Panic

“I want answers, Jordan. Don’t tell me this is another dead end? It’s my ass on the line right now,” said the Captain.

Bullshit, thought Mary. She resisted the urge to say it out loud, but she knew Oakes would hand her over on a silver platter the second he needed to escape blame himself. Instead, Mary drew a deep breath and composed herself.

“Three victims were found dead at the scene. One Caucasian male was shot in the head, two Caucasian females killed by…” Mary paused. “Other methods. The ID checks at the club brought up details of another girl with them who wasn’t found at the scene.”

“Suspects? Leads? Anything?”

“Not yet, sir. But we’re working on it.”

“Well, you’d better work faster. I’ve got enough with the commissioner up my ass about helping the FBI with this dead senator case, I don’t need this gang warfare shit hitting the papers as well.”

“I don’t think it was gang-related, sir.”

“I don’t give a shit what you think, Jordan. Just get me some answers. Find out who the girl is and get me some answers.”

“We know who the girl is, sir. Christina Logan. Daughter of New York State Senator Logan.”

“Shit. The FBI are going to want in on this one too. Get them on the phone.”

“Already done, sir. They put me in touch with Senator Logan’s office. His assistant is setting up a call for later this morning.”

“You better get me something solid, Jordan,” Oakes growled, “I can’t go back to the commissioner with another dead-end case. You’ve got until Monday to find me something useful or I’ll have your ass working the graveyard shift for a year. Understood?”

Mary nodded. She was used to working weekends anyway. The Captain grunted something and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The shutters rattled again and the room fell silent. Mary groaned and resisted the urge to punch the computer screen. Conjuring a solid lead out of thin air was going to be impossible, but she’d be damned if she’d work nights for a year. She had seen what that did to people.

Mary flicked off the screen and screwed up her eyes in an attempt to relieve her headache. She picked up the phone and dialled Senator Logan’s office for the third time, praying she could get through to him before he had a chance to speak to the FBI and ruin any chance she had of finding some answers.

Chapter 7

The mid-morning New York City sun rose just high enough to peek over the tall buildings that surrounded Columbia University’s Morningside campus as ten thousand students, parents, and faculty members congregated on the lawn. The sea of light-blue caps and gowns bobbed up and down as the crowds milled about, waiting for the master of ceremonies to a

Leopold hoped for the latter as he pulled on his cap and gown and made his way toward the stage at the head of the gathering masses, just in front of the university’s statue of the alma mater that looked out over the entire north side of the campus. He climbed the shallow steps to the stage and took a seat next to an elderly woman, probably one of the senior faculty members, who nodded politely as he took his seat. Leopold sat quietly, watching the crowd gather, and wondered how long the ceremony would take.

The view was impressive. The lawns were surrounded on all sides by the grand University buildings, including the dominating visage of Butler Library to the south and the dome of the Low Memorial building to the north. The disjointed murmurs wafting up from the crowd suggested nobody was paying attention quite yet, but the noise levels were begi

Leopold felt his cell phone buzz underneath his robe and reached into his jacket pocket to check who was calling. The name Mary Jordan flashed up on the screen and Leopold gri

“Morning Mary, long time.”

“I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time,” said Mary, barely audible thanks to a bad signal. “I need you to meet me as soon as you can. There’s been another move on a state senator.”

The crowd began to take their seats and Leopold put a finger over one ear, trying to hear Mary’s voice through the noise.

“I knew it! Another staged suicide? Or has our killer given up the pretense?” he said, cupping a hand over his mouth and trying not to shout.

“Actually, it’s not a murder,” said Mary, “but we think it’s the same perp. This time we’re dealing with a kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping? The police don’t usually ask for my help unless there’s a body to examine.”

Leopold’s voice was loud enough that the elderly woman sitting next to him to raised an eyebrow. Leopold cupped his hand over his mouth again.

“The police aren’t the ones who called,” said Mary. “Christina Logan, the daughter of State Senator Christopher Logan, was abducted early this morning, and two of her friends were killed outside a mid-town nightclub. The senator received a phone call demanding thirty-five million dollars in ransom in exchange for her life. Logan asked for you by name. It seems you’ve earned yourself something of a reputation.”

Leopold leaned forward in his chair and took a moment to think. “I’m in the middle of something right now. Sounds simple enough for the police to handle,” he said, eventually.

“Just hang on, I’m getting to the good bit,” said Mary, her voice getting more animated. “The senator received the ransom demand yesterday, two hours before Christina disappeared. Now he can’t get hold of the kidnapper to agree to an exchange.”

Leopold sat up straight. She had his attention. “Okay, you’ve given me something to think about,” he said. “Tell Senator Logan I’ll take a look. When does he want to speak?”

“The senator wants to meet you today. In two hours. I’ll text you the address; just meet me there.”

“Good. I’ll make my way over there as soon as I can. There’s just something I have to take care of first.”

Mary hung up. Leopold stood and walked to the front of the stage, where the Master of Ceremonies was checking the microphone and leafing through his script. He could feel the eyes of the elderly woman with the raised eyebrows on his back.

“Excuse me.” he tapped the robed man on the back of the shoulder.

“Mr. Blake, hello! Good to see you here bright and early! What can I do for you?”

“Something’s come up, I’m afraid. Have to go. Please give my apologies to the Dean,” said Leopold, turning to leave.

“Something more important than receiving a doctorate from one of the world’s leading universities?”

“Honorary doctorate, actually,” he replied, “and yes, I’m afraid so. Please be kind enough to drop it in the mail. Thank you.”

He walked briskly away before the old man had a chance to respond, and texted Jerome to come and pick him up. He made his way down the steps and onto the lawns, squeezing his way through the thick crowd of students and parents. After a few minutes of jostling, Leopold finally made it off the campus and onto the street. Jerome arrived thirty seconds later and pulled the dark Bentley Mulsa

“How do you know it’s the same guy?” said Jerome, turning his head.