FBI Field Office, Brooklyn, New York Jack and Howie cleared an office of furniture and spread a variety of maps on the floor. They had everything from military maps to Brooklyn bus and cycle routes and there wasn't room enough or time enough to pin them to the walls. They both agreed that they had to take chances. There was no way they could canvas all of Brooklyn, so they had to send out teams to highly prioritized areas.
Jack's eyes ran down the Westside. Hunters Point – down where the ferries ran to Manhattan – this was a place that would have old isolated housing. Coming north down the East River – Williamsburg, near the Bridge area looked promising. Fulton Ferry and Brooklyn Heights – they were good too.
Howie was making similar choices: Prospect Park, out near the zoo – that offered ample opportunities. 'What about Greenwood Cemetery, close to the 278, lots of residential nearby – Perfect for getting rid of his leftovers too?'
'That's a good one,' said Jack, 'put it towards the top of the list.'
'And maybe Dyker Heights around 72nd Street, it's residential but isolated out there,' added Howie, circling the areas with black markers.
Jack looked down at his map, focusing on Brighton Beach, zooming in on Beach Avenue where he'd just been. He now visualized the area as if he were in a helicopter flying over it. He could see the cars crawling down the shopping streets looking for somewhere to pull in and park. SUVs were heading up to the sands. A marching army of ant-like office workers moved out towards Manhattan. Day-trippers with sandwiches, soft drinks and excited kids migrated to Coney Island. And then, his earlier thoughts tumbled back to him: a street girl would never have agreed to drive a long distance with a stranger. The killer would not have wanted her in his car any longer than necessary. It couldn't be far from there.
Jack's eyes moved east on the map. A patch of isolated green caught his attention. He slid a fingertip along Belt Parkway; just four junctions away was the exit to Brooklyn Marine Park and the residential settlement of Gerritsen. Flatbush Avenue ran northwards from the other side of Marine Park, a straight road all the way down to Brooklyn Bridge. 'Come here and look at this,' he said.
Howie was still on his knees and stumped his way over to him.
'Look at Marine Park,' said Jack, jabbing a finger at the map. 'It's ideal. Flatbush and the Belt give fast exit routes. It's pretty isolated and JFK is just down the road. What's more, the Beach is less than ten minutes away and then you have the huge cover of Little Odessa in front of you. The guy is about as screened as you can get.'
Howie felt his mouth turn dry with excitement. 'Still a friggin' lot of homes to search, though.'
Jack stood up to stretch his legs. Blood pumped to his head and a burst of white-hot pain scorched through his temples.
'You okay?' said Howie, frowning up at him.
'Sure. Just stood up too quickly,' lied Jack. He looked down on the mess of maps and added, 'We've got to go for the more isolated houses, the ones with big garages, doubles not singles. He'll have picked a street that he can get away from quickly and that he can have good surveillance from, so he won't be in the heart of the estates, he'll be on an outer wing.'
'We'll pull together the sweep teams, right now. I'll brief them right after we're done.'
Jack was worried about that. Filling the area with squad cars or even Crown Vics could spook the perp. 'They're going to have to be careful. We know he's got cameras in the house, so he sure as hell is going to have them outside too. If he's in there, he'll probably see us coming.'
Howie climbed to his feet, his knees cracking. 'Do you think he owns the property or rents it?'
'Good point. This guy has to be forty-plus so let's do voting register and housing searches on people thirty-five or over. Get someone to sift mortgage and bank accounts too, focusing on that demographic. He's certain to be using a false identity and showing himself younger or older than he actually is.'
'And renting?' asked Howie.
'Unlikely,' said Jack 'He'd never want to risk a landlord coming in and finding all his toys.'
Howie wasn't sure it was as simple as that. 'I just don't see him doing this kind of whacko stuff in his own crib. Like you always say, this guy is cautious. Surely he wants to make sure he's able to leave at a moment's notice and that, if the house gets busted, it cannot lead to him?'
Another explosion went off in Jack's head, but this time he poker-faced the pain. Concentrate, he told himself, get your shit together, there's time to rest up later, just get your head in gear.
Howie fiddled with some maps and it gave Jack the breather he needed. 'You're right. Of course you're right,' said Jack. 'Get a team on to the letting agencies. I'm willing to bet that he does own this house, but what he has done is put it in the hands of a letting agent and leased it back to himself under a false identity. In other words, he's both landlord and tenant.'
'He probably used a false name even when he approached the agent, purporting to be the owner,' said Howie.
'Exactly,' agreed Jack, feeling his eye twitch again. 'Letting the house back to himself is a really clever trick. The first thing it does is generate false paperwork. From false tenancy agreements and household bills you can set up bank accounts, apply for credit cards and start to build up a series of false identities for yourself.'
'I'm on to it,' said Howie, heading off for a phone.
'Another thing,' called Jack. 'You'll also probably find the tenancy has changed names a few times. Those name changes will roughly coincide with the dates of our victims' deaths. He'll shed an old identity, and adopt an entirely new one, after each of our known murders.'
'Back in a minute,' said Howie, leaving the room to brief Fernandez.
Jack was glad to be alone.
He felt himself break into an oily sweat. The strength in his legs seemed to run into a puddle around his feet and his vision blurred.
Breathe slow, breathe deep, he told himself, and then grabbed for a chair just before a tide of blackness and nausea washed over him.