Myth Man (35 page)

“Back to that scratch—as I examined Rabbi Ackerberg, I noticed traces of blood on his fingers. Under closer inspection, there appears to be human skin tissue, along with adequate blood samples, under his nails.”

Now his voice was also louder. “All of the aforementioned evidence is on the way to a NYPD lab,” he said with a strong emphasis on NYPD. “So this is where I’m at. I say, why the heel print to the bathroom after blood has been spilled? Why the scattered blood stains on your shirt and jacket? Is the scratch on your face from the rabbi’s fingernail? And, if so, what does it all mean?”

Bailey tried to say something, but Danko cut him off.

“The evidence says two things to me. Either you were involved, or you were framed. Like I already acknowledged, Myth Man has framed others before, and logic dictates the latter.”

The respite finally came for Bailey. “You’re fucking damn right it’s the latter.”

Silence.

Then a voice: Carter Donavan.

“I do remember something before there was nothing.”

Everyone looked at him.

“We were inside, and I was told to wait in the foyer. The rabbi and Malcolm left for the study. Then Malcolm came back to talk to me.”

Bailey winced. “What?”

“You led me a few feet from the door, and then I felt this blow to my head.” Donavan’s face contorted in rage. His finger pointed like a dagger. “It was you that struck me down.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

C
HAOS ENSUED.

Malcolm Bailey, deputy assistant director of the FBI, a man as highly respected for his accomplishments as for his unflappable demeanor, lunged at Donavan.

“Liar!”

Donavan was quick and sidestepped Bailey then rallied with a fierce punch that caught Danko in the back as he tried to intervene. Danko groaned like a wounded animal but turned on Donavan with venom in his eyes. “Back off. Now!”

Ridgewood ran to Bailey’s side. “No,” she implored. “This has to be some mistake. Think about what we’re doing.” She looked at Bailey. “He was not even in this city when all these religious murders took place.”

Ridgewood stopped to stifle a sniffle. She was close to tears. “Why would he murder three rabbis? For what reason? To blemish his career? Because he has some inner hatred for Jews that none of us saw all these years, and that friendship with Rabbi Ackerberg was just a charade? Bullshit,” she cried.

Bailey put an arm around her shoulder. “Thank you, Ridgewood. I’d rather have you in my corner than anyone. You, of all of us, are the most practical.”

“This is cute and all,” commented Donavan angrily. “Let’s not also forget the doctor flat out said my head wound was far more severe than yours. You have some explaining to do.”

“No, I don’t,” Bailey said with dripping scorn.

Danko pulled out a BlackBerry, studied it, made an odd face, and then elicited a strange clicking sound. “Actually, you do.”

“Fuck you, Frank,” Bailey said with even more malice. “I’ve had enough of your amateur detective show. Use you’re fucking brain. Detective 101—look for a motive. Today was the worst day of my life. Why, Sherlock Shit-For-Brains, would I commit this utter atrocity?” Bailey asked with haughty disdain. Then, he critiqued him. “Fucking idiot.”

Ridgewood looked desperate to find some equilibrium. “Dominick, you have anything to say?”

Presto didn’t. The possibilities were so endless he didn’t know where to start. Again, the case marched through his mind like a bloodthirsty crusade. It came down to two things—was this the work of Dean Fallow/Myth Man or not? If not, then this truly was a different ball of wax. It was a boulder of bullshit.

Logic said this had to be the work of Myth Man. But how could he have pulled this off? Did Fallow also have a connection in the FBI? Maybe.

And what if someone in this room was responsible for today? How? Why? One theory came to mind, but he dismissed it as too ridiculous. It had to be Fallow until proven otherwise. He must have beaten them again.

He finally said, “If I am a betting man on whether these murders were committed by Malcolm Bailey or Dean Fallow, I’m doubling up on the later.”

“Exactly,” seconded Ridgewood.

“Thanks, buddy,” Bailey said. “There’s a reason you’re ten times the detective Frank Danko is.”

“Yeah,” said Donavan. “Ten times the size.”

Ridgewood went at Donavan. This time he chose not to fight back. “I’m sorry. That was stupid, but he’s wrong about this. Look at the evidence. How could
his
bloody shoe print be in the bathroom? And I know what happened. He,” Donavan said and pointed at Bailey, “smashed my head. You can guarantee that face scratch is from the rabbi’s fingernail.” His face grew long. “Betrayed, the poor guy probably lashed out.”

“Again,” challenged Bailey, “what about a motive?”

Donavan suddenly illuminated. “You know, maybe all these murders were your work, too.”

Ridgewood came to Bailey’s defense again. “Now you’re getting ridiculous, Donavan.”

Donavan didn’t falter. Actually, he seemed overjoyed. “I’ll give you not only the motive but the solution to the most famous murder spree in recent memory. Gary Sykes. Dean Fallow. Those boys may have been involved or not. I’m not sure, but there was a mastermind.”

Bailey kicked at a chair like it was a bucket under Donavan’s feet. “I was wrong about you. I should be demoted. You’re either a cunning liar or as dumb as everyone told me you were.”

“Nice try, Bailey. You know better. My problem is my attitude, not my intelligence. I don’t follow the rules, because they sometimes restrict what is ultimately right. But don’t sidetrack me.”

“You know what?” Bailey asked. “Tell me your theory. It had such a wonderful start. The mastermind,” he scoffed.

Donavan said, “I will. Your sudden fake bravado is admirable.” He looked at his sudden jury. “We are forgetting one thing—the crate. Maybe all these murders were a diversion that led to today. The goal was the crate.”

Bailey cut him off. “When this is all over, this is not something we will look back on and laugh over. I may get demoted, but I’ll have a job. I’ll see that you, Donavan, do not.”

Donavan tried to reply, but this time Danko interjected. “I agree. It seems a complete stretch that he had anything to do with those other murders.”

Bailey gasped. “Gee, thanks, Frank. You’ve now graduated from Police Academy.”

Danko curtly replied. “Don’t thank me. Tell me about the crate, Bailey.”

Bailey shook his head. Then he looked at the rest of the room, primarily those who he’d briefed. A cold stare reminded them of their oath of silence. “Can’t tell you that. The information is restricted, privileged, and confidential. In due time, it may become public knowledge. That’s all I can say. Sorry.”

Danko seemed to expect that. “Okay. Would I be wrong to speculate that this crate, which was delivered in an armored truck and is classified information, may hold contents that would be considered valuable in a monetary or, say, cultural sense?”

“Frank, I don’t know what’s inside this crate. No one does. It was to be opened for the first time today. So that would be impossible to answer.”

“Bullshit,” shot Donavan.

Danko turned to Donavan. “Let me handle this.”

He turned his attention back to Bailey. “I know this may shock you, being just a dumb cop, but I think I know about this crate.” He looked around the room with a smile. “Hey, I watch TV. I’m a Discovery Channel buff. Could this be that crate that was found in Iraq? If so, from what I recall, millions of dollars were offered for the crate, even though no one supposedly knew what was inside. There was even talk of the Ark of the Covenant.”

He stopped, feeling sudden leverage. “Hey, but I’m just a cop. What do I know?”

The short silence was filled with the sound of clapping hands. Donavan.

“No, Danko. You’re not dumb at all. You’ve got the right crate. You’ve got the motive.”

Bailey pointed a hard finger at Donavan. “You realize you confirmed classified information.”

Donavan smiled back. “Like I said, I break the rules when it’s right. The ends justified the means. You murdered those men.”

Presto finally spoke. “If the crate is here, and we found Bailey on the floor of the rabbi’s study, how can we surmise the crate was his aim?”

“Fair point,” Donavan replied. “Consider this. I think his plan was foiled when Ridgewood dashed in. Notice how at first he wanted to take the truck, supposedly here, solo? And either way, the crate has not been opened. Maybe there is another part to the plan.”

Bailey fumed but answered. “I wanted Ridgewood and Presto to work the scene.” He glared at Donavan. “Stupid me, I was worried about your head and loss of blood. So, yeah, I wanted you in a hospital. My concern was for your safety and getting that truck to a safe location, which we did,” he added smugly. “In the end, we all squeezed in.”

Presto waited for a quirky comment. It was tight up front. Ridgewood was forced to sit on his lap. The discomfort, momentarily, ended when Danko asked a question.

“Bailey,” said Danko, “I ask you and, in essence, this room this: let’s say the evidence shows that the scratch on your face was caused by the rabbi’s fingernail. Let’s also say that the blood on your shirt and coat was from one or more of the rabbis. We also have your bloody heel print on route to the bathroom with blood on the toilet. Since the print could only come after the murders, the evidence does raise some questions. No?” Before Bailey could reply, he added, “And now, someone that works for you claims it was you who clubbed his head.” Over Bailey’s growl, he finished. “Where does this leave us?”

Bailey erupted. “I don’t care how it looks. And,” he said with a dismissive glance toward Donavan, “either his head got scrambled when he was struck by Myth Man, or he’s a lying weasel. I hope it’s the former, because the later is, by far, more insidious.”

Presto was about to speak, but he stopped. He saw a gleam in Danko’s eye. He held something back.

“Oh,” Danko said. “There is one other thing. I found the murder weapon.”

Everyone but Presto commented.

“Why hold out on us?” roared Bailey.

“That’s not right, Frank,” chastised Ridgewood.

Even Donavan was critical. “Sneaky bastard.”

Presto remained quiet.

Danko ignored the disquiet. “He pulled out his BlackBerry again. The information arrived only eight minutes ago. The gun was disassembled and flushed. Lucky for us, the center had a septic tank. Luckier still, the tank was brand new,” he said with an awkward grin. “It had been replaced only last week. I don’t have all the details yet, and I’m not sure I need them, but a 9mm gun was found, along with a silencer.” He stopped to let this sink in.

Silence.

Danko’s bushy eyebrows bunched. “We saw no one leave the center. Say Myth Man did slip away, why flush the gun? The way I see it, either he would leave the gun somewhere obvious, or he’d take it with him. You figure he’d wear gloves. He’s been meticulous before. This makes no sense. Neither does the fact that the handle of the nightstick was wiped clean and then left on the floor.”

Danko stopped again. He had their attention. He thought for a nanosecond about consulting with Presto but dismissed the notion. He felt like a detective. He felt like a man.

Danko walked right up to a stunned Bailey. “I hope I’m wrong, Assistant Director Bailey, but you’re under arrest.”

CHAPTER EIGHTY

“I
WANT TO TALK TO Presto alone,” Bailey said to Danko. “Five minutes, then you can arrest the wrong man.”

Danko swept his hairless head. “Like I said, you may have been framed.” He turned his attention to Donavan. “Stick around, Buster. We’re not done with you either.”

Bailey faked astonishment with a smack to his forehead. “That may be the smartest thing you said today.”

Danko fixed him a look. “I’m trying to be diplomatic.” He looked at Ridgewood and Donavan. “Let’s give them a moment.”

As soon as they left, Bailey pleaded to Presto. “I didn’t do this.”

He was ready to explain the thousand reasons why this was preposterous, but Presto stopped him with two words.

“I know,” Presto declared as he retrieved his sport jacket out of concern for his snake Aphrodite.

This time Bailey was truly astonished. “Really?”

“Yes. This may still be the work of Myth Man, but I’m going to ask you a favor.”

“Anything,” implored Bailey. “Anything at all.”

Presto never thought he’d see Bailey ruffled, let alone desperate. He was not sure if he could blame him. Yet, in a way, he did.

“You still have the keys to the armored car?”

Bailey looked confused, yet hopeful. “Uh, sure, but they’re in my jacket. They’re part of the evidence. We can’t tamper with that.”

“I can. I work with Danko. The keys are not going to the lab. That truck is not staying in this garage forever.” Presto winked and retrieved his own set of keys from his jacket. With gloves on, he reached into Bailey’s soiled sport jacket and took the truck keys.

“My fingers are not too nimble. Can you take these two keys off this key holder?” Presto asked and handed Bailey his key ring, holding up the two chosen keys. “Switch them with the truck’s keys.”

When Bailey made both switches, Presto returned one set to the jacket, along with a short note.

Bailey winked back. “We switched three keys earlier, before my arrest, when we first got here.”

Presto grinned. “That’s right.”

Bailey returned a grateful smile. “Want to tell me what’s on your mind?”

Presto told him.

*****

The trio returned.

Bailey approached Danko. I’d like to surrender my gun and shield to Ridgewood if that’s okay.”

Danko nodded. “Sure. I’m doing this as a precaution. We’ll run some tests. I hope something clears you.”

Bailey softened. “Thanks. You have a job to do.” He looked to Presto. “He knows I didn’t do this thing. I have faith he’ll clear my name.”

Danko gulped. Déjà vu. Was he arresting the wrong man, only to have Presto revisit his role by exonerating the innocent and apprehending the guilty? Suddenly, he was not sure he wanted anything to clear Bailey.

“Let’s hope so,” Danko said meekly.

“Another thing,” added Bailey.

Danko swore inside. This was not proceeding as planned. “Yes?”

“Although I may think you’re a lousy detective and lack the insight of the gifted ones,” Bailey said and gestured to Presto, “I do think you’re an honest man. I need a favor.”

“Yes?”

“The truck. The keys, I assume, are still in my jacket. I want you to take possession of them. I also want you to get some NYPD here to stand guard and watch that truck until you hear from the FBI director himself.”

Danko brightened just a bit. These were requests from a man without a motive. Or were they? He was lost.

“That’s ridiculous,” opined Donavan. “We have a station full of agents who are adequately qualified to watch a truck if you don’t trust me. Or does the conspiracy run deeper?” he mocked. “Maybe I should be more sympathetic. Perhaps an alien anal implant is responsible for your actions. Perhaps Dom or, better yet, Ridgewood can check for you, since they’re up your ass anyway.”

Danko overcame everyone’s anger. “Actually,” he yelled, “it’s a splendid idea.” He then turned his attention to Bailey. “Two of my men are outside. I see no reason to make a scene. If you don’t cause a problem, you’ll be treated with the utmost respect and held personally in my office until we check up on some things.”

“I appreciate the professional courtesy.”

Danko led Bailey from the room.

Ridgewood called after them. “Bailey, as soon as we settle things here, I’m coming to see you.”

When the door shut, Donavan went ballistic. “We’re the Feds. We don’t let the police run our show.”

Ridgewood waved him off. “It seems excessive, but can you blame him? Oh, you already did,” said Ridgewood coldly.

Donavan crossed his arms. “You think this is easy? Bailey’s been like a father to me. I could be wrong, but I’m telling you, he knocked me out.”

“Well, you didn’t give him the benefit of the doubt,” Ridgewood scolded. “I’d expect more loyalty from you, even if Bailey was a killer.”

Donavan bit his lip in thought. “You have a point,” he conceded. “If this was Myth Man, then he’s a magician.”

Grim faced, Danko returned. “Wasn’t easy.”

“You did the right thing,” championed Donavan.

Danko’s face contorted in a wry grin. He looked to Presto. “Why do I feel like I made a mistake?”

“You did the right thing,” Presto said.

All heads turned to him. Their faces all registered surprise.

Danko said, “Dom, for once in your life, can you tell us what you think? Did you just let me embarrass myself?”

Ridgewood agreed. “Bailey saved you when you were wrongly accused. If you know something, you should have done the same for him.”

Presto looked at Ridgewood. Her pleading expression almost broke him, but he knew he had to do this the right way. “No,” he said to her and then looked to Danko. “The evidence points to him. The best I can offer is hope. I still believe Dean Fallow is on the loose and probably responsible for today.”

Appeased, Ridgewood said, “Let’s hope so.”

“Get those keys,” reminded Presto.

Danko looked to Presto as if he didn’t buy the explanation but said, “Yeah, sure thing.” He trudged over to the table.

Danko returned and jingled the keys before them. “Got them.”

“Wait,” Donavan said and grabbed Danko’s arm. “The keys. They don’t look right.”

Danko looked at the keys with a quizzical expression. “Huh?”

“They’re different. I’m telling you.” Donavan blinked hard. His head gyrated like two invisible hands smacked his skull to and fro. “The garage. Now! I think we’ve been played.”