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I was trying not to let emotion dictate my actions. Sure, I was pretty hot about the way Kyle Banning had dismissed me. I needed some real evidence to confront him with. Something that would get his full attention.
On the flip side, I hadn’t given up any details of the investigation or even the fact that he was a suspect.
I easily found the Mortons’ lovely two-story brick home in the middle of Yonkers. Sometimes it’s hard for me to wrap my head around a neighborhood so close to the city comprised of just houses. I couldn’t see any high-rises in the distance. Visits like this make me question my reasons for still living in the city with so many children.
I saw David Morton’s Saab in the driveway and knew he’d probably stayed home from work just to talk to me. I’d contacted them a few days before, asking if I could meet with them. After Banning cut our interview so short, I’d called to see if they could talk to me this morning. I had kept my reasoning vague. I even had made it sound like I was just checking on them as a friend. That’s a shady thing to do. That’s why I intended to check on themwhileI interviewed them.
Rachel Morton offered me coffee as we sat in the downstairs living room. There were pictures of the family all over the walls and on tables. Two parents, beautiful Suzanne, and her younger brother, Paul. Disney World, the Empire State Building, somewhere out west with mountains. They were smiling in all of them. I hoped they’d be able to find those smiles again someday. But I knew it wouldn’t be anytime soon.
I checked for subtle signs of emotional distress while I spoke to David and Rachel Morton. Rachel’s eyes were rimmed with red and David appeared to be under the influence of prescription pills. His speech was slurred, and sometimes he seemed to just stare straight ahead while Rachel answered my few questions.
Then she asked, “I thought Detective Stanton from New Rochelle was handling this case. Why are you asking questions?”
“I’m just helping Detective Stanton out.” I didn’t want to complicate matters or upset them further by suggesting their daughter might have been the victim of an active serial killer. Once I had proof, I could talk to them about it.
Suzanne had mainly lived in the NYU dorms, but I asked to see her room at home.
Rachel told me Detective Stanton had already looked through it, but it had taken him only about ten minutes.
That annoyed me. Ten minutes wasn’t enough time to find anything.
It appeared to be a typical young person’s room. Suzanne had a planner from last year on her wall. A rope chair hung from the ceiling. A couple of framed photos showed her with girlfriends at Coney Island and a few other places. One photo had Juliana in it. There was nothing at all unusual about her room.
Rachel Morton told me about their efforts to get into Suzanne’s iCloud account, but so far they had had no luck. Apple essentially refused to deal with the police. Suzanne didn’t appear to have written down her passwords anywhere. It was an awkward situation. Technically, I was not assigned to this homicide. It wasn’t even within the NYPD. It wasn’t like I could take Suzanne’s computer back to my office and have our forensic people look through it. That would cause far too many questions. I was afraid Bill “Suicide” Stanton wasn’t as dogged in the investigation as I would’ve liked him to be.
That’s when I had an idea. “Were Suzanne and her brother close?”
Rachel Morton shrugged. “They’re a little over three years apart. I never considered them close. But they didn’t fight all the time like some siblings do.”
Just then Paul padded out of his bedroom, probably for the first time today. I called his name, and he slowly walked backward till he was in the doorframe. He didn’t appear to be surprised to see a stranger in his house. He just stared at me, waiting for my question. He wore a thick, terry-cloth Stony Brook robe that hung open over shorts and a Green Day retro T-shirt.
I said, “Any idea how to get into your sister’s iCloud account? You don’t have her user name and password, do you?”
He mumbled, “AlwaysS-u-z-e-M. And she used to usecheer123for most of her passwords. Try that.” He couldn’t have had less enthusiasm in his voice. He shuffled away from the door as soon as he’d answered.
I typed in the details and had instant access to Suzanne’s voluminous iCloud account with all her photos. I was about to ask Rachel Morton if I could look through the account from my office. I wanted her to know exactly what I was doing. Then, about the twentieth photo in, I stopped and took a closer look. It was a picture of Suzanne at some kind of party.
And Kyle Banning was standing right next to her, smiling.
Chapter44
THIS NEW PHOTOof Kyle Banning with Suzanne Morton was a bombshell. I needed help. I emailed the photo to Walter Jackson as I raced back to my office from the Mortons’ house in Yonkers.
Police work isn’t a solitary activity. It’s a team sport. That’s why we have specialists. People like Walter, who know where to find any piece of information. Our Tech Unit can break down any computer or internet issue like it’s magic. And sometimes you just need smart people to bounce some ideas off of.
That’s why I called Terri Hernandez, Walter Jackson, and my lieutenant, Harry Grissom. Terri agreed to meet all of us at the Manhattan North Homicide office so everyone could listen to what I had so far on the case. We were still focusing on the two victims from the city. Suzanne Morton was in the mix, but we had plenty to do, and Suzanne was still a New Rochelle case.
We met in Walter’s office, which was the largest. He’d earned it through his hard work. As I stepped inside, I was reminded how important it was for him to have some space. Files, books, and logs were in neat piles on shelves around the walls. The office was a testament to a working intelligence analyst.
Walter already had information on the case spread out over his desk, a long table, and even some stacks of paper on the floor. There were a few photographs on top of some papers and warrant requests. He had printed out the photo of Kyle Banning and Suzanne Morton that I’d emailed him.
Walter looked up and smiled. “I’m getting a good start on creating a timeline for this guy. I’ve already figured out where the photo you sent me was taken. You can see the sign in the corner. The Dead Rabbit down on Water Street in the financial district. It’s kind of famous for hosting holiday parties where all the financial people mingle and show off their significant others.”
Walter continued: “They hosted an early Halloween party for their regular customers, on the second Friday night in October. The owner said in aVillage Voicearticle that he likes to beat the rush on Halloween parties. That means this photo is about four weeks old.”
“Or just about the time Suzanne Morton went missing.”
Walter nodded. “Exactly.”
