Death On the Dlist (2010) (23 page)

SO, YOU’VE GOT A BULLET MATCH ON ALL THREE: STOCKTON,
Love, and Malone? And you’ve got Scott Anderson connected to all three, and lying about it. Why would he lie about it if he were on the up-and-up? There’s got to be
something
there . . .”

Hailey stood at the widest window of her apartment, the one facing the West Side. The sun shone down brightly on them through low-hanging clouds, making the buildings sparkle in the morning light.

“Exactly,” Kolker said. “Why lie unless there’s something more nefarious involved other than just a fling? From what we can tell, he’s had plenty of those. Just usually not with dead girls.”

“Other than knowing them, and actually having an affair with one of them, Malone, what else do we have? Let’s see, he was the last person to see Malone alive, a history of alleged violence on women, a wife and a girlfriend. We have him lying about Stockton at Pebble Beach,
that we know of
; there may have been more between them . . . Then we’ve got him basically stalking Prentiss Love at the Memorabilia Fair at the Javits Center.”

“I can’t believe you found that clip, Hailey. That’s incredible. You basically found all the hard evidence we’ve got on him.”

“No way. The best thing so far is him on the Malone security cam. Thank Heaven they hadn’t taped over it already.”

“They would have, but they just hadn’t re-set the camera yet. We lucked out. And, true, the security cam is great evidence, but I can’t make a case out of a couple of house calls. I know you stayed up late sifting through it all.”

Hailey thought for a split second and decided to leave out that she’d woken up with her heart pounding from another nightmare about Hayden’s and Melissa’s murders. “I was just lucky when I found it.”

“You always say that. Look, Hailey, thanks. I really mean it.”

“No problem. I kind of miss working cases. So tell me about Scott Anderson. He’s good-looking, I can see that from the video. But what’s he all about?”

“Lives alone . . .”

“Of course. They usually do . . .” Hailey was automatically beginning to profile him in her mind. White male, early thirties, college educated, single again after a divorce, split on bad terms, living alone, house pretty much bare, based on what Kolker had told her earlier . . .

The buzzer rang and Hailey left the window and walked over to the intercom linking her apartment to the front desk.

“What’s up, Ricky?” She spoke clearly and directly into the intercom on her kitchen wall.

“Hailey, you order food?”

“Yeah. I got a hungry cop up here.”

“Okay. I’ll send him up.”

“Thanks, Ricky. I ordered you a pastrami. Get it out.”

“You’re the best, Hailey. Thanks.”

“And there’s a cherry seltzer water in there too for you.”

“Thanks, Hailey.”

Hailey smiled, picturing Ricky diving into the brown paper delivery bag from the diner across the street.

She looked at Kolker. He was making a disgusted face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ugh! Cherry seltzer?” He looked like he chewed poison.

“Yes, Ricky went on a diet and exercise kick a while back. After a few weeks, he stopped the diet and exercise. The only thing that stuck was low-cal seltzer water!”

They both laughed again and Hailey answered the door, signed for the food, and brought it back to the kitchen to lay it out on the kitchen counter.

“So even if you prove he knew all three, or at least knew two and stalked one, had an affair with one of them, maybe two, what else do you have? Although I gotta tell you, that’s pretty strong circumstantial evidence linking him to all three women . . .” Hailey pulled bottled waters out of the bottom of her fridge.

“That’s right. I mean, come on, what’s the likelihood one guy is going to be linked to all three dead women? Practically zero.”

“Don’t know and don’t care. Statistics are not allowed in as evidence. I only care about what I can put before a jury. What about prints?”

“Nothing. Nada. Zilch. This guy knows what he’s doing. I brought in the best, and nothing.”

“Get the outside of the car? Up around the window? The doors at the pool house? The light switch in the pool house? The chair where Stockton was sitting?”

“And then some.”

“What about the doors and light switches at Malone’s place?”

“Done.”

“Any glasses out in the kitchen you could check for prints or DNA?” Hailey was grasping at straws now.

“The place was clean as a whistle. Turns out the maid had just come the day before. We looked over the whole apartment, bedroom and bathrooms included, for glasses. Matches, cigarette butts, you name it.”

“Bathroom door handles and light switches? Just in case he went in here? Was her bed made?”

“Checked all the bathrooms and, no, her bed was not made. But it was only unmade on one side, the side she slept on.”

“How could you tell?”

“Glass of wine there from the night before on the bedside table and a stack of
Variety
magazines. Looks like Fallon Mallone was seriously looking for a comeback project.”

“Hmm.” Hailey’s mind was racing. “How about the gun? The murder weapon?”

“Well, you’d think the killer would dispose of it somewhere close to the crime like they always do. The fact that he hasn’t makes me think more murders are coming.”

“Me, too. But this guy will never get rid of that gun. If he hasn’t already tossed it, he’ll keep using it. It’s one of his signatures. He’s used it in all three. The gun matters to him. Or else he’d probably ditch it.” Hailey watched as Kolker dug into his turkey sandwich. She unfolded her own and began pulling out some of the lettuce that was piled on so thick she could hardly bite the thing.

She really didn’t even want the sandwich. What she really wanted, she couldn’t have. Right now, anyway. She wanted collard greens. The kind from home.

Hailey had been to all the great New York City restaurants and, yes, they were truly great. Italian, sushi, Chinese, seafood, American cuisine, vegetarian, raw, she’d done it all. But nowhere could she find collard greens

That very morning, she’d tried to get some in a grocery store. Of course, the produce clerk had to ask his boss what they were. When the manager showed up in the vegetable and fruit corner of D’Agostino’s grocery store, he said they rarely got them due to lack of demand.

The manager then sagely advised she try the pet shop around the corner. When Hailey threw him a puzzled look, he responded, “Don’t you have a pet iguana?” Turns out, the only reason New Yorkers ever buy the stinky greens is so they can chop them up and feed them raw to the little lizards who, apparently, would kill for a plate of collards just like Hailey would.

Good to know.

Thus, the turkey sandwich. “So, bullet match, no prints. Cell phone, text, or e-mail links?”

“One link other than Scott Anderson. Some kid by the name of Jonathon Kent. He apparently wrote all three, but from what we can tell from his e-mails, he’s a high school kid with major crushes on the women he sees on TV. Seems pretty harmless. But it’s odd he was writing all three.”

“That is strange. Almost as odd as Anderson being connected to all three. What’s this kid writing about?” Hailey lived by the rule that there were no coincidences in criminal law.

“Oh, let’s see.” He took another bite and washed it down with water. “School, classes, movies he’s seen. Asks a lot about what they’re doing, where they’re going, always seems to have caught their last appearance, even rents their stuff and watches it and comments. Asks all sorts of questions about movies, sets, co-stars, whether they date anyone, you know, the typical things a high school kid would ask a female TV star.”

“I don’t think it’s ‘typical’ that a high school kid is in close touch with one female TV star, let alone three female TV stars. And for your information, Malone was a screen star. A has-been, true, but a screen star nonetheless.”

“True.” Kolker wolfed down the last bite of sandwich and kind of looked around like he was still hungry.

“I made a lemon pie last night. Want some?”

“You cook? I had no idea!”

“Yes, I do, pretty much whenever I’m hungry,” she joked back.

“But New York is a take-out and delivery town!”

“I know. But sometimes I just want some home cooking. Anyway, do you want the pie?”

“I never turn down lemon meringue pie.”

Hailey went to the fridge and pulled it out. She handed him a plate, a knife, and a fork. Only a tiny sliver was missing from the pie.

“You sure didn’t eat much of it.”

“My eyes were bigger than my stomach. It’s all yours. Back to Jonathon Kent.” Hailey saw Kent as much more of a possibility than Kolker did.

“Have you been able to locate this kid Jonathon through his texts? They’ve got to come straight from a phone. A cell phone has to be listed to
somebody
. Right?” Hailey was trying to think of everything.

Kolker nodded. “Done. He usually e-mails, but when he does text, we think it’s from a disposable phone or a phone card.”

“Oh, Kolker, that’s going to be hard to run down. There’s a million ways to beat a text ID. You can always sign in to Yahoo! or AIM with a fake name, and text whoever you want, and it’s free. Or you can use a different SIM card. And the disposable cell phones are a whole other animal. You don’t have to sign a contract or have a credit card, and they’re next to impossible to track. Even terrorists use them to detonate bombs, much less some high school kid. Much less if he’s spoofing the number. Then we’re really in trouble.”

Hailey thought for moment before she went on. “He’s either awfully smart or he’s cheap and doesn’t want to pay monthly rates for a cell phone. But you’ve started locating where the cell phones and cards were sold, right?”

“Right. Louisiana.”

“Hmm. If this ‘kid’ is down in Louisiana, that makes him a lot less of a suspect than Anderson, who’s right here under our noses. So other than school and classes, what else does he talk about?”

“His dog, Ringo.”

“Ringo?”

“Yep. It’s a Maltese. And it has a heart condition.”

“Okay. He talks about a Maltese dog named Ringo with a heart condition. Anything else? Like about visiting?”

“Not that we’ve seen. Yet, that is. These e-mails go way back. At least two years or so.”

“
Two years?
Now that’s a dedicated fan! Or a stalker, wouldn’t you say?”

“Good point. It’s just that the content of all the e-mails and texts are so benign, we don’t see Jonathon Kent as much of a threat.”

“Kolker,
please.
Everybody’s a suspect right now.”

“Okay, you’re right. I’ll step up the heat on Jonathon Kent. Poor kid. He’s got Hailey Dean after him now.”

“Thank you very much.” She said it with a smile. “Tea or coffee? I’m having some.”

“Sure.”

“Which one? Tea or coffee?”

“Whatever you’re having. Thanks, Hailey.”

“Okay. So it’s a no-go on the cell phone. What about e-mail? That should be easy. It’s amazing to me that in this day and age, people think their true identity and location are hidden. You’d have to live under a rock not to know that the IP address of the computer used to send the e-mail can be uncovered and traced. It can lead directly to a person. Your people know about the IP addresses, right? Every computer connected to the Internet has, or shares, an IP address. You know, a series of four numbers from zero to 255, separated by dots. Every time this so-called ‘kid’ e-mails, his IP’s included on the header.”

“But you can block an IP. It’s interesting you’d bring that up. He must not have a home computer. He’s sent e-mails from all over. His IPs are in California, New Jersey, Louisiana, even Connecticut, and some from right here in the city. We think he is in the school band and they travel.”

“
The school band? You’re kidding me!
He’s been right here in the city?”

“Just once or twice, and it wasn’t around the time of the shootings. That we know of.”

Hailey gave him a look of incredulity. Jonathon Kent was turning into a real suspect.

Kolker went on. “And we know he’s using free e-mail accounts: Hotmail, Yahoo, and Hushmail, so there’s no credit card linking back to an account payment, like with AOL.”

“Where did he set up the account? They’re usually set up at home or work. Then you’d have the IP from when the account was first set up . . . right?”

“Right. But again, I don’t think this kid has a home computer. He uses several different accounts, and they’ve all been set up at computers in Internet cafés, libraries, you know, public . . . where hundreds of people use the same computer every day.”

“Different cities?”

“Different cities.”

“Hmm, that’s some band he’s in.” She said it pointedly. Kolker started to look embarrassed. Hailey was right.

“By the way, what instrument?”

“What do you mean, what instrument?”

“What instrument does he play in the school band? French horn? Trumpet? Tuba?”

Kolker stopped short. He looked straight at her for a moment. “You know, he never said.”

“He tells the dead women he travels with the school band, but he doesn’t bother to tell them what instrument? There’s something wrong, Kolker. Don’t you see it?”

“Hailey, he’s a high school kid.
He’s not the killer! Listen, come over to the station and read the e-mails. You’ll see for yourself. This is not the killer.”

“How do I know who he is? Until I see him with my own two eyes, I don’t know who,
or what,
he is. A kid in the school band or some freak . . .
We don’t know, Kolker.
”

Kolker sighed. He suddenly looked tired. “You know what? I think Anderson’s our man. But just to make you happy, I’ll put the heat on the guys to find Kent. Okay? Happy?”

“Happy. Look, you asked me to help, right?”

“Right. And Hailey, we need to look under every stone. I learned the hard way. The day I arrested you and you punched me, I deserved it. I was wrong. I don’t want to make the same mistake again, with Anderson. Just promise me one thing.”

“What?”