Authors: Oliver Stark
88 Killer (14 page)
Forest Park, Brooklyn
March 9, 9.55 a.m.
D
enise Levene stayed in the taxi for a few minutes, staring across the road at the unremarkable suburban house in a row of other unremarkable suburban houses. She had coped better than she’d expected with the ordeal in Brownsville. Maybe Mac was helping, but she wasn’t feeling sorry for herself; she was feeling angry. She wanted to do something. She needed to.
The driver didn’t speak English too well, but he was happy to keep the meter running. She looked down at the note in her hand. Detective Gauge had provided her with the home details, but had warned her that it wouldn’t be easy. No one coped well, and Dr Goldenberg was worse than most.
She noticed that the drapes were shut in every room. Maybe he was sleeping. Sometimes it was the only way if the worry and the strain kept your mind whirring all night long.
She’d called a colleague at Columbia and heard that Dr Goldenberg hadn’t gone back to work. He was on compassionate leave. Since Lukanov’s arrest, she had tried not to imagine what might have happened to Abby. But she felt the sadness deeply. There was nothing here to hate: a small suburban lot and a divorced man bringing up his daughter. Now it was shot to pieces. He was in hell because of racists like Leo Lukanov.
Denise had spent the morning reviewing the case with Harper, gleaning what she could from the new information. Abby was the golden girl by all accounts – a grade-A student with charisma, musical ability and an independent mind. It was terrible to imagine that people like Lukanov could take it all away for nothing, for some messed-up sense of history.
Denise handed a twenty through the Plexiglass and got out. She steeled herself, walked to the door and rang the bell.
Dr Goldenberg answered quickly, almost as if he was expecting Abby or news about Abby at every moment. Behind him, the house was in darkness. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the light.
He was dressed in a plain blue two-piece suit. His hair was almost completely gray and he wore dark-framed glasses. Denise recognized him as the colleague from Columbia University, but a changed man.
He was shrunken by a few inches; his shoulders dipped forward and his clothes looked baggy. His skin was gray. His eyes were creased so badly that he looked like a victim waking up from major surgery. They were rimmed with red and there was a strange depthless quality to his stare, as if his body was going through the motions, but his soul or heart, or whatever it was, had flown.
‘Hello, Dr Goldenberg.’
His hand reached out and grasped hers. It was soft but it gripped her hand tightly and didn’t let go. His eyes rose, almost as if he’d seen a glint of hope.
‘Dr Levene,’ he said. ‘Thank you so much for coming by. On the phone, you said you had news?’
Denise stood with her hand gripped by his, looking into his eager eyes. ‘I’m so very sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve got some news, but it’s not necessarily positive.’
‘What is it?’
‘Please, could we go inside?’
‘I understand, of course,’ said Dr Goldenberg. His eyes were now trying to read hers. ‘Tell me, please.’
Denise pulled her hand from his. ‘I wanted to say how sorry I am. I just want to say it.’
‘I appreciate it,’ he said. ‘We can talk all about it later, but just tell me, what have you got?’
‘Of course.’
Dr Goldenberg’s mouth creased with some memory of his daughter. ‘Abby is . . .’ He stopped mid-sentence and Denise watched as his whole face contorted in silent pain.
He brought himself under control.
‘Please – come in, Dr Levene.’
They walked through the house. It was quiet and felt unlived in. Goldenberg switched the light on in the living room and motioned impatiently towards a seat.
‘What have you found?’
Denise pulled out a folder. ‘Nothing conclusive. Last night, the NYPD arrested four men. Leo Lukanov, Patrick Ellery, Thomas Ocksborough and Raymond Hicks.’ She showed him the photographs.
‘The four men who attacked Abby?’
‘Yes. I went to speak to them.’
‘You?’
‘I thought they might know something. They came after me.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. Were you hurt?’
‘No. I was frightened,’ said Denise, ‘but I wasn’t hurt. The cops got there real quick.’
‘Have they told you where Abby is?’
‘No. We can’t even be sure they’re involved, but something spooked them. Why come after me, try to frighten me, if they didn’t have some connection to Abby?’
‘Could you try to tell me what happened?’
‘I went to see these four men with officers from the Hate Crime Unit. Next day, they came after me.’
‘There’s more,’ he said. ‘I heard the news.’
‘There may be a link.’
‘With the murderer of David Capske? Please don’t tell me that.’
‘Lukanov bought the barbed wire that was used in the murder of David Capske.’
‘You think my Abby could have been a victim?’
‘There’s going to be an investigation. Homicide will look into it. It means that she’s going to get more time.’
‘That is something.’
‘Not much, I know.’
‘I appreciate it, Dr Levene. I know this is not easy. Do they know why these men might have been targeting people?’
‘It could be something to do with anti-Semitism,’ said Denise. ‘But we can’t be sure, yet. I’ll keep you informed.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Could I see Abby’s room?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Anything specific?’
‘No, I just want a sense of her.’
Inside Abby’s room, Denise felt the horror of her disappearance again. Life was made up of the tiniest fragments. Memories, loves, events. Denise saw the pop posters, the half-naked men, her wide-ranging intellectual interests, her passion for music, her adoration of her father, her love of her mother, her independence, her eccentricity, her karate skills, riding skills, ballet.
Denise sat down in Abby’s room, the drapes drawn, and opened her diary from a year earlier. She had no idea what she was doing or why, but she felt unable to leave without engaging as much as she could, for an ex-colleague she barely knew and a girl called Abby, whom she knew even less, but for whom, for some reason, she felt responsible.
North Manhattan Homicide
March 9, 11.12 a.m.
H
arper left the interrogation room and slumped down in the darkened observation room. Denise watched him closely. ‘We need more time,’ she said. ‘That’s all. He’s tough. You should’ve seen Abby’s room. She’s just a kid, Tom. If Leo killed her, we’ve got to find out where she is. The question is,
if
.’
‘You don’t seem convinced?’ said Harper.
Denise moved across to the window. She prodded it with her forefinger. ‘I hate him, Tom, I hate everything about him. He’s a vicious little racist, a bully, a coward. He’s everything I hate about people wrapped up in one ugly package, but he’s not bright, is he? He’s not got an organized mind.’
‘I’ve been thinking the same thing.’
‘We’ve got to find another way to get him to talk.’
Harper nodded. They both stared into the small interview room as two more detectives entered and started going through the routine. One prowling, one sitting. One getting close, the other keeping in the background with threats chipping away at the nerves.
Harper leaned on to his elbows and stared into the room. Eddie entered the observation room, carrying three coffees. ‘He’s a hard nut, this one,’ Eddie said. ‘A real thick skin. Or maybe just real thick.’
Harper took his coffee. ‘Thanks, Eddie. Anything more from his apartment?’
‘Shitloads of racist crap. Shitloads of it. But nothing to tie him to Capske. Not yet anyway. Forensics will be days going through all his stuff.’
‘He’s part of some organization, though. You find anything?’
‘He’s definitely part of something, but it seems he’s a pretty small cog within it. We’ve got the other three guys locked up in the cells. They’re all scared of something, so no one’s saying anything. I don’t know who’s leading this operation, but they are real spooked.’
‘Lukanov hasn’t given you a single name,’ said Denise.
‘Why do you think it is, Denise? Maybe he’s just as scared as the rest.’
‘Could be. We’ve all seen it before. Gangs don’t dare rat people out. I think he knows he’s got to stay quiet.’
‘There’s plenty of vicious hate gangs in prison. He talks, gives people up, they’re going to hurt him bad.’
‘Yeah, maybe, but I think it’s something else,’ said Denise.
‘What?’ said Harper.
‘There’s someone pulling the strings. Someone he’s really terrified of.’
‘That’s my thought too,’ said Harper. ‘Which leads me to something I’ve been thinking since the arrest.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Eddie.
‘Read Lukanov’s record. Every time he’s been arrested, it’s for some group attack. He’s one of those men who get brave when it’s five to one. I just don’t see him as a lone wolf, which means that it’s unlikely he killed Capske. Denise, what do you think?’
‘It’s difficult to call, Tom. He could be capable of operating alone, but I’d agree with you. Most likely scenario, Lukanov is only violent within the group.’
‘Another thing. He didn’t want to get involved in the alley. He kept back.’ Harper stood up. He drank down his coffee and took another look at Leo Lukanov through the glass. Lukanov was unshaven and tired. He’d taken off his denim shirt and was wearing a white tank top.
Harper pointed at Lukanov. ‘Look at his arms and hands. There isn’t a single scratch mark on his skin. You ever tried to work with barbed wire? The killer was working with barbed wire in the dark with a victim. It’s not evidence, but if it’s not Lukanov, then whoever it is, he’s still out there.’
Harper took Eddie to the side of the investigation room. ‘I want you to look into something for me.’
Eddie forced a smile. ‘What?’
‘There’s no match on any of our databases or ViCAP for this kind of MO. The barbed wire, the torture, the point blank gunshot. We came up with nothing. Denise, how long before a serial killer gets so deluded, they think they can do anything?’
‘Can happen after one kill in some cases,’ said Denise. ‘There’s a moment when every repeat killer is sitting in their apartment thinking about what they’ve done, when they suddenly realize that no one’s come calling for them. They’ve done the worst thing they can and they’ve gotten away with it. They get to think they’re immune or invincible. Or, they get angry, because they wanted to be noticed and they wanted to be understood.’
‘Eddie, our killer could’ve killed before, got no reaction, so upped his game with Capske.’
‘And this time, he made sure he had an audience. He called them,’ said Eddie. ‘So we’ve got to find that kill. If it’s Lukanov, then it’ll only help to link him.’
‘Leo Lukanov’s linked with two attacks, both of Jewish victims. If we count Denise as well, that’s three attacks. Eddie, I want you to search out every crime against anyone even remotely Jewish. See what you get.’
‘I’ll do it,’ said Eddie. ‘I’ll find something.’
‘Denise, I suggest we take a walk in Forest Park.’
‘You serious?’
‘It’s a material link to this case. You were looking into something and Lukanov or someone connected to Lukanov wanted to hide that so much, they were willing to attack you.’
‘God, I’d hate to think what guys like that would want to hold someone like Abby for,’ said Denise.
‘Try not to think about things like that.’
‘I’ll stay here and search ViCAP,’ said Eddie. The Violent Criminal Apprehension Program was a database of all recorded crimes across the States.
‘If we get something from ViCAP or Forest Park, it’s going to be easier to give Leo Lukanov a hard time,’ said Harper.
Forest Park, Brooklyn
March 9, 10.10 p.m.
T
hey stood at the end of Park Lane South and looked across the street to Forest Park.
‘Do you have any idea what the connection might be?’ said Harper.
‘At the moment, the only connection with Abby is circumstantial,’ Denise told him. ‘These Nazis seem to have chanced across Abby and hassled her. She complained and then the graffiti appeared and they showed up near her home. I don’t know how it links with Capske or even if it does.’
‘No, the only connection is that Leo Lukanov was involved in both, and both victims were Jewish. The MO is very different,’ said Harper.
‘We don’t know that. Abby might have been murdered in the same way.’
‘True, but there’s no evidence that either the disappearance of Abby or the murder of Capske was because they were Jewish.’
‘No, there’s no evidence yet, but that’s what we’re here for.’
‘So talk me through it,’ said Harper.
‘Abby crosses the road here. She was nearly knocked down by a delivery truck. The drivers came forward. They say she gave them the finger.’
‘Spirited girl.’
‘Yeah, she actually is pretty tough. A Black Belt in karate too.’
‘What happened next?’
Denise led them across the street. ‘She was heading this way and then she disappeared. A dog walker found her clothes and books carefully stowed in a tree in the woods.’
‘You said it was raining that night?’
‘Yeah, but not when she left.’
‘So let’s imagine she’s off to meet some secret boyfriend. She fakes a study session with a friend, hides a short skirt under her top. She takes off, changes in the woods and heads up to Myrtle Avenue. From Myrtle she takes the bus to wherever she’s going. So far, it’s pretty normal for a sixteen year old, right?’
‘Yeah, except she doesn’t get to the bus stop. None of the drivers remember her and she’s a pretty striking girl.’
‘So she didn’t make it to the bus,’ said Harper. He pointed. ‘Whatever happened to Abby probably started in those woods. Have they been searched?’
‘There was a community search. Mainly friends, family and volunteers.’
‘They would’ve been looking for a body, not evidence of what happened. Let’s take a look.’
‘Any evidence would’ve been washed away by now, wouldn’t it?’
‘Not necessarily. We don’t know what we’re looking for yet.’
Harper and Levene clambered up the small bank into the woods and started to walk.
They walked up the whole path and back, then through four other routes. The site of the hollow tree where Abby had left her books and clothes indicated the main path she’d taken between Park Avenue South and Myrtle. It would’ve been very dark under the canopy that night.
‘Let’s suppose she ran off the path. Where would she go?’ said Harper.
They tried several different routes off the path but didn’t find anything. Then they traveled back up to Myrtle. Harper started walking in and out of the trees, trying to imagine where he would hide if he was an attacker. He stopped at one tree that gave him cover from both the road and the path. It also gave a perfect sightline. He smoothed his hand over the bark.
‘What’s this?’ Harper said, staring at the tree trunk. Denise moved over and looked at the carving. ‘88,’ said Harper. ‘What does that mean?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Denise.
‘I’m going to get Crime Scene to look at this. Someone needs to check the Capske crime scene again. Maybe this killer likes to leave a signature.’
‘If it’s his.’
‘So, look, if it is his, then he’s waiting here, right by Myrtle Avenue. You know why?’
‘No.’
‘Come on, Denise. Why doesn’t he go deeper into the woods?’
‘He needs to be near his vehicle.’
‘That’s right. There was no body found in the woods, so dead or alive, he took the body someplace else. But there’s no sign of a struggle. Let’s imagine he meets her right here. Let’s imagine she manages to escape. Where does she go? Let’s play it out.’
‘Just like old times,’ said Denise.
‘Go and get ready. You play Abby.’
Denise walked down the path and turned. She walked back towards the tree. As she approached, Harper jumped out. ‘Now, let’s imagine I’m right-handed, so this arm comes out here and grabs you. What do you do?’
‘I pull away.’
She pulled away and broke his grip. Her body flew off to the left.
‘Okay, where now?’
Denise looked. She only had two options. ‘I wouldn’t take the path. He’d catch me. If I’m familiar with these woods, I’d chance this overgrown path.’
They both looked into the path. Harper walked slowly along it. ‘It gets thick here. Look, broken thorns and twigs. Not too fresh.’
Denise peered around. ‘She could’ve come this way.’
They followed the half-track. It opened out at one point. Harper pointed to the ground. ‘Look at that root. In the dark, would you see it?’
‘I doubt it,’ said Denise.
Harper knelt. ‘She may have stumbled. Then what?’ He looked around, spotted something about three meters away. There was a tiny glint of some unnatural color. He got up, walked towards it and knelt again, taking out a pocket-knife. The object was bright pink. He scraped away enough of the mud with the knife and read the label.
‘Denise, come over. There’s something here.’ Harper pointed at the small pink cylinder. ‘The brand name is Hot and Pink.’
‘What is it?’
‘It’s a girl-friendly brand of pepper spray – eighteen grams. The safety lid is open. It’s been used.’
‘You think it might be hers?’
Harper stood up. ‘I don’t know if your guy, Dr Goldenberg, knew whether she carried pepper spray?’
‘She did. Pepper spray and a rape alarm. He made her.’
‘I’ll call CSU – this might be a crime scene. You call Dr Goldenberg, see if Abby used Hot and Pink.’
‘How long before you can get a print?’ asked Denise.
‘If there’s one on there, we could have this case opened in under an hour.’ Harper walked Denise away from the scene. ‘Keep off the evidence. How long has she been missing?’
‘Nine or ten days.’
‘For nine days whoever took her has been getting his kicks, thinking that this girl is never going to be looked for. He’s probably feeling good about himself. This is going to change things for him. Suddenly, the game shifts. We’re hunting a potential killer here. If he hasn’t contacted the family, this doesn’t look good for Abby.’
‘What odds do you give her?’
‘Someone took her with minimum hassle. He either killed her after he raped her and put her body somewhere safe, or he’s got her somewhere.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What do we do now?’
‘Shake the tree, Denise. Shake the tree. Make him do something. If he’s listening and if she’s out there, let’s tell the media that it’s a murder enquiry and see if he wants to change our minds about that.’