Silent Night

SEVEN

A police cordon had been set up on Amsterdam just outside the building off 66. Several officers in uniform were standing with their backs to some blue wooden barriers, preventing any pedestrians who were unwise enough to want to see what had happened from getting any closer. It was easier said than done.

The body was covering about an eight foot radius, concealed under a series of hastily placed sheets. The impact of the fall had left a grisly aftermath. Luckily, no one had been hit by the falling man, although a handful of people had been walking nearby on the sidewalk at the point of impact. They were all in an ambulance nearby being cleaned up and treated for shock.

Inside the lobby and relieved to be back down on street level, Archer looked at the spread of white sheets covering the ground. A four-man team from the CSU, the forensics specialists, had arrived. Archer had just finished speaking to two of them, providing them with the details of what had happened up on the roof, including every word that had been spoken between him and Peter. Standing with the pair of investigators, he watched as a third member of their team knelt down and lifted the sheet with a latex-gloved hand. The fourth dropped to a knee beside him and took photographs of whatever was underneath. Some detectives from the 20 precinct had arrived and were standing together watching the investigators work. Although the death was on their turf it wasn’t a homicide, so they were letting Archer and Josh take the reins on this one.

The two CSU investigators thanked Archer. He nodded, then turned and walked back into the main building. A large group of workers from upstairs had gathered in the lobby, some asking what had happened, others trying to catch a glimpse as building security and two other NYPD officers kept them from going outside. Given that the possibility of terrorism was on everybody’s mind these days, New Yorkers liked reassurance and word had clearly spread fast about the number of police officers, squad cars and ambulances suddenly gathered outside their building. To the left of the cluster, Archer saw Josh approaching, clicking off a cell phone and tucking it back into his pocket.

‘I just spoke to Rach,’ he said. ‘His full name was Dr Peter Flood.’

‘Flood Microbiology.’

‘Exactly. He owned the company. He was the senior scientist and the guy we were supposed to be meeting.’ Josh looked over Archer’s shoulder at the scene outside. ‘Poor guy.’

‘You hear what he said?’

‘You need to get out of New York right now. Thousands of people are going to die.’

‘I don’t like this. It’s too coincidental.’

‘You think it’s related to the dead guy in the Park?’

Archer nodded.

‘I looked into his eyes. Something was scaring the shit out of him.’

‘Well Rach is checking out everything she can find on him. We’ll know more about him soon.’

Archer looked past Josh and saw the young woman who’d been up on the roof when they’d arrived. She was sitting across the lobby on a bench against the wall, a navy-blue NYPD jacket draped over her slender shoulders. She was alone, staring straight ahead with a cup of coffee in her hands. She’d been hysterical after the man had stepped off the roof to his death, but now seemed to have cried herself out. Josh noticed his partner watching her.

‘Her name’s Maddy,’ he said. ‘Twenty eight years old. She’s a doctor too.’

He paused.

‘And Peter Flood’s daughter.’

Archer looked at him. ‘Oh shit.’

‘Yeah. That’s her daddy out there on the sidewalk.’ He paused. ‘Hey. You did a good job up there, by the way.’

‘Yeah, right,’ Archer said. ‘Perfect outcome.’

‘He’d made up his mind. He was stepping off regardless. Nothing you could have done or said would have changed his mind. Was he your first jumper?’

Archer nodded. He went to say more but felt his phone ringing in his pocket. He pulled it out and took the call as Josh turned and headed across the lobby towards the female doctor.

‘Archer.’

‘Arch, it’s Shepherd. I heard Rach speaking to Josh, but I wanted to get your take too. How’s everything going?’

Archer looked over his shoulder at the white-sheeted area cordoned off on the street.

‘Getting cleaned up. CSU and some local detectives are here. It’s going to take a while.’

‘How’s the girl?’

Archer watched Josh take a seat beside the woman. He was talking to her quietly.

‘Better. She’s calmed down.’

‘We’re drawing a blank over here. Rach can’t find anything on Flood or his company that could be relevant to this virus. But I think there’s a connection.’

‘Yeah. I’m getting that feeling.’

‘We need her to fill in the blanks and find out why he took a dive.’

‘Yes, sir. Anything from Marquez?’

‘Yes. CSU found a set of fingerprints on the box from Central Park. They belong to a man called Rashad Cantrell. He’s a low-level street dealer based up in Harlem. They're headed over to get him now.’

‘That’s good.’

‘Keep me posted. And get that girl talking.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The call ended. Archer tucked the phone back into his pocket. Then he headed over to join Josh and Maddy Flood in the corner of the lobby.



At the Counter Terrorism Bureau, Shepherd put his cell phone back on the table, then examined the computer screen mounted on the wall of the briefing room. Beside him, Rach was tapping the keys, searching through every database she could access.

‘Still nothing?

‘Not on our system. I think plain old Google could be our friend on this one,’ she said, pulling up the website homepage and typing in Flood’s name.

The search immediately brought up a number of hits. She clicked on several, lining them up on the screen. Shepherd saw they were newspaper articles and not just from periodicals. The New York Times, The Washington Post, The Sunday Times. Every headline was interesting.

But one of them was particularly pertinent. It came from a UK paper called The Guardian.

American doctor thinks a cure for lung cancer is just around the corner.

‘Hold up,’ Rach said, centring the article on the screen. ‘This could be something.’

As the two of them studied the screen, there was a knock on the door behind them. Shepherd turned and saw the head of the Bureau, Lieutenant General James Franklin, standing in the doorway. Franklin was a commanding presence, a thirty year veteran, as tough as redwood with a thick grey moustache and a leathered face, the result of many years of active service for the Department. He was well-known as having been a real bruiser back in the day. He was a guy who didn’t answer to anyone in the building, but he never stood on ceremony with anyone and was a good boss to have, especially considering the daunting responsibilities he carried. He also shared a striking resemblance to the actor Sam Elliott. A lot of detectives referred to him as Wade, the name of Elliot’s character in the cult movie Road House. They never did it to his face, though.

‘Morning, sir,’ Shepherd said.

‘Morning, Shep,’ Franklin said. ‘Can I have a word?’

Shepherd nodded. ‘Of course.’ He turned to Rach. ‘Keep searching.’

He followed his boss outside, joining him by the railing on the walkway. Down below, the desk area for the field teams was busy, detectives milling everywhere.

Facing him, Franklin patted Shepherd on the shoulder.

‘How you doing?’

Shepherd nodded, trying to force a smile. ‘OK, sir. Bit of a tough morning.’

‘How’s Beth?’

Shepherd looked away.

All attempts at a smile faded.

‘I don’t know. We haven’t spoken in a while.’

‘When was the funeral?’

‘Last week.’

Franklin nodded. ‘How’s this virus situation?’

‘We’re working on it.’

‘Good. I know it’s your day off, but you’re the man I want in charge. That’s why I called you in.’ Shepherd looked back at Franklin who held his gaze. ‘And all bullshit aside, if you want to talk to me, you know where I am.’

‘Thank you, sir. I need to get back to work.’

Franklin nodded. Shepherd turned and headed back into the briefing room to re-join Rach.

Franklin remained where he was, watching him walk away.



In New Jersey, another car swung into the parking lot at The Kearny Medical Institute where Dr Bale and his team had worked. There were four people inside the vehicle, two men and two women. They weren’t a group, however.

Two of them were Wicks and Drexler.

Wicks was behind the wheel. He stopped outside the doors of the three-storey building and pulled on the handbrake. In the back seat, Drexler was sitting on the right, her silenced Glock in her hand, the barrel of the silencer buried in the armpit of the other woman who was sitting beside her. She was shaking with fear.

Drexler pushed open her door, stepped out, then reached back inside and grabbed the woman by her hair. She dragged her out, shoving the silenced pistol into her back while keeping a firm grip on her hair. Wicks hauled the last member of the group, a man, out from the other side and with his pistol jabbed into the guy’s spine, they marched the man and woman into the building.

As they were pushed through the entrance and into the lobby, the two captives saw a tall man behind the front desk in a guard’s uniform.

‘Morning, sir,’ Drexler said.

The man didn’t respond.

He looked at the woman whom Drexler was holding.

‘Who the hell is she?’

‘Think she’s his girlfriend.’

He looked at them, then nodded. ‘So take them up. He’s waiting.’

Twenty seconds later, they arrived on the third floor. The large man with black curly hair was standing by the doors of the elevator, a pistol in a holster on his hip. Wicks and Drexler pushed the two captives out onto the level and they stumbled forward. Regaining his balance, the man immediately put his arm around the woman protectively, both of them uncertain and scared, glancing around nervously.

The curly-haired guy looked at the newcomers and grinned.

He focused on the man.

‘Good morning, doctor.’

The male captive didn’t respond. He was distracted, puzzled by the lack of activity around him. The large man jerked his head, indicating the two captives should move forward. They walked slowly across the polished tiled floor towards the main laboratory. As they passed him, the large man grabbed the woman and motioned the doctor to keep walking. He came to a stop just outside the main lab.

It was empty.

‘Inside,’ the man ordered.

The doctor turned. ‘What is this about?’

The large man’s face darkened.

He grabbed the pistol from his holster and put it to the woman’s head. He pulled the trigger and the weapon buzzed angrily, a cloud of blood and brains spraying in the air.

‘NO!’ the man shouted in horror.

Her body dropped like a stone, blood spattering all over the white floor. Then the curly-haired man swung his pistol to the doctor, aiming at his legs.

‘Get in there and wait, a*shole. You move or make a sound, you lose a kneecap.’

Numb with shock, the doctor stumbled backwards into the lab behind him. He stepped just inside the doors, which slid shut again in front of him. Behind the glass, he stared at his girlfriend’s corpse on the tiled floor.

Outside, the man with the gun turned to Wicks and Drexler.

‘Tibbs?’

‘Handled,’ said Drexler.

‘Were you seen?’

She shook her head. ‘Used the fire escape.’

‘But we had a problem,’ Wicks said. ‘Kruger wasn’t home.’

The man thought for a moment, then shrugged. ‘This guy can do what he does.’ He checked his watch. ‘But you two need to get back to the city. The doctor can’t work without a sample.’

His hit-team nodded.

‘Before you go, get rid of the bitch,’ the man said, jabbing his pistol at the dead woman on the floor. ‘Dump her in the room with the others.’