Nowhere to Run (32 page)

It had to be done early, before the building filled with people for the day shift, while there was still a chance to go and clean out the storage closet undetected. The
KTA
staffers were straggling in already. There was no time to waste.

The chemistry set and the gloves could prove to be links to Jerome Henning’s and Clara Romanski’s deaths. If someone discovered them hidden at the back of the closet, the police would soon be alerted. Law enforcement, with all its sophisticated testing abilities, would surely pick up something. Traces of anthrax, a strand of hair, a fingerprint left behind.

There was no one in the hallway that led to the basement ramp.

After grabbing a few hours’ sleep in the dressing room, Joe arose, freshened up, and headed downstairs to the security office. As he checked the monitor for the camera trained on the basement storage closet, he felt the anger rise within him.

Damn it.
The camera wasn’t working.

“Didn’t anyone notice this?” he growled. The tired overnight guards looked at the screen, their expressions as blank as the monitor.

Joe grabbed the telephone to call the technician.

“I’ll meet you down there myself,” he declared. “Pronto.”

Someone had been in here since the last time. The coats were pushed back on the rack, the cartons on the floor rearranged. But the chemistry set still sat on the abandoned typewriter table, the box of nitrile gloves beside it.

The evidence was dropped into a thick plastic bag as noises were heard coming from the other side of the door.

The aluminum ladder scraped against the concrete floor as the technician positioned it under the ceiling fire sprinkler opposite the storage closet.

“We better get it right this time, Milt,” the security chief ordered. “I don’t want to miss anything.”

“I don’t know what happened, Joe,” apologized the technician as he climbed the ladder. “This is a wireless camera, though, and you know the problems we have with these things.”

Joe craned his neck to watch the tinkering. “Well, I hope we won’t have to depend on it for too long but, in the meantime, make sure the damn thing works.”

An ear was pressed against the closet door, listening to the conversation out in the hall.

Be quiet. Be very quiet. Just wait and listen. Don’t panic.

After a few minutes, something scraped against the floor again.

“That should do it, Joe,” said one of the voices.

“Thanks, Milt” was the response. “Now let’s see what we catch.”

The sound of the footsteps grew fainter until there was silence.

If a camera was pointed at the door, it would give it all away. If escape was possible, it had to be done quickly and anonymously.

Grabbing the plastic bag and a large ski parka from the rack, the killer slipped on the jacket and pulled up the hood, holding the edges close to cover the face.

“Look at that, will ya?” cried the guard as he watched the monitor in the security command post.

He jumped from his chair and ran to the door, bumping into the returning Joe Connelly. “What’s going on?” the security chief asked.

“Somebody just came out of that closet, Joe.”

“All right. That’s good. We have it on tape.”

“No. We won’t be able to tell who it is. The face was covered.”

When the men ran together to the basement, they found a discarded Olympics ski jacket at the bottom of the ramp.

The editor had done an excellent job with the “Terror in Maplewood” piece. Annabelle screened the video package and grudgingly admitted to herself that Lauren looked and sounded great in her on-camera bridge. The woman had a certain quality that left Annabelle with little doubt Lauren could go far in broadcast journalism.

As Annabelle slid the tape from the video deck, she hoped that Linus wasn’t in yet and that Dominick would be the one to give final approval on the piece. That way she would be sure to get an honest opinion of the work. Linus’s view was biased when it came to Lauren.

Whoever it came from, once Annabelle got the piece approval, the next thing on her agenda was to find Joe Connelly and tell him what the au pair had told her about the baseball cap–wearing mail deliverer.

He’d be damned if the suspect would get out of the Broadcast Center.

“We’re locking this place down,” Joe announced. “Alert all the exits. No one is to enter or leave the building.”

As the word went out to the security guards, Joe strode up to the main lobby, where the public address system was located. He composed his statement in his mind, knowing that the words he chose would be important. He didn’t want to cause mass panic.

“We have an emergency in the building that is requiring us not to let anyone enter or leave at this time. Please be assured that you are in no danger. Stand by your computers for further information.”

He hung up the mouthpiece and immediately picked up the telephone at the main desk. Joe knew the NYPD number by heart. After he informed his contact of what had happened, he made his suggestion.

“I think you guys should bring in a K-9 team.”

The president of KEY News was tapping against the lobby’s plate-glass window.

“It’s all right, Roberto. Let her in,” Joe said to the guard.

“What’s going on here?” Yelena demanded as she shook out her umbrella.

“There’s a good chance that our anthrax buddy is right here in the building.” The security chief told her about the camera installed overnight on the suspicious closet and the discarded ski-parka disguise.

“Finding someone with that little to go on in this huge building could be like finding a needle in a haystack,” Yelena observed.

When informed of the police dog team that was on its way, she nodded. “All right, but keep that animal away from me. I can’t stand dogs.”