Heart of a Killer (26 page)

Churchill, pacing the room as he frequently did, shook his head. Lampley couldn’t see him do it, because he was sitting near the center of the room, facing Murray. “No, that doesn’t move the ball,” Churchill said.

Murray had a rule that he insisted they live by; every move they made as part of the operation had to “move the ball,” that is, bring them closer to their goal.

“Right,” Murray said. “Telling him that gets us nowhere.” Murray already knew what he wanted to do, but he was waiting to reveal it. Timing was everything.

Lampley had long ago accepted his position as number-three man in the hierarchy, and it had never bothered him. He felt lucky to be there at all; it was going to make him rich beyond his wildest dreams. Beyond anybody’s wildest dreams.

“Okay,” Lampley said, nodding. “I hear you. What do you want me to tell him? But Novack is no dope; it needs to be something believable. Tell you the truth, the guy scares the shit out of me.”

“You did well with him last time,” Murray said.

Lampley nodded, but a bit uncertainly. “Yeah, I just wish we had gotten rid of him when we had the chance.”

“We turned it to our advantage,” Murray said, and Churchill agreed.

“Okay,” said Murray, “we need to keep him motivated to come after me. Something to make him think I’m smart, and dangerous, and ruthless.”

Churchill was still pacing around the room, but he was now holding a handgun. “I haven’t thought this through yet, but I have an idea…”

Novack was working on four hours sleep. He and Cindy had visited with Danielle Anders until almost midnight, and then Cindy wound up sleeping there, when Danielle didn’t want to be alone. It seemed comforting for Danielle to have them there, though that was a concept that Novack had trouble grasping. At the saddest times in his life, he always wanted to be alone.

This was one of those times; any time a fellow cop went down, Novack took it hard. And Anders was more than a fellow cop, he was a partner and a friend. But being alone was not a luxury Novack could afford, not now.

He called a meeting for eight o’clock in the morning in Captain Donovan’s office. It was not correct protocol for a lieutenant to be calling a meeting in a captain’s office, particularly at that hour, but Novack really wasn’t in a “protocol” mood.

He told Emerson to come to the meeting as well, and insisted that he bring Andrew Garrett. Everyone was there on time, and Novack noticed that the rest of the precinct cops, on duty and off, were around and waiting for assignments. One of their own was down, and they were going to make good on it.

Novack wasted no time. “They knew we were coming, and they didn’t find out at the last minute. They had this set up before Anders checked out the place the first time. They knew we were coming before we did.”

“You think Murray has someone on the inside?” Emerson asked, meaning within the department.

Novack nodded. “I do.”

Emerson didn’t like where this was going, and didn’t back down. “Like somebody in this room?”

“Yeah,” Novack said. “And every other room in the precinct. I think he’s in the computers. I think he has access.”

“Did we put the operation at the house into the system?” Donovan asked. “I don’t think so.”

“I don’t either,” Emerson said.

Garrett nodded slowly. “It was in there. Maybe not the time we were going in, or the specifics, but we got the address from the state police through the computer. That’s how we corresponded. They even put it in an e-mail. If he were able to read it, he’d have had time to set up the explosives. But…”

“Bingo,” Novack said.

But Garrett was shaking his head. “No, I think that’s wrong. I was worried about the same thing, so I’ve been checking it out. If he had access, I’d have found it. He would have to leave prints.”

“I don’t buy it,” Novack said. “He’s been tracking us all along. He knew I was after him; that’s why he went after me with the car.”

“From this point on, nothing about this operation goes on the computer,” Donovan said. “If we have something to say to each other, walk down the hall and say it. Like the old days.”

They agreed, and then Novack said, “We need to go public with Murray’s name. We’ve got nothing on this guy; he’s been pulling our chain from the beginning. We don’t know what he looks like, where he lives, who his friends are. Nothing. But somebody out there does.”

“I’m not so sure,” Donovan said.

“If Laufer knew him, other people knew him. Laufer said that the night he committed the murder, he was hanging out in a bar, drinking beer with his friends. Well, those friends have to be out there. If we can’t find Murray, let’s find them.”

“The entire country is already out there looking for a computer geek,” Emerson said.

“Well, now they’ll be looking for another one,” Novack said.

“We don’t need the whole country looking,” Garrett said. “The guy is local. I think he’s strictly local.”

“What does that mean?”

“Remember I told you that I was looking at insurance settlements over a million dollars, and I found a bunch of them in this area that were suspicious? Well, I’ve been doing the same thing in other areas of the country. I took the seven leading metropolitan areas after New York, and used the same criteria.”

“And?”

“And it’s not there. This area has an entirely different pattern. I could show you the data, but believe me, it’s clear. This guy is not operating anywhere else, or at least not in those areas. He’s local.”

“He doesn’t have to be physically here,” Donovan said. “Just because the frauds were being done here.”

“Somebody planted the explosives,” Novack said. “And it wasn’t Hennessey.”

“He could have a new Hennessey,” Emerson said. “At the prices he was willing to pay, he could have ten Hennesseys.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think so. I think Garrett’s right; I think Murray’s local. So let’s find the son of a bitch.”

Fame has its advantages. I went to the junior high school in an effort to talk to Laufer, but I hadn’t known his schedule, and it apparently was not at a time that he was scheduled to teach. I needed to ask, and coerce if necessary, him to testify at Sheryl’s parole hearing.

I went to the principal’s office, and his administrative assistant immediately recognized me from my television appearances. She was so impressed that I was there that if somebody were already in with the principal, I think she would have dragged that person out by his or her ear.

The principal, a beleaguered-looking man who introduced himself as Mr. Richardson, shook my hand unenthusiastically. “I understand you’re looking for Mr. Laufer.” Unlike the firm of Carlson, Miller, and Timmerman, first names at this school were apparently discouraged.

“Yes,” I said.

“Well, join the club. He failed to appear for his last two classes.”

“And didn’t call in?”

“Correct. Which is inexcusable, because it left us unprepared, without a substitute teacher. I had to fill in, not the best fit for a computer class. I can barely open my e-mail.”

“You’ve tried to contact him?” I asked.

He nodded. “Without success. At this point the only reason to speak with him would be to terminate him.”

I hoped that was just a poor choice of words, but Laufer had been outspoken about his fear of Murray coming after him, describing Murray as a cold-blooded killer. “Do you have an address for him?” I asked.

“I’m certain that we must. Mrs. Simon will provide it for you, though she may ask for an autograph in return.”

Mrs. Simon did in fact provide me the address, but resisted asking for my autograph. That disappointed me a little.

As I was leaving the school, Novack called on my cell phone. “You were trying to reach me?” he asked, in lieu of “hello.”

“I was calling to say that I’m sorry about Anders.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

He didn’t sound like he was in an accommodating mood, but then again he never did, so I decided to push ahead. “I also wanted to ask if you would testify at Sheryl’s parole hearing.”

“With pleasure,” he said. The man provided one surprise after another.

“Thanks. Have you been in touch with Laufer?”

“No, I’m on the way over to the school now.”

“That’s where I am,” I said. “Laufer hasn’t shown up for work in two days, and they haven’t been able to reach him.”

“You know where he lives?”

“I do.”

“Stay there; I’ll pick you up.”

It took Novack twenty minutes to show up, during which time teachers and students wandered out to gawk at me. Apparently Mrs. Simon had spread the word that there was a celebrity in their midst. Three girls, no more than thirteen years old, summoned up the courage to come talk to me and ask me what it was like to be on television.

Novack saw this, and when I got in the car, he said, “Did you get their phone numbers?”

I ignored that, and gave him Laufer’s address, which was in a building called Royal Towers in Hasbrouck Heights. With Novack driving like a maniac, we were there in ten minutes.

The way to get into the building was to have the tenant buzz the visitor in, but instead of pressing the button for Laufer’s apartment, Novack buzzed for the super instead.

The super, who told us his name was Benny, had to be at least seventy-five years old, and took what seemed like twenty minutes to walk us to the elevator, and then down a long corridor to Laufer’s apartment. I thought Novack was going to go insane at the pace, and finally he demanded the key and the apartment number, and we walked on ahead.

We got to the door, and Novack rang the bell a couple of times, without getting an answer. Before he put the key in the door, he turned to me and said, “Based on Laufer’s fear of Murray and his not showing up for work, we have reason to believe that he is in danger or was the victim of violence.”

I nodded. “Probable cause.” He was giving me our reasons for not needing a search warrant to enter.

“Wow. Perry Mason lives.”

Novack took out his gun, and my immediate reaction was to pull back in cowardly alarm. I hoped Novack didn’t notice it, but of course he did, and said, “Wow. Davy Crockett lives.”

Then he said, “Wait here,” which I was happy to do. At that point the super finally joined me, and we waited in the hall as Novack opened the door and went in. About twenty seconds later, he closed the door, leaving us in the hall.

Another three or four minutes went by, which felt much longer. Worried about what might be going on, I yelled into the door, “Novack, are you all right?”

Maybe thirty seconds later the door opened again. He said to the super, “Go downstairs, open the door, and leave it open. Hurry up.” To me he said, “Come on in. Don’t touch anything.”

I went in, and Novack closed the door behind us. Sitting on a chair in the middle of the room was the obviously dead body of Kevin Laufer. There was a bullet hole in his forehead, and a white towel tied around his neck like a bib, that said in red, “Talking is deadly.” “Oh, man…,” I said, and tried really hard not to be sick.

I walked around the body, so as not to have to see the bloody bullet hole, only to discover a bigger one in the back of his head. It seemed to me that he had been shot there, and that it traveled through to the front, though fortunately that was not my area of expertise.

“You okay, Wagner?” Novack asked.

“I think so. You ever get used to things like this?”

Novack shook his head. “Not so far.”

Within ten minutes the place was swarming with police and forensics people. The only one of them that I recognized was Emerson, but he had as little to do as I did. I assumed that was because he was in computer crime and was just here because he was involved in the investigation.

He came over to me at one point and said. “Are you okay?” Apparently my stability was something the local police had high up on their list of concerns.

I nodded. “Yeah. Just weird that we’re talking to a guy one day and then he’s dead.”

“I know. Let me tell you, there’s a switch you have to be able to turn off. Especially cops.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, Laufer is a perfect example. I brought him into this; if I hadn’t talked to him in the first place, he’d be at the junior high writing on the blackboard. So if I focus on that, if I don’t turn off that switch, it could drive me crazy. You have to turn off that switch and move on.”

“Makes sense, but probably not so easy to actually do.”

“You’d better learn quick,” he said.

“Why?”

“That client of yours. If it doesn’t work out, or even if it does, you’ve got to deal with it and put it behind you.”

“And then what?” I asked, but I didn’t ask it of Emerson, and I didn’t ask it out loud. I asked it silently, of myself, and I didn’t get an answer.

“This you’re not going to believe.” The speaker was FBI Agent Carlos Vazquez, and he had just barged into Mike Janssen’s office unannounced. Since Janssen was his boss, the abrupt entry was not commonplace.

“What are you talking about?” Janssen asked. Vazquez had worked for Janssen a very long time, joining him on each of his assignments, so Janssen gave him more latitude than he would ordinarily give more junior agents.

“Get up for a second.”

“Excuse me?” Janssen was sitting at his desk, but Vazquez was already walking toward him.

“Come on, Mike. Just listen to me, okay? Let me sit at your desk. I promise, it will be worth it.”

Janssen got up and watched as Vazquez sat in his chair and started typing into his computer.

As he was typing, Vazquez said, “So I went online to check out the
New York Post,
you know, the sports section.” As Janssen was aware, Vazquez was an ex–New Yorker still devoted to New York teams.

“You got nothing better to do?” Janssen asked.

“Come on, that’s how I relax. Anyway, at the top of the home page they have these short topics, and one of them caught my eye, so I hit on it, like I’m doing now, and…” He stood up to let Janssen sit down. “Take a look at this.”

Janssen sat down and looked at a story about New Jersey police looking for Nolan Murray, suspected of two murders in a case that began with computer fraud. One of the murders was that of David Anders, the police officer who died in a recent house explosion.