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  Kennedy had become a mediator of sorts. He had tunnel vision. He didn’t care about politics. He cared about winning and putting the bad guys behind bars. He was popular with most of the guys, despite the fact he never played favorites…even with his brother-in-law. Kennedy didn’t like mistakes. He wanted everything tied up nicely, without the worry of any evidence being thrown out, or any evidence overlooked.

  Brophy understood Kennedy’s dedication to putting bad guys behind bars…so he didn’t have to have time to think or feel. The more he worked, the more he drowned out his sorrows. Kennedy had been married to his sister, Sara, until that damn cancer took her away.

  While Waters went down to the morgue, Brophy studied the specifics of the other cases suspected of having a connection. Over the last week, two other brutal stabbings had taken the lives of two young college students. Males between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two. The common element—a 1969 vintage baseball card—had been left at the scene. Both cards were from the Orioles: one, Boog Powell; the other, Frank Robinson. That, along with a black Milano stiletto knife left in the heart of each victim, suggested they had a serial killer who wanted them to know it was his work.

  Neither of the other cases had occurred within his jurisdiction: one in Dedham and the other in Cambridge. The first murder had caused concern among the public; the second, alarm. Brophy was under no illusions. The third would cause panic.

  The medical examiner’s preliminary report came back much as expected. The victim, Rey Caputo, died due to a single thrust into his heart by a single knife blade—the black Milano stiletto found in the chest of the victim consistent with the ones found in the previous victims.

  Brophy clicked off the call. He needed to see Captain Centrello. He walked toward his commander’s office. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw the captain in on a Saturday.

  Captain Centrello was on the phone. When he saw Brophy in the doorway, he waved him to come in.

  Brophy regarded Captain Centrello while the man talked. The captain wasn’t happy. Centrello was old-school, blunt and to the point. Ten years Brophy’s senior, clean-cut, shoes shining, hair immaculately cut, not a hair out of place—neither was a paper out of place on his desk—married to the same woman for twenty-six years. Brophy realized that the Centrello tolerated him for one reason and one reason only: Centrello like closed cases and he closed cases.

  Centrello hung up the phone and turned his attention to Brophy. “Sit. I’m not going to have you rush out. Make the time. I didn’t come in on a Saturday to get a quick brush-off. Just talking to the commissioner. Do I need to tell you what he said? Do you have anything?”

  Brophy stifled a groan. The last thing he wanted was to give a full briefing. Seemed he didn’t have much of a choice. He scraped a hand over his stubble-covered chin and nodded. “The lab confirmed the knives are the same—black stiletto single blade. The coroner concluded that like the other two victims, the Caputo kid was killed by a single thrust straight into the heart. Then there’s the damn baseball card.”

  “So it’s the same guy. We’ve got a goddamn serial killer.”

  Brophy grimaced and shrugged. “It seems that way, Captain, but something is gnawing at me. Something is wrong with this one.”

  “Out with it, Broph.” Centrello tilted his head upward to look Brophy in his eyes. “If the evidence points that the murders are the same MO…”

  On the utterance, Brophy shook his index finger at the captain, like a switch to the way his mind worked had been turned on, releasing the onslaught of his thoughts. “But that’s just it. It does and it doesn’t. There is little doubt that the murders are linked, not with the knife and bloodied card connecting them. I’m just not so sure it was by the same person. The first two, the murders seemed random. It was like the victims were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  “With the first victim, the guy was leaving the Venus club with his girlfriend. She forgot she had given her phone to her girlfriend, who was still in the club. When she came out, she found him lying by his car, dead, with the knife through his heart.

  “Now with the second one, the victim was hanging out with his friends. They had gone to the midnight premiere of the latest action movie. Waiting for the T, he had to go relieve himself. He went off to the dark side area. When the Greenline arrived, his friends went to look for him because he didn’t return. They found him lying dead…the same, knife through the heart with the card beside the body, covered in blood.”

  “I know the details of the murders. Get to your point.”

  “That’s just it. They were random. Opportunistic murders. Like the killer had gone out to murder someone and waited for the right moment.” Brophy paused. He pressed his lips together. His eyes squinted. “That’s not how this one went down. This was a rendezvous.”

  “A rendezvous?”

  “Talked to Caputo’s family. Seemed to be a good kid. No trouble with the law. Worked hard. Went to Framingham State. Didn’t learn much from his mother. Too shook up. He was her only kid. Don’t think she knows anything anyway, but the kid’s cousin, Marie, reluctantly told us something of interest. Caputo was gay. Hadn’t come out to his mother. She thought that Caputo might have been meeting up with a friend.”

  “Have you confirmed it?”

  “Took the computer. Looked over his cell phone.”

  “If you are telling me that you believe we have a serial killer going after gays…the press is going to have a field day.”

  “That’s just it. I don’t think the first two had anything to do with the guys being gay. Don’t think they were. This murder is different. Don’t you think it’s strange that in the first two murders, there was absolutely no evidence, only the knife and the method of death? No fingerprints, no witnesses, no DNA. Nothing.”

  Centrello went silent for a moment. Thinking hard, he exhaled heavily. “You think it’s a copycat of some sort.”

  “Don’t see how. No one had the information about the exact knife or method. It was only released they were stabbing victims. No, this guy knew how he wanted to kill. Just doesn’t seem like the same guy. My instincts are telling me we have a dangerous killer or killers on the loose. Maybe it’s some sadistic game.

  “The killer set up this meeting. Told Caputo where to meet and the time. Then he kills him and exits the car, dripping in blood. It has to be all over his car…SUV. We have identified a suspicious vehicle that was in the parking lot at the time of the killing.”

  Centrello’s eyes lit up. He sat back in his chair. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me that at the beginning?”

  “That’s not all,” Brophy went on. “We have the name of the registered owner, a Daniel Quinn. The computer techs are working on a trace on the IP address on Caputo’s computer, to a computer at Eastern University. The first hit seems to have come from Daniel Quinn’s kid, Zach, a sophomore at the college. Don’t think it’s too far-fetched to believe that Quinn loaned his car to his son. I’m meeting up with Waters. We are going to bring him in for questioning.”

  Centrello nodded, seemingly pleased with the information. Brophy made a move to walk out the door. Centrello stopped him, “One thing, Brophy. This is top priority. Play it by the book. Don’t want anything to come back at us on this one.

  “I expect the FBI to step in at any moment. There’s talk of a possible connection to murders out of state, but I want this one, Brophy.”

  “Yes, sir,” Brophy replied, comprehending clearly what his captain wanted.

  “Oh, one more thing. Heard that Kennedy is thinking of leaving the DA’s office. It would be a shame.”

  Brophy shrugged. “Didn’t know that, but I haven’t talked with him lately. Been busy myself.”

  “That’s what I understand. Sometimes burying yourself in your work is the best remedy. I expect your full focus.”

  “Of course, Captain.”

  Captain Centrello gave a knowing nod. Brophy knew instantly Centrello was aware of his divorce. A go
od commander would make it a point to know about the private problems of those under his command. He hadn’t mentioned it to anyone other than Waters—hadn’t wanted to flaunt his failed marriage, but wives talk. Someone always does. No matter how hard he tried to keep it from the guys, he would have to admit it was common knowledge.

  Couldn’t worry about it now. Centrello was right. It was best to stay busy. He had a case to solve.

  * * * *

  Walking up the steps to her apartment, a chill wind encircled Cameron. She pulled her coat tighter around her. Any hope of catching a nap was quenched quickly. Combative voices resounded out in the courtyard…voices she readily recognized. She winced. She didn’t need this.

  Ignoring the bitter cold, she unlocked the common door and entered the first-floor side door that led to her apartment door. Voices echoed clearly in the hallway, blaring loudly. Her morning had just taken a turn for the worse.

  She lived in a brownstone situated not far from the hospital. She remembered picking out the apartment with Matthew. It had been in the spring and the dogwood trees bloomed a magnificent pink, but now it was the middle of January. The bare trees stood as a reminder of how long it would be before the warmth of the sun would call for the beauty of a New England spring day.

  Pausing at the entrance to her home, the voices only intensified. Good Lord, did they not realize they could be heard!

  “Motherfucker, get out of my home.”

  “Fuck you, you’re not my boss.”

  Cameron halfheartedly unlocked the front door, entering into the scene. Greg stood in the middle of the living room in his plaid pajama pants and white T-shirt. His stomach hung over the pants slightly; his short stature added to the impression that he was a bit on the chunky side. His face flamed red; his temper was unchecked, which caught Cameron off guard.

  She had never seen Greg in such a state: breathing heavily, readying for a confrontation, his thick black wire-rimmed glasses twisted, his dark hair disheveled.

  Quickly, her eyes ascertained Greg’s source of irritation. Laying on the couch under an afghan, her brother, Zach, rubbed his eyes, awakening to the maddening yells of his sister’s roommate.

  Even hung over, Zach would have no trouble with any kind of physical confrontation with Greg. Zach, a sophomore cornerback at Eastern University, stood a little over six feet, and was physically fit, having his season finishing at the end of November. He swung his bare legs off the couch.

  “You really want to go at it?” he threatened Greg.

  “Guys, what in the world do you two think you’re doing?” Cameron interjected as she swiftly closed the door firmly behind her. “Do you want the neighbors to call the police?”

  Greg shrugged. “Probably wouldn’t be a bad idea,” he asserted, glowering at Zach.

  “I don’t want the police at my door, thank you. I won’t have this,” she insisted, walking between the two. “I don’t have any idea what’s up between the two of you. I don’t care. Just be quiet. I’ve had a long night and don’t need this.”

  “You should talk with your brother.” Greg renewed his growl of disapproval.

  Cameron sighed. She placed her hand on Greg’s shoulder, walking him away from her brother toward his own bedroom door. His eyes were bloodshot; he looked like he had been up all night.

  Her manner eased. “What did Zach do?”

  Greg swallowed hard, trying to regain what was left of his composure. “I didn’t get any sleep all night. I don’t know what he and his friend did.”

  “Hold it—friend?”

  “Yeah. What’s his name? The one he’s always hanging with.”

  “Randy?”

  “I guess. He’s sleeping in your bedroom.” He grunted. “They came in, ate my leftover pizza in the fridge, and drank Karl’s beers.”

  “Okay, okay,” Cameron said levelly. It was making sense. Greg liked everything in its place. No one was allowed to touch his stuff. He was an extremely giving sort if he felt like it, but he had to feel like it.

  No one could ask Greg…and to take his pizza! Strictly taboo. It would have been funny if he wasn’t so dead serious about the whole thing.

  “I’ll take care of it, but Greg, you know that Zach’s welcome here anytime. I’ve made that perfectly clear. He is always welcome. You know how I feel. I’ll talk with him and replace your pizza. How’s that?”

  “I’m tired, Cam. Just get him out of here,” Greg said, impatiently glaring at the back of the couch. “He was wild last night. He came in. Left and came back in half-cocked. Don’t know what the two of them were up to, but it was no good, Cam, I tell you.”

  She nodded while she patted his back, giving him a slight smile and trying her best to be a little sympathetic. She turned the knob as if herding him into his bedroom. “I’ll take care of it. Sorry, Greg. Get some sleep.”

  “It’s not fair to you, Cam. You’re always taking care of everyone,” he mumbled, obediently walking in his room. He didn’t turn back around.

  “I’m fine, Greg. Just fine,” she said. She reached back over to close the door firmly behind him. Hopefully, he would sleep and Zach would be long gone before he awoke. She turned back around. Her attention was now firmly placed on her young, irresponsible brother.

  “Don’t start on me, Cam. I didn’t do anything this time,” Zach said.

  Cameron sighed and took a seat in a navy blue leather recliner. She realized she had a raging headache, as she stared at her sibling.

  He had been so young when their mother died. Their father hadn’t dealt well with the fact the love of his life had left this world and he had been the cause. He drowned his sorrows in a bottle.

  During nursing school, she had learned her father was what one would call a functional alcoholic, able to maintain his job—barely. Home was another matter. Cameron had done her best, but had made her escape going to college. The guilt of leaving Zach in the situation plagued her.

  Zach seemed to manage well enough, at least socially. His grades…well, he got by. Cam had to pull teeth to get him to take them seriously. Partying and sports came too naturally for him. Studying took effort.

  “When are you moving, anyway? You are still buying that condo? I liked the place and you’ll be away from that kook.”

  “Don’t try to change the subject. What the hell happened here last night?”

  “Nothing, sis. Told you. Randy and I were going to go out like I called and told you. We may have been a little hungry.”

  Cameron rolled her eyes. She had no doubt Randy and Zach egged Greg on. It wouldn’t take much. When she had called in the afternoon, Greg hadn’t been happy with the news that Zach was coming over.

  “What else did you do? My God. Look at this place. Your clothes are all over the living room.”

  She got up. Her eyes caught sight of his sneakers with blaring dark red spots covering the white leather. She picked them up. “This is blood, Zach.” Her voice rose. “Were you in a fight?”

  He looked at his sister, bewildered, trying to stand. His hand went to his head as if it were spinning, then sat back down. “Oh, I don’t feel right.”

  “I bet you don’t. Oh, come on, Zach. Grow up. You promised me. You didn’t drive in this condition. Please, God, tell me you didn’t.”

  “If you would be quiet for just a minute, sis, I would tell you. I don’t think we went out. The last thing I remember is having a beer and watching TV. We were waiting for Alex to call to meet up. I think I fell asleep. Is Randy still here?”

  “He’s in my bedroom. Where I need to be, Zach. I wanted to take a nap myself. What are your plans today, anyway? Have you seen Dad?”

  Zach smiled slightly, as if the effort hurt. “Ever the mother, sis? Like I told you yesterday, I just needed to crash here last night. I can take care of myself, you know. Dad, well, he’s doing what he does best. As long as it’s not Friday night through Sunday, he’s fine.”

  “Okay, okay,” Cameron said, relaxing back into her protective
mode. Years of habitual behavior took over. “Where’s your car? You didn’t park it in your usual spot.”

  A confused look crossed Zach’s face. Running his fingers through his hair, he tried to collect his thoughts. His eyes caught sight of his keys by his laptop on the coffee table. He shook his head. “I thought I did. I better go check.”

  “No, don’t bother. It’s probably on the other side. I’ll make you some breakfast. Give me your clothes. I’ll put in the wash real quick.”

  She looked back at her brother as she opened the fridge door for the eggs. She frowned. Something didn’t feel right, and she couldn’t shake the ominous feeling that came over her.

  * * * *

  Seven thirty-eight p.m. Brophy sighed. The day had been a whirlwind. Now, they waited only for the wheels of justice to turn. He waited only for the word they had the search warrants needed. Centrello held back on making a move until everything was in order.

  Waters walked over to Brophy’s desk. He stretched. It had been a long day and there was no end in sight.

  “Have a couple of uniforms at the kid’s address. He won’t be able to make a move without our knowledge,” Waters stated, more to himself, as if saying it out loud reinforced the information.

  Brophy looked up at his partner. He reached in his pocket for his Tums. His heartburn was acting up again. Seemed he had lived off them the last few months. It wasn’t going to get better, not with the high-priority headline case. The high pressure stakes were evident with the usual still and quiet of the room at this time of night replaced with a scurry of activity.

  Brophy’s phone rang. A moment later, Brophy rose and gave an affirmative nod to Waters. They had the search warrants needed.

  “I hope that’s good news.”

  Turning, Brophy knew instinctively who it was. He responded to his brother-in-law, “About time. Expected to see you earlier. A little slower in responding now that you’re thinking of leaving?”

  Darren responded with a knowing smile. Darren had always been an intimidating figure: six two, broad shoulders, dark hair, and eyes that seemed to be able to see into one’s soul. No, Brophy thought, he wouldn’t want to have to be on the other end of Darren’s wrath. He had seen it before in case after case. Darren showed no mercy.