Hitched

When Kit and Regan were back out on the street, they both looked at each other. “I liked her,” Kit said. “She’s a little strange but she has charm.”

Regan shrugged as they walked toward the corner.

“What?” Kit asked.

“She’s very likable but she doesn’t at all seem like someone who’s getting married in three weeks. She didn’t seem to care about the dress. And there was nothing in that apartment to indicate that she’d sent out invitations or that presents were coming in or anything like that. There are no magazines or books about wedding pla

“Maybe it’s all out at Frederick ’s studio,” Kit quipped. “Next to his paintbrushes.”

“Could be,” Regan said, then frowned. “If he’s such an incredibly talented artist, then how come the only thing she has on her wall are a couple of framed prints? Wouldn’t she have at least one of his paintings on display?”

“You’d think.”

“I’ve got to tell you something, Kit. They don’t sound like the greatest pair. She doesn’t want to leave the city. He doesn’t want to leave the country. She’s gregarious and likes to have fun. He’s worried about getting his name in the paper. Let me tell you, if he wants to sell his paintings, it would help if people knew about them. It could help her, too. But she obviously doesn’t want to upset him.”

“ Frederick must be some hunk.”

“I don’t know what he is.”

Kit shrugged. “Have you ever heard that opposites attract?”

“Sure I have. But something doesn’t seem right.” Regan hailed a cab. They got in, and she gave the address of the last April Bride. “We’re going across Central Park to Fifth Avenue,” she told the driver. “ Fifth Avenue and Seventy-fifth Street.”

“You got it lady,” he said and took off like a shot. “You live there? That’s a nice address.”

“No, I don’t.”

“That’s okay. As long as you’re happy. You know what I mean? To me the important thing is to be happy. I’m okay. My wife’s okay. We’re happy.”

Regan leaned back and smiled at Kit as the driver continued his monologue about the meaning of life. She was sure it wouldn’t end until they arrived at the home of the fifth April Bride.

Whoever she turned out to be.

18

Jack returned to his corner office at One Police Plaza. It wasn’t unusual for him to be found at work on a Saturday. But today there were especially compelling reasons to be there.

As of next Saturday, he’d be gone for over two weeks.

The Drip had struck again and was still free to roam the streets.

Jack sighed. There were bank robberies every day in New York City. With a little luck and pla

The detectives had interviewed everyone in the banks at the time of the robberies, as well as people outside who might have seen something that would be helpful to the investigation. But because each robbery had taken place when rain, sleet, or snow was coming down, everyone’s focus had been on themselves. Even more than usual. It wasn’t a big time for observing your fellow man when you were trying to stay dry and avoid getting poked by umbrellas.

Jack and his colleagues had looked at the tape of the last robbery several times. The profiler, Len Fisher, had said to Jack, “It looks like The Drip. Same shaped face. He’s got a different beard and mustache this time but he’s about the same size. He’s wearing another ugly raincoat and thick black rubber shoes.” They’d compared the tape to the one from the robbery two weeks before. “You see. He moves the same way. He’s good at his disguises, though. Even though this one is slightly different, he’s still recognizable from the last rainy day robbery.”

“Looks like he took a few lessons from Willie Sutton.”

Len nodded. “Willie took his work very seriously,” he’d said wryly.

Jack had been fascinated by Willie Sutton, the famed bank robber born in Brooklyn in 1901 whose career lasted from the late 1920s to 1952 when he was caught for the last time. He’d served a number of prison terms. Nicknamed The Actor because of his ability to take on so many different looks, he was the master of disguise. Hollowed-out corks widened his nostrils, loose clothing hid his shape. He sometimes do

God Bless America, Jack thought.

Legend had it that when Willie was asked why he robbed banks, he answered, “Because that’s where the money is.” But in later years he said that a reporter had made up that quote. “I robbed banks because I enjoyed it. I loved it. I was more alive when I was inside a bank robbing it, than at any other time in my life…I enjoyed it so much that one or two weeks later I’d be out looking for the next job.”

Jack sighed as he sat at his desk. The Drip’s first robbery was at the begi

Tapping his fingers on the top of the desk, Jack looked off, deep in thought. Does this guy do it for the thrill? Or just the money? Or both?

One of the detectives had found a credit card slip on the floor of the bank. Over a thousand dollars had been charged at Dan’s Discount Den. The name on the receipt was Chris Diamond. It was being checked. With any luck it had been dropped by the robber. Of course, Jack knew that if it had been dropped by the robber, there was a good chance the card wasn’t his.

One of the most prevalent crimes these days was credit card theft, and even worse, identity theft, Jack mused. Even if The Drip had a stolen credit card, he probably wasn’t smart enough to be involved with identity theft. If he were, he wouldn’t be wasting his time going out in broad daylight and robbing banks of a couple grand. Instead he’d be making far more money using other people’s identity to take out loans or purchase high-price items like luxury cars.

We have the security tapes, the notes, and possibly a credit card receipt to help us find this guy, Jack thought. If only there had been some DNA on any of the notes he’d left. The scientific advances in recent years in matching DNA samples had been revolutionary. But so far The Drip hadn’t blessed them with any of his. He was smart enough to wear gloves.

“Hey, Boss.”

Jack looked up. Sgt. Keith Waters, Jack’s top assistant, was standing in the doorway. A handsome black man in his late thirties, Keith possessed a restless energy. He loved his work and could be found in the office at all hours. “That credit card receipt?” Keith said.

“Yes.” Jack felt his pulse quicken.

“The credit card company got in touch with the owner of the card, Chris Diamond. He’s been out of the country for a couple of weeks working on a project in London.”

“So he wasn’t shopping at Dan’s Discount Den in Queens the other day?”

“He assured them in no uncertain terms that he’d never heard of the place. And no, he didn’t give anyone permission to use his card.”

“Where does he live?”

“ Co

“Did you find out what the thousand dollars was spent on?”

“We’re working on it. But The Drip’s taste in clothes could easily be satisfied by shopping at Dan’s. It’s not exactly designer stuff.” Keith pointed to the outer office where several of the detectives had their desks, “Joe said his wife doesn’t buy many clothes there, but she loves the place. They sell everything, so it’s one-stop shopping. But get this. Last Halloween she bought costumes there for the kids. They have a big department that’s stocked year round with all sorts of wigs, fake beards, and mustaches. She said they look real.” Keith laughed. “As a matter of fact, so real that the sight of her six-year-old wearing the beard gave her the creeps. The kids love that department.”