How do you rate it?
Poor…. Fair…. Satisfactory…. Excellent…. How often do you think of your first love?
Once a night….
Once a week….
Once a month….
Why do you want to hook up with your first love?
A journey down memory lane….
Revisit my first kiss….
Reminiscences of our first intimacy….
All of the above…. *** After reviewing your application, I’ll ask you to scan me a photo of yourself, Excited, along with Donny’s. It will help me find your first love. And you’ll let me know exactly where you were when you celebrated your first date.
Lieutenant, he had their photographs. That’s how he stalked them. He knew where they spent their first date. That’s where he dumped them. Now, feast your eyes on my application:
NAME Catherine Palmer AGE…. A woman never tells
ADDRESS…. 278 Carroll Street. Brooklyn, New York
Married? Yes…. No (X)….
Happily? Yes…. No….
How do you rate it?
Poor…. Fair…. Satisfactory…. Excellent…. Going steady? Yes…. No…. (SORT OF)
How do you rate it?
Poor…. Fair (X). Satisfactory…. Excellent…. How often do you think of your first love?
Once a night…. YOU BET!
Once a week….
Once a month….
Why do you want to hook up with your first love?
A journey down memory lane….
Revisit my first kiss….
Reminiscences of our first intimacy….
All of the above…. XXX It’s been almost nine years since our last kiss.
Stay awake, Lieutenant!
Dear Catherine,
It’s soooo faaaabulous to know you, darling. Your reason for rekindling your first love is inspiring. I was touched. What a torch! Requests like yours are a thrill. Makes me glad I chose genealogy as my hobby. Next, give me the scoop on Donny. I want the low-down on the scrumptious hunk of burning flesh with the killer lips. Answer me this: Where did you and your lover-boy spend your first date? And now is the time to scan me his photo. Include some candid snapshots of your lovely face as well. For it’ll then be time to let the show begin. Remember, it’s magic. Keep your eye on the hat, young lady. Abra cadabra!
Godsend
“I have Lieutenant White from Technical Support on the other line. The kid’s right. The victim’s computers show correspondence with Godsend,” Margaret whispered. “Wait, there’s more,” said Driscoll.
Catherine Dearest,
Merci for the lurid details about you and the Donster. I’m tracking the hare as we speak. And thank you so much for the pix. Oh, that Donny, what shoulders, what deltoids, what lips! Oh, mon dieu! And your face. Eat your heart out, Julia Roberts. Speaking of his killer lips, are you getting yours geared up for that Kodak moment? It’s just around the corner. Stay tuned.
Is mise le meas, Godsend
“Is mise le meas! That’s Old Irish! Moira, get in here! Now!” he barked into the phone.
There was no one on the other end of the line.
“Moira? Moira? She’s gone.”
“She’s off-line too. But, wait, she left you a message.”
Driscoll and Margaret peered back into the screen.
Gotta run. I work better under open skies. He’s trying to reach me now. Maybe we’ll catch a break. Remember, Lieutenant, the drop sites. They’re all part of his game. Don’t overlook the drop sites. Therein lies the link.
Back on the job,
Moira
“Can you believe this kid?” Driscoll hit the phone’s redial button. After four rings, Seamus Tiernan’s recorded voice sounded in his ear.
“Hi! You’ve reached the Tiernans. Sorry no one is available…”
Driscoll hung up.
“My God! What if…” Driscoll’s face drained of all color. “Margaret, could she be serious about trying to collar him?”
“With her, anything’s possible.”
“I’ve got to stop her.” He reached for his Burberry and headed for the door.
Chapter 50
The electronically amplified voice of Detective Vince Viallo still echoed in Margaret’s ear. He had reached her on her cruiser’s car phone to inform her that a bartender at The Lobster Trap had ID’d the photo of the Benjamin woman. She had come in to the restaurant alone, ordered a drink, and left alone. Disgruntled, Margaret pulled the Plymouth to the curb in front of the One Stop Pharmacy and got out. She made her way into the drugstore, a vast space flooded with white fluorescent lights. Approaching the store’s counter, she spotted the store’s proprietor, Gerard McCabe, who was offering a selection of condoms to a perplexed teen.
“So, what’ll it be? Ribbed? Lubricated? Or do you want the ones with the little catchall pouch at the end?” McCabe asked.
“I just want…uhh…uhh…” the disoriented youth stuttered.
“Look kid, you’re nowhere near a decision. Do me a favor. Come back and see me after you’ve started to shave.”
The youth scrambled toward the exit and vanished as McCabe turned his attention to Margaret.
“They’re gettin’ younger and younger every year,” he sighed. “Tell me you’re the bearer of good news on the investigation.”
She wished she was. She knew it would be of some comfort to this grieving husband. But the investigation, thus far, had produced more questions than answers. And here she was, about to ask another one.
“This may seem like an odd question, Mr. McCabe, but where did you and your wife go on your first date?”
“You’re right. That is an odd question. But our first date was no secret. We had dinner in New York City and visited the Empire State Building.”
“You and your wife ever go to Prospect Park?”
“No, not together. Why do you ask?”
“We’re working on a theory.”
“Does it have something to do with why you found her body in the park?”
“In part.”
“Well, we were never there together, that’s for sure. Listen, my mother-in-law dropped off a box of my wife’s stuff. From when she was a kid. She thought I should have it. I’m not ready to open it, though. Maybe you’d like to go through it?”
Margaret nodded.
McCabe sauntered into the storage room and returned with a cardboard box. He handed it to Margaret.
“Maybe it’ll help,” he said.
The box was crammed with memories of a young girl’s adolescence. Class pictures, two teddy bears, several folded sheets of looseleaf containing handwritten notes between best friends, a pair of soccer trophies, her high-school ring. Margaret picked up an embossed notebook and leafed through it.
It’s about her first love, she noted, excited by her find. A Caribbean man…parents didn’t approve…had to hide their love away. Look at this, she wrote a poem:
Our special time hovers,
Be still my pounding heart.
Soon to rendezvous as lovers,
Entwined forever, not to part.
Passion beckons to the lake.
By cascading water,
My heart, my soul, to take
Amidst sweet laughter.
The boatkeeper’s made departure.
The swans and clouds are at rest.
Let us treasure the rapture
Of our borrowed love nest.
I’ll bet my next promotion that love nest is the Swan Boat House in Prospect Park, Margaret thought. She grabbed her mobile phone and dialed Driscoll’s cellular number.
“Driscoll here.”
“Any luck finding Moira?” she asked.
“None. I’ve been sitting on the Tiernan house all morning. The place was empty until Mrs. Tiernan came home with her groceries. I told her I was trying to reach her daughter and I think I managed to keep my anxiety in check. She told me Moira doesn’t have any close friends. She’s likely to be alone. Just her and her goddamn satellite computer off somewhere in cyberspace. She could be anywhere. I alerted the local precinct. Cedric is informing the Task Force, and every other precinct in a twenty-five-mile radius. She has me very worried.”
“I can hear it in your voice.”
“My Nicole had her moments. But this kid is something else.”