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The truck’s tires screeched as the driver laid on his horn. In New York, the horn is the first option for all situations.
The truck skidded to a halt and I managed to jump a foot back so that the front fender missed me by an inch. I heard the driver scream something at me through the closed windows.
Finally, I looked back to see the threat. A wiry man in his mid-forties stood next to the stairs with his fists clenched. He didn’t want a fight. He wanted to kick my ass.
Chapter25
I TURNED TOfully face the man, a little dazed as the truck pulled away slowly. The driver was still yelling curses at me from the cab of the truck. I kept my eyes on the man who’d so forcefully knocked into me. I wondered how a guy that small could generate such force.
I stepped back onto the sidewalk to the left of the man. He didn’t say a word. His eyes were fixed on me.
Then he growled, “Get away from my daughter before I take your damn head off.”
It all came into focus for me. I said, “Mr. Savage?”
He stared at me, then said, “Who are you?”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my badge. “Mike Bennett, NYPD.” Instantly, the look on the man’s face told me he realized his mistake.
He took a step toward me, but I held up my hand and he froze in place. “I’m so sorry. I just saw you talking to my daughter and I snapped. Obviously, you know my oldest daughter is missing. I’m not about to lose another one.”
I nodded and straightened up. Then I moved my shoulder to make sure everything was still in the proper socket.
His expression changed. “Are you here with new information on Cheryl?”
I shook my head. “I’m looking at some other crimes.” I hesitated to use the wordhomicides. I didn’t want to freak him out. “I was hoping to ask you a few questions about your daughter.”
A few minutes later, I was sitting in the living room of the home. Chuck Savage and his wife, Regina, sat across from me and answered all of my questions about Cheryl.
She was a happy girl. Didn’t have a crazy dating life. No ex-boyfriends who’d threatened her. And they had not heard one word from or about her since the September evening she disappeared last year.
Regina Savage had a melancholy tone to her voice. The sort of thing I heard from homicide victims’ families. She may not have understood exactly why I was asking these questions, but she was no idiot.
Mrs. Savage said, “You’re trying to figure out if my Cheryl is dead, aren’t you?”
I hesitated as I searched for the right words. “I have no reason to think your daughter is dead. I have another case that might, and I can’t say positively, have a victim similar to your daughter’s description. I’m trying to run down every possible lead.”
The tired-looking woman lowered her head and nodded it slightly.
As cold and calculating as it sounds, I looked at Cheryl’s disappearance as a chance to gain more information. Maybe we could use it to stop this killer from claiming more victims.
Chapter26
JUST AS Iwas leaving Queens, I got a text from Bill Stanton, at the New Rochelle Police Department. He wanted to meet at the Starbucks on 145th Street near Jackie Robinson Park. I told him I’d be there in less than thirty minutes. This was not an opportunity I intended to pass up, though I wasn’t looking forward to getting the rest of the information on Suzanne Morton.
A mere twenty-three minutes later, I stepped into the Starbucks. The place was moderately busy. I craned my neck and saw Bill “Suicide” Stanton sitting by himself in the corner. A hard-copy case file rested on the small table in front of him. An extra-large coffee cup scribbled with the nameBillsat next to the folder.
I eased onto the stool across from him. “What brings you all the way down to the city, Bill?”
“I had to talk to Suzanne Morton’s parents.” Sweat started to build on his brow.
“Ugh. I don’t envy you at all.”
“It was brutal. I swear, Bennett, I’d rather get shot at than talk to grieving parents. It sucks the life out of you. I’ll have more nightmares about my conversation with them than I would if I had a car accident.”
I knew Suicide Stanton hadn’t come here to discuss his psychological hang-ups. I said, “What can I do for you, Bill?”
He looked down, removed a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, and wiped his face. He mumbled something and shoved the case file toward me.
