Saints Of New York (43 page)

'And
if he's not your man? If you're spending all this time looking in the wrong
direction?'

'Hell,
that's police work. That's what being a detective is all about. You keep on
looking and looking until there's nothing left to see, and then you look
somewhere else. Right now he's the only contender I've got, and until I prove
that he's
not
the one, then he continues to be my
main source of interest.'

'And
do you have a gut feeling?'

'Yes.'

'And
what would that be?'

'He's
involved. I
feel
that much. I don't know if he's the
killer,
but I feel he is involved. Hell,
he could be involved in something else that makes him look guilty, but there's
a feeling about this that I can't shake off.'

'And
you trust that feeling?'

'I
have
to. Few times it's been the only thing that's got me through a case.'

'Okay,
Frank, we'll leave it for today. I want you to think about how you're approaching
this. I want you to avoid obsessing on it, take a few minutes every once in a
while to remember that there are other things going on in your life that are
just as important as Richard McKee—'

'Such
as?'

'Well,
if you have to ask me that then I see that we still have a great deal more work
to do.'

'Good
enough. If that's the way it is then that's the way it is. For me, at this
moment, there isn't anything else as important as Richard McKee. The only thing
that could come close is Caitlin, and I don't think that she'd even give me the
time of day right now. That's something I'll deal with when this thing is
finished.'

'And
if it doesn't finish?'

'Oh,
I think it'll finish, Doctor Griffin. One way or the other it's going to
finish.'

It
was eleven by the time Parrish arrived at Carole Paretski's
home. Across Broadway and east
two blocks and he would be outside the home of Karen Pulaski.

Radick
was in one of the bedrooms with a uniform. When Parrish reached the top of the
stairs he heard Carole Paretski's voice somewhere in the background. It sounded
like she was talking on a cell phone.

Radick
nodded at Parrish, looked up at the corner of the room and pointed.

Parrish
followed his line of sight and saw nothing but a small hole that sat immediately
in the corner. It was no bigger than a cent.

'This
is the daughter's room,' he said. 'And that hole is man- made. I stuck a pen in
it and it goes right through.'

'You're
thinking what I'm thinking?' Parrish asked.

'Could
well be.'

Radick
was out on the landing as Carole came off the phone. 'We need to get up there,'
he said, and indicated the attic.

Carole
backed up and showed Radick the trap in the ceiling outside the bathroom door,
it's only half-boarded,' she said. 'He started it, never finished it. There was
some bullshit about the permit. Be careful or you'll come through.'

'Did
Richard go up there a lot?' Parrish asked her.

'Often
enough. He kept a lot of paperwork up there, things from work that he needed to
refer to.'

'And
why keep them in the attic?'

'Security,
he said. Didn't want them lying around the house.'

Radick
looked at Parrish. Parrish shook his head almost imperceptibly.
Say nothing,
the gesture said.
Not yet.

In
the crawl space they found it just as Carole had said.

Half-boarded,
dusty, cramped. Parrish made his way to the corner where the hole had been
pushed through. He lay down, unconcerned about the state of his clothes, and
managed to get his eye close enough to the hole to see through it. Right down
into the girl's bedroom, no question. Radick had a torch. He scanned along the
rafters, found small staple-holes every once in a while.

'A
cable feed,' he said. 'You reckon he had a camera up here?'

Parrish
was up on his haunches, keeping his head low so as not to hit the roof-beams. 'Christ
only knows,' he said matter-of- factly. 'But I'm starting to think that maybe
we have a live one here. You like him for filming his own daughter, maybe her
friends as well. Daughter has girlfriends around for a sleepover. Dad's up here
with a fucking video camera?'

Radick
said nothing. He backed up and started down the ladder. Parrish followed him,
took a moment to brush himself down. He looked like he'd been dragged backwards
through a tornado.

'Something?'
Carole asked.

'Nothing
to get excited about,' Parrish said, though he
was
excited. He could feel it in his lower
gut, in the way his fists involuntarily clenched and unclenched, the way his
pulse was moving a little faster, the way the sweat had broken out across his
scalp. He
itched
with anticipation. He believed he had
McKee - if not for the deaths of the girls, but for involvement, some sort of
involvement for sure.

'They
won't be much longer,' Parrish told her. 'The uniforms. Jimmy's going to stay
here until they're done, and make sure they leave everything as we found it.'

Parrish
started towards the stairs. Radick hung back, but Carole followed Parrish down
to the kitchen. She cornered him by the back door.

'You
think he's . . .'

Parrish
smiled wryly, and shook his head. 'I think nothing, Mrs Paretski, I think
nothing. In this game I either know or I don't.'

'But
you have your suspicions. You have to have suspicions otherwise there'd never
be anything to follow up.' She looked anxious; if not concerned for her own
welfare, then for the welfare of her kids. Even the suspicion, even the rumor
that their father was involved in something like this could have potentially
devastating consequences for their well-being and safety. This was the kind of
thing that impelled families to move state and change their name.

Parrish
hesitated for a moment, and then he said, 'Can we sit down for a moment?'

Carole
Paretski backed up to the kitchen table and sat down. Parrish followed suit. He
took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. 'Sometimes,' he said, 'there are
certain things you can say, and once you've said them there's no going back. I
could say a lot of things right now, and frankly none of them would serve any
purpose.' He smiled, looked away for a moment. 'My wife used to accuse me of
not listening. But I was. That's what I do. I look, and I listen. I pay
attention to everything that's going on around me, and sometimes it takes a
good while before I see or hear anything that connects with something else.'
Parrish paused; there were tears in Carole Paretski's eyes. 'I don't know if
he's done anything, Carole. I really don't. All I know is that I have a number
of dead girls, and the circumstances and nature of their deaths suggests very
strongly that they are linked. Aside from that there is only one other
connection, and that takes us to Family Welfare. Now, it may be that Richard
has nothing to do with this at all - I have no evidence right now that he does
- but I'm looking at the people there, and I'm listening to what they're
saying, and I'm trying to find one thing that connects to another thing. From
there maybe I'll find one piece of this puzzle, and that will give me an idea
of the picture I might end up with. You understand me?'

'You
want me to say nothing, right? You want me to carry on like nothing has
happened? You want me to let him come over here and take the kids away . . .'

'I
can only assume that this arrangement was sanctioned by the courts in your
divorce?'

'Yes,
it was.'

'Then
you have no choice, and if you have no choice then . . .'

'But,
what if . . .'

'What if
means nothing, Carole. I can't tell you anything because there is nothing to
tell you.
If
Richard is involved in this thing,
directly or indirectly - and right now it's only an
if -
then all I can tell you is that I will do everything in my power to make sure
that he does not harm you, and he does not harm the children. But any
indication you give him that we've been here - and I have to stress this with
the utmost importance . . . any clue he gets that we have been here will only
make my job a lot harder. All I can tell you is that I will work as hard as I
can and as fast as I can, and if I find anything that makes me believe you or
your children are in danger, then I will act decisively to prevent that from
happening. Beyond that, I will also let you know when we have confirmed that he
is not involved so your mind can be at rest on the subject, okay?'

Carole
Paretski didn't speak for a while, and when she looked up at Parrish there was
something in her expression that he saw all too rarely.

'How
do you do this?' she asked. 'You have kids. Okay, they're older now. They're
more independent than mine, but you are a father. You must feel what everyone
else feels. You must see what other people are going through.'

'There's
an old saying. It's about working in Homicide. It goes along the lines of
"When your day ends, my day starts."'

'That's
terrible. I can't even begin to understand what this job must do to you.'

Parrish
smiled. 'I can't understand it either, and these days I try not to.' He started
to get up.

Carole
Paretski reached out and took his hand. 'Seriously,' she said, her voice
urgent, emotional. 'Seriously ... if you find out that he's been involved in
anything like this, I need you to tell me right away. That thing that happened
. . . when that girl accused him of saying those things to
her
...
I think he did that. I
believe
he
did that. He got away with it because it was her word against his, but I
knew
...
I looked in his face and I knew.' She
let go of Parrish's hand to wipe a tear from her cheek. 'I don't know why I
didn't leave him then . . . hell, yes I do. I didn't leave him because of the
kids. They were eight and nine years old. I was still looking after them,
hadn't gone back to work, and there was no way I could have supported them
alone . . .' Her voice trailed away, as did her gaze. She looked through the
window to the street. Parrish said nothing to interrupt her thoughts.

When
she turned back she appeared to have gathered herself together somewhat.

'You
need to go,' she said. 'Thank you for your time, and for understanding.'
'Trying to understand,' Parrish replied.

'No,'
she said, 'I know you understand, Detective Parrish. If you didn't you wouldn't
be here.'

 
Back at the precinct Parrish debriefed Valderas
on where they were at.

'I
can't disagree with your suspicions, Frank, but essentially you have nothing.'

'I'm
aware of that. I just plan to keep on looking until I have something definite.'

'Just
get him back in here for more talking,' Valderas suggested. 'Get under his
skin. When you ask the public to co-operate they're kind of obligated, aren't
they? Otherwise they just end up looking guilty.'

'I've
thought of
that. . .'

'So
do it. Don't push him too hard, but just enough so if there's something to give
way it will. They always cave under pressure. It's just a matter of the
pressure being so subtle they don't feel it until it's too late.'