Prey (26 page)

Winter pulled up the collar of his sheepskin jacket and lit a cigarette. Darkness had fallen over an hour ago, and the temperature was slowly dropping. He clicked the Zippo closed, then clicked it open again and flicked up a new flame.
Click, click, flick.
The smell of lighter fluid drifted up towards his nose. Central Park was busy. It was a perfect fall evening and people were making the most of it. December was just around the corner. Snow, sub-zero temperatures and everybody praying for spring.

The Alice in Wonderland statue was hidden away in its own secret grove. Trees crowded around in a circle, stealing away the city and giving the impression that you’d actually tumbled down the rabbit hole. Hugging the curve of the trees were benches for the parents to rest on, and laid out inside that was a circle of paving slabs that had been worn smooth by millions of little feet. The main path led down to a lake but there was a smaller path off to the side that wound away between the trees.

The kids clambering all over the statue were probably here on vacation. No doubt they’d been allowed to stay up late because all the usual routines had been put on hold. Winter stood watching them for a moment, a dusty old memory surfacing. He was three and a half and he was sat up on his bed with his back against the headboard, a copy of
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
lying open on his lap. This book was one that he kept coming back to. He could recite whole sections from heart. The caterpillar had always been his favourite character. He was rude and chain-smoked. What wasn’t to like?

His mother was sat beside him, listening and smiling, her body warm through the thin material of his pyjamas, the smell of her soap and perfume comforting. Looking back, what got to him most was how relatively normal the scene was.
Relatively
normal. Most three-year-olds weren’t reading books this advanced, but that was just a detail. The point was that back then he’d had no idea that ‘normal’ was just an illusion, that real life was as screwed up as anything that Lewis Carroll could dream up.

He took a drag on his cigarette and scanned the area around the statue to make sure he wasn’t being watched. Mendoza had promised, but she was a cop, and you could never completely trust a cop. He finished his sweep. Nobody had set off any alarm bells.

There were three benches to the left of the Mad Hatter. It was a good position since it gave an unobstructed view of both entrances. The old woman on the middle bench was staring off into the distance. Her expression was tinged with sadness, but there was an air of acceptance there too, a sense that this was the way things were and there was nothing she could do, so why fight it. Whatever memory she was lost in, she’d made peace with it long ago.

Winter stared a little longer than he should have, just in case it was Amelia. He knew she was good with disguises, and the best disguises were the ones that enabled you to merge completely into your chosen environment. Dressing up as an old woman would definitely fall into this category. Nobody ever paid much attention to the elderly.

He looked away then glanced back. If it was Amelia then it was one hell of a disguise. To start with you’d need a Hollywood make-up artist and hours of work to come up with a prosthetic mask that good. Amelia was driven and resourceful, but he doubted even she could pull off something like that.

He sat down on the empty bench to the left of the woman, arms outstretched along the top of it. For a while he just sat there smoking and thinking, and did his best to appear as though he didn’t have a care in the world. Butterflies were buzzing in his stomach and his nerve endings were jangling. There was just too much information coming in from his senses.

He checked his watch. Still a couple of minutes to go. He did another sweep, checking faces. Checking the way people moved. Undercover cops moved in a certain way, even the best. Unless you were deep undercover there was always going to be the occasional giveaway, no matter how good you were. Even then, it was hard to stay consistently in character. No cops. No Amelia.

Winter counted off the seconds in his head. At T minus sixty seconds he took a final pull on his cigarette, crushed it under his heel and dropped it into the nearest trash can. He checked his watch, counted down the last ten seconds. Still no sign of Amelia. Patience, he told himself. It wasn’t easy. He hated inactivity. He took out the last Snickers he’d bought back in Hartwood and ate it quickly.

The old woman was still on the next bench. He glanced over again, just in case he’d called this one wrong. He hadn’t. The woman had to be well into her seventies. She was still staring off into the distance as though the rest of the universe had ceased to exist. A laughing family came up the main path. Mom, dad, two boys. Scandinavian accents and good genes. Tall, strong, blonde. The kids were young. Five, six, seven, somewhere around there. They broke away from their parents and sprinted towards the statue, racing each other, laughing and squealing.

Winter contemplated having another cigarette. He needed something to do with his hands, something to do with his mind. The wait was killing him. If there had been another way of doing this then he would have done it, but he’d needed to arrive first to assure Amelia that he wasn’t being followed. And she needed to arrive late to show him that she was calling the shots. Because he had chosen the venue for their meeting she would be looking to redress the balance of power.

He checked the time again. He figured that she’d want to be nine minutes late. The figure wasn’t entirely random. If she just wanted to show who was in charge then she’d aim to be fifteen minutes late, maybe twenty. She’d want him to sweat. But it wasn’t just about that. She was as anxious to see him as he was to see her, so she’d be aiming to be ten minutes late, but she’d be in that little bit too much of a hurry.

A Japanese family came up the path. Mom, dad and a little girl. Because the girl was on her own she wasn’t anywhere near as hyperactive as the two Scandinavian boys. She wandered timidly over to the statue and her father started snapping photographs.

Winter kept glancing at his watch, counting off the minutes. Six, seven, eight. He took another quick look around. No undercover cops. No Amelia. He reached nine minutes and realised he’d called it wrong.

Patience.

As it got closer to the twenty-minute mark, he began wondering if she’d gone to the wrong place. Except that didn’t work. If she’d done that then she would have called by now to find out where he was. So where the hell was she? It crossed his mind that she might have left the city. It was possible, but he wasn’t convinced. Whatever game she was playing, it wasn’t quite over yet.

A kid on Rollerblades came skating into the clearing and did a fast circuit of the statue. He was about eighteen or nineteen with acne scars on his cheeks and piercings in his ears, nose and upper lip. Despite the temperature he was wearing baggy shorts that came down past his knees and a black T-shirt with a stoned yellow smiley face on the front. No coat or jacket.

The kid skidded to a stop near the old lady and pulled out his cell phone. He thumbed the screen and put the phone up to his ear. The call connected and he said ‘Hi’. A pause, then, ‘Tell me where the money is.’ Winter’s first thought was that he was probably a low-level dealer chasing up a debt, but the explanation didn’t ring true. Another pause then, ‘Yeah, he’s here but I’m not putting him on until you tell me where my money is.’

Winter didn’t need to hear any more. He covered the distance between them in less than two seconds, barrelling into the kid and knocking him to the ground. The kid might have been pushing six foot but he couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred and twenty pounds. For once Winter had the weight advantage. He pinned the kid down, knees on his arms, weight on his chest. The kid was squirming around and trying to break free, but Winter was just about managing to hold him. He plucked the cell phone from the kid’s hand and put it up to his ear.

‘Hi, Amelia.’

‘You sound like you’ve got your hands full there, Jefferson.’

‘Yeah, give me a second.’

Winter pressed the phone against his chest and looked down at the kid. His face was red and he looked worried. People were starting to stare, and a few of the braver ones were moving in closer.

‘FBI! Please stay back!’

It had been a while since he’d played this particular card, but he was able to deliver the warning with enough authority to make it sound convincing. People were still staring, and some didn’t look convinced, but he’d planted enough doubt to keep them at arm’s length. He turned his attention back to the kid. ‘How much did she offer you?’

The kid just stared.

‘Fifty bucks? A hundred?’

The kid’s eyes narrowed. ‘It was actually two hundred.’

Sure it was, thought Winter. ‘And she was going to tell you where you’d find the money after you delivered the phone, right?’

‘Yeah, that’s right.’

‘But you don’t trust her to pay up, hence the reason you were stalling.’

‘Man, you can’t trust anyone these days.’

Winter stared at the kid until he had his full attention. ‘Okay, listen carefully. She was never going to pay up. You need to understand that. It was never going to happen. On the other hand, I will pay up. That’s a promise. So here’s the deal. I’m going to get off you and you’re going to sit on that bench over there until I’ve finished my call, and then we’re going to have a little chat. Do that and I’ll give you two hundred bucks. However, if you try to run I will use every resource at my disposal to hunt you down, and when I catch you, I will make sure you go to prison.’

The kid considered this for all of two seconds. ‘You don’t have to worry, man. I’m not going anywhere.’

Winter stood and pressed the cell phone to the side of his head. He stepped back to let the kid up and watched him skate over to the nearest bench and sit down.

‘Are you still there?’

‘I’m still here.’

Winter heard the smile shining through in her voice. ‘I thought you wanted to meet.’

‘I do, but on my terms not yours. I’m figuring that Central Park is crawling with cops by now. Does that sound about right?’

‘You told me to come alone, and that’s exactly what I’ve done.’

Amelia laughed. ‘I’m sure you’ll understand why I’m not going to take your word for that. The kid on the skates, he’s still with you, yes?’

‘He is.’

‘Put him on.’

Winter walked over to the bench and held out the cell phone. The kid stared at it for a second, then reluctantly reached out. He listened, said a couple of ‘uh-huhs’, then looked up.

‘She says that you need to give me your cell phone. And she says if you don’t hand it over in the next five seconds then she’s going to hang up and disappear. By the way, she’s started counting, and she’s already on four.’

Winter pulled his cell out and tossed it into the kid’s lap.

‘Okay, got it.’ The kid told Amelia. He listened some more, said a couple of ‘Yeahs’, then glanced an apology up at Winter and started dismantling the cell phone. ‘She says you need to give me your lighter.’

Winter took out his Zippo and handed it over. He had a pretty good idea what was coming next. Sure enough, the kid removed the SIM card from the cell and, holding it carefully by one corner, started to burn it, the flame turning green from the melting plastic. Next, he dropped the phone and battery on to the ground and crushed them under his skate.

‘Okay, done it,’ he told Amelia. He listened some more then held the Zippo and cell phone out for Winter to take. ‘She wants to talk to you.’

Winter took the phone and pressed it against his ear. The Zippo went back into the pocket of his sheepskin jacket. ‘So how does this work then?’

‘You’re going to catch a southbound train from the 77th Street station and get off at Grand Central. Call me when you get up to the concourse. If you get there in time I’ll answer. If not, then I’m out of here. It goes without saying that you come alone.’

‘You need to tell me how long I’ve got.’

‘No I don’t. Either you’ll get there in time or you won’t. My advice would be to get moving.’

The line went dead and Winter pushed the cell into his jacket pocket. He pulled out his billfold and stuffed two hundred-dollar bills into the kid’s hand.

‘What did she look like, and where did you meet her?’

‘The south end of the park,’ the kid replied quickly. ‘She had brown shoulder-length hair. Well kind of brown. Maybe it was more blonde. You know a brown-blonde sort of colour. She was wearing thick black spectacles that were on a string like you sometimes see on a teacher or a librarian.’ He nodded to himself. ‘Yeah, that’s what she reminded me of, a librarian.’

‘Thanks.’

The kid started to say something else, but Winter was already jogging down the path that led away from the statue. He upped his pace a little, his lungs complaining. He still couldn’t see any cops. Mendoza had promised she wouldn’t get in his way, but she had her own agenda and one thing he’d learned long ago was that you could never fully trust anyone with an agenda.

By the time he reached the subway station his lungs felt as though they were about to explode, his heart too. He caught his reflection while he was buying a ticket. His face was red and there were beads of sweat on his forehead. The Mozart T-shirt was sticking to his chest.

He made his way down the stairs and reached the southbound platform just as a train was pulling out. He watched the red tail-lights disappear into the tunnel. This was one of the city’s busiest lines. Another train would be along soon enough. The only positive was that the platform was now empty. If Amelia was following him it would make her easier to spot. Since she knew where he was headed, it was unlikely she was, but he wasn’t taking anything for granted. There was no way she was going to get the drop on him again.

He walked to the midpoint of the platform and leant against a pillar. From here he had an unobstructed view of any new arrivals. He checked out every person who appeared, but no one stood out. Was she still dressed like a librarian or had she changed disguise again? He thought she’d probably have switched to a new one by now. That’s what he would have done.

He took a couple of deep breaths and felt his heart begin to settle. No doubt Amelia was hoping he would underestimate how much time he actually had, and that would make him hurry. The quicker he was doing things, the less he was thinking. The less he was thinking, the more chance there was of him doing something dumb. The flaw in her thinking was that she was as anxious to see him as he was to see her, which meant that the threat was almost certainly an empty one. As long as he didn’t waste too much time getting to Grand Central Station then he should be okay.

Winter glanced over at the woman who’d just walked on to the platform, then quickly looked away. Those couple of short seconds were all it took to confirm that this wasn’t Amelia. She was the right height, and the right sort of age, but she was too fat. Bulking yourself up so you appeared bigger was fairly straightforward, but this was too extreme.

The train arrived and he got on. He hovered in the doorway until it pulled away, glancing up and down the platform, watching for anyone attempting to beat the doors. The warning sounded and he took one last look along the platform. No one was trying to squeeze in at the last second. The doors started to close and he stepped back into the subway car.

It was only four stops to Grand Central. Five minutes, ten max. Winter found an empty seat and sat down, then did a quick sweep of the car, checking out the other travellers. Nobody raised any suspicions. There were a couple of dozen people in total. All ages, all races, but definitely no Amelia. He took a moment to straighten his clothes, then rubbed a hand through his hair to tidy it up. When they did eventually meet, he wanted to look as unflustered as possible.

Mendoza would no doubt be wondering where the hell he was, and why he hadn’t called. That was part of the deal. As soon as he’d made contact with Amelia he was supposed to call her. Unfortunately, he couldn’t see a way to do that. His cell had been destroyed, and although he had the one that the skater kid had given him, it didn’t really help. At the moment he was underground and had no signal.

He glanced around the subway car, wondering if he could get one of the other passengers to pass on a message. It was a long shot. Chances were they’d either think he was crazy, or they’d just blank him. He did another quick sweep. The priest at the far end seemed like his best bet. Winter got up and walked over.

‘Excuse me.’

The priest didn’t seem to hear. He was staring out the window, lost in thought. The rattle and whine of the train didn’t help.

Winter tried again. Louder. ‘Excuse me.’

The priest turned to face him. He was the same height as Amelia, and for a split second Winter thought it was her. He shook the thought away. The priest was in his fifties, tidy and serene. There was a small wooden crucifix around his neck and a small multi-coloured cloth bag hanging from his shoulder.

‘Can I help you?’ he asked. His voice was clear, every word enunciated. His accent had been South American once upon a time. Brazilian, maybe.

‘I need you to pass a message on to a colleague, please. She’s a detective with the NYPD. I need you to tell her that I’m okay, and that I’ll contact her as soon as I can.’

The priest frowned, then glanced along the subway car. ‘Is this a joke?’

‘I know how strange this sounds but I promise you this isn’t a joke. If I could do it myself then I would. The problem is that I’m working undercover. It would be too risky.’ It wasn’t quite the truth, but it was close enough. Winter just didn’t have the time or energy to get into long drawn-out explanations. ‘Please help me out here,’ he added.

The priest took a breath, then nodded. ‘What exactly do you want me to do?’

‘I take it you have a cell phone?’

‘I do.’

‘What about paper and a pen?’

The priest rummaged around in his bag until he found a small notepad and a biro. ‘Here we go.’

Winter dictated his message and watched him write it down. It was short and to the point. He was okay, but the venue for the meet had changed. The message needed to go to Lieutenant Carson Jones at the NYPD’s headquarters. Jones would make sure that it got through to Mendoza. The train pulled into the 51st Street station and the priest stood up to leave.

‘Thank you for doing this,’ Winter told him. ‘I appreciate it.’

The next stop was Grand Central.