ Jack said.

‘Is he known to police…?’

Jack shook his head. ‘Not that I’m aware of. We haven’t run him yet to see if he has any form.’ He checked to see how Spence was going. ‘Just a hunch at this stage.’

Spence slid his cell into his jacket pocket as he returned a short time later. ’Just spoke to Tania, the practice receptionist. She said Raymond headed out for a run just after lunch and hasn’t returned as yet.

‘Apparently, he runs the park every day, even if it’s raining,’ Spence said. ‘I asked her what he was wearing when he left for a run.’ Spence gestured to the body. ‘Maroon sleeveless jogging vest. Black Nike running tights. Black Under Armor shorts and navy Nike runners.’

‘OK. So based on the clothing description… That’s more than likely, Raymond Scott…’ Jack said. ‘The fact this Vance had only one shot to the head concerns me…. While a shot to the back of the head is still an execution style killing… It’s not the triple-tap used to kill the others, including this one…’ Jack said. ‘The more I think about it, the more I’m certain this Vance wandered up at the wrong time… Otherwise… he too would’ve been triple-tapped.’

‘I tend to agree, Jobs. I’ll arrange a background check on him all the same,’ Spence said.

‘Were you able to lift anything?’ Jack asked the CSU.

‘There’s not much here, but I lifted this from him,’ he said indicating Vance’s body. He handed Jack an evidence bag.

Jack examined the contents. ‘Hair strands…’ he said ‘OK. Good. Are they blonde…?’

‘Appear to be.’

Sergeant Dallas Kent approached Jack and Spence. ‘Excuse me, detectives… The officer at the crime scene tape just called through. There is someone there with him you may want talk to,’ he said.

Jack and Spence finalized arrangements with CSU then wound their way back to the Springbanks Arch tunnel. They approached the uniform cop standing guard.

‘What do you have for us…?’ Jack asked.

The cop gestured to a male in his forties sitting nearby on a road racing bicycle, watching them closely. ‘He says he saw someone running from this area, after the shooting…’

‘How’d he know there’d been a shooting?’

‘Says he heard gunshots. His name is Callum Stone’

‘OK. Let’s go have a chat with him.’

Chapter 24

Jack and Spence approached the male witness on the bicycle. He looked fit. He wore a black racing helmet, a bright fluorescent yellow top and black and yellow gloves. His muscular thighs and calves bulged through his figure-hugging black winter riding tights.

Jack held up his Police ID then introduced himself and Spence to the witness. ‘I understand you have some information for us,’ Jack asked

‘Look… It’s probably nothing. I don’t want to get any innocent people into trouble,’ he said.

‘Why don’t you let us decide if it’s nothing,’ Jack said.

He nodded his understanding. He gestured to his right. ‘I was riding along East Drive there… I ride a training circuit around the park every day. I was heading up this way…’ He gestured north along East Drive. ‘And I heard what sounded like muffled gun shots… At the time I wasn’t sure if they were shots, but when I saw on the news someone had been shot and the area of the park where they were shot, I thought I’d better come back here to see the police on the scene.’

‘What time did you hear these gunshots…?’

‘Around 12.40pm.’

‘How many gunshots did you hear?’

‘There were four in total.’ Jack and Spence exchanged a brief glance at his accurate account. ’There were two close together. Then another shortly after that. I stopped riding when I heard the third shot.

‘Then about thirty, to forty seconds later… There was another shot—the fourth. While I was trying to work out if they were actually gunshots, a woman ran out of Springbanks Arch there…’ He indicated the tunnel. ‘And she ran along Central Park Driveway in that direction towards Central Park West.’

‘Can you recall what she looked like?’

‘She had a black baseball cap. Shoulder length, blonde hair…’ Jack and Spence exchanged another brief glance at the blonde hair comment. ‘She was dressed in all black clothing and she had a black back pack on. I took a quick photo of her…’ He removed his cell from his fanny pack and navigated to the photo.

‘Did you see where she went?’ Jack said. He watched the man access the phone’s stored photos.

‘I started following her… From a distance, you know… In case she was dangerous. She ran out the park exit at West 96th but she wasn’t in a hurry. She waited for the walk signal to change before she crossed. That’s when I took this…’ Jack accepted the phone. ‘I took that while she waited to cross.’

Jack zoomed in on the photo of the woman’s side profile, but the quality was grainy.

‘Where did she go from there…?’

‘She crossed Central Park West and went down into the 96 Subway. That’s where I stopped following her. I thought she was too calm to have shot anyone, so I went home.’

Jack handed the cell to Spence. ‘Where’s home?’ Jack asked while Spence examined the photo.

‘I live up on West 120th, near Columbia University…’

‘Features are a little pixelated…’ Spence said.

Jack removed his cell. ‘Can you air drop me that photo?’ It wasn’t a question. He handed the witness back his cell.

‘Sure…’

The witness pushed some buttons on his cell phone. A short time later Jack’s cell pinged. He accepted the image. ‘Thank you…’

Once they had obtained his relevant details, the witness was free to leave.

Jack and Spence strolled back to their vehicle. ‘What do you make of that?’ Spence asked.

‘He got the number of shots right… and he said she ran out of that tunnel there… which means she was running from the shooting site… And the timeline fits…’

‘And the back pack she wore could easily conceal a firearm…’ Spence said.

‘If our friend here is on the money… and it was our shooter he saw, then it adds weight to the Macy Burns name Seamus O’Brien Googled, before he was shot. Our shooter could very well be female.’

‘What are you thinking…? Female gun for hire…?’

‘I don’t know at this stage. The kill shots suggest training of some sort. Possibly military,’ Jack said. ‘When we get back to the office, I’ll get Unly to contact the MTA to arrange a time to review their CCTV, to see if we can follow her through the subway to the station she got off at.’

---

Jack and Spence sat in the waiting room of Midtown Psychiatry for their scheduled 11am appointment with Doctor Ryan Bowen.

Seated in the row of five white leather chairs that lined the wall opposite the reception desk, Jack and Spence were the only ones in the brightly lit waiting room.

Large framed color photographs of New York City landmarks covered the walls, while miniature trees in large pots filled the corners.

Jack checked his watch for the fifth time since they arrived. He held his watch out to Spence; a silent indication the doc was twenty minutes late. Spence nodded then re-adjusted himself in his chair.

Their impatient heads snapped to their right when the door with the name plate “Doctor Ryan Bowen” opened.

Bowen stood in the doorway smiling at his guests. He was casually dressed in bone trousers and a pale blue lightweight V-neck jumper, over a white collared shirt. Jack recognized him from the photos on his website.

‘Gentlemen… Please come through…’ he said.

Jack and Spence stood from their chairs. Each one stretched to get their stiff muscles moving again.

As they entered Bowen’s office, Jack took a typical first-time glance around the sizeable room. Natural light, defused by sheer curtains, flooded the room from the wall of windows opposite the entry door.

On the left was Bowen’s timber desk, free from any clutter. Only a computer monitor, a desk phone and a framed photo stood on the desk.

On the right side of the room was a cream, three-seater leather sofa and a cream leather armchair, separated by a square timber coffee table, with a box of tissues sitting on it. Bookcases and filing cabinets lined the wall behind the three-seater sofa.

The doc gestured to the seating area of the room. ‘Please… Take a seat gentlemen.’

Jack and Spence sat in the three-seater. The doc sat opposite in the arm chair. He crossed his legs then leaned an elbow on his knees.

‘How can I help you, today…?’

‘That’s an interesting tattoo you have on your right hand there…’ Jack flicked a finger at the doc’s right hand.

Bowen sat back in his chair and passed a cursory glance at his tattoo. ‘Ah… Yes. Well, I had an accident when I was much younger. As a result I only have partial use of my right arm. I got this ugly scar from the accident…’ He ran an indicator finger along the scar. ‘So I got this tattoo to try and cover up the ugly scar… Plus, it’s often a good ice breaker with my patients.’ He grinned and extended a ‘case in point’ hand at Jack.

‘What type of patients do you see …?’ Jack asked.

‘What “type” of patient…?’ The doc asked. He frowned his misunderstanding.

‘Do you see adults and children?’

‘I do… I specialize in both.’ He leaned an elbow back on his knee. ‘I’m sure you can obtain the full suite of our services from our website, detective… But I get the feeling you’re not here to find out about my services.’

‘No, you’re very perceptive, Doctor. We’re investigating a number of murders and your name came up in an email on the laptop of one of the murder victims.’

The doc’s face tightened. ‘Oh. I see. An email…? Was it from me directly, or was it from this practice, with my email signature block on it? Because you see, those emails are sent out by my receptionist.’

‘The content of the email had been corrupted, which is why we are here today… to discuss this with you.’

The Doc sat back in his chair. ‘Well… If the email was sent to a patient… you understand I can’t discuss any patients I am treating.’

‘Could you confirm he was a patient, at least…?’

‘Look… I’d love to help in any way I can, gentlemen. But please understand. I cannot break doctor-patient privilege.’

‘The man is dead, doctor,’ Jack said firmly. ‘I don’t think he would care if you confirmed he was a patient of yours or not…’

The doc’s eyes flicked from Jack to Spence and back several times, while he processed the request. ‘How will knowing if this person was a patient of mine help your investigation?’

‘That’s a good question. It helps us to learn more about this victim and why he was killed…’

‘But he’s a victim. Shouldn’t you be investigating the offender…?’

‘Of course. But the why, when put in context, goes a long way to establishing the motive, and often the motive helps us when we have a suspect.’

‘So you have a suspect?’

‘We do…’ He lied.

‘Good for you. So what is this person’s name…?’

‘Marcus Goodfellow… He was a school principal.’

The doc’s eyes lifted to the ceiling. He shook his head. ‘Doesn’t ring a bell as a patient of mine,’ he said.

Jack flicked a hand at the doc’s desk. ‘Can you check your records on your computer there…?’

The doc pushed himself up from his chair and moved to a white, four-drawer filing cabinet behind the three-seater chair. He slid out the second top drawer. ‘Goodfellow…’ he muttered as he walked his fingers through the files. ‘Nope…’ He slammed the drawer shut.‘He was not a patient.’

‘So you knew him socially then…?’

‘I would’ve recognized the name if I knew him socially, Detective.’ The doctor’s tone was defensive.

‘OK…’ Jack began. ‘So Marcus Goodfellow was not a patient of yours.’ The doc shook his head. ‘And you did not know him personally, or socially…?’

‘No. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help to you.’

‘That just leaves the obvious question… Why did he send you an email, if you don’t know him…?’

‘I’m not sure he did. I’d have to see the email, Detective, before I could answer that.’

Jack and Spence exchanged a brief glance. ‘Well… You either know him, or you don’t, Doctor…’ Jack said.

‘I think I made myself clear, Detective. I don’t know the gentleman…’ He checked his watch and stood from his chair. ‘If there’s nothing else, Detective…’

Jack and Spence took the hint and stood. The doctor gestured towards the door. ‘Thank you for coming in…’

As they strolled to the office door Jack said, ‘I see you were a Yale alumnus…’

‘As a matter of fact, I was…’

‘I assume you’re a member of The Yale Club on Vanderbilt…’

The doc’s face tightened. His questioning eyes flicked between Jack and Spence. ‘I am actually… But what does that have to do with anything regarding your visit today…?’

‘I was wondering if you knew Judge Davis…’

The doc stopped walking. ‘I did know the judge… I knew him quite well, actually. It’s tragic what happened to him. Is he one of the murders you’re investigating…?’

‘How did you know him?’ Jack asked. He deliberately ignored the question.

‘The judge, me and three or four others used to always meet on Saturday nights for a drink at the club.’

‘So… Did you usually sit with the judge while he was at the club, or…?’

‘Well, that’s how one shares a drink with friends, Detective. They usually sit with them…’

‘And you “shared a drink” with him all night, or did you usually leave early…?’

‘No. No. Judge Davis always left first. He only stayed until 9pm then went home. His wife was home alone, so he didn’t want to leave her on her own too long.’

‘So the judge told you he was going home…?’

‘That’s right…’ He frowned as his eyes bounced between Jack and Spence.

‘What about your wife doctor…? She must be very tolerant with you staying on at the club drinking with the boys.’

The doc scoffed. ‘Oh no. That ship sailed a long time ago, gentlemen… I’m a single man now, so, no little lady at home to keep happy.’

‘OK. Thank you for your time, Doctor.’

‘Sorry I couldn’t be more help…’

He closed his door behind them as they entered the waiting room and moved towards the exit.

Without any warning Jack changed direction and approached the young receptionist seated behind the high front counter. ‘Hi…’ Jack said. He leaned on the counter wall. The receptionist smiled her greeting. ‘I was wondering if you could help us…’

‘Of course. What can I do for you…?’

‘We were trying to remember Doctor Bowen’s wife’s name. He told us in there, but we didn’t write it down. Did you know his wife?’

‘I did. Rhonda is her name…’

‘Rhonda… That’s it… Thanks…’

‘But they’re separated…’

‘That’s right… The doctor mentioned that, but we forgot what he said her name was….’ Jack tapped his forehead. ‘Once you get old you get memories like sieves.’

‘Not a problem…’

Jack met Spence at the office external door. ‘Memories like sieves, hey…’ Spence said quietly. His face wore a wry grin.

‘Just wanted to check he was telling the truth about being separated…’

‘I got that…’

While they waited for the elevator, Jack recapped on their meeting. ‘So… The doc knew the judge. The judge was on his way to Goodfellow’s, but Goodfellow didn’t know the judge. Goodfellow sent the doc an email, but the doc doesn’t know Goodfellow…’ He shook a confused head.

‘Maybe it’s their group’s rules that they each deny knowing anyone from their group, outside their little meetings…’ Spence said.

‘You could very well be on the money there, Spence,’ Jack said, as they boarded the elevator.

Chapter 25

Jack and Spence sat alone at one end of a twenty-seat table in a large conference room. They faced a one hundred fifty-inch wall-mounted TV screen displaying a large FBI logo screen saver.

The east facing floor-to-ceiling windows provided an abundance of natural light, and from twenty-three floors up, allowed for uninterrupted views of the East River, across to Brooklyn.

Jack checked his watch then helped himself to a glass of water from the jug provided. He poured a glass for Spence, before pouring his own.

As he took a sip, the hinges on the conference room’s opaque glass door squeaked when their host, Special Agent Aron Lester, returned.

On appearance alone, Aron was the type of guy you’d least suspect to be a fed. Short in stature. Average build. Clean shaven, probably a little nerdy in appearance, with his comb over part. He could have passed as the FBI IT guy.

‘I’m sorry for the wait, gentlemen,’ he said as he moved to the cabinet beneath the large screen. ‘We’ve been having troubles establishing the connection with Langley.’ He lifted a remote control and pushed some buttons. ‘But I think… we’re ready to go…’

Aron stepped back and glanced at the TV. The screen went blank. He pointed a remote at it and pushed some more buttons. ‘Come on…’ he moaned. ‘Goddamn internet connections.’

The screen flashed, went blank for several seconds, then their video conference connected. Supervisory Special Agent Ken Lane filled the large screen from his conference room in FBI Headquarters in Langley, Virginia.

Casually dressed in a pale lemon collared t-shirt, Ken sat close to the camera, at the end of a similar sized table to the one Jack and Spence sat at.

The elevated camera sitting on top of his screen identified his short, salt and pepper colored hair was thinning on top.

‘Can you hear me, gentlemen…?’ Ken asked. The audio came from a triangle shaped device sitting on the table in front of Jack and Spence.

‘We’ve got you now, Ken…’ Aron said. ‘Can you hear me…?’

‘Loud and clear, Aron…’

‘Fantastic…’ Aron moved to the door and flicked a switch. The wall of windows that separated the conference room from the outside hallway, turned opaque. The room was now completely private.

Aron slid into a chair opposite Jack and Spence. He gestured towards Jack. ‘Ken… I’ve got Lieutenant Jack Head and…’ He gestured towards Spence. ‘Detective Sergeant Doug Spencer here from New York City Homicide.’

‘Good morning, gentlemen… Nice to finally put a face to the names,’ Ken said in his prominent southern accent.

To catch their shooter, Jack and Spence needed to learn more about the seedy underworld of these child sex groups. So Jack contacted the FBI Behavioral Science Unit in Langley, Virginia, to seek their specialized assistance in investigating pedophiles.

The FBI agent Jack was connected with was Supervisory Special Agent Ken Lane. Given Ken was based in Virginia, it was decided the most efficient way to meet and discuss the issues would be via video conference from the New York City office of the FBI.

Prior to today’s scheduled meeting, Ken Lane requested copies of everything Jack discovered during his investigation that related to the child sex rings.

Ken was to review all the relevant documents and information, so he was up to date for today’s meeting.

‘Thank you once again for taking the time to assist us, Ken…’ Jack said.

‘Not a problem, Jack. Like I said on the phone in one of our earlier conversations… I’ve been doing this for over twenty-five years… This is what we do… We provide free assistance and guidance to all criminal justice professionals, not just for crimes under the investigative jurisdiction of the FBI.’

‘Did you get a chance to review everything I sent you?’

‘I did… As I understand it, during your homicide investigations, you’ve identified each victim may be connected to what you called a “pedophile group”…?’

‘That’s correct.’

‘And you think your shootings are hate crimes perpetrated by a pedophile vigilante…?’

‘We think so…’

Ken slipped on a pair of reading glasses, then lifted a document from the table and read from it. ‘And you wrote in your email that because the shooter appears to know sensitive information about these pedophile groups, you feel, if you are to catch this shooter, you have to learn more about these groups, specifically how they interact and connect.’

‘That’s it…’ Jack said.

‘OK. You’ve come to the right place…’ Ken said. ‘So… Let’s start with the emails you sent me. I’ve read the email you provided for…’ he paused while he read from his notes on the table. ‘Judge Davis. The ones with the null cipher which, by the way, is only one of several types of cryptography these people use …’ Ken slipped off his glasses and leaned an elbow on the table. ‘Let me say right off the top here, Jack and Doug… That was impressive how you guys identified the null cipher in those emails.’ He slipped his glasses back on, oblivious to the proud grin that emerged out the side of Jack’s face. Spence noticed.

Ken continued. ‘These types of emails are very common among the groups. They are essentially invites to a…’ he held up quotation fingers. ‘Party…’ he said. ‘The information you deciphered from the emails, such as this one…’ he read from one of the emails. ‘Love the world with the readiness of children… are passwords they used to gain entry into the house, where the party was being held. There are no exceptions. No Password – No entry. They do this to protect the group members from outside infiltration.’

‘So based on those emails sent to the judge each Friday… There was a different password issued each week….?’ Jack said as a question.

‘More accurately, Jack… They issued a new password for every party they held. So, three parties in one week… Three password coded emails were sent out.’

‘Makes sense…’ Jack said.

‘Now. The next thing.’ Ken lifted a document and read from it. ‘The emails you received with the so-called messages alerting you to the fact your homicide victims were pedophiles….’

He slipped his glasses off a second time and held them in his hand, while he stared down the camera lens. ‘How did you guys know about steganography…?’ he asked. Ken didn’t wait for a response.

‘That is getting into high-tech shit, right there…’ He slid his glasses back on and continued. ’Steganography is widely utilized among these type of child sex groups. It’s how group members exchange concealed information such as files, photos, videos and hidden messages, within other files, messages, images or video, essentially in broad daylight, under the noses of the unsuspecting.

‘For example, one of the child sex group members could be at his office desk at work… If he received an email with a non-offensive photo attached, say of the Empire State Building, for example… No-one who noticed it would blink an eye. But if that photo was of a male person performing a sex act with a child, there would be outrage, and rightly so,’ Ken said. ‘So to get around this, they use steganography to share their insidious child pornography.’

‘The photos I received only had some words hidden in them…’ Jack began. ‘A password and an URL… Are you saying these photos could also contain hidden photographs…?’

‘Absolutely… and video as well. That is how they share the child pornography they film, or photographs from their group sessions.’

‘That is unbelievable…’ Jack said.

‘Let me show you an example…’ Ken began. He dragged a laptop closer to himself and started tapping on the keys. ‘What is appearing on my laptop screen should be appearing on your large video screen there, as a smaller picture in a picture. Has it come up…?’

Ken’s desktop appeared in the top right had corner in a box about 25% of the screen space.

‘It has now, Ken…’ Aron said.

‘OK. Great. Now Jack… What do you see?’

An image appeared in Ken’s inserted smaller screen. ‘A picture of the Mona Lisa…’ Jack said.

‘Arguably one of the most recognizable faces in the world…right?’ Ken said. ‘Now watch this.’

Ken executed a series of steps and within sixty seconds, a new image appeared. ‘What do you see now…?’

‘A photo of a puppy with a red ball…’ Jack said.

‘OK… That photo of the cute little puppy was actually hidden inside the Mona Lisa photo… It was put there as an example for you guys.’

‘That is amazing. So these predators can share their photos with each other by hiding them inside a photo?’ Jack said.

‘Photos and videos…’

‘Is it difficult to do?’

‘There are all types of software programs out there now… This one I’m using is a freeware version I downloaded, so you don’t need any technical knowledge… You just need to know how to use the program.’

‘So all those photos we found on the victims’ laptops…’

‘Was them sharing their child pornography…’ Ken said, finishing Jack’s sentence. ‘I checked a number of them using this program and every one was child porn… I won’t bring them up on my screen, unless you want me to.’

Jack held up a hand. ‘That won’t be necessary, Ken. We understand.’ Jack eyes met Spence’s. He rolled his eyes in amazement. ‘So, given the apparent secrecy and security methods these offenders employed, for us to be receiving these pornographic images of each victim in the emails I received…’ Jack began. ‘Wouldn’t that suggest the sender of the emails, whom we suspect to be our shooter, would have to be on the inner circle of this group, to have access to all these photos…?’

‘That’s a very good question,’ Ken said. ‘It could suggest the shooter is a current member, or is a former member of the group, who for some reason, harbors a grudge against the people he shot…’

‘So we could be looking for a pedophile…?’

‘You could be…’

‘OK. So tell me Ken. How is it I was receiving those emails from a non-existent email address?’

‘There are a number of email programs out there that will allow you to send anonymous emails…’ Ken said. He tapped on his laptop. A webpage opened on the small screen insert on their screen. ’This one here allows you to send anonymous emails. You type the name into your TOR browser and when the webpage opens, send your email. It will be completely anonymous.

‘Then there’s this one…’ Another webpage opened on their insert screen. ’This one allows you to send anonymous email from a made-up email address. I suspect your sender used something like this one, ’Ken said.

‘So these emails cannot be traced?’

‘You’ve heard of The Onion Router….?’ Ken said. ‘Or TOR…’

‘Only recently…’

‘But you’ve heard of it, good. TOR is popular on the dark web. It hides your IP address and your location every time you send, or request data on the Internet. When these email programs are used with TOR…’ Ken shook his head. ‘Forget it… You won’t find them. I ran a trace on some of those emails you sent me to check. In one of them, I started in Prague and ended up bouncing through servers all over the world.’

‘Where does that leave us, Ken…? How do we find our shooter with all this secrecy…?’ Jack asked.

‘If the answer was straight forward Jack, we’d be rid of all pedophiles by now, and you’d have your shooter,’ Ken said.

‘So… What you’re saying is, we’re screwed…’

‘Not quite… I’d suggest you look for the victims… Look for the kids they’ve groomed… These groups don’t kidnap the kids and keep them locked up in a basement until they need them. They actually let them go home… those that have a home.’

‘I see. How do they ensure these kids won’t go to the police…?’

’In a word… Control. These people who operate child sex rings know how to control and manipulate children. Primarily they would use attention, affection and of course gifts, as part of the seduction process. See, molesters seduce children the same way adults seduce one another. It takes time to win trust and their affection. But the difference is, these people are often a prestigious authority figure, such as a teacher, law enforcement officers, a religious leader, a judge, soccer coach, or a scout leader etc. The list is endless.

’I have found over the years that many victims never disclose being a victim and they will strongly deny it happened when asked. Some are just too embarrassed.

‘One way of control is photos. They have explicit photos of these young boys participating in homosexual acts with older men. These young boys aren’t homosexual, just adventurous over-sexed young teens who are getting rewarded well. These predators threaten to release the photos through social media, if they go to the cops… So to avoid risking ridicule from their peers, these kids hide their actions’

‘Social media blackmail…’ Jack said. He shook a disapproving head.

’Correct. Then there are the threats to make them disappear, be seriously assaulted, or even killed, which sends a clear message to anyone thinking about going to the cops…’

‘I was hoping you’d be able to help us Ken. All I’m feeling more and more is help-less,’ Jack said.

‘All is not lost… If you can get hold of one of these kids who has been groomed you may be able to get him to flip. Who knows what you’ll find out, if he does.’

‘How do we do that?’

‘Look for homeless kids, or kids from poorer neighborhoods who don’t fit in because of their clothing… or latest phone.’

‘That’s not the first time we’ve heard that,’ Jack said.

‘They’re not easy to spot, Jack, but when you do, you’ll know it. The trick is catching them and convincing them to flip…’

Jack looked to Spence. ‘Anything for Ken, Spence?’

‘No, I’m good.’

‘OK. Well… It looks like we’re done here, Ken. I appreciate your time. We’ve learned a lot about the secrecy of these groups and how they communicate.’

’You’re welcome, gentlemen. Best of luck catching your shooter. Bye now.’ The screen went blank, flickered twice, then the FBI logo appeared on a blue background.

Following handshakes of appreciation, Special Agent Aron escorted Jack and Spence from the building.

As Jack and Spence strolled back to their vehicle, Jack said, ‘I was hoping for a little more from that meeting, Spence.’

‘Well. We learned a fair bit about the hidden photos and messages they used, but I’m not sure old Ken back there had the silver bullet we hoped would expose our shooter…’

‘Maybe our expectations were a little high…’

‘I don’t think so.’ Spence opened the driver’s side door. ‘I think it probably helped more than you realize, Jobs… Time will tell,’ Spence said across the car roof, then slid into the driver’s seat. Jack slid into the passenger side for their return trip to the office.

Chapter 26

Jack sat perched on the side of his desk. His arms were folded as he studied his office whiteboard. Five victims, all pedophiles, based on the photographs provided by Jack’s mystery emailer. And all shot execution style with the same triple-tap technique.

At this stage, he had not been able to link the latest victim, Psychiatrist Raymond Scott, to the judge.

And was Clive Vance, who was shot with Raymond Scott in Central Park, in the wrong place at the wrong time, or were they associates jogging together…?

Jack’s frustrated eyes fell to the ten by eight color photograph provided by the witness in Central Park. He had drawn a large red question mark over the top of the photo.

Was this blonde-haired woman, wearing the black baseball cap, his shooter? Or was she just another fitness freak returning after a jog around Central Park?

He needed to locate this woman, but in a city of 8.5 million people, he wasn’t hopeful.

His eyes shifted to the heavily underlined name, “Ryan Bowen”, with several question marks after it. How does the psychiatrist fit into all this?

Was the email Goodfellow sent to Bowen harmless and unrelated, or was Bowen also part of the judge’s pedophile group? If he was, he may be the conduit they required.

‘Not sure about how Bowen fits all of this…?’ Spence said, after entering Jack’s office.

‘No. I think we need to establish whether he is part of the judge’s group.’

‘Maybe we could just wait. Let the shooter tell us, after he puts three into him,’ Spence said.

‘I’m hoping he may be able to help us, before it gets to that…’

‘How so?’

‘Well…’ Jack pushed himself away from the desk. ‘If he is part of the pedophile group… He’s the only one who’s alive that we know of, at this stage. We may be able to use that to our advantage. Say we find some incriminating photos of him with kids. We’d then have leverage for information…’

‘OK. But at this stage, we’ve got nothing on him.’

‘Not yet…’

‘Anyway…’ Spence said. ‘This just came in from forensics.’ He handed Jack an envelope.

Jack ripped into the envelope and removed the single page report. He slipped on his glasses.

‘OK. The rounds recovered from Raymond Scott and Clive Vance in Central Park were a match to these other shootings…’ He lifted his eyes to Spence. ‘No surprises there…’ He continued reading. ’We already knew it was the same shooter by the kill shots.

‘But this is interesting…’ Jack said. ‘The blonde hair sample lifted from the body of Clive Vance was human hair, but it was just a shaft of hair, with no follicle attached at the base. Forensics believe it was probably from a wig made from human hair.’

‘No follicle… No DNA…’ Spence said knowingly.

‘No, but…’ He tapped the photo of the blonde-haired female on the whiteboard. ‘A witness placed her in the area, running away from Springbanks Arch tunnel…’

‘That could be the wig…’

‘Exactly…’ Jack said. ‘And, if that is a wig she’s wearing… chances are, this woman is our shooter.’

‘But who is she…?’ Spence said. ‘She is obviously trained, possibly military… But is she home grown…? Or is she a foreign national fly-in-fly-out gun-for-hire…?’

‘I’m thinking local Spence, because we’ve had five hits over an extended period of time, meaning she’d have to remain on-shore for an unpredictable period of time. Fly in killers do the job and usually leave straight away.’ Jack waved the back of his hand. ‘Either way, it all seems like high-powered, spy kind of shit, just to get rid of some vermin, doesn’t it…?’

‘D’ya think hiring a military trained assassin is a bit of overkill…?’ Spence said. ‘No pun intended.’

‘A bit like driving a nail into a piece of wood with a sledgehammer, isn’t it…? Same result in the end, but the wrong tool was used for the job…’

‘So here’s the thing…’ Spence began. ‘If she is our shooter, and if she is a gun for hire, who’s hiring her to do their dirty work?’

‘That’s what we have to find out,’ Jack said. He held a blank stare, while several beats passed. ‘I’m gonna confuse things a little more. What if she’s our shooter, but she’s not a gun for hire? What if she has the problem with pedophiles…?’

‘OK… There’s also that… Not as mysterious though, is it?’ Spence grinned.

‘Either way, we need to find her,’ Jack said. ‘Pete… Got a minute…’ Jack yelled from his office.

Detective Peter Unly appeared at Jack’s office door. ‘What’s up?’

‘How did you go with the reviews of the judge’s cases…?’

‘Dead ends all around…’ Peter said. ‘We haven’t been able to find anything useful from that line of enquiry.’

‘OK. Good,’ Jack said. ‘Drop it… I have something else for you to do…’ He peeled the ten by eight photo from the whiteboard and handed it to Peter. ‘We think that there is our shooter…’ Jack said. Peter examined the photo while Jack continued. ‘Get in touch with MTA and arrange to view the station cameras at West 96th station… See what line she got on and then review each station along the line to see where she got off. See if we can follow her.’

‘Onto it… Can I keep this…?’ Unly held up the photograph. Jack waved a hand at Peter, who then left.

Jack’s focus returned to the whiteboard. He rubbed a contemplative hand across his mouth. ‘How would one find and hire a female gun for hire…?’ Jack said.

‘Dark Web…?’ Spence offered.

‘You wouldn’t think there would be too many female assassins on the dark web, would you…?’ Jack said. ‘We need assistance with searching the dark web and we need to check military records for females discharged from service, preferably those from one of the elite squads.’

---

The deafening sound of repeated gunfire echoed from within the underground shooting range.

Spence and four of his NYPD colleagues were taking their six-monthly pistol re-qualification exam. Each stood at one of the five sectioned off areas of the target range, where they performed a number of pre-set shooting skill tests.

For Spence, this was but a formality. One of his many assets was his marksmanship. He was a crack sharpshooter with a pistol and even better with a long arm.

Wearing protective ear muffs and goggles, Spence had just completed his instinctive fire test.

The target was the silhouette of a black head, shoulders and torso on white paper. A white circular bullseye target was overlaid on the chest area.

The target hung from an overhead pulley system about five yards away.

Spence stood facing the target with his police issue Glock 19 lowered by his side. When ready, he had to instinctively raise his pistol and fire two quick shots at the paper target, aiming for body mass, then lower the weapon. This had to be repeated five times.

He pressed a button. The pulley system hummed as his paper target floated back towards him for close viewing. As expected, each shot was closely grouped around the bullseye, in the target’s body mass.

Spence hung up a clean target and pushed a button on the wall. The overhead pulley system hummed as it moved the paper target, this time to a range of fifteen yards.

Jack arrived as Spence reloaded his weapon. He tapped Spence on the shoulder to gain his attention. Spence glanced over his shoulder at the interruption. He lowered his firearm and slipped off his ear muffs. ‘What’s up?’

‘Thought I’d come down and see how you’re doing…’ Jack said. ‘Do you have many more to do…?’

Spence flicked a hand at the target. ‘Last one… I’m just about to do long range, aimed.’ Spence lifted the targets he’d completed and handed them to Jack to view.

Jack shuffled through them, suitably impressed by Spence’s accuracy. ‘No doubt about you, buddy… You could hit a nickel at fifty yards.’

Spence slipped on his ear protection and lifted his Glock. Using a two-handed grip, he assumed a shooter’s stance and aimed at the target. One-by-one he fired a single aimed shot. Each round grouped around the target’s bullseye with skilled accuracy.

Jack tapped Spence on the shoulder. ‘Try a head shot…’ Jack yelled. Spence nodded. He took aim and fired. He repeated the action two more times.

Head shots were contrary to NYPD firearms training and policy. They were not banned, but officers were trained to aim for the body mass, being the largest part of a target. Head shots were frowned on because of the high probability of missing.

Spence holstered his weapon then pushed a button on the wall. The overhead pulley system floated his target back to him, for viewing.

Spence unclipped the target and proudly handed it to Jack. Jack examined the target. An impressed grin filled his face. The last three head shots Jack requested of Spence were smack bang in the middle of the target’s forehead area. If the target had eyes, all three shots would’ve been right between them.

‘I think you’ll qualify…’ Jack said with a wry grin.

Spence took the target and added it to his other ones. ‘I’ll just submit these and I’ll meet you outside…’

‘OK. We’ll get a coffee before we had back to the office.’

---

Whenever the opportunity arose for a break, Jack and Spence chose to stroll three, or four blocks across to a little coffee shop off West Broadway, in Tribeca.

It wasn’t just the coffee that lured them all this way, it was because the quaint coffee shop was quiet and out of the way.

The coffee shops that were more conveniently located to their office were heavily patronized by lawyers and cops. Here, they remained relatively anonymous.

Their favorite coffee shop was unusually busy for early afternoon on a Wednesday. The young waitress escorted them to their preferred two-seater table by the front window.

Jack leaned on his elbows. ‘I made some calls while you were down in the shooting range,’ Jack said.

‘Was that to US armed forces…?’

Jack nodded. He paused as he watched two young males walk passed their window. ‘Yeah. Wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be… The military were very guarded on what information they would provide… But anyway… I got what I needed. Essentially, it is a very short list of females in the Special Forces.’

Jack sat back and watched the waitress place his coffee order on the table, then she did the same for Spence.

‘Can I get you gentlemen anything else?’ she asked.

‘We’re good for now thanks, Julie.’ Jack said.

Her departing smile was pleasant.

‘She’s a young cutie…’ Spence said, as he watched her navigate the tables towards the back counter.

Jack briefly glanced in her direction before continuing. ‘Apparently, there are several females currently undertaking the fifty-three-week Special Forces Qualification Course at Fort Bragg, North Carolina. But there are no women who have been discharged from Military Special Forces.’

‘So where does that leave us…?’

‘It means, if we are right about our shooter being female… with elite Military training, then she has to be a foreign national, not home grown.’

Jack’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He removed it and glanced at the display. ‘Unly…’ he announced for Spence’s benefit. He answered the call.

‘Peter… Yeah good… What’s up…?’ Jack checked his watch. ‘No we won’t be back for a little while. Why?… Ah. OK. Well, Spence and I are grabbing a coffee at the moment… Why don’t you wander down here and join us? We can discuss how you went then… No we’re not around the corner at Murray’s cafe… We’re actually across in Tribeca… I’ll text you the address. OK. I’ll order you a coffee for when you arrive. Are you still drinking cappuccino’s…? Extra hot. Got it… See you soon.’ Jack ended the call and dumped his cell on the table.

‘What’s he got?’ Spence asked.

‘He’s completed the MTA reviews of our shooting suspect, after she left Central Park, and has a building address for us.’ Jack’s raised hand caught the eye of the waitress. She hurried over. ‘Can I order a cappuccino-extra hot.’ He pointed to Spence’s cup. ‘Do you want another…?’

‘Sure. Why not. Save Unly drinking on his own.’

Jack gestured to their coffee cups. ‘We’ll have another round of the same. Thanks.’

Jack texted the cafe address to Peter Unly. He arrived at the same time as his cappuccino. He dragged a nearby chair over and sat with Jack and Spence.

Peter placed the manila folder he carried on the table, then opened it. He slid the ten by eight of their shooter suspect to the side. ‘I feel like I’ve got square eyes, Jobs. Those monitors at the MTA control room drag at the eyes. I don’t know how they do that all day, every day.’

’Jack leaned on his elbows. ‘Whatcha got…?’

‘OK…’ Peter shuffled some pages. ‘As you know, she got on at West 96. She took the A Line south to the West 4th Street – Washington Square stop.’ His eyes lifted to Jack. ‘Do you know there are nine stops along the A Line to West 4th Street?’

‘I’ll take your word for it…’ Jack said then took an unsympathetic sip of his coffee. Spence grinned over the top of his cup, as he too took a sip.

‘That’s nine stops where I had to review the station cameras for every south bound train on the A Line, to see if she got off…’

‘So, she got off at the West 4th Street stop…?’ Jack said as a question, to hurry things along. ‘That’s the one on the corner of 6th and West 3rd, isn’t it?’

‘Correct,’ Peter said. He shuffled some more pages in his file, like he was searching for something. ‘OK. So using a combination of NYPD cameras and private business security cameras, I managed to track her to an apartment building at…’ He re-arranged some pages then lifted a page and read from it. ‘Forty-six McDonald Street, Greenwich Village. The front door security camera from a business across the street picked her up entering the building. She used a key to get in… So she’d have to live there.’

Jack checked his watch. ‘OK. Good job, Pete… That’s a bit too far to walk. When we’re finished here, we’ll go back and get the car then we’ll pay this 46 Mc Donald Street a visit, to see if anyone recognizes her from that photo.’ Jack flicked a hand at Peter’s folder.

Chapter 27

Mc Donald Street was typical of streets in Greenwich Village. Narrow, one-way roads lined on either side by tall evergreen trees that stretched out over the road way. The bottle-green foliage softened the concrete and brick facades.

Spence pulled up outside number 46. Windows on each floor of the ten-story, red brick building were dotted with window-mounted air conditioner units, while a black wrought iron fire escape zig-zagged up to the top floor.

An untidy grouping of around twenty black plastic household garbage bags were piled up beside the front stoop, awaiting trash collection.

Jack, Spence and Peter climbed the five-step stoop. The majority of the double front doors was clear glass. A male person with a round, full face and dark hair that had succumbed to male pattern baldness, sat at a small front counter about seven or eight yards in from the door. Beyond him was the elevator lobby.

Jack tapped on the glass. The man arrogantly waved a hand at the intrusion, then yelled something indiscernible. Jack tapped the glass again, this time harder.

He pressed his police ID against the glass.

The man held up an apologetic hand as he pushed himself from his seat. Dressed in a white sweat-stained singlet, stretched tight around his expanded waistline and baggy black track pants, he quickly shuffled his way to the front door.

Aged in his late fifties, he appeared to be of Italian decent. His questioning eyes scanned all three visitors, as he opened the door. ‘I’m sorry about that, Detective,’ he said. ’I thought you was Jehovah Witnesses… We get ‘em around here all the time.’ He spoke with a strong Brooklyn accent.

‘I’m Lieutenant Head. This is Detective Sergeant Spencer and Detective Unly. We’re from New York City Homicide…’

‘Homicide…? Geez… Someone get killed, or something?’

‘Or something…’ Jack said.

‘So what can I do for you gents today…?’

‘Do you live in this building?’ Jack asked.

‘Yeah. I do. And I also do most of the maintenance in the building as well.’

‘OK. Good,’ Jack said. Peter removed the ten by eight photo from his manila folder and handed it to Jack. ‘Can you tell me if this person lives in your building…?’

The man studied the photo in Jack’s hand. He shook his head. ‘Can’t say I have seen her in here before…’ he said. ‘Wait…’ he frowned. He beckoned with his hand. ‘Show me that again.’ Jack held up the photo. He nodded. ‘You know what… If it wasn’t for the blonde hair… I’d say she looked a bit like Nadya…’

‘Nadya…?’

‘Yeah… I think her name’s Nadya… Or some foreign name like that. She lives on the sixth floor. I think it’s the sixth floor. Keeps pretty much to herself. She’s got those same high cheek bones and thin face. But she ain’t blonde. Her hair’s dark brown and it comes down to around here…’ He placed an indicative hand at the side of his shoulder.

‘Do you know Nadya’s surname?’

’Nah. Sorry. I don’t know her. She only moved in about three months ago. She’s from Russia, I think.

Jack glanced at Spence. ‘How do you know she’s from Russia?’ he asked.

‘Well, she’s got one of those strong accents that sounds Russian, or Czechoslovakian, or one of them…’

‘Do you have a record of all tenants’ names…?’

‘No… And I don’t need to.’

‘OK. The sixth floor, you say?’ Jack said.

‘Yeah… I think she lives on the sixth floor…’ He scratched the back of his head in contemplation. ‘Or maybe it’s the seventh…’ Jack and Spence exchanged an annoyed glance. ‘I’m not exactly sure which floor…’

‘Yeah, I go that…’ Jack said, oozing with frustration.

The man’s questioning eyes moved between all three of his visitors. ‘Has something happened to her…?’

‘Not that we know of…’ Jack said. ‘We just want to have a quick chat with her… Do you mind if we come in?’

‘Do you need a warrant, or something for that?’

‘Not to visit someone and talk to them… No we don’t need a warrant,’ Jack said.

The man stepped back from the open door. ‘Not a problem, then…’ He said.

The maintenance man closed the front door. ‘If you need me… I’ll be in here…’ He gestured to the only door in the lobby area.

‘Thank you…’ Jack said over a shoulder as they made their way to the elevators.

Jack pushed the elevator call button. He caught Spence’s gaze. ‘Russian…’ he lifted curious eyebrows.

‘Sounds promising.’

A ding tone announced the elevator’s arrival. When the doors opened, Jack started to enter, then stopped suddenly. ‘I’m sorry…’ He said, as he retreated.

A young dark-haired woman in black sunglasses, wearing a black Kathmandu puffer jacket and blue jeans exited the elevator and made her way to the street.

Spence followed Jack into the elevator. They stood against the back wall. ‘You joining us?’ Jack asked Peter.

Peter hadn’t moved. His focus remained on the departing woman. He slid the photo from his file and checked it. His eyes lifted back to the woman as she exited the building and turned left.

‘What’s up?’ Jack said.

Peter gestured towards the woman. ‘I think that’s her…’ he held up the ten by eight photo. The elevator doors started to close.

Jack threw out his massive hand and caught the door halfway, sending it back open. He stepped from the elevator and glanced to the street. ‘Are you sure…?’

Peter held up the photo. ‘I’ve been staring at this person for hours on video reviews… You get used to the shape of their face… The way they walk… Their posture… So…yeah, I think that’s her…the one in the photo…’

Jack ran to front door, wrenched it open and ran out on to McDonald Street. Spence and Peter followed. ‘There…’ he pointed to the woman walking north, away from them on the opposite side of the road. She turned right. ‘You get the car, Spence… I’ll update you on my cell. You come with me,’ he said to Peter. Jack took off running. Peter handed Spence his folder and followed Jack.

By the time they reached the corner, the mystery woman had crossed over to the north side and continued east. Jack and Peter followed her from their side of the road.

At 6th Avenue the woman turned left and headed north. Jack and Peter jogged across the road and followed her around into 6th Avenue.

Scaffolding from building facade renovations covered the sidewalk and reduced the area available for pedestrians.

‘It looks like she’s headed for the West 4th Street subway station…’ Jack said.

Turns out, he was wrong. She continued passed that stop. Half way along the block on 6th Avenue, she stepped from the sidewalk and crossed the road to the east side. Jack and Peter remained on the west side.

The woman entered the Walgreens Pharmacy on 6th. ‘Quick. Get in there…’ Jack said to the younger and fitter Peter. ‘See what she’s buying.’ Peter jogged across 6th.

Jack remained on his side of the road monitoring. While he waited, he called Spence to update him on their location.

Around five minutes later the woman exited Walgreens and headed south. Peter stepped out a short distance behind her.

Jack jogged across 6th to meet up with Peter, to continue their tail. ‘Did she buy anything?’

‘Just a pre-paid cell…’

‘A burner…’ Jack said. ‘Did she pay with cash or card…?’

‘Cash…’

Jack nodded knowingly. ‘Not traceable…’ he mumbled to himself. ‘If she’s our shooter… That burner could be because she has another hit planned.’

The woman’s pace suddenly quickened. She weaved around other sidewalk users, like a slalom skier navigating the poles on a downhill run.

Do you think she made you in Walgreens…?’

‘Not a chance. I was over by the soda fridge…’

‘Well, she has now…’ Jack said. They increased their pace.

The woman was jogging by the time she disappeared down the stairs to the 4th Street subway station.

Jack’s phone rang as he descended the subway stairs in pursuit. He took the call. ‘We’re just heading down to the 4th Street station,’ he told Spence. ‘I’ll call you back.’

At the foot of the stairs they scanned the station. Their subject was nowhere to be seen among the thirty or so travelers. Jack and Peter approached the security at the platform gate and presented their badges. The guard opened a wire gate and allowed them access to the platform.

Peter weaved his way north around travelers waiting on the platform. Jack went south. Before long it became evident, they’d lost her.

Peter and Jack met back at the platform turnstiles. Jack rubbed a hand across his mouth while he scanned the platform of waiting travelers.

The dull roar from the approaching train became louder. The train burst into view from the darkness and squealed to a stop. The doors sprung open. Travelers who tried to disembark jostled with those who tried to enter the carriages. Their target was nowhere to be seen.

The doors closed and the train raced away, leaving Jack and Peter standing on the empty platform, ruing a missed opportunity.

‘I’m a little concerned she bought a burner cell…’ Jack mumbled to himself, as they ascended the stairs to 6th Avenue.

Spence was parked at the curb when Jack and Peter appeared from the 4th street subway stairs. They climbed into their waiting vehicle to return to the office.

‘No good…?’ Spence asked knowingly, as he merged into traffic.

Jack shook his head. ‘No. Lost her. I think she burnt us back on 6th and the platform was too crowded. We couldn’t see her…’

Chapter 28

Spence drove south down 6th on their return to the office. They were traveling in a steady flow of traffic when they crossed Houston Street.

Jack’s head snapped towards the sidewalk. He twisted in his seat to glance back over his shoulder. ‘Pull over here…’ he demanded. He pointed to a parking space by the curb. ‘Quick. Right here.’ He jabbed a finger at the space. ‘Stop here…’ Spence got the message and pulled over the vehicle.

‘What did you see?’ Spence asked.

Jack flung open the passenger door and flew out of the vehicle. He stood on the sidewalk, looking north. Spence and Peter met him on the sidewalk. ‘What did you see…?’ Spence asked.

‘Do you remember what SSA Ken Lane said about these groomed kids…?’

‘Something about you’d know them when you see them…’

Jack’s eyes were focused on the foot traffic north along 6th Avenue. He beckoned with his hand. ‘Follow me…’ Jack took off north along 6th, Spence and Peter followed.

As they approached Houston, Jack stopped. He moved closer to the building. His eyes never left the opposite side of Houston. He lifted his chin in that direction. ‘See the four African American kids standing on the opposite corner?’

Spence and Peter’s eyes followed his directions. ’Got ‘em…’ Spence said. ‘What’d they do…?’

‘Do you notice anything about them…?’ he said while maintaining close scrutiny. The four males moved off, to walk north along 6th.

They followed the four boys. ‘Put it this way… If I was to ask you, which one of the four of them would be a candidate for being a groomed kid…Which kid would you pick?’

‘Hard to tell from here…’ Spence said.

The boys stopped walking and huddled close to a shop front. They appeared to looking at something one of the four was holding.

‘Ah…’ Spence said in a tone of realization. The kid facing us… He’s covered in gold bling… His clothes are noticeably more fashionable then his friends there. And… he just pulled, what looks like a recent model cell, from his jeans pocket.’

‘Maybe he might know something about these child sex groups…’ Jack said. ‘Let’s have a chat to him.’

The three cops continued marching towards the unsuspecting young males, who were still huddled against the front of a store.

The kid wearing the bling, who faced them, did an old-fashioned double take at the approaching cops. ‘Five-O,’ he warned. He turned and quickly started walking north.

His three friends glanced back in the direction of the approaching Jack, Spence and Peter. They too took off north along 6th Avenue.

When Bling Boy noticed Jack had started to jog, he kicked away, sprinting along the busy sidewalk. His small agile body weaved in and out of the pedestrians with ease.

Jack on the other hand, had difficulty maneuvering his 6-feet 8-inch, 265-pound frame, through the gaps, without bowling unsuspected pedestrians over.

The fleeing kid turned right into Bleecker Street, while his trailing friends opted to cross 6th Avenue and flee in all different directions.

Jack stayed with bling boy. When Jack reached the corner, he saw bling boy sprint across Bleecker, to the other side of the road, and continue east before disappearing around into Thompson Street.

Jack moved out onto the road and dug deep. His arms pumped as he covered the distance to the corner in near Olympic qualifying time – or so he thought to himself.

When he flew around the corner into Thompson Street, bling boy was gone. Today was not his day for successfully following people.

Jack eased back to a jog, then he stopped. He collapsed his hands onto his knees, while he drew in deep breaths. Peter arrived a short time later, followed by a trailing Spence.

An elderly white-haired man wearing a white apron was sweeping the footpath out the front of a fruit shop. When he caught Jack’s eye, he jabbed his head once, back towards his shop.

Jack slowly walked passed the old man. As he passed, the old man said quietly, ‘he run into my shop…’ then he kept sweeping like nothing happened.

Jack continued passed the fruit shop, stopping two doors down. He sent Spence a text, instructing him to go around to the alley at the back of the fruit shop and wait there.

Spence read the text. He gave a thumbs up then he and Peter headed back around into Bleecker.

Jack waited several minutes before returning to the fruit shop. He stood in the open doorway surveying the shop floorplan.

Several tables of fruit and vegetables were located along each wall and throughout the shop. Each table had a dark curtain across the front legs, covering what was stored underneath.

Jack cleared each table of fruit and vegetables one-by-one, moving from front to back. He was down to three tables remaining.

Jack decided to try and coax bling boy out. ‘You haven’t done anything wrong…’ he announced. ‘I just want to have a quick talk to you. Then you can go…’

When Jack lifted the curtain on one of the remaining tables, bling boy shot out from under one of the other tables and ran through to the back of the shop. Jack ran after him.

Bling boy burst out through the back door of the fruit shop, into the rear alley with such force, the door slammed into the wall, then bounced back onto Jack.

While sprinting down the rear alley, the fleet-footed Bling Boy glanced back over his shoulder, to monitor the progress of his older pursuer. In doing so, he ran straight into Spence’s vice-like bear hug.

‘I ain’t done nuttin’… let me go.’ He struggled against Spence’s tight grip.

‘Calm down…’ Spence said. ‘We are the police… We’re not going to hurt you… We just want to have a talk to you about something…’

‘I didn’t do it…’

‘Didn’t do what?’

’Whatever you wanna to talk to me ‘bout…’

Jack trotted up to Spence and Peter. ‘What’s your name, son…?’ Jack asked.

‘Fuck you…!’ He struggled feebly against Spence’s tight grip. ‘I ain’t done nuttin’. I don’t gotta give you my name…’

Jack lifted his chin to Spence. ‘If you want my friend here to let you go, then, tell me your name.’

‘Fuck you, stretch…’

‘Stretch…?’ Jack said. He and Spence exchanged a grin at the young lad’s balls. He was clearly outnumbered three to one by physically bigger and stronger men, in a back alley and yet he still resisted and fired off the odd fuck you.

‘What have you got in your pockets…?’ Jack said. He tapped the kid’s back jeans pocket, then slid out an iPhone twelve.

‘That’s mine…’ He blurted.

‘Calm down… I’m not going to steal it,’ Jack said. He examined the phone.‘This is a new model cell… Let’s see what else you have in here…’ He patted the right front pocket. ‘Hello… What do we have here…?’ Jack said. He slid out a clear plastic bag of weed. He held it up to bling boy. ‘You’re too young to be smoking this…’

‘Fuck you, I’m too young…’ He struggled against Spence. ‘I know my rights. That shit’s legal now in New York. You can’t get me for that…’

Jack tapped the same pocket then removed several folded bills. He counted them out. Three hundred fifty dollars made up of two hundreds and three fifties. ‘Where’d you get this much green…?’ Jack said.

‘Got a job…’

‘Doing what?’

‘None ya business…’

Jack tapped the other front pocket. He slid out a switchblade. ’I can get you for this.’ He slid his hand back into the same pocket and slid out a small clear plastic bag of white powder. ‘And this…’ he said holding up the bag of what he suspected to be cocaine. ‘What is this…? Coke…?’

‘What do you want from me, man…? This is police harassment… I ain’t done nuttin…’

‘I tell you what I’m gonna do…’ Jack began. ‘I’m gonna ask my friend there behind you to let you go… But as security, so you don’t run, I’ll be holding onto these things. OK?’

Bling boy’s struggling against Spence abated. His head rolled, as if he conceded. ‘OK…’ he said in a defeated tone.

Jack nodded to Spence, who released his grip on the kid.

‘Now,’ Jack began. He held up the small bag of weed. ‘You’re right. Weed is legal in New York City, but you’re too young. You have to be eighteen to be smoking anyway. I’m happy to let that go. But these things…’ He held up the switchblade and the bag of coke. ‘Are not legal… You’re looking at possession of cocaine in the fifth degree… That’s one to two and one half years in juvie, right there,’ Jack said. ‘And this’ll add some months to your sentence, as well.’ He held up the switchblade.

‘What do you want…?’ Ya want me to suck ya dick…?’ He eyeballed all three cops. ‘Do y’all want me to suck y’all dicks…? Is that what this is… A shake down for a head job from the little brother…?’

Jack held up a hand. ‘Whoa. Whoa. Whoa… Slow down… Nobody’s sucking anyone’s dicks… OK?’ Jack said.

’Look man.Straight up… If you bust me for that shit… I’m goin back to juvie and I don’t wanna go back there. I fucken hate that joint…’

‘OK then. Here’s the deal. You answer our questions and I’ll forget I found this stuff on you, Do we have a deal…?’

‘What do you wanna know?’

‘We want to talk to you about where you got your iPhone… this wad of bills… the drugs… the clothes you’re wearing…’ Jack’s eyes fell to the kid’s feet. ‘And those Jordan’s…’

’I bought ‘em wit me own money. I told ya. I got a job…’

’What’s gonna happen is… We’re gonna take you back to the police station, so we can ask you some more questions about where you got all this expensive stuff.Tell me the truth and all this goes away,’ Jack indicated the drugs and the blade. ‘Bullshit me… And you won’t be going home… Understand?’

‘Loud and clear, boss.’

Jack and Peter waited in the alley with bling boy while Spence ran back and collected the vehicle. He returned a short time later to convey their witness back to the station.

Chapter 29

Jack sat bling boy in one of the witness interview rooms. They were half the size of the interrogation room and a little less intimidating. There were no windows, no two-way mirrors, no low hanging light, just a table, four chairs and a telephone.

Bling boy casually lounged in his chair. He rested an elbow on the back of the chair beside him, as he glanced across the table at Jack. He was full of self-confidence. He had no problem holding Jack’s gaze. It was like a game of he who blinks first, loses.

The clip of bills, the bags of weed and coke, the switchblade and the iPhone were lined up on the table in front of Jack.

Spence returned a few moments later. He handed bling boy a soda and a snickers bar, then took his seat beside Jack.

‘OK…’ Jack said. ‘Can we get you anything else…?’ He was being sarcastic.

‘Nah. I’m good.’

‘Now it’s your turn. Let’s start with your name.’

Bling boy moved slowly as he cracked the soda and took a long drink, then dragged the back of his hand across his mouth.

Jack and Spence exchanged a brief glance at the theatrics.

He was clearly showing the cops he was not, in any way intimidated by them.

Jack glared at bling boy. The Jack Head anger stare was not something anyone wanted to be on the receiving end of. It was rumored to have turned stone into molten liquid.

‘Deshawn Baker…’ Bling boy eventually said.

‘How old are you Deshawn Baker…?’

’Tirteen.’

‘When were you born?’ Jack said.

‘November 6th, 2007.’

‘Where do you live?’

‘Here and there…?’

‘That’s not an answer…’ Jack said.

‘Yes it is… You arsked a question and I gave you an answer.’

Jack glanced at Spence. Their little witness was messing with them. Question was, how long Jack would be able to tolerate his insolence.

’Arsked is not a word. The word is asked… I asked you a question…’ Jack said. ’Now… I’m going to ask,’ he emphasized. ‘You another question, and this time you are going to answer me properly… Where do you live?’

‘Mostly on the streets.’

‘Mostly…? Where is your home…? Where do your parents live?’

‘Pop’s doing a dime in Rikers… Ma’s… Shit, I don’t know where my mudder is, half the time… Don’t think she does neither. She either drunk, or high…maybe both.’

‘When she goes home… where is home?’

’Apartment 268 Sandhurst Road… Fort Greene.

‘Is that a public housing complex…?’

’It’s a real shit ‘ole…’

‘OK… Three hundred fifty dollars is a lot of money for a thirteen-year-old. Where did you get it?’ Jack lifted the folded bills.

‘Worked for it.’

‘Selling drugs…?’

‘Hell no. Don’t sell no drugs…’

‘What work did you do to earn this?’

‘I don’t like to talk about it.’

‘Why?’

‘Coz I don’t, OK…!’

Jack hit a raw nerve and it was that nerve he needed to work on. ‘Starting with the money and moving along the table, I want you to tell me how you came to be in possession of each item…’ Jack said. ‘Are we clear?’

Deshawn lifted his soda and took a sip.He ripped into his Snickers and took a sizeable bite. The whole time his eyes never left Jack’s firm glare. He chomped on the snickers with his mouth wide open.

His life experiences surpassed his thirteen years of age, but he was still no match for Jack, who’d just about seen it all over his career. It was time to match his wits with the kid, to show once and for all, who was boss.

‘I’ve had enough of this…’ Jack lifted the handset and dialed a number. It was actually his own office extension. He waited until the ringing stopped. ‘Get me the number for Horizon Juvenile Detention Center…’ Jack scribbled down a number. ‘Aha… Aha… Aha. Got it thanks.’ He tapped on the cradle to end the fake call.

‘Whach y’all doing, man…?’

Jack ignored Deshawn and dialed a random made-up number. While the Telco advised him that number was not connected, he said, ‘Yes, hello…’ to no one. ‘Is this Horizon Juvenile Detention Center…?’ Deshawn sat up in his chair. His wide eyes flicked from Jack to Spence and back.

‘Come on. Whach y’all doing…?’

‘My name is Detective Lieutenant Jack Head from New York City Homicide… I have a minor here I need remanded until court tomorrow…’

‘Come on man…whacha doin’? Hang up the phone…’

Jack ignored the kid and continued his charade. ’What’s the charge…? You mean charges,’ Jack emphasized. ‘Drug possession and possessing a deadly weapon and you can throw in dealing in drugs.’

‘What the fuck, man…’ Deshawn said to Spence.

Spence shrugged. ‘You had ya chance, kiddo… You blew it.’

Deshawn stood from his chair in protest. He wasn’t a whole lot taller than the table. ‘OK… OK…’ he held up submissive hands. ‘Hang up the phone and I’ll tell you what you want to know…’

Jack had him, he just had to let the kid struggle on the hook a little longer, to make sure he was securely hooked.

‘You have a van in the area… Fantastic. How long will you be? Twenty minutes…’ Jack checked his watch. ‘Great. What’s the child’s name…?’ Jack’s focus shifted to the pleading Deshawn. ‘His name is Desh—’

‘No! Come on… Please… I don’t wanna go back there. Come on, man… Please.’

Jack placed a hand over the receiver. ‘This is your last chance… You either cooperate…’ he pushed the receiver towards Deshawn. ‘Or I get them in here to take you away…?’

‘I’ll cooperate.’ He motioned to put the receiver down. ’Just hang up the phone… Hang up the phone… Please… I don’t wanna go back there. Horizon’s a shit ‘ole…’

To some, Jack’s actions could’ve been considered a form of child abuse. But for street-hardened kids like Deshawn, leverage was the only way to deal with them.

Jack retuned the phone received to his ear. ‘Look, something’s come up. Can I call you back…? Thanks for that…’He hung up the phone. He jabbed a firm finger at Deshawn’s chair. ‘Sit down.’ The kid immediately did as he was told. ‘The next time you mess with us…’ He pointed to the desk phone. ‘I’m back on that thing and I’m booking you a room up in the Bronx… Are we clear?’

‘We clear…’

‘I’m over all the games Deshawn, OK. I want you to understand. You are not sitting in here talking to us because you’ve done something wrong…OK? You are here because you are helping us in our investigation. Do you understand this?’

‘Aha. Yep.’

‘How did you come to be in possession of all this stuff?’ Jack said. He indicated the items on the table. ‘And the bling you’re wearing there.’ He flicked a finger at Deshawn’s gold chains.

Deshawn grabbed his chains as if drawing strength from them. ‘They’s all gifts…’

‘Who from?’

‘Lots a people…’

‘Gifts for what…?’

‘I can’t tell you that…’

‘Why?’

‘Coz I can’t… OK. I just… I just can’t.’ He collapsed back in his chair and crossed his arms. His face wore an expression like he’d just been given detention for a month.

‘Can’t, or don’t want to…?’

‘Can’t…’ He snapped.

‘Have you been threatened to keep quiet…?’

Deshawn’s arms remained tightly crossed. ‘Look…’ His arms fell limp. ‘I’m scared, OK. I’m scared of what will happen, if I talk to you.’

Jack recalled his video link discussions with the FBI specialist, Ken Lane where he learned these child sex rings often used threats of harm, or death if they spoke to anyone outside the group.

He leaned his elbows on the table. ‘Deshawn… I’m going to ask you a question and it may be a little embarrassing for you to answer, but I want you to answer me honestly… OK?’

‘K.’

‘Have you been approached by any men who asked you to perform sex acts with them, or for them…? Do you understand what I mean when I say “sex acts”?’

‘Of course. I ain’t no dumb kid…’ Deshawn’s eyes fell heavily to the table.

‘It’s important you answer me honestly…’

‘Dey said Dey kill me if I talk to da cops…’

‘Who is “They”?’

‘Creepy ol’ white dudes…’

‘We won’t let these people do anything to you. Do you understand that…?’

‘Oh yeah… Tell that to ma friends… Tell that to Kamoni Farmer… Tell that to Davarius Bradford… Tell that Eliyah Nash and Shaunee Ross… They’s all gone man.’

Spence scribbled down the names as Deshawn spat them out.

‘What do you mean by “gone”, Deshawn?’ Jack asked.

‘Gone… Missing… Dead… Whacchaya think I mean?’

Jack looked to Spence. ‘Did you get all those names?’

Spence checked his list. ‘I think so. Kamoni Farmer. Davarius Bradford. Elizah Nash and Shaunee Ross.’

‘Eliyah Nash. Her name’s Eliyah, not Eliza…’ Deshawn corrected. Spence made the adjustment.

‘And you’re saying these people are friends of yours and they are all missing…?’

‘Dat’s right.’

‘Were these friends of yours involved with all the creepy old white dudes you referred to?’

‘Everyone one of dem. And now dey’re gone coz dey said dey gone talk to da cops…’

‘Run those names, Spence…’ Jack said.

Spence pushed himself from his chair and left the room.

‘What did these creepy old white dudes ask you to do?’

’They took us to a house in Brooklyn. There was always about ten or fifteen of ‘em there…’

‘All males, or were there some females?’

‘All dudes…’

‘What happened?’

’At first… Not much… They’d give us gifts… Sit and talk wid us. Then after a few more visits, we started watching pornos wid ‘em and drinkin’ and stuff.’

‘Do you mean drinking alcohol…?’

‘Yep.’

’Den they’d ask us if they could massage us. That went on for a couple of times. Den dey’d offer to pay us extra if we’d… you know… blow ‘em. I ain’t no fag…’ he said with firm emphasis. ‘But they paid me big money and they gid me expensive shit… So I did it.’ His eyes fell heavily to the table, laden with a mix of regret and embarrassment.

‘Did any of them try to have sex with you?’

His eyes snapped back up to Jack. ‘No way. I wouldn’t do dat. I told dem… I ain’t getting’ that done to me. And dey were cool wi dat.’

‘OK.’

‘They did pay me to fuck girls there though…’ he said. ‘So I did dat…’ He said with a hint of proudness. ‘Da creepy ol’ white dudes watched us and jerked off. I think they film it and shit…’

Jack was repulsed. ‘Tell me this, Deshawn… Would you recognize these creepy old white dudes, if you saw them again?’ Jack said.

‘Of course.’

‘Do you know where the house was, they took you to?’

’Nah… It was in Brooklyn, but I can’t ‘member how to get there.’

‘Was it the same house each time?’

’Yeah… Every Wednesday and Saturday nights they picked us up and took us there.

‘You said “Us”…’

‘Me and ma friends… Dey were da ones wid me when you chased us…’

Chapter 30

Spence returned to the interview after ten minutes. He stood in the open doorway. ‘Got a minute…?’ He said. His tone was morose.

Jack excused himself and they left the room, closing the door behind them. Spence referred to his list.

‘Kamoni Farmer & Davarius Bradford both aged thirteen years when they were reported missing three months ago. They were found deceased a few weeks back, at different locations, from an apparent drug overdose. Eliyah Nash and Shaunee Ross are current missing persons… been missing for five months now…’

Jack shook his head. ‘They aren’t coming back. No wonder the poor kid’s too scared to talk,’ he said. ‘Listen… You go back in and have chat with him. I’m gonna go and get some photos for him to look at. Be right back.’

Jack hurried back to his office where he collected the photographs of the six victims from the whiteboard and placed them into a manila folder.

He then quickly accessed other past and ongoing files and grabbed a selection of six unrelated photographs to make up a list of twelve head shots. He placed them into the same folder.

With the photos in hand he exited his office on his way back to Spence and Deshawn. As he passed Peter Unly’s desk, Peter called out. ‘Hey, Jobs…’ Jack stopped. He gave Peter the ‘quick I’m in a hurry’, glare.

Unly shuffled around papers on his cluttered desk, searching for something. He lifted a photo. ‘I’ve got the DMV photo you requested for that shrink from the Upper East Side…’

Jack flicked a finger towards his office. ‘OK… Just put it in on the whiteb—’ He cut himself off. ‘You know what… On second thoughts…’ he beckoned with his hand. ‘Give it here. I’ll do it later, when I return these photos.’ He accepted the photo and slid it to the back of the manila folder. ‘Thanks for that,’ he said over a shoulder as he exited the bull pen.

‘We all good in here…?’ Jack said as he entered the witness interview room.

Deshawn sat with his hands clasped on the table. Spence sat opposite with a crossed leg. He leaned an elbow on the table. ‘We’re all good here… right Deshawn…?’

‘Yeah. We good…’

Jack placed the manila folder on the table while he slid into his chair. ‘I’ve got some photos in here that I want you to look at. I want you to tell me if you recognize any of these people. OK?’

‘Kay.’

Jack opened the manila folder and lifted the twelve photos. He lined them up on the table in front of Deshawn, in two rows of six. Deshawn passed a cursory scan over the images.

‘Right…’ Jack said. ‘Take your time and look at each of these photos… Let me know if you recognize anyone in them.’

Deshawn stood from his chair and leaned on his hands. He passed his eyes over each photo, then moved back to the first photo from his left. He lifted his eyes to Jack, as a sign he was done.

‘How’d you go…? Did you recognize anyone?’

Deshawn nodded. He pushed forward the photo of Judge Davis.

’How do you know that person?

‘He was da Judge on one of my cases. He stopped the court case and told my lawyer to bring me back into his office. When we went in there, he said he would send me to Juvie for a long time…unless I agreed to come to his parties…He said there’d be udder kids my age there…’

‘What did you say?’

‘Whacha think…? I agreed. I didn’t wanna go back to juvie…’

‘What happened to your case?’

‘Unconditional discharge…’

’So, you were still sentenced, but released without the court setting any conditions of the release. Is that the way it went down…?”

‘That’s it.’

‘What was the offence you were charged with?’

‘Ah… Dat time was theft. I stole somefin from a store.’

‘I see. Was the judge at the parties you attended…?’

‘He one of da main organizers…’ His eyes dropped to the photos. He pushed forward the photo of Goodfellow. ‘Wit dis dude… Da parties were at his house.’ He tapped Goodfellow’s photo.

Jack and Spence exchanged a quick glance.

‘Did any of these two people have sex with you, or any of your friends?’

‘Dey both did…’ He pointed to the judge’s photo. ‘He loved to jerk off while watching too…’

Deshawn moved to the photo of Adrian Harker, who was found shot in his florist shop. He pushed it forward.

‘How do you know him?’

‘He was da one who found us on the streets and he was at all the parties… He a sick fuck like dat judge…’ He flicked a finger at Judge Davis’ photo.

He continued to pass his eyes over the remaining photos and stopped at the photo of lawyer Seamus O’Brien and pushed it forward.

‘How do you know him?’

‘He was ma lawyer in dat case wit da judge. He’s da dude dat took me into the judge’s office.’

‘Was he at the parties?’

‘Everyone I was at… He at.’

He continued scanning the photos. He stopped at the photo of Shrink, Raymond Scott who was shot in Central Park while jogging. He pushed it forward.

‘How do you know him?’

‘From the parties…?’

Deshawn had correctly identified all the victims of their shooter, with the exception of Clive Vance, who Jack suspected was jogging through Central Park and had stopped to help, when he was shot.

‘What about this photo…?’ Jack said. He indicated Clive Vance.

Demarcus shook his head. ‘Dunno him.’

‘So… You never saw him at any of the parties…?’

‘Nuh. He wadn’t nere.’

‘OK. So you recognize the person in each one of these photos you pushed forward…?’ Jack said as a question. ‘That’s five photos, and each of—’

‘Nah. Dat’s Six…’

Jack’s frowning eyes dropped back to the table. He counted out all the photos Deshawn had pushed forward. ‘One. Two. Three. Four. Five… That’s five photos you’ve identified.’

‘Six.’ He pointed to the photo of shrink, Ryan Bowen.

Jack’s eyes dropped to the picture of Bowen sitting in his open folder. He lifted the photo and held it up to Deshawn. ‘This photo…? You recognize the person in this photo…?’

‘Yep. He was at all the parties too.’

‘This guy… This guy here… Was at the parties with all these other people…?’ Jack waved a hand over the pushed forward photos.

‘Yep.’

Jack and Spence exchanged a silent glance. They recovered a part email from Goodfellow’s computer that Goodfellow sent to Bowen. When they visited Bowen at his practice on the Upper East Side, Bowen denied receiving the email and he denied knowing Goodfellow, just like Judge Davis did.

‘So, of all these people you identified… How many of them had sex with you, or your friends, or gave head jobs, or got a head job, or hand jobs, or anything like that from you, or any of your young friends…?’

‘All of dem… Except dat guy…’ he pointed to Bowen’s photo. ‘He wad always there, but… I don’t remember him doin’ anything. I think he just liked to watch…’

‘Were there any other people at these parties? Or was it only these six people here…?’

Deshawn shook his head. ‘Shit no… Dis ain’t even half. There was plenty more there. Like… another ten, or maybe more, white dudes…’

’Do you know who the other ten, or more white dudes were at these parties?

Deshawn shrugged. ’I dunno any of ‘em. They’s just there?’

‘Did any women attend these parties you were at…?’

‘Nuh. All dudes.’

‘Of all these photos you chose. Which person threatened you if you went to the police?’

He tapped Judge Davis’ photo. ‘Him.’ He tapped Goodfellow’s photo. ‘Him.’ He ran his eyes over the remaining photos. He stopped at Harker’s photo. ‘And him…’ he said tapping the photo of Adrian Harker.

‘Who gave you all these gifts and money…?’

‘Dey all did… But mostly him… Him… And him…’ he said pointing to the photos of Judge Davis, Marcus Goodfellow and Adrian Harker.’

’What gifts did he give you…?’ Jack tapped Bowen’s photo.

‘He never gave me nuttin’… Coz he didn’t do anything to me. He just watched.’

Jack turned to Spence. ‘And he’s the only one of this lot who’s still alive…’ he said under his breath.

Spence nodded his understanding. ‘I think we need to re-visit this shrink.’

‘Are we done here…?’ Deshawn said. ‘I’m getting’ hungry.’

‘We’re done,’ Jack said. He scooped up the photos and returned them to the manila folder. He passed Deshawn back his clip of bills and his cell. ‘I’m keeping these…’ Jack said. He indicated the switchblade and the bags of weed and coke.’

’Oh, come on man… I helped ya out. Can’t ya just let me have ‘em?’

‘Not happening Deshawn. I appreciate you helping us here… But that’s not happening. Grab your things and we’ll walk you out.’

Deshawn sulked as he scooped up his property. Jack extended a hand towards the door. Deshawn exited the room. Jack and Spence followed.