Saints Of New York

  'I think I'm at the bottom, Marie. Dig any deeper and I might just wind up on the other side.'

  'That's precisely what I'm worried about. I'm worried that you're going to wind up—'

  'Like my father?'

  'Yes, Frank, like your father.'

  'I wouldn't worry about that.'

  'Why not?'

  'Because there's one fundamental difference between us, Marie, and it's real simple. Everything he did, he did it for the wrong reasons, whereas—'

  'Whereas you're doing it for the right ones?' 'Yes.'

  'You know he would have had exactly the same viewpoint.' 'Maybe so, but he would have been wrong.' 'Be careful Frank.'

  'Now what good did being careful ever do for anyone?'

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  'On what pretext?' Radick asked.

  'Doesn't matter what pretext. Hell, just tell him we have a couple more questions, should be the last ones we ask him, but we believe we're getting closer to Young. Tell him that we really think Lester Young might have been Jennifer Baumann's killer.'

  'And he'll go for it?'

  Parrish smiled knowingly, if he's half the man I think he is he'll go for it.'

  Radick called Family Welfare. He had the call put through to McKee direct. They were on the phone no more than a minute.

  'He'll come after work.'

  'How did he seem?'

  'Puzzled. He didn't protest coming down here, but I get the idea he's more curious than guilt-ridden.'

  Parrish got up from his chair and walked to the window. He seemed elsewhere and then turned slowly to face Radick. 'You know something, Jimmy? If this isn't the guy then I'm going to quit.'

  'You what?'

  'What I said. If McKee isn't the guy then I'm quitting. I'm a pain-in-the-ass to everyone, you know? They keep me because of past successes, not because they can't do without me. They keep me because they know that sooner or later I'm going to do something irreparable and they'll have to throw me out. That's a lot cheaper than trying to buy me off with an early pension or something.'

  'I don't think that's what they expect, Frank.'

  Parrish sat down again. He smiled patiently. 'I've been dancing round these motherfuckers for years, Jimmy. I don't do things the way they want them done. They know it, I know it. They need people like you. Smart, organized, methodical people who know where the lines are and can stay inside them. People who can get the job done within the system. I've been trying to do the job despite the system.'

  'Hell, Frank, we all have the same frustrations—'

  'Yeah, I know, but you guys don't take it personally. That's the difference right there. I take it home. I wear it like a fucking overcoat. I took it out on my kids, my wife . . . and you know, just about everything went to shit. You know where I went yesterday?'

  Radick raised his hand. 'Don't tell me, Frank. I don't want to know.'

  'Jimmy, you do, believe me—'

  Radick leaned forward. He looked at Parrish unerringly. 'Frank. Hear me now, and hear me good. I don't want to know. Don't tell me. You tell me you'll regret it, okay?'

  'What the hell is that s'posed to mean?'

  'Frank, just believe me when I tell you that I do not want to know, okay?'

  'Suit yourself.'

  'Thank you, Frank.'

  'So between now and the golden boy arriving?'

  'I'm going back to Archives,' Radick said. 'I'm going to keep on looking for any more pictures of these girls.'

  'Good man. I'll wait here, go back through the notes, try and put something more comprehensive together, and see if I can chase up this LA thing with Valderas.'

  Radick got up. He walked to the door, reached it, paused, and turned back slowly. 'And can I ask you to stay inside the lines, Frank?'

  'You can ask, Jimmy.'

  'Then that's what I'm doing. I'm asking you, Frank, for your own sake, and for the sake of this case. Stay inside the lines.'

  Radick was gone for more than three hours. When he got back he looked like crap.

  'There is something seriously wrong with this fucking planet,

  Frank. The stuff they have over there . . .' He shrugged off his jacket and dropped into his chair.

  'Seen it all,' Parrish replied. 'I stopped asking questions about why people were so fucked up years ago.'

  'But all that shit, man . . . Jesus, what the fuck is that all about?'

  'It's an addiction, Jimmy, just like smack or coke or booze. It's an addiction. Some people are just wired up that way and no-one knows why.'

  'Un-fucking-real,' Jimmy exhaled.

  'Sad thing is that it's very real indeed.'

  'You get any word back on this submission to LA?'

  'Not a sound. Valderas . . . Jesus, I wouldn't want his job. I've been chasing him around the building all afternoon. Finally cornered him in the canteen.'

  'And?'

  'And he says that Haversaw is going to speak with someone who'll speak with someone else's assistant-fucking-deputy some- thing-or-other, and we might get word back by Monday. That's if we're lucky.'

  'Christ, it makes me wonder how the fuck we ever get anything done around here.'

  'Let's go get a room for McKee, okay? That is something we can do.'

  McKee arrived promptly. He showed up in the lobby, informed the desk sergeant that he was there to see Detectives Parrish and Radick, and when Radick went down to get him he was seated quietly in the foyer reading a newspaper. He smiled when he got up. He extended his hand. He seemed pleased to see Radick. Radick - in all honesty - could not see the guy making snuff movies.

  They reconvened in the same interview room. Parrish was already seated by the time Radick and McKee arrived. Parrish got up and greeted the man warmly. Parrish appeared calm, measured, self-assured. McKee seemed the same.

  Radick took his chair near the door, McKee's back to him, Parrish facing him and to his left.

  McKee began by asking what other possible questions Parrish could have for him. He made it clear that he was not willing to be subjected to any inappropriate questions, that he had already sought legal advice, that he had the phone number of a lawyer and he would call him given the slightest provocation.

  Parrish began by apologizing to McKee. 'I cannot expect you to understand the pressure we are sometimes under,' he said. 'But I do appreciate your co-operation, your time, your willingness to assist us. If you want a lawyer present now then please call him.'

  'I have nothing to hide, Detective Parrish,' McKee said. 'I think you know this by now. However, as I said before, I will not be bullied or harassed.'

  'All I can say is that I am sorry for the trouble and upset we've caused you. You are not under arrest, and these interviews are being undertaken because you have been so helpful.'

  'In what way?' McKee asked.

  'Because we're still around the edges of this thing,' Parrish replied. 'Because we're still looking at the possibility that Lester Young might have been connected to this matter.'

  McKee's eyes widened. 'I would find that really hard to believe,' he replied. 'I knew Lester for a long time, and I always held him in the highest regard.'

  'I appreciate that, Mr McKee, but we cannot avoid the conclusive evidence that the disappearances and deaths of these girls are connected to Family Welfare. We just cannot get away from that. Two girls perhaps, three unlikely, but seven girls—'

  'Seven? I thought there were only six?'

  'Yes, sorry. You're right. Six girls. So, as I was saying, six girls go missing and wind up dead, and each of them is connected. That's far and away beyond the bounds of any coincidence.'

  'I agree,' McKee replied. 'But Lester Young? He died back in December last year, and there have been murders since then, haven't there?'

  'Yes, there have. But let's get off that for a moment. I wanted to ask you whether you had heard of something called Absolute Publications.'

  McKee frowned. 'Absolute Publications? What is that?'

  'It's a pub
lishing firm, Richard.'

  'Well yes, I gathered that, but what do they publish? Why might I have heard of them?'

  'I'm not saying you have heard of them. I was just wondering if you had.'

  'No, I can't say I have. What do they publish?'

  'Well, I don't know for sure about everything that they publish, and as far as I know they're out of business now.'

  'But you must know something otherwise you wouldn't ask me about it.'

  'Well, I know that they publish pornographic magazines, Richard. I know that much about them.'

  McKee opened his mouth to speak. He closed it again. He glanced back over his shoulder to Radick but said nothing. When he looked back at Parrish he seemed pale, a little worried.

  'You have heard of them?' Parrish prompted.

  'No,' McKee said suddenly. He spoke too quickly. He knew it. Parrish knew it.

  'Richard?'

  'Okay, so I used to read magazines like that—'

  'Used to?'

  'Christ, man, I'm a single guy. I've been divorced for three years. I don't get out much. I don't go on dates . . .' He looked embarrassed, awkward.

  'I know exactly what you mean,' Parrish replied. He smiled reassuringly. He was trying to make McKee feel alright about reading stroke mags. He was trying to make it safe to talk.

  'I mean, it's not against the law or anything—'

  'Depends what's in them, Richard.'

  'Meaning?'

  'You know what I mean.'

  McKee was silent. He did that about-to-speak-and-then-say- nothing thing a couple of times, and then he looked away towards the door.

  'Did you go and see my ex-wife?'

  'I can't answer any questions, Richard.'

  'You went and saw her, didn't you? She told you that I used to read stuff like that. What did she do? Did she keep some of those things? Did she show you some of the magazines that I left there?'

  'I can't answer that question, Richard.' 'Bitch!' McKee snapped suddenly. 'Fucking bitch!'

  'Richard—'

  'Jesus, man, the fucking divorce is done. It's over. What fucking right does she have involving herself in this—'

  'Involving herself in what, Richard?'

  'This case you're investigating. What the hell d'you think I'm talking about?'

  'We just contacted her because we felt that she might remember you mentioning something in passing—'

  'What? What are you talking about?'

  'Back then. When you worked with Lester Young. One of these dead girls was connected to one of his cases, and you knew him, and we asked her whether she remembered you mentioning something about it at the time.'

  'And?'

  'I can't tell you what she said, Richard, you know that.'

  McKee frowned. 'What the fuck is this? What's going on here?' He took his cell phone from his pocket. 'I'm calling my lawyer—'

  Parrish paused for effect. It was obvious what he was doing, but he did it anyway. 'Do you think you need to call a lawyer, Richard?'

  'Oh come on! Jesus Christ, this isn't fucking Law and Order.'

  'No, it isn't, Richard, it's a great deal more serious than a TV show.'

  'You know what I meant. Cut the bullshit theatrics, for Christ's sake. You think I have something to do with these disappearances, these murders? Is that what you think?'

  'I'm looking at this with no preconceptions right now,' Parrish replied. 'I'm trying to maintain as open-minded a viewpoint as I can.'

  'Bullshit, Detective, that's bullshit and you and I both know it.' McKee leaned forward. When he spoke again his voice was louder than normal, each word stressed carefully as if he was explaining something to a foreigner. 'I. Am. Not. The. Man. You. Want. You understand me? I am not who you are looking for.'

  Parrish acted as if McKee hadn't spoken. 'My father was a cop, you know that?' 'No, I didn't know that, Detective. I would have no reason to know that.'

  'Well, he was, and he used to say something. It was a long time before I really understood what he meant. He used to tell me that not all victims were created equal. You understand what that means?'

  'Of course I do.'

  'Well, you're a smarter man than me.'

  'I can do without the sarcasm, Detective. You have to appreciate that I work with victims too.'

  'I know you do, Richard, and that's why this case is possibly more disturbing than most. It's not just about young girls being abducted and murdered, it's about what happens to them between the abduction and the killing.'

  'I have no idea what happens to them.'

  'They wind up in magazines and films, Richard, that's what happens. They wind up in the sort of magazines that are published by Absolute, and other companies of that type. But those images, those stills you find in those magazines are not what we're really concerned with. What we're concerned with is the films that are made. You know the sort of thing I'm talking about, right?'

  'Not personally no. I know of sex movies. Who doesn't? I don't watch sex movies if that's what you're asking.'

  'I find it hard to believe that someone who buys and reads the kind of magazines that you do doesn't also watch films, Richard.'

  'Well, I'm not saying I haven't ever watched films like that, but certainly not recently.'

  'And can you recall the titles of any of the movies you might have seen in the past?'

  McKee looked down at his hands, at the cell phone on the table in front of him. It was then that he seemed to notice how he was twisting his fingers together nervously. He placed them flat on the table. He looked back at Parrish without flinching. 'No,' he said emphatically.

  'You're sure?'

  'I'm sure.'

  'What about a movie called Hurting Bad? You ever heard of that movie?'

  'No, I haven't.'

  'No need to hurry with this one, Richard. Take your time. Think about it.'

  'I don't need to think about it. I have never seen a movie called Hurting Bad. I presume this is some kind of SM thing. I don't watch that kind of thing.'

  'I thought you said you didn't watch sex movies at all.'

  'I don't. I didn't. Jesus, you know what I'm saying. When I used to watch sex movies I never used to watch that kind of movie.' McKee paused. He tried to smile. 'Look,' he said. 'I am not the man you are looking for. I understand what you're trying to do, and if I was in your position then I would probably be doing the same thing. I would really very much like to go now. There can't be any more questions you need to ask me. I have co-operated with you right down the line. I have come of my own volition. I have tried to be as helpful as I could. Anything more than this and we're heading in the direction of harassment, wouldn't you say?'

  Parrish was silent. He looked right back at McKee until McKee started to fidget awkwardly.

  McKee broke the deadlock. He laughed nervously. He got up from the chair. He retrieved his phone, buttoned his jacket. 'I have to go,' he said. 'I really have to go now. I'm sorry that I couldn't be of greater assistance to you, but I have things to attend to. If you need to speak to me again then you should understand that I will most definitely bring my lawyer. Not because I have something to hide, but because I am ignorant of the law and I don't want to be railroaded into something that—'

  Parrish looked up. He smiled sympathetically. 'Railroaded, Mr McKee? What on earth gives you the impression that anyone's trying to railroad you?'

  'Come on, Detective, we're not in kindergarten. I may not be a lawyer, but I have dealt with lawyers and with people from Child Services and County Adoption for most of my working life. I do know something. I am not a complete idiot.'

  'No-one is suggesting that you are.'

  'Then why are we doing this, eh? Why are you bringing me down here to answer questions that I have no answer for? Why am I the focus of your investigation?'

  'What makes you think you are?'

  'Jesus Christ, it's obvious. The stuff you're asking me, the fact that you've spoken to my ex-wife—'

&nbs
p; 'But you might not be the only person we're speaking to, Mr McKee. You might be one of several people at Family Welfare we're talking to. We might have visited any number of ex-wives and girlfriends and mistresses and God-only-knows who else in an attempt to make some sense of this. What gives you the impression that you are the focus of this investigation?'

  'Nothing.'

  'Have we charged you with anything?'

  McKee glanced at Radick. He turned back to Parrish. 'No.'

  'Have we even implied that we are looking at charging you? Have we suggested you bring a lawyer? Have we read you your rights? Have we even bothered taking notes or recording our conversations?'

  McKee took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. 'No, Detective Parrish, you have not.'

  'Then I find it difficult to understand why you are so paranoid.'

  'I am not paranoid.'

  Parrish smiled. 'I think you've been watching too many Law and Order, Special Victims episodes Richard, I really do. These things don't start and finish in an hour. A case like this - six dead girls over the better part of two years - doesn't tie up neatly with a bow. First line of questioning in any case like this is the family of the victim. In all of these cases, without exception, the immediate family are divorced, estranged, unreachable, unwilling to speak, and in many instances they are dead. These girls were all adopted, or on their way to being adopted. They all had a fresh start waiting for them, and then someone took that away, you understand?'

  'Yes, I do.'

  'So, as a parent, as a homicide detective, I find myself in a situation where I am damned if I will let this slide by. I have six dead teenagers, and from what I can see right now it looks like they were abducted for the purposes of pornographic exploitation, and when their purpose was served they were killed. I could be wrong. I could be far wide of the mark, but I don't think so. I start to ask questions, I start to dig a little deeper, I find a connection to Family Welfare, to Child Services, to the CAA. I start to talk to the employees and I find someone who was indirectly connected to these cases, or had at least some degree of access to their files, and he has a history of . . . let's just say he has an issue on his record, a small note that suggests he might have run into some difficulty regarding this area of predilection. You get me so far?'