The Screaming Room (20 page)

Driscoll was in the elevator going down for a late lunch when his cell phone rang. He didn't bother answering it because the reception was zero inside the mechanical lift. He checked the screen. The caller was Thomlinson. He'd return his call when he reached the first floor.

His beeper sounded. That was rare. He checked it. Again, Thomlinson.

Depressing and holding the illuminated button for the first floor, he continued his descent. He knew his action made no difference. But in his adrenaline-fueled state, he did it anyway.

Stepping off the elevator, he retrieved his phone. It rang before he flipped it open.

“Driscoll.”

Thomlinson got right to the point.

“The Twentieth took a call from a very excited cashier IDing Angus buying a notebook computer in a local PC Haven store. According to the cashier, he was alone. Paid cash. And get this. The cashier says the money smelled like horses.”

“Horses, giraffes, or zebras—I got a good feeling on this.

Grab your jacket and meet me in the lobby. Tell everyone to get ready to move. Is Margaret there?”

“Right next to me.”

“Good. Bring her with you.”

“What's in the bag?” Cassie asked, as Angus climbed the stairs to the loft.

“A computer.”

“A computer? I thought we weren't goin' with a Web site.”

“We ain't.”

“Then why do we need a new computer? What's wrong with the one we got?”

“You see any freakin' online access cable coming through the wall?” Opening the box, he gave the user's manual a perfunctory scan and placed the notebook atop a chest-high barrel near the window to the street. He plugged in its AC adapter cord and turned it on. Not once did he look at his sister.

“You said we didn't need a Web site. Didn't even need a phone. Then you promised you'd clue me in when you figured out what the hell you were doin'! What's with the freakin' computer?” Annoyed, she rummaged through the PC Haven bag, finding the receipt. “You went across town? Angus, this is New York freakin' City! Ya think nobody here reads the papers? This is the television capital of the world, for Chrissake! What's this?” She had discovered what else was in the bag. A smile lit her face as she retrieved it.

“That, lovee, is a Beretta Tomcat. Be careful. It's loaded.”

“Wow! Now, this is cool.” Her eyes ogled the pistol. She passed it from hand to hand. “Why do we need it?”

Turning his attention from the notebook, he looked at her. “You wanna get Driscoll off our backs, right?”

“Of course.”

“Good! We're not gonna use a Web site. Not gonna need a phone.”

“I'm lost, Angus. You wanna bring me all the way into the loop?”

He shushed her, staring at the active matrix screen, its icons coming to life. “We just need to find the right target,” he said with a grin.

Racing along West Fifty-seventh, Street, Driscoll spotted the department helicopter hovering above the northern tip of Clinton Cove Park, a few blocks ahead. Three miles south sat the Intrepid Sea, Air, and Space Museum, where victim number four, Tatsuya Inagaki, had been discovered.

After crossing Tenth Avenue, he pulled alongside a blue and white patrol car in front of PC Haven. Three others, their emergency lights ablaze, were double-parked across the street, along with a pair of unmarked cruisers from the Twentieth. He, Margaret, and Thomlinson got out and disappeared inside the electronic retailer, anxious to meet with Rita Crenshaw, the young lady who had reported spotting Angus.

Inside were a bevy of police officers, a cluster of excited employees, and a handful of curious customers. But no Rita Crenshaw.

Malcolm Shewster was seated directly behind his chauffeur when the limo swerved seemingly out of control, hit something, then continued on. He depressed a switch, bringing down the privacy glass separating him from his driver. “What happened back there, Eddie? I thought for a minute we were about to buy the farm.”

“Sorry, sir. It was either swerve hard or take a crater in the road full-on. We hit a smaller one in the process, though. I am sorry, sir.”

“No need to apologize. It sounded like we lost something. A wheel cover, perhaps?”

“That would be unlikely, sir. The tires are mounted on aluminum-alloy wheels. I'll take it in to the service center, though. Let the mechanics take a look. If you'd like, I could pull over and give the undercarriage a—”

“We're pressed for time. Continue on. The young lady was told to expect us at precisely 1:15.” Lost to his thoughts he added, “You know it's been a long time since I met a young lady at her workplace. Well, near her workplace, in this case.”

“Those must have been the days, sir.”

“Some memorable moments, Eddie. To be sure. It's sort of strikes me as ironic, though.”

“How's that, sir?”

“Eddie, we've been together, what, fifteen, sixteen years? I feel we can speak candidly. This will take us back a good number of years, but the last time I met a young lady during her lunch hour, I had something other than food in mind. It took a great deal of coaxing to have her join me in the backseat of my automobile, where we could explore other ways of killing an hour. If you know what I mean.”

“I believe I do, sir.”

In the reflection afforded by the Lincoln's rearview mirror, Shewster caught the fraternal smile that had erupted on his chauffeur's face. “I suppose some customs haven't changed all that much over the years. Nor will they ever.”

“I'd say you're right on both counts, sir.”

“The ironic part, Eddie, is that I'm already in the backseat and the young lady we're going to meet will have no qualms whatsoever about joining me. Of course, we'll be back here talking, instead of…well, you know.”

“Of course, sir. We're approaching the intersection, now. You said she'd be in front of a Duane Reade on the northwestern corner. Is that correct, sir?'

“That's right. I'm told the young lady's name is Rita. I'm looking forward to meeting her. We'll have much to discuss. Yes, Eddie, the backseat has always been a comfortable place for me to conduct business. Back in the day, in a different fashion, of course, but I'm sure this afternoon's rendezvous will be a rewarding experience nonetheless.”

The privacy glass slid up as Eddie pulled the limo to the curb in front of the drugstore where a generously proportioned young woman appeared to be waiting.

Eddie lowered the passenger-side window. “Rita?” he asked.

“That'd be me.”

Eddie smiled, got out of the limo, and came around to open the rear door of the Lincoln.

“Hi,” a cheerful voice sounded from within. “I'm Malcolm. Come on in.”

“Whad'ya mean she stepped out?” Driscoll barked.

Josh Gribbens, an embarrassed precinct detective, searched the Lieutenant's face seeking sympathy. He found none. “Her supervisor said she ducked out to pick up a prescription. The Crenshaw woman told her she'd be right back.”

“She wasn't instructed that none of the employees were to leave? Especially Miss Crenshaw?”

“This woman—her supervisor. She's a bit of a flake.”

“Which one is she?”

Gribbens offered to introduce Driscoll, who declined, saying, “Just point her out,” which he did.

Driscoll and Margaret approached the woman, who was clad in a red apron and was standing near the entrance to the store. She was a buxom blonde. Driscoll thought she resembled Billie Burke, the actress who played Glinda, the good witch in
The Wizard of Oz
. Her chest-high name tag, which seemed to jut itself forward as he drew near, read “Adeline.”

Oh, boy!
thought Margaret.

“Is there anything in particular you two are here to purchase?” asked the woman, casting a gentle smile. “We've got fourteen aisles. Everybody gets lost. I'd gladly assist you to the correct one.”

She even sounded like Billie Burke, with her whispery voice and gentle intonation, thought Driscoll.

Oh, boy, oh, boy!
thought Margaret.

To the woman's astonishment, Driscoll produced his shield and introduced himself. He didn't introduce Aligante. This pleased the Sergeant. She let her shield do the talking and left it at that.

“Silly me,” said Adeline. “Here I thought you were newlyweds looking for an entertainment center.”

Margaret's eyes crossed.

“I'll bet you're here to see Rita,” the woman said, as though the thought just descended from a cloud.

“That's correct, ma'am. I'm told you know where she is.”

“I did. But now I don't.” The edges of her lips curled downward. Her eyes were fixed on Driscoll.

“Well, Sweet Adeline, care to expound on that?” said Margaret.

Driscoll sensed he was in the middle of a cross fire. The woman's immediate response, a curt smile and the look of guile, confirmed that. Fearing an all-out cat fight, he took to the questioning.

“When was it you last saw Miss Crenshaw?”

“About fifteen minutes ago.”

“Were all these policemen here?”

“Yes.”

“Did anyone of them speak to you?”

“Oh, yes. They asked the same question you did.”

“And how did you respond?”

“By explaining that Rita had stepped up the street to pick up some medication and that she'd be right back.”

“And that was fifteen minutes ago.”

“That's right.” The little-girl look reappeared on her face. She shifted her feet. Driscoll was certain she was trying to get Margaret out of her field of vision.

“And the thought never occurred to say anything to any of these officers?” Margaret asked, brusquely.

“No,” she answered flatly, her eyes still fixed on Driscoll.

Adeline's attention was drawn to an anorexic-looking female dressed in a PC Haven apron. She checked her watch. “Sarah, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at lunch?”

“I switched with Rita.”

“What?”

“She said she was going to tell ya.”

Judging from the shock that filled Adeline's face, Rita apparently hadn't. Driscoll wondered why.

“Great! Just great!” Margaret griped, throwing her arms in the air as she walked away.

“Boy, oh boy, am I happy for you,” said Adeline.

“Oh, yeah? Why's that?” Driscoll, though annoyed, didn't see the benefit in blasting the airhead.

“I had you two as newlyweds. Count your blessings.”

Driscoll shook his head, did an about-face, and sought to speak with Sarah. He turned and asked a final question. “Does Rita have a cell phone and would you have the number?”

The woman shook her head. Driscoll thanked her and headed off to locate Sarah.

“If I give you my number, would you call me?” Adeline called out.

Driscoll turned and looked at the woman. He said nothing but a host of emotions erupted. Being single is gonna take time getting used to, he thought.

“Well,” said Adeline, “now that it turns out you're not married to Miss Sunshine, and you're not wearing a ring, I thought…maybe…”

Driscoll smiled, but decided it'd be a better idea to find Sarah.

Although the announcement over the store's loudspeaker brought the young lady to Driscoll, Sarah wouldn't have been hard to find. Not only did she appear anorexic but also her hair was filled with shocks of blue, and she sported rainbow suspenders. Cracking chewing gum added to her appeal.

After a check of the industrial clock hanging above the store's entrance, Sarah said, “She's not due back for another thirty minutes.”

“Would you know where Rita was headed?”

“'Fraid not.”

“Got her cell number?” Driscoll asked.

“She doesn't have a phone.”

“Okay. Is there a particular luncheonette or coffee shop nearby that would be a usual spot for her?”

“Not any I'd know about. She often buys a hot dog and a soda from Sam, though. He's got an aluminum stand near the bus stop on Tenth.”

“Would she bring it back here?”

“Never seen her do that. She often heads for the library around the corner on Fifty-eighth. You're not supposed to bring food in, but no one says anything. You might find her there. She's got red hair and keeps the work bib on.”

“May I see it?” Shewster asked, the limousine continuing its meandering cruise inside Central Park.

As thoughts whirled inside Rita Crenshaw's head, one of them being I'm gonna be riding behind my own chauffeur soon, she reached her pudgy paw inside an oversized bag and fished around. “I know I was instructed to bring it…oh, here it is…but for the life of me I don't understand what for,” she said, handing Shewster a photocopy of the merchant's portion of Angus's notebook computer purchase receipt.

“You just leave that to me,” he responded, eyeing the SKU item code and barcode displayed on the image, before stuffing it into his pocket, which he patted down.

“Won't the police need that?”

“Yes, they will. It's sure to help track down these murderous demons. We need it for our accountant. There's quite a hefty reward involved, young lady,” he said with a smile.

“I'll say! I've already got it half spent!”

“Do you, now?”

“Oh, my God!” the girl gushed. “This is getting so real!”

“Real it is, Rita. But there's work ahead for the both of us. You see, your telling me all about your encounter, in the same detail I'm sure the police will require, will hopefully lead to the capture and conviction of these demons. Although I'd like to be in a position to give every caller with a concrete lead the windfall money. For there's no denying it. I am rich. But let's face it. We do get a lot of calls. So, it's only fair that the money be disbursed after the devils are caught.”

“I understand.”

“Now, that doesn't mean you stop dreaming about how you'll spend the reward money, because your information has been the most promising. It's sure to help with a conviction.”

Rita felt like she had just lost her virginity to Brad Pitt. Move over, Angelina!

“Now, tell me all about his visit to the store.”

She took a deep breath.

“I was stuffing reams of copy paper into one of our bags for a lady customer who had bought four, I think. Okay four copy papers, two bags of PC Haven rubber bands, a box of blue stick pens, and a box of professional letterhead with number-ten envelopes to match. She told me she was working on getting a book published. Said it's not what you write that counts but who's willing to read it. I wasn't sure what she meant by that and was about to ask. But then I saw him.”

“For the first time, right?”

“Right. He was next in line. I didn't get a good look but enough of one to tell me he was getting annoyed with all the time I was taking with the lady. What's with the male species? Don't they know we girls are chatty? Oops. Sorry. You're one of the male species. I didn't mean—”

“It's okay. Go on.”

“Anyway, when I got through with the lady, he plopped down the notebook computer on the counter. And right away says, ‘How much?' Like I'm a freakin' mathematician. There's tax involved, ya know? So I scanned the box and the register came up with the answer. ‘One thousand six hundred and eighty-two dollars and ninety-eight cents.' I said. He reached in the pocket of his jeans. I'm expecting a credit card. Seventeen hundred is a lotta money. That's when I got a good look at him. Damn, I know this guy, goes off in my head. From where, I hadn't a clue. So I really studied him. Who do I know wears retro black glasses? I think that pissed him off a little 'cause he made a face. A frightening face. Back away, Rita, back away, I said to myself. Now, no credit card. Cash. The guy fished out a wad of it. He took off the glasses and counted out seventeen hundred dollars. I really had a chance to study him. His eyes were on the cash. So I figured what the hell. Before I knew it, the sale was over. His notebook was bagged and he was headed for the door. I forgot to tell him about the rebate, but when I hollered out ‘Hey! Hey, you!' he continued walking. A little faster, now. I wasn't about to follow the guy outside, rebate or no rebate. He gave me the creeps. Oh, yeah. His money smelled like horse doo-doo.”

“Horse manure?”

“I thought so. Anyway, I was glad the guy was gone. But I still had the nagging feeling that I knew him. Then, wham! It hits me. The paper. The guy in the front-page picture! Me and the girls were reading about him before the store opened up. Believe me, a three-million-dollar jackpot attracts a lotta readers. I ran to the back room. Grabbed the paper and there he was. He didn't look like the sketch so much, but damn, the photograph was dead-on. The only thing ya got wrong was the hair. Seein' him close up, it looks jet black.”

“What other distinguishing characeristics?”

“No visible tattoos or scars. No accent. Old-is-new-again glasses. Baggy blue jeans, a striped red and green polo, gray running shoes, Nike, you think.” Rita glanced at her watch. “I gotta get back to the store.”

“I'll see to that.” Shewster hit the switch bringing down the privacy glass. “Eddie, Miss Crenshaw here needs to report back to work.”

“Phew,” said Rita. “We sure covered all the bases. You really make a girl work for her money.”

The privacy glass was still down. Befuddlement flooded Eddie's face.