Blood Innocents Part 13

"Yeah," Piccolini said, "me too. But maybe we're dealing with a guy who's not too sophisticated. A nut." Piccolini smiled. "I think we've got him. If he was crazy enough to run up on Fifth Avenue, then he's crazy enough to have left his fingerprints. The lab's checking for 'em now."

"What was the weapon?" Reardon asked.

"A double-edged ax. But there's more than that. It was a Parks Department ax. Had *Property of New York City' written on it!"

Petrakis, Reardon thought. "I'm going to put out an all-points bulletin on Andros Petrakis," he said.

"He shouldn't be hard to find," Piccolini said. "A person at loose ends like that, crazy and all, he'll leave a trail a blind man could follow. We'll have him in custody by the end of the week."

"Unless the ax points to someone else."

"Not likely. He hated Van Allen and so he took a Parks Department ax and killed those deer to get even." Piccolini smiled. "He should have known that n.o.body gets even with a guy like Wallace Van Allen. n.o.body. No way."

"Have the Van Allens been told about the ax?" Reardon asked.

"For sure. They get a daily report on the case."

"Well, hold back a few details for Christ's sake," Reardon said irritably. "I mean, this is a criminal investigation. You need to hold back some details."

Piccolini looked up. "Look, I know what I'm doing in this case. And we're going to break this case. And it's going to stick. Personally, I think we've got our man, and that's all there is to it. This thing will be wrapped up by the end of the week."

"What about the women?" Reardon asked.

Piccolini looked at Reardon quizzically. "What women?"

"The women in the Village."

"Oh," Piccolini said, "those women. Well, I don't know. Probably no connection there."

"I think there is," Reardon said, convincing himself of it.

Piccolini looked at Reardon scornfully. "You know, you're really somethin', John. At first you didn't think there was a connection. No reason, you just didn't think so. Now you think there is. Do you have a reason?"

"Only what you know."

"Only the same number of wounds on the bodies of the deer and the women, right?"

"That's right," Reardon admitted. "And the numbers."

"Forget about the numbers. That doesn't mean anything. And you know as well as I do that pathologists have a hard time determining exactly how many wounds are deliberately inflicted on a victim. They come up with a guess, really. And by coincidence they came up with the same guesses for the deer and the women in the Village. To tell you the truth, I don't think it means a thing. So drop the connection between the cases."

Reardon glared at Piccolini.

"I mean it," Piccolini said. "Drop it! You just keep yourself busy finding that little Greek guy. It's ridiculous that he hasn't been located yet. Ridiculous! And I want him! Fast!"

Reardon turned to leave.

"And, John," Piccolini said, "maybe you didn't take a long enough vacation."

"I'll tell you when I need a vacation," Reardon snapped.

"Think about it," Piccolini said, "think about it real good. My reading of the situation downtown tells me that they're not too happy with the way you're handling this case."

"Then let them tell me," Reardon said.

"Just think about it," Piccolini said, "think about it real good."

Reardon did not know why he thought there was a connection between the killing of the fallow deer and the murders of Karen Ortovsky and Lee McDonald. Piccolini had been right when he pointed out the inexact.i.tude of the pathologist's report. There was also a problem in determining how many wounds were direct thrusts on the part of the a.s.sailant and how many were defensive wounds caused by the victim's attempts to protect herself from the attacker.

Reardon decided to check out the most obvious connection first; later that afternoon he called the Department of Buildings and confirmed that the building in which the two women had lived, like Petrakis' building, was owned by Wallace Van Allen.

"Do you think that makes a connection?" Reardon asked Mathesson. They were at Reardon's desk, Mathesson leaning against it, a cup of coffee in his hand.

"Not an important one," Mathesson said. "Wallace Van Allen owns half the city. It could be a coincidence, but maybe not. Maybe Petrakis didn't get enough revenge by killing the deer. Maybe he went after human victims. But I get the feeling you're not going after Petrakis."

"What do you mean?" Reardon asked.

Mathesson looked as if he did not want to answer. He took a quick sip from the coffee cup. "I get the feeling that you're after somebody else," he said. "Some other killer. Maybe Wallace Van Allen himself."

"I would never do that," Reardon said.

"Well, don't you think Petrakis did it, killed those deer?"

"He may have. But he may have killed Karen Ortovsky and Lee McDonald too."

"Why?"

"For the same reason you said. Maybe he's completely crazy. Maybe he intends to kill someone in every building Van Allen owns."

"You don't think he's crazy enough to believe he can bring down Van Allen's empire by scaring everybody who lives in one of his buildings, do you?"

"If he's insane, he could believe anything," Reardon said.

"Van Allen would hire an army before he'd let that happen."

"Of course he would," Reardon said, "and any sane person would know that. But what if this Petrakis is insane? Couldn't he have an idea like that? And do we have to wait till somebody else gets chopped up in one of Van Allen's buildings to do something about it?"

Mathesson laughed and draped his arm affectionately around Reardon's shoulders. "I don't know, John," he said. "I don't know about you and your theories."

For a long time Reardon sat at his desk going over the investigation to see if Mathesson could be right, if he really had been aiming the investigation away from Petrakis. It was true that, having met him, he did not like Wallace Van Allen very much. But Van Allen's condescension toward him was not noticeably different from that which he had experienced from others like Van Allen in the past. Perhaps he did have an added measure of hostility toward Van Allen because the man had been able to pull him off homicide and put him on the deer case. Still, he did not believe he was "after" Van Allen. In thirty years on the force he had never been "after" anyone.

He was still weighing the evidence against himself when the phone rang.

"John Reardon," he said.

"John, this is Josh down at the lab. I've got the findings on the ax. The one in the deer case."

"Go ahead."

"Well, there are prints."

"Whose?"

"Only one set. Traced them to an Andros Pe a Pee a"

"Petrakis?"

"Yeah, that's it. Petrakis. Somebody didn't write it down very well on the sheet."

"Andros Petrakis," Reardon said. "You're sure?"

"That's right. And only one set."

"Thanks," Reardon said, and started to hang up.

"There's one detail," Josh said. "d.a.m.ndest thing, I don't know if it's important, but the positioning of the prints is kind of unusual."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, this was an ax killing, right?" Josh said.

"Right."

"Well, where would you expect the prints to be located?"

"On the handle."

"Right. But the weapon is clean for about two-thirds of the length of the ax handle."

"What?"

"From the bottom of the handle."

"Can you give me that again?"

"Ah, h.e.l.l, if you were here it would be clear in a minute. The ax handle is approximately three feet long from the bottom of the handle to the blade. And from the bottom of the handle to about eight inches from the blade the handle is clean. No prints. But after that, the d.a.m.n thing is covered with prints. Of this Petrakis guy. His prints. Clear as day. h.e.l.l, you could almost see them without dusting."

"I see," Reardon said, but he did not know what to make of it.

"The prints begin at about four inches below the blade. And there are a few on the blade itself."

Reardon was mystified. "Do you know what this means? Do you have any ideas?"

"Nothing for sure. The only thing I can figure out is that maybe he had started to clean up the prints, and then he got scared or something and just took off. Decided to hide the thing and just forget about it, you know?"

"Thanks, Josh," Reardon said, and placed the receiver back on the cradle. So Petrakis had started to clean it up, he thought, but then had left it there with prints still on it. Maybe he had heard something. Maybe he had heard the same thing n.o.ble had heard. Maybe he had heard the only thing that would make him run, make him panic so much that he would just leave his prints on the ax and hope that it wouldn't be found. Maybe he had heard the approach of a witness.

Looking at the ax later that afternoon, Reardon got a better idea of what Josh had told him. While Mathesson stood with his hands behind his back, his eyes roaming the lab for something more interesting than a routine weapon, Reardon stared fixedly at the ax. It lay on its side atop a metal table. Most of the handle had indeed been cleaned meticulously of fingerprints. Reardon had rarely seen a weapon so thoroughly scrubbed in part and so completely untouched elsewhere. Killers who used knives, Reardon had noticed, usually did not stop after cleaning the handle but dutifully wiped the blood from the blade as well, even though it could not possibly incriminate them. They did this from habit, Reardon a.s.sumed, but the ax used in the killing of the fallow deer presented a paradox that could neither be explained nor altogether dismissed.

He picked up the ax and perused the handle slowly. It was spotless from the base up to about seven or eight inches from the blade. Then spots of blood began to dapple the wood. The blade itself was almost completely sheathed in bloodstains.

Mathesson motioned toward the ax. "Well, that's it," he said. "When you've got the weapon, you've got the killer."

"Not always."

"Sometimes," Mathesson said. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Reardon.

"No, thanks," Reardon said.

"Oh, right," Mathesson said. "I forgot. You quit."

Reardon's eyes remained riveted on the ax. In the presence of a weapon he became almost reverent, not out of respect for the weapon itself but for the human being, obscure and silent, who had been slaughtered by it.

"Do you watch much TV?" Mathesson asked.

"What?"

"Do you watch much TV?"

"A little."

"They had a G.o.dd.a.m.n good show on last night." Mathesson chuckled. "A real whodunit, you know? First I thought it was the wife, then the lover, then the brother-in-law. h.e.l.l, I'd have put the whole G.o.dd.a.m.n family in the slammer before I'd have fingered the right guy."

Reardon's eyes continued to move up and down the ax. Mathesson's voice was recorded only as pa.s.sing unintelligible sounds, like street noise.

Finally, Reardon said: "What do you make of that?"

"What?"

"The way the ax is so thoroughly cleaned of prints on part of the handle and covered with them on the rest."

Mathesson looked at the ax. "Well, the only thing I figure is that the killer got scared, panicked, started running, and threw the ax in the sewer drain on Fifth Avenue. And if the killer is Petrakis, then it stands to reason he might run east up to Fifth Avenue, 'cause he lives on the East Side, East Ninetieth, right?"

"That's his old address, but remember, he'd been evicted. We don't know where he was living the night the deer were killed."

"Oh, yeah," Mathesson said, "that's right." He looked at the ax again. "I'll admit that a guy who'd clean a weapon as good as this guy did, you could expect him to clean the whole thing, not leave any prints. But who knows what was going through his mind? And remember, John, those prints belong to Petrakis and n.o.body else. Now, I figure he just plain bolted. Just plain panicked. Forgot everything. Just started running home."

"If his new address is on the East Side."

"Right," Mathesson said. "And another thing. That ax came from a toolshed not far from the deer cage. I just got this from Bannion this morning. I asked Bannion to check and see if it looked like the toolshed had been broken into, and he said no. He said that whoever took that ax had to have had a key to the shed."

"Who has access to the shed?"

"n.o.ble, Bryant and Petrakis. The regular night crew. I talked to Bryant just before I came over, and Bannion talked to n.o.ble last night. They hadn't been using the ax. n.o.ble said he saw it in the shed earlier that night when he went to take out something else."

"So it had to have been in there," Reardon said, "and whoever took it out had to have had a key."

"That's right," Mathesson said. "Everything's right for Petrakis."