"Are you d.i.c.king around, Zach? Because if you are, it's not-"

I shook my head. "That's what she said. Meet her at Silvercup Studios."

"Is it Spence? Is he okay?"

"She didn't say anything about Spence. She didn't say anything about anything."

"s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t," Kylie said, whacking the palm of her hand on the steering wheel. "Of course it's about Spence. Why else would she want us at Silvercup?"

She flipped on the flashers and stepped on the gas, and the Batmobile lurched forward.

I buckled up my seat belt. The little old lady behind the wheel had been replaced by a crazy woman.

Chapter 52.

We blasted across the lower level of the GW Bridge into Manhattan and down the Harlem River Drive. "Cates is already p.i.s.sed at me for my little run-in with Damon Parker," Kylie said as she merged onto the FDR and kicked the Ford up to seventy.

"You flat-out accused the victim's brother of exploiting her death for his own personal gain," I said. "I'm not sure the department would cla.s.sify that as a 'little run-in.'"

"So if Cates chewed me out for that, what do you think she'll do now that she knows my husband has a drug problem and wound up in the ER twice in the past three days?"

"Who knows what Cates knows? She didn't say a word about Spence."

"She didn't have to. She told us to drop what we're doing and meet her where he works."

She got off the FDR at 53rd Street, turned right onto First Avenue, and shot up the ramp onto the bridge to Queens. We skidded into the parking lot at Silvercup fourteen minutes after Cates called.

A golf cart was waiting for us at the front gate. The man behind the wheel was Bob Reitzfeld, a former NYPD lieutenant who left the department after thirty years, then dodged what he called the "death by retirement" bullet by signing on as a night watchman at Silvercup. Two years later, he was running the entire security team.

"How's Spence?" Kylie asked as we climbed into the backseat.

"Short term, he'll be fine," Reitzfeld said as he navigated a narrow hallway between studios. "They're sewing him back together in the ER. But long term, your boy's got a problem, and Sh.e.l.ley can't cover for him much longer."

"How long has Sh.e.l.ley known Spence was using?" she asked.

"At least a month. That's when he first told me. But by now everyone in the cast and crew is aware of it. If he doesn't get clean soon, his career is going to be in the c.r.a.pper."

"His career? How about mine?" Kylie said. "Right now I'm the lead detective on a high-profile murder case. Tomorrow morning Cates may have me hauling in sixth graders for spray-painting their names on schoolyard walls."

Reitzfeld eased the golf cart to a stop, turned around, and looked at Kylie. "Let me get this straight-you think Cates is here because Spence got high and bowled over a couple of lights?"

"Why else would my boss show up at the studio an hour after my husband f.u.c.ked up?"

"Kylie, I know I look like the guy in the blue blazer who drives the golf cart, but I was a precinct boss myself for a couple of tours, and I can promise you that Captain Cates didn't trek out here to Queens to make you pay for Spence's sins. Because if she did, she wouldn't have brought the mayor with her."

That caught both of us by surprise.

"The mayor is here?" Kylie said.

"Along with Irwin Diamond and Sh.e.l.ley. They're all waiting on you in Studio Five, and it's none of my business, but the last thing they need is a stressed-out cop, so I suggest you get your head together and put your game face on before you go in there."

He turned back around, and we drove the rest of the way in silence.

"Thanks, Lieutenant," Kylie said to Reitzfeld as he dropped us off in front of the studio. "I'll be fine."

"Don't tell me," he said. "Tell the guy you're walking into the room with."

He pulled out and left us standing there.

"Go ahead," I said. "Look me in the eye and tell me with a straight face that you're fine."

"Of course I'm not fine," she said. "As soon as I heard we were coming here to meet Cates, all I could think about was that Spence was about to wreck my career."

"Right now, there's only one person about to wreck your career, and it's not Spence," I said. "Let me know if there's anything I can do to keep you from self-destructing."

"There is," she said. She dug her hand into her pocket and tossed me the car keys. "For starters, don't let me drive when I'm this crazy."

"Good call," I said, taking the keys. "Anything else?"

"Yeah...I know I haven't been the best partner these past two weeks. Do me a favor-set the clock back and give me another chance to make things right between us."

"You got it," I said.

What I didn't say was that I wasn't sure if I wanted to set it back two weeks or eleven years.

Chapter 53.

Studio 5 is one of the smaller studios under the Silvercup roof. Even so, it's at least fifty feet long and forty wide. Cates, the mayor, his consigliere Irwin Diamond, and Spence's boss, Sh.e.l.ley Trager, were waiting for us inside. They were at the far end of the room, standing in the living room set of a TV show I didn't recognize. Cates walked across the studio to meet us.

"Mayor Spellman is crazy as a s.h.i.thouse rat," she said.

"Isn't that Muriel Sykes's campaign slogan?" I said.

In times of stress, inappropriate humor has always been the glue that binds cops together, so despite the difference in our ranks and the gravity of the situation, Cates laughed out loud. She quickly covered her mouth and turned the laugh into a cough.

"What's going on?" I said.

"Muriel Sykes is about to hold a press conference," Cates said. "Irwin dragged the mayor out here so they can watch it, videotape some kind of reb.u.t.tal, and get it on the air before his entire campaign spins out of control."

"That explains why they're here," I said. "Why are we here?"

"Because you're the lead detectives on the serial killer case that Sykes is using against him, and he's hoping you'll give him something to say."

"You want us to give him something to say? How about 'I concede the election and wish Muriel Sykes the best of luck in running the city that I couldn't'?"

This time she didn't laugh.

"Captain," I said, "you heard Irwin on Monday. The mayor is in a hole that he dug himself. NYPD wanted to investigate Evelyn Parker-Steele for the murder of Cynthia Pritchard, but Leonard Parker put pressure on City Hall. The mayor caved, Evelyn walked, and the vigilante serial killer who's been running loose in the city made her his fourth victim."

"Detectives!" It was Irwin Diamond. "Glad you're here. Captain Cates tells us you were out in New Jersey talking to Rachael O'Keefe's sister."

The mayor jumped in. "Is there a connection? Is her kidnapping related to the Hazmat Killer?"

"Sir, we have no proof that Rachael's kidnapping is connected to the other cases," I said, "but everything points to the fact that Rachael could be victim number five."

"Why is she our number five? Why isn't she New Jersey's victim number one?"

"She was taken from Jersey, but the information on where she was hiding may well have come from New York City."

"And not just from the city," Kylie added, "but possibly from a city official connected to the case. Detective Jordan and I were just on our way into Manhattan to talk to the chief of corrections and the DA's office to get a list of everyone who knew exactly where Rachael would be. The sooner we can get those names, the better."

To the mayor, I'm sure she sounded like a dedicated cop whose sole purpose was to get to Manhattan so she could track down the wrongdoer. To me, she sounded more like Mrs. Spence Harrington determined to get the h.e.l.l out of Silvercup as fast as possible. It didn't matter. She was right on both counts.

"Is the word out yet that O'Keefe has been kidnapped?" Diamond asked.

Cates held up a hand to let us know she would take the question.

"Irwin, we're working way outside our jurisdiction," she said. "We're bending the boundaries because this kidnapping seems to be tied to the Hazmat case. Our people went in and got out under the radar, but the Jersey cops and the Feds will be on it in no time. And if you think Rachael O'Keefe dominated the airwaves during the trial, just wait till this breaks. The twenty-four-hour news cycle will be all Rachael, all the time."

"Understood," Diamond said. "But it's still under wraps?"

"For now," Cates said.

"Good," he said, "because Muriel Sykes is holding a press conference in two minutes, and at least she won't have this s.h.i.t to fling at the fan."

Chapter 54.

"She's coming on," Sh.e.l.ley Trager called out. He had drifted away from the group and was standing in front of a large TV monitor that had been rolled in on a metal stand.

The rest of us gathered around, and the picture cut away from two NY1 news anchors to Muriel Sykes standing at a podium. There was a backdrop with her campaign logo behind her and two flags positioned strategically over her left shoulder-one, the Stars and Stripes; the other, the orange, white, and blue flag of New York City.

She was the picture of confidence-standing tall, smartly dressed, seemingly at ease despite the difficult road ahead. h.e.l.lo, Central Casting, send me a strong woman who looks like she could be mayor.

I stole a glance at Spellman. He was stoop-shouldered and world-weary. He looked more like the guy Central Casting would send over to play a bus driver at the end of a long day.

"Good afternoon," Sykes said directly to the camera. "For the past nine months you've all seen me aggressively campaigning for mayor. But this press conference is not about politics. It's about a sad personal loss, and I have asked my dear friend Damon Parker to make an opening statement. He is not here in his capacity as an internationally respected journalist, but as the grieving brother of my brutally tortured and murdered campaign manager, Evelyn Parker-Steele."

"What a crock of s.h.i.t," Diamond said as Muriel moved to the side and Parker stepped up to the podium. "Evelyn hated that phony blowhard a.s.shole."

"The murder of my sister, Evelyn, has shattered our family," Parker said in a somber voice. Gone were the histrionics and shouts of The People Want to Know. In keeping with his intro, the man put on his best internationally respected journalist facade.

"But even more devastating than her death," he said, "is this blatantly coerced video confession. It is nothing more than a fabricated atrocity created to tarnish our family name and to undermine the progressive reforms of U.S. Attorney Muriel Sykes's mayoral campaign. This is a personal and political attack that wounds my heart as her brother and aggrieves my spirit as a citizen of the greatest city in the world."

"I'm glad Muriel made it clear that this is not about politics," Irwin said.

Parker continued, "The tragic death of Cynthia Pritchard weighed heavily on my sister's heart every day of her life, and for a s.a.d.i.s.tic torturer..." He paused and choked up convincingly.

"And for a s.a.d.i.s.tic torturer to force my sister to spout these pre-scripted lies is almost too much to bear. Our family has received thousands of emails, letters, and phone calls denouncing this staged confession, and no words have been more heartfelt or more comforting than those that came from the woman for whom my sister gave her last ounce of energy and devotion-Muriel Sykes."

He placed his hand to his chest and turned reverentially to Sykes. They exchanged a brief hug, and she took his place at the podium.

"Talk about pre-scripted lies," Irwin said. "What a performance."

Sykes looked into the camera, her eyes filled with compa.s.sion. "My deepest condolences to the Parker and Steele families," she said. "The senseless killing of Evelyn Parker-Steele should never have happened. She was the fourth victim of a cold-blooded serial killer-a murderer who should have been brought to justice months ago. As U.S. attorney, I would never have tolerated the kind of misguided street vengeance that has been the hallmark of the sick individual who continues to stalk the streets of our city."

Irwin had a pen and a pad and was either taking notes, writing a reb.u.t.tal, or drafting the mayor's concession speech.

"I will not politicize Evelyn's death," Sykes said.

"Could have fooled me," Irwin called out, still scribbling.

"But I will politicize the need for the kind of bold leadership that will give our police-and our entire law enforcement community-the support and resources it needs to protect our city and its citizens from those who seek to do it harm," Sykes said. "Thank you. Are there any questions?"

Reporters started shouting, and Irwin stepped up to the television and turned it off.

"I don't want to watch Muriel Sykes answer a bunch of bulls.h.i.t questions that Damon Parker planted with the press," he said. "The man's a powerhouse. He just endorsed our opponent, and it's only going to get worse. I have a script for a stopgap commercial the mayor can shoot immediately, but it's a Hail Mary. Once the public finds out that Rachael O'Keefe has been kidnapped, they'll forget that she's a child murderer, and Damon Parker will spin her into a martyr who was falsely imprisoned, found innocent, begged for protection from NYPD, and was thrown to the wolves by an insensitive, uncaring mayor. Nothing personal, Stan. I'm just trying to point out how they're going to skewer you."

"No, no, Irwin," Spellman said. "I'm convinced. I'm voting for Muriel."

Diamond gave his best friend a half smile. "We're not dead yet, Stan."

The mayor didn't look convinced. "What do you suggest?"

"I suggest that we find Rachael O'Keefe while she's still alive, and bring in the Hazmat Killer-or as many of them as are out there."