“How involved do these eyes need to be? Are you asking for rookie patrolmen, or experienced detectives?”
“Actually, can I pull these rookie uniforms from midtown?” I try to think back, to remember their names. “Brady Clay is one of them. I can’t recall his partner’s name, but they typically loop City Park as part of their patrol.”
“Any particular reason you can’t use one of ours and save me from filling out unnecessary paperwork?”
“It’s your call, Lieutenant.” I look ahead and spy Trudy’s salon as it comes into view. “I can use anyone you have to spare, but Clay knows the area. He’s proven competent in other cases when we’ve crossed paths, and he shows great promise. I wouldn’t mind seeing how he works up close, and I feel Fletch and I are on the verge of tying this one up. We need keen eyes. But like I said, your call.”
“Fine.” Sighing, he scratches the stubble coating his chin. “I’ll make a phone call and see how midtown feels about it. If it’s a no, I’ll send two of ours your way. If they’re cool with it, I’ll have Clay report to you directly. Is that all you need?”
“Yes, sir.” The car jerks forward and then back as Fletch parks out front of Diva. “That’s all I need.”
“You say you’re close to tying it up?”
“I hope so.” Unsnapping my belt, I hold the phone between my shoulder and my ear and push out of the car. “We have no reason to believe the infant is dead yet. If our killer wanted it gone, he could’ve killed our vic earlier—or better yet, killed her and left the child inside. He went out of his way to be around for the birth first, and now there’s no trace. So I’m leaning toward someone wanting the kid more than they wanted her.”
“Could be a black-market sale,” Fabian muses. “You’re keeping your investigation close to home, but have you considered she was targeted purely because someone wanted to buy a baby?”
“I have, and I think this may lean in that direction. But I have to cross all my t’s before I cast the net wider. Anyway,” I rush out. “We’re heading in to—”
“Wait, Detective.” Fabian’s voice turns quieter. Then he huffs and breathes a little harder, followed by a sharp slam of his office door closing. “I need to talk to you about a different case.”
“Something you don’t want other ears to hear?” Waving Fletch back, I rest my elbows on the roof of the car and frown. “What’s up?”
“Well, since we’re discussing midtown, I wanted to talk to you about Detective Fox and Officer Grayson.”
Instantly, my frown turns to a fully-fledged scowl. “Detective Fox is nothing but a douchebag with a shield, Lieutenant, and I say that with all the professionalism I can muster.”
“Maybe so,” he murmurs. “But I’m not asking about your personal opinion. I wanted to discuss his current caseload.”
“Ohhhkay… What about it?”
“Murder-suicides,” he says. “Though I’ve been following this enough to know it’s not murder-suicide at all, but rather, a string of double homicides poorly covered up. Fox and Grayson have enlisted a taskforce to help solve the case; something I know, because only yesterday, midtown called to ask if I could spare a few of my detectives.” He pauses for a moment. “They asked for you and Detective Fletcher specifically.”
“Fox asked for us?”
Across from me, Fletch throws his hands up as though to ask, ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’
“Fox’s captain called, upon Fox’s request and recommendation. He wanted you, and he wanted you weeks ago.”
“But I’m busy working this one.” Bringing the phone away from my ear, I hit speaker and set the device on the roof of the car. “We’re knee-deep in our own case, Lieutenant.”
“Which is why I said I couldn’t spare you. I sent Dawson and Jones instead. But here’s the thing, Malone, this case is now up to eight separate events. Every couple is seemingly unconnected to those who came before them, but the MO remains the same.”
“So they’ve got a serial on their hands?”
“Looks that way, but it’s not a run-of-the-mill serial. Investigators are leaning toward mafia hits.”
And just like that, my gaze shoots to Fletch’s.
“Each couple, on the surface, shows no connection,” Fabian continues. “Different parts of the city, different social classes, different races, different employment status. Some are married, some have kids, some are neither. One was driving a Lincoln, another, a Rolls, yet another driving a two-thousand-ten minivan. Some have family in the city, some don’t.”
“I’m gonna need you to consolidate it for me, Lieutenant. There has to be a connect somewhere.”
“Yeah.” He blows out a gentle exhale. “Every single one of them has traveled to New York at least once in the last six months.”
My heart thunders in my throat. “You can’t possibly link any of this to m—”
“Last hit,” he cuts in, “they took their time.”