Chapter 82

CHAPTER 82

MARPLE AND POLACCO were among the first of the Staten Island contingent to arrive at the Elizabeth location. It helped that the Goethals Bridge had been blocked and placed under police control. By the time they pulled up at the warehouse, dozens of Jersey police and FBI vehicles were already parked around the perimeter. Five New York State Police SWAT trucks were staged in the parking lot. Camo-suited snipers were sighting from adjacent rooftops. It looked like a battle zone.

Marple looked over at Polacco as they pushed their car doors open. “Nice driving,” she said.

Polacco nodded, then hustled over to an NYPD van and started strapping on armor.

Marple walked to the front of the car and scanned the scene. The target was one of five warehouses stretched along a huge lot near the waterfront. The main building was two stories high. Steel sides. Flat roof. Loading dock running along the entire back end with four corrugated metal doors—all closed.

To the left of the warehouse, Marple saw an attached one-story office building with a bright green stripe across the top. On the pavement about twenty yards from the office was a platform about thirty feet square, with a faded white circle at the center.

“Margaret!”

Marple turned to see Holmes and Poe hurrying toward her from the other side of the parking lot.

“We were in Manhattan when we got your message,” said Holmes, slightly winded.

“At Oliver Paul’s shop,” said Poe. “With Virginia.”

Marple glanced behind them. “Tell me you did not bring that girl here!”

“We sent her back to the office,” said Holmes. He leaned in close. “But she found a gold mine—all the evidence we need to tie Paul to the Mother Murders crime scenes.”

“Without a search warrant?” said Marple. “Have you lost your minds?”

“Margaret,” said Poe. “He called while we were there. We heard him. He’s going to kill another woman by midnight tonight!”

“Unless we find him and stop him,” said Holmes.

“We should have poisoned his lunch when we had the chance,” said Marple.

“Police action! Move back!” A cop in tactical gear was moving toward them from across the parking lot. Marple realized that they probably looked like local curiosity seekers.

Holmes pulled out his identification and stepped forward to intercept the cop. “We’re private investigators,” he said. “We’ve been on this case from the start.”

The cop poked his nose toward the ID. “That a New York license?” he asked.

Holmes nodded. “It is.”

“Well, you’re in New Jersey now,” said the cop. “Step behind the barricade.”

He punctuated his command with a nudge of his rifle butt. “Now!”

Marple could tell that Poe was ready to snap. As he cocked his shoulders, she stepped in front of him, glancing at the cop’s name tag. “Officer Neal, who’s your scene commander?”

Neal narrowed his eyes suspiciously before answering. “Quinn,” he said. “Captain Quinn.”

Marple scanned the staging area behind him and picked out a barrel-chested, crew-cut guy in a suit, weaving quickly between vehicles, followed by a posse of Jersey uniforms. He carried himself like a Marine.

“That him?” Marple asked.

The cop quickly glanced around to look. “Yeah. That’s Quinn. You know him?”

Marple shook her head. “Not yet.”

Just then, the crew-cut guy turned his gaze their way and started moving in their direction, palms straight out and thrusting forward. He shouted at Neal. “I told you, get those people back! This is a live-fire zone. No goddamn spectators!”

When Quinn was ten feet away, the dust in the parking lot began to swirl. Marple felt pellets of gravel stinging her ankles as her hair whipped around her neck and face.

A loud pounding sound vibrated the air. She tipped forward, nearly blown off her feet.

Holmes grabbed her around the shoulders and curled forward to shield her from the debris being kicked up by a sleek black-and-white helicopter with NYPD markings. It crossed the parking lot about twenty feet overhead and landed cleanly on the pad near the office building.

The skids had barely touched the surface when Graham Duff jumped out. He started trotting toward where Holmes, Marple, and Poe were standing, his suit jacket flapping around his narrow torso.

Quinn turned as he approached. “You Duff?” he asked.

Duff nodded. The two officers shook hands.

“Welcome to the Garden State,” said Quinn. He turned to Neal. “Why are these people not gone?”

“Hold on,” said Duff. “They’re with me.” He pointed at each of them in turn. “He’s Holmes. That’s Poe. And this is Marple. She’s the reason we’re here.”

Marple brushed her hair back into place. Quinn was staring straight at her. Behind him, about fifty militarized cops, troopers, and agents stood ready for his command.

“Well, Miss Marple, let’s see if you’re right.”