Puppets (9 page)

When he'd gotten the height right, Angelo turned back to Mo."I don't even want to hear the over-the-hill crap," he said. He positioned himself to roll Big Willie, and when they both heaved, the body flipped over and landed on its back on the shelf. Angelo adjusted one of Big Willie's arms and then released the gurney's lifters and brakes, saying, "It's bullshit, Mo. One, you're too young to be thinking that way. Two, you were lonely in that relationship. If you want my opinion, it's good luck for you that Carla had the gumption to break it off." He raised his eyebrows,
Right?
—driving the point home with his dark eyes.

Mo shrugged. Breakit off, try a little harder, how could you tell when it was time for one or the other? Where was the line? Mo had always landed on the try-harder side. "Maybe we could talk about business," he said after a moment. "Your postmortem on the power station corpse, not your post on my relationship. Can we get out of here?"

"Sure." Angelo still held his eyes, letting Mo know hedidn't entirely accept the dodge.

They left the locker, Angelo pushing the empty gurney as they headed back toward the autopsy room.

Mo breathed the warmer air of the corridor with relief. "I'm interested in the ligatures—"

"Found four in the remains. Sent them up to Liz."

"Who looked them over and sent them on to Federal Plaza."

Angelo nodded thoughtfully as he wheeled the gurney back into the bright main room. "Mm. You'd like to see them, huh?"

"Well—"

"Fortunately for you," Angelo said, "I kept some close-up photos of my own. Always keep shots of such items in situ." He winked, turned to a stainless sink, and began washing his hands. "Never hurts to have a little backup documentation."

"I take it you've worked with Biedermann before," Mo said.

Twenty minutes later, Mo was back at his desk, looking over photos of the knots, copies printed off Angelo's scanner and colorlaser printer. On the left, a knot in place around the wrist bones and blackened tendons of the power-station corpse. On the right, a knot from O'Connor's fully fleshed wrist. Same cord, the serrated poly line. Same knots, the little double noose with three or four turns of line, the complex midline tensioning knot. Details so specific that it would ordinarily lead one to suspect that the two were killed by the same guy. Nice to know before meeting with Biedermann and his lackeys again.

Mo checked his watch. So far so good. One more errand to run, and then he'd better get over to Federal Plaza.

13

M
O WALKED THROUGH A broad expanse of chest-high, gray cubicles filled with FBI personnel at their computer screens. The plastic access authorization tag flopped on his lapel, marking him as an outsider. He followed the room's central corridor to a row of offices and conference rooms against the out sidewall, where the first person he saw was Dr. Rebecca Ingalls. She was standing just inside the door of a conference room, wearing a green dress and matching jacket, talking to someone just out of Mo's view. Silhouetted against the window, her figure hit Mo hard: strong thighs and sweet belly curve, surprisingly narrow waist. The sight of her gave him a good feeling, until the broad-shouldered form of SAC Biedermann stepped past her and came out to greet him.

"Aha. Detective Ford, come on in, welcome," Biedermann said. The words were warm but the voice was not—Biedermann was apparently working on his social skills but had an absence of native talent. "Dr. Ingalls was good enough to make time in her schedule. I thought she should join our little powwow, look over your materials, and get up to speed on this new situation. Rebecca, I believe you've met Morgan Ford of the State Police?"

She nodded and shook his hand. "Nice to see you again," she said.
Bang,
an Annie Oakley smile, Great Plains bright and dead on target.

"Good to see you," Mo agreed.

They took seats at a big table, just the three of them today, Biedermann at the head with Mo and Dr. Ingalls opposite each other. Mo opened his briefcase and set out some of the materials he'd brought; Dr. Ingalls put out a file and a notebook. Biedermann's end of the table was conspicuously empty.

"So let's see what you got." Beidermann rubbed his big hands together expectantly.

"Well,"Mo said, "you've already gotten the materials from our labs, the pathology reports, and my personnel file. That doesn't leave me much to bring but my opinion, which I'll be glad to share with you if you'd like. Then I'd like to see your files."

A look of dislike crossed Biedermann's face. "Now hold on here—"

"My opinion is that if Ronald Parker's attorney finds out how completely this new murder parallels the ones attributed to Parker, he'll go to press before he goes to court, claiming you nailed the wrong guy. That whereas I can't show these knots and cuffs and ligature abrasions to the newspapers—" he tossed copies of Angelo's photos toward Biedermann—"I can, in fact I am obligated to, disclose exculpatory evidence to his attorney. Who doesn't have to play by the same rules I have to, and who will happily blow the lid off your secrecy game. However, I'm willing to forget that obligation for the time being if I see some files appear on this table in the next sixty seconds. The deal for today was not a powwow but for me to look at
your
materials."

Biedermann's jaw inched forward, a G.I. Joe look that he probably practiced in front of a mirror. Dr. Ingalls looked a little taken aback by the immediate antagonism between the two men, but she was also curious, observing closely.

"I told you yesterday,"Biedermann said curtly, "that I don't take any bullshit from you." He reached behind him for a phone, tapped a number, waited, said into the receiver, "Get me Frank Marsden, White Plains barracks State Police." As he waited, he said to Mo,"You're out, Ford. It's that simple. Marsden will can your ass so fast—"

"Actually," Mo cut in, "I just talked to him before I came down here. Put him in touch with a lady by the name of Francine Jacobs, in our personnel office? He was upset that you had requested my file, and
his,
without the courtesy of consulting him. He's pissing mad already and disinclined to be told what to do. Do yourself a favor and try a more cooperative management style." Mo kept his voice even and just watched Biedermann's reaction.

Biedermann hesitated, one hand holding the phone out from his face and the other flat on the table, staring at Mo.

"One other thing you should know," Mo added, "is that Richard Flannery is taking a personal interest in this case. You've met the Westchester DA, right? He has asked me, personally, to keep him, personally, informed, and to let him know if I need his help with anything." Mo had decided that one way to survive working with both Flannery and Biedermann was to play them against each other. It was one thing for Biedermann to push around a lowly detective, another to get macho with the elected top legal authority of New York's richest county. "In fact, I talked to him just before I came down here. He asked me to give him a full update tomorrow. Maybe you should call him instead of Marsden."

Biedermann still held the phone, and it could have gone either way, but then Dr. Ingalls laughed, shook her head, tapped the back of Biedermann's hand with her pen. "God, I love my job!" she said sincerely. "You guys are giving me a
textbook
demonstration of hierarchical competition behaviors! Erik, you've heard similar criticisms before, maybe it's time to acknowledge there's some truth there? Also, Detective Ford has already had some great insights, and I don't think you can afford to do without his obvious talents. Let's get to work."

Biedermann, to his credit, hooked a wry grin on one cheek. He tossed the receiver back onto the cradle, got up and went to the door, cuffing Mo hard on the shoulder on the way."Esteban," he called to the outer office, "you want to bring us the Howdy Doody files? Thank you very much." Then he waited at the door, looking back at the two of them. "Looks like we got the makings of a great team here," he said without enthusiasm.

The original Howdy Doody's cord was Unibrand .95 serrated line, just like the line taken from O'Connor's body, available in bulk spools at over three thousand outlets throughout the country. Likewise the eyelets, three-eighths-inch galvanized-steel question marks manufactured by Save-Rite Hardware and available for fifty cents apiece nationwide. Likewise the disposable handcuffs, Flex-Cuf brand, a three-eighths-by-one-sixteenth-inch band of nylon. The most telling parallels were the knots, which matched, and the bruises and abrasions on the ligature sites, which told the tale of identical abuse and manipulation of the victims. Finally, there were innumerable parallels among the types of designs prevalent in the arranged objects. None of these were details that had made it to the press.

The three of them looked over the materials, compared photos side by side. For a while Biedermann stood behind Mo, leaning over him as he reviewed the materials, the proximity of his big body making Mofeel claustrophobic. When he went back to his chair, he just sat, fiddling with a pen, looking thoughtful and almost sad. Dr. Ingalls took the materials as Mo finished with them, and when she was done, she blew out a breath. She clasped her hands behind her head and sat leaning back in her chair, staring at the ceiling.

Mo was the first one to talk. "Ronald Parker is the wrong guy."

"No,"Biedermann insisted. "Not a chance."

"How can we be so sure? Okay, you caught him in his car with all the paraphernalia, his profile fits, but maybe he was, I don't know . . . set up? Maybe—"

"Morgan,"Dr. Ingalls said quietly, "there was an eyewitness. Given all this, I'd doubt the eyewitness myself—except it was
me.
We arranged a trap. Ronald Parker came into my apartment. He. . . hurt me. He had the equipment with him. My testimony against him isn't just going to be about the profile match." She looked at Mo as if wary of his reaction.

"So what does that leave? Parker had a, an accomplice, someone who knew the signature inside out, and now that Parker is in jail he's going it alone?"

"Maybe,"Dr. Ingalls said. "Except for two points. First, Ronald Parker was alone when he came to my apartment. Second, even if two people got together to commit murders, no two people could share the identical psychopathology. Their different psychological needs would sooner or later have to be expressed in the crime. Especially if they were no longer working together."

"An identical twin brother?" Mo hazarded, knowing he was reaching."Parker was adopted—could he have reconnected with his twin somewhere along the line? I mean, you're always reading about the separated-at-birth thing—"

Dr. Ingalls shook her head. "We went back, found his birth records. A single birth."

"Leaving the inside-job scenario," Mo said. "The new killer is someone close to the original investigation and is masquerading as a copycat to confuse the issue. So who knew this much about the investigation?"

He looked at Biedermann to see his reaction. Having observed how the SAC ran things, how close to his chest he played his cards, the answer couldn't be flattering. Mo was willing to bet that very few players had all the information needed to duplicate the crime so closely. Someone in Biedermann's office. Maybe somebody in the New York DA's office. Maybe somebody in the New Jersey or New York PDs, but judging from Ty's resentment over the way the investigation was controlled, probably not even there. Who else? Zelek, the alien, or someone else at his level? Then there was the issue of using Rebecca as bait, suggesting they had reason to suspect the insider possibility early on. Mo thought to confront Biedermann with that, then decided he'd pushed his luck enough for one day.

"Even that scenario has its problems," Dr. Ingalls said.

"Suchas—?"

"Motive. Why would a law enforcement employee kill these people, who are apparently randomly selected? And even if it's driven entirely by a psychopathology, if you've got the forensic knowledge to avoid leaving evidence, why bother to imitate someone else's modus operandi when inventing your own would be so much more . . . satisfying? When imitating would
suggest
to police that the perpetrator has inside information?"

"And I have to say," Biedermann put in, "I resent the implication that anyone in this office is in any way involved." Mo realized it was the first time he'd spoken in a long time.

"So what's the alternative?" Mo asked.

Nobody answered. After another minute, the phone behind Biedermann buzzed and he picked it up."Biedermann. Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Two minutes," he said. When he had hung up, he stood and went to the door, shrugging his big shoulders, getting his air of authority cranked up again."I've got other things to attend to. Detective Ford, I propose we table this discussion until we have more data on the power-station murder. We'll convene a full task force meeting when we have that material." He gave them each a nod, his eyes lingering on Dr. Ingalls, before leaving the room.

Dr. Ingalls busied herself with putting her materials into her briefcase, and Mo did likewise. Being alone in the room with her felt suddenly awkward. Throughout their meeting, Mo realized, he'd been acutely conscious of her interaction with Biedermann, seeking clues to the current state of their relationship. They called each other by their first names, but that didn't mean anything, given that they'd worked together for the better part of a year. Then there was that moment when she defused the confrontation, laughing and demonstrating some kind of emotional authority over Biedermann—

He was startled when something hit him in the chest. A little wad of tinfoil skittered across the table, and he looked up, astonished to see Dr. Ingalls watching him, just putting a piece of gum into her mouth.

She chewed a couple of times, then grinned at his surprise. "You're thinking Erik's a pain, huh? Hey, it's three-thirty—you want to get a cup of coffee?" The words were potentially flirtatious, but her smile was heavily wry, almost regretful. Still, his heart did a sudden flip and deftly landed on its feet.

"Sure," he said.