Tick Tock - James Patterson [73]
Lawrence was his soulmate, his liberator, his master entire.
They’d taken into account that he would probably be captured. But instead of abandoning their efforts, Carl was going to redouble them. Their joint homage to the great murders and murderers of New York would keep occurring in bloodier and more horrifying ways during Lawrence’s incarceration and trial. It would be the topper of the longest, most audacious crime spree of all time.
All the killing so far had been just for Lawrence. It had been Carl’s pleasure. The least he could do, after all. Twelve years earlier, Lawrence had found him panhandling on Park Avenue. He’d cleaned him up and put him through City College, where he’d studied English lit, especially the classics.
He knew all about law enforcement profiling, how he was supposed to be inadequate, looking for power, for meaning in his pathetic life. What a joke! He wasn’t doing this for himself. He was a warrior, a real catalyst for history. Besides, people like Lee Harvey Oswald really had changed the world with one pull of a trigger.
But he shouldn’t get ahead of himself. First things first, he thought as he pulled out.
It was time to put a smile on his good buddy’s face.
Chapter 81
AFTER I PICKED UP EMILY AT HER HOTEL, we spent the morning interviewing members of Berger’s catering staff. A fruitless morning, as it turned out. All they knew about Berger were his odd eating habits. About Carl Apt, the waiters and cooks knew nothing at all.
We did manage to contact the Connecticut state troopers and have hidden surveillance put on Berger’s Connecticut estate. I didn’t think Apt was dumb enough to show up there, but you never knew.
We’d just sat down at DiNapoli’s on Madison Avenue for a breather when I saw the headline crawl beneath the Fox News Channel anchor on the bar’s muted flat-screen.
“Wealthy Murder Suspect in Police Custody Found Dead.”
I immediately lost my appetite. I didn’t need to hear or read the rest of the story to realize Lawrence Berger’s demise had hit the speed-of-light news cycle running. Emily and I had actually been in the middle of debating how to play the media with Berger’s suicide. We’d been planning to sit on things for as long as it took to lure Apt into a trap, but as I stared at the TV, it was looking more like we were the ones who’d just gotten played.
I got a call as we were about to order. I didn’t recognize the number. I picked it up, anyway.
“Detective Bennett, I need to speak with you,” said a French-accented voice.
I realized it was Berger’s chef, Jonathan Desaulniers, whom I’d spoken to this morning.
“What’s up, Jonathan?”
“There’s a girl, Paulina Dulcine,” he said in a panicked voice. “She is a friend of mine. She would sleep with Mr. Berger on occasion. I apologize for not recalling this during our interview. It happened on and off for about three years. You mentioned Mr. Berger perhaps killing people who had crossed him, and after I spoke with you, I thought of her.”
“She crossed him?” I said. “How? What happened?”
“Well, for a long time they had a tender relationship. He would purchase fine jewelry for her. But one day he asked her to do something to him that she thought was odd, and she started laughing. He ordered her to leave him, and they never were together again. I think Mr. Berger felt humiliated.
“The reason I’m getting in touch now is that I called Paulina today. While we were speaking, I heard a scream and then nothing. She hasn’t picked up since.”
“What’s her number and address?” I said, waving for Emily to follow as I jumped up.
Twenty minutes later, we screeched up in front of a thirty-story high-rise building in Battery Park City with another team of Major Case detectives and two more uniforms.
“Paulina Dulcine. Is she home?” I yelled at the concierge as we ran inside.
The slight, effeminate black man’s jaw dropped to the collar of his black Nehru jacket.
“Paulina, um, no. I thought I saw her leaving her apartment when I was delivering dry cleaning.”
“She didn’t leave