CHAPTER EIGHT
The shit did hit the fan. The next morning a special task force meeting was called at One Police Plaza, downtown, by the Commissioner and the Mayor.
The newspapers hadn’t come up with a suitable name for the killer, but many were capitalizing with wild newsprint about the incredible eyewitness accounts of the giants’ elusive maneuvers in thwarting the police. Some reporters jeered the city officials and some sympathized with them, talking of their great efforts in combing the area in which the big man had to be, but somehow wasn’t.
No matter how much they bent the story, or which way they leaned, they seemed to have drummed up a great deal of fear from the readers. Because of this, the Mayor’s Office received many letters and calls from “respectable citizens,” and “taxpayers,” demanding an end to the carnage. Many of those who contacted their civic leaders were the same people who would find it beneath their dignity to ride the trains. There were also many more who did ride them, and they were just downright scared.
Mac and Harry entered the conference room around ten, and everyone was there except the Mayor and the representative from the Coroner’s Office. Both of them arrived about ten minutes later.
The Mayor was a balding man who was a politician in the old sense of term, but when he dropped his television personality, he proved tough, and he knew his stuff.
Getting a reaming from him, Mac once heard, would fry both ears nicely and just leave a little in between to absorb what he was saying, and make it stick.
“O.K.,” the Mayor said. “Let’s drop the thrills, and small talk, and get down to business. What do we have here? Before you tell me, let me give you my impression.”
“First,” he continued, “there’s a guy out there who wants to cause a little excitement…let me correct that…a lot of excitement. He’s also unusually large to all who see him. Now, gentlemen, I normally know people get a little carried away with things like this, but if I didn’t grind a couple of our T.A.’s finest myself, I would probably think the description is a hoax, the result of bad eyesight, or undue stress.”
“Second,” he went on, “we have about eight million city residents, and about seven million out‑of‑towners, who are clamoring for action and scared shitless to get on a train at night. I have had twenty‑three of the city’s largest firms alone call me today to protest the fact that their secretaries, and other late night staff, just refuse to work past normal quitting time, even with the threat of being fired. Believe me, gentlemen, when I say this has not been my day.”
“Now, Commissioner Gordon,” he said, turning to Joe Gordon. “How about filling us in on what we don’t know.”
Joe Gordon knew the Mayor had heard the whole story, but as a matter of politics, he was allowed to give his analysis. “Well, gentlemen,” Commissioner Gordon started, “we know the general picture from newspaper accounts. They’ve been pretty accurate in description, even if not as supportive as we hoped. This guy’s apparently of abnormally large stature, and runs hot and cold towards his choice of victims. One minute he seems to be some sort of overzealous do‑gooder, the next, he seems to pick on the first person in sight as a victim.”
“Doctor Collier here,” he said, pointing to the
bespectacled man to his left, “is the police psychiatrist who will give you a mental outlay of the perpetrator we’re up against. Doctor Collier…” he said, indicating to the speaker to address the group.
The man rose, and with the monotone type of voice of science Mac had expected, he said, “Gentlemen, what the Commissioner has described about the assailant is just this: He seems to be a violent schizoid-maniac with a possibility of a dual personality. In the beginning, he seemed to represent an alter ego or possibly an overzealous guardian of sorts. His latest crimes, however, put him in a darker light of the reverse alter ego, and the violent murders of the bag lady and Miss Rothstein were the conclusion of the change.”
Sensing the doctor was finished, Joe Gordon stood up and said, “thank you doctor.” Collier nodded and walked awkwardly to the far wall. ‘Talk about egos or rather lack of them’, thought Mac dryly.
“Now, I’d like to give you Doctor Silverstein from the Coroner’s Office, so he can present their findings,” the Commissioner said, nodding to the man across from Harry and Mac.
The man didn’t bother to get up, but rather nodded in recognition to the Commissioner. To Mac, he seemed like
more of a regular guy when compared to the other spook who just
finished.
“I think what’s more impressive to us is the amount of violence and force this guy is capable of,” he began. “The eyewitness report of the Officer on duty at the time of the attempted mugging, by one Miguel Hernandez, is verified by both the impact of the blade in the victim’s torso and the damage done when he was lifted in the air.”
Mac sensed Silverstein’s impression of Collier was the same as his own.
“This impression of force,” Silverstein continued, “is backed up by the examinations done on the first three victims. Further evidence is concluded by the ruthlessness administered to the other two bodies I examined.”
Mac raised his hand and Silverstein acknowledged him. “I’d like to ask Doctor Collier why the killer would switch weapons as he did?” Mac asked.
“I prefer to think that it was for the same reasons he chose his victims differently. They matched with his ego changes,” Collier volunteered.
“Both choices of weapons have been effectively used with great strength,” Silverstein continued as Mac looked at the wall thoughtfully. “If we also recall the fact that this killer terminated two of the first victims by brute force, we can safely say he uses his strength as a third weapon.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” the Commissioner concluded. “I hope this will give you gentlemen a blunt picture of what we’re up against. For a more descriptive picture, all reports describe the killer as tall, dark in complexion, strongly built, with a dark beard and clad in a brown trench coat. I’ll pass around some copies of this to you for distribution to your people. Other copies have gone out to all precincts and newspapers, but I don’t think anyone can miss him.”
Mac raised his hand again, feeling a little ridiculous in having to do so, and Commissioner Gordon realizing his awkwardness recognized him with a smile. “Go ahead, Lieutenant,” he said.
“I noticed in your description,” Mac said curiously, “that you state he wears a trench coat. If I’ve read all the reports correctly, none of them mentioned that it was covered with bloodstains and there sure has been a lot of blood spilled.”
They all seemed to stare at Mac, then down at the report, then back to Mac, then to the report again. The more they tried to interpret what he just said, the more puzzled and incredulous they looked.
“Double check that for me will ya, Mac,” Joe Gordon said. “Apparently, boys, we may have a lead here. Have your boys check dry cleaners and any reports of an abnormally big man out buying stain removers or scotch guard too.”
“Thanks, Mac. Good point,” Gordon said.
The Mayor jumped in now to end the meeting.
“Gentlemen, let me further emphasize that you are to take all precautions with the assailant. From what I’ve just heard, the man is highly dangerous. According to the shooting report of Officer Patrelli, he may be wounded, but the lack of bloodstains from the wounds and not finding him in the area of the last incident leads me to believe otherwise. Nevertheless, don’t take any risks. We must get him fast, so let’s get a move on.” “Which brings this to the point of the Patrelli shooting report,” the Commissioner joined in. “Check all hospitals or doctor’s reports of shootings. I think that’s about all.”
“Any questions or statements?” the Mayor concluded. “Swell. Now we’ve beefed up the station patrols, especially at night. We had to transfer a lot of men into the later shifts to cover this, so let’s all crack down to bag him. O.K., that’s it. Let’s get out there and do our jobs.”
After the meeting was over, and all had left, Mac had time to ponder all that was said and all that was done. It still left him puzzled about the trench coat and the lack of bloodstains on it and this bothered him even more.
For the next few days all was quiet, and that carried over through the weekend as well. All stations were visibly beefed up, but no findings were made on either the clothing lead or by any gunshot reports.
Now it seemed to be turned into a waiting game with the elusive killer forced to make the next move. Something they all dreaded, but knew must take place.
Tags: Chapter 8, Night Trains
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