Crime School

‘Stella marked the perp with her fingernails,’ she said.

‘That’s my girl.’ Riker stared at the bits of hair on the floor. ‘Not a very neat scalping this time, and you should see that basement office. The perp’s not so fussy about cleaning up his messes anymore.’

Mallory nodded. The scarecrow was coming undone.

A crime-scene tape cordoned off ten feet of space in front of the basement office. John Winetrob, the perso

Detective Arthur Wang gestured toward a cardboard carton the height of a chair. ‘Sir? Why don’t you sit down?’

Before you fall down.

The man’s shakes were easy for Wang to account for, but not only because of the crime-scene blood. The police were also making him nervous. The unshaven perso

For the past ten minutes, Mr Winetrob had been talking nonstop, mostly inane chatter. Now he fell silent as the detective completed a cell-phone call.

‘No answer.’ Arthur Wang dropped the phone back into his pocket. ‘The watchman isn’t home, but I didn’t think he would be. And he hasn’t turned up in any local hospitals.’

‘Thank you for trying,’ said Winetrob. ‘You don’t really believe he could be dead, do you?’

Yes, that was exactly what Detective Wang believed. ‘We’re still looking for him, sir. We’ve got twenty men doing a sweep, floor by floor. If he’s here – if he’s hurt – ’

‘What if he didn’t come to work last night? Now there’s a thought.’ The perso

‘Of course,’ said Wang. ‘I’ll send a cop to check it out – real soon.’ Or maybe never. This errand would hit the bottom of police priorities this morning. The more important business was a look at the store’s files. All the employees had been photographed, and this was the only helpful information Winetrob had given him so far – or so he believed.

Gently, Detective Wang helped the civilian to his feet and led him to an elevator that would carry them up to the perso

When Deluthe had finished Janos’s chore in the payroll department, he had been loaned out to Arthur Wang. Now he was posted at a secretary’s desk outside the office of the perso

‘Nothing yet, sir.’ Deluthe closed another folder.

Arthur Wang walked to the door and tossed a file on the secretary’s desk. ‘That one goes in your stack. Put it back in alphabetical order, okay? When you’re done, report to Riker.’

Deluthe opened the file of the nightwatchman and stared at the photograph. His eyes drifted down to the name, that vital clue to the man’s place in the file cabinet. The line below it was a familiar East Village address. And now, with utter disregard for the alphabet, the young detective jammed the folder into the center of the large stack and left his job unfinished. He had more important things to do.

In the back office of Butler and Company, Mallory was on the phone, terrorizing a clerk at the Odeon, Nebraska, Police Department. ‘So what if your computer is down? What does that – Look, all I need is a photograph… Yeah, right… I told you that an hour ago… So pull it out of the hardcopy… Then fax it! Now!’

Fortunately, there had been no computer problems at the Nebraska Department of Motor Vehicles. Charles was looking at a monitor and their only likeness of the scarecrow. The image was not very good, but most license photographs were less than professional quality.

After relocating in Nebraska, Susan Qualen’s cousins had changed their family name, and the boy they had harbored was called John Ryan. No doubt the cousins had called the boy by his initials, J.R. for Junior, the only name he was accustomed to.

Mallory sat down at the workstation. ‘It’ll probably take them an hour to figure out how a file drawer works.’

‘Bad luck,’ said Charles. ‘How do you suppose ordinary people like the Qualens became so adept at changing identities?’

‘Nothing to it. Idiots get away with it all the time.’ She stared at her monitor screen. ‘The scarecrow must’ve picked up another alias when he came east. He’s not in any local databases. You know what that means?’

‘He’s been pla

‘No, I think he only pla

‘The man who killed his mother?’

Mallory nodded. ‘In Nebraska, Junior was a small-town cop in uniform. Probably never got near a major investigation. So he comes to the big city. Figures he can find his mother’s killer in a day – and without any help from us.’

Charles agreed. And when the boy failed, his last resort was forcing NYPD to do the job for him.

‘The scarecrow hates police,’ she said. ‘He’s very clear about that. So tell me, why would he become a cop?’

‘Perhaps he had control issues.’ Charles suspected that this was why Mallory had joined NYPD, but he could not complete this twi

He looked up to see Lars Geldorf standing just inside the door. Some tenant must have buzzed him into the building. Charles was unprepared for the change in him. The old man had aged another decade in a day.

Ignoring the unwelcome visitor, Mallory looked down at her keyboard. The retired detective walked a few steps into the room, then seemed at the point of falling down. Charles picked up a chair and rushed toward him, but the man waved him away and remained standing.

Lars Geldorf s eyes were fixed on Mallory. ‘I heard about that poor woman – Stella Small. You think the copycat hangings are my fault, don’t you? If I’d done my job right twenty years ago – ’ His shoulders sagged, and he braced himself with one hand pressed flat on the cork wall, then turned his defeated eyes to Charles. ‘I think I will take that chair.’ He sat down and waited out Mallory’s silence. It was clear that the old man would not leave without a word from her.

She continued her typing, occasionally looking his way, a

‘Yes,’ said Geldorf. ‘I know.’

She could have killed the old man with only a few words, but she kept silent, and Charles saw this as the potential for kindness. Growing up in Special Crimes, she would have seen many of these old men coming and going, haunting police stations as confused ghosts, unable to come to terms with the end of things.