Lady Vigilante (Episodes 16 – 18) (Lady Vigilante Crime Compilations) Read online

  But of course, Jacob could not admit any of that to the press today or even to the Police Commissioner in his report. So, when he had been instructed to give an update on the investigation to the clamoring media, he had no choice but to comply. So, now Jacob stood once again, with two dozen Graflex camera shutters clicking like the staccato of a machine gun, flashbulbs blinding him, and prepared himself to lie. With a growing pile of bodies, and possibly others they didn’t yet know about, people were scared. There was a serial killer on the streets of New York and Jacob was failing in his directive to hunt them down.

  “We would like to assure the public that there’s no need to panic,” Jacob addressed the crowd of reporters, as they jostled and shouted their questions at him. “The investigation surrounding these murders is progressing quickly now, based on a number of recent leads. We are confident that we’ll have an arrest soon.”

  “How soon?” called a reporter in grey pinstripes.

  “What new leads?” shouted another, thrusting his microphone forward amidst the shoulders and hubbub. “Where are the leads from?”

  Jacob held up his hands. “We’ve received a number of anonymous tip-offs over the last week. In a case like this, there is obviously a great personal risk to anyone offering information, so it is taken under the strictest confidence. That’s all I can say on that. But we urge the public to remain calm.”

  “It was alleged that the woman who attacked Mr. Karga fled the scene –,” called a reporter for the Manhattan News. “Has she been identified?”

  “It is true that Mr. Karga’s attacker fled the scene before he sought medical help. We have a description of her but no name,” Jacob lied, knowing full-well who Karga’s would-be killer was, and where she was in hiding. “The incident is still under investigation, but unfortunately, as Mr. Karga is now deceased, he can no longer identify his attacker and there were no other witnesses to the crime.”

  “But do you know where he met the woman? Is she linked to the other murders?” the same reporter pushed back. Beside him, a man with a dark gray fedora looked annoyed at his rival’s monopoly.

  “Is she the Boudoir Butcher?” the gray fedora cut in, elbowing the first microphone out of the way. “Is she the serial killer?”

  “As I said, we have not yet identified the woman involved in Mr. Karga’s attack,” Jacob lied again against an uproar of disapproving shouts, “but we do believe she may have been working for someone else.”

  “Was she working for the Boudoir Butcher then?” the fedora tried again.

  “How many serial killers are out there?” yelled another man from the spill of suits blocking the sidewalk. “What’s the motive?”

  “Did Karga die of his injuries?”

  “Why was he a target?”

  “Are these random attacks?”

  “Please, Gentlemen, please!” Jacob held up his hands again, against the tirade of questions being hurled at him. “I can tell you this – these attacks by the so-called Boudoir Butcher, seem to be targeted only to high-profile members of criminal gangs. I cannot release the specifics of Mr. Karga’s death at this time, but I do not believe he will be the last target by the serial killer. As you all know, there has been a surge in street gang activity over the past few months with increasing unrest between rival groups. I am here to announce that just this week, the NYPD has released a special taskforce to bring this situation under control. We believe the two situations – these murders and the inter-gang wars – are somehow related.”

  “So, the serial killer is only taking down gang leaders?”

  There was a raucous round of questions again before Jacob had the chance to respond.

  “There is certainly a pattern emerging in the deaths to that effect,” he called out, over the noise, “but I’m not going to suggest it’s a clear-cut case and that all law-abiding citizens should be complacent. Until the perpetrator is caught, you should exercise every caution on the streets at night.”

  A pinstriped suit shot up his hand, his microphone at the ready. “Is it true that a prostitute by the name of Lucille Wright is now suspected to be linked to this case?” he called. There was a flag for the New York Post attached to his buttonhole. “And that she recently died in Greybone’s Asylum? Will you be reopening her case file?”

  Jacob tried not to let the irritation show on his face. Apparently, the rumor mill was churning the muddy water of the case faster than he thought. Probably that darned administrator at the asylum who’d been so quick to pass the buck.

  “It is true there are similarities between Ms. Wright’s case and those of the recent murders,” Jacob admitted, trying to tread carefully. “Her case file is now being reviewed in light of these new murders. But given that she was imprisoned by the State of New York at Greybone’s Asylum for the Criminally Insane during these more recent killings, it’s clear that she was not the perpetrator. It is possible though, that, like the woman who allegedly attacked Mr. Karga, Ms. Wright may have been working for someone else at the time she murdered her victim. In which case, the original mastermind behind her attack is still at large. We are considering all possibilities.”

  A hand shot up, its owner’s shout insistent. A thin, pinched face was pushing forward from behind a cluster of cameramen. Jacob recognized the man. He was usually seen thrusting leaflets at passersby on the corner of 42nd and Broadway, preaching his crusade against the vices of modern society.

  “Karga was no victim,” the man shouted, more to the surrounding crowd, than to Jacob himself. “And nor were the others. They got what they deserved! They were punished for their sins! For their association with loose women, and their lustful and lecherous desires!” His voice rose with each word, the attention of all cameras turning to him. A few flash bulbs fired, blanching his pale face as he pushed forward. “These whores, these murderers – are poisoning society, corrupting young men with their pestilence and filth! The law doesn’t condemn them as they ought to be condemned! We need a drive – against perverts and loose morals! Against the debauchery that’s taking hold of our city!”

  “That’s enough!” Jacob shouted over the growing rabble. “This is not the place –”

  “You mark my words, Mayor!” The man launched forward, with no regard to Jacob’s authority. He forced his way to the front of the crowd where Mayor Armond stood to the side of the vast doorway with Commissioner Hendry. “This Boudoir Butcher is only the beginning! The whorehouses are to blame! Instead of closing them down, you take bribes – you protect them! You close your eyes to the indecency and adultery that breeds evil in our streets.” A few of the man’s cohorts now became visible from the crowd, shouting their approval at his outburst. More pedestrians stopped and watched the spectacle, spilling out onto the road and disrupting traffic. Cars honked and drivers shouted out their windows at the swelling crowd. A few reporters were laughing at the man. Others scribbled notes as their cameramen eagerly snapped photographs of him, elated at the sensationalism they could use to inflame their headlines. “You’re no better than Sutherland!” the pinched man yelled, pointing an accusatory finger at Mayor Armond as he rushed at him. “Allowing this filth to take hold of our city! Corrupt! Your purse on the table, filled by any dirty mac that wants to run loose women on the streets.”

  The new mayor, only three months in office, turned an angry shade of red as three uniformed officers finally burst from the milling crowd and grabbed the man. They dragged him through the massive doors behind the podium into the police headquarters. A renewed cacophony of questions was fired at Jacob.

  “Will the taskforce shut down brothels?

  “Will you be interrogating streetwalkers?”

  “As you know,” Jacob called out, shooting a cautious glance at the still-furious Mayor to his left, “brothels are illegal in this city, and as such, we will be taking a hard hand on any bar thought to offer services other than entertainment during our investigation. There is no cover-up in place here – no corru
ption by the department in allowing free-reign to criminals. We make arrests when we need to. Nearly four-thousand prostitutes were arrested in New York City last year. Now that’s an awful lot of work to do if we were to consider every one of them a suspect in this case. We don’t. As I said, these are targeted attacks and we are only investigating women that may be relevant to this case.” The pinched man’s comrades booed and hissed with disapproval.

  “Are you saying all of the murders have been committed by prostitutes?” yelled a man in a bowler hat from the back of the crowd.

  “No, no –” Jacob said, “Ms. Wright was working as a prostitute at the time she murdered her client and as I said, due to similarities to the four latest murders – five now – including Mr. Karga, we are re-opening her case. Mr. Karga was insistent that it was a call-girl who attacked him; however, he is now dead and cannot give any new evidence or identify his attacker. As for the other cases, the four men were all found deceased in their beds in an amorous position. The other party involved at the time, in other words, the murderer, had fled, mid-event.” Jacob cleared his throat awkwardly. “However, there is no evidence to suggest the murderer was necessarily a prostitute, or in fact, even a woman at all,” there were shocked noises from the crowd, “but we feel it’s likely we are dealing with either a single woman or perhaps multiple women, who are working for someone else.” In his own mind, Jacob finished his thought, – working for The Tin Man. But it was too soon to give that name away, and he had a mountain ahead of him to climb before he could catch the elusive gangster, let alone prove his guilt. Jacob raised both his hands and spoke very clearly, over the avalanche of shouts being thrown his way again. “Now, I don’t want to spark any sort of witch-hunt in this city! Please leave the police-work to us. However, I do urge soldiers on leave to avoid meeting with women they don’t know while on shore-leave or visiting any place that may be a house of ill-repute, after all, we need our GI’s fit-to-fight, as they say.” He gave a small smile, his joke a reference to the endless propaganda warning soldiers against venereal disease passed on by immoral behavior – but his attempt to lighten the situation fell flat. Jacob cleared his throat and took a step back. “That’s it. We’ll have another update in a few days. Thank you.”

  Against the clamor of shouts and jostling microphones calling him back, Jacob stepped aside the podium and walked back to the doors of New York City Police Headquarters. The Police Commissioner greeted him with hard eyes.

  “That was an absolute circus, Lawrence. I thought you had this situation under control,” Commissioner Hendry growled under his breath. He caught Jacob’s shoulder and gently maneuvered him around to face the cameras. Jacob stood stiffly, pinned between the Police Commissioner and new Mayor under the spotlight on the top steps, as white and silver flash bulbs burned his eyes. Mayor Armond gave a solemn wave to the cameras. The minutes seemed to crawl by. Even without the stress of being sandwiched by his two superiors, Jacob had a hundred things he would rather be doing and none of them involved being on these steps. When the last of the reporters were satiated and the pedestrians began to shuffle on, they broke ranks.

  “And how much of that was a load of baloney, Sergeant?” Commissioner Hendry said, sighing.

  “None of it, sir.”

  “This business about multiple women working for someone else?”

  Jacob straightened his shoulders. Though he’d always admired the Police Commissioner’s no-nonsense manner from a distance, the last few months had forced Jacob directly into his line of fire. He had discovered it was an unpleasant place to be.

  “There was a witness. She said she spoke with Miss Wright at the asylum before she died, Sir,” Jacob said, keeping as close to the truth as he could, without giving Betty away. “I have reason to believe it may be true. Miss Wright would lose control apparently, fly into psychotic rages and they had to restrain her. She’d scream things – as if she was reliving the attack and what led up to it. The witness said she was talking as if someone else had set it up. As if she was brainwashed somehow to kill the guy. Then later, she’d remember none of it.”

  “And who is this witness?” Hendry asked.

  “Anonymous, like I said. A nurse, maybe – she never gave me her name and no one on staff at the asylum will talk. It was just a voice on the phone, Sir.” Jacob lied. He shook his head. “I’m doing what I can to follow it up – to see if any of the more recent murders might follow the same pattern. Unfortunately, the woman that attacked Karga is on the run, and of the other four – our killer has never surfaced. We’re still searching and just assuming. Only one of the men was seen out the night before, with an unknown woman in a bar. Next morning, she was gone and he was a bloody stiff, so to speak. The other three were the same. We’re still searching, but we are assuming it was a woman. I think it’s a safe bet.”

  “I’ve read the reports, Lawrence,” Hendry said. “The victims all had a reputation for picking up women. Could have been anyone, hooker or not. They were all found stark naked in bed with their – well, if they weren’t making whoopee, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. The point is, one minute we think we’re looking for one killer, now you’re telling me we might have five? And some other bastard behind it all, to boot? Jesus, Lawrence, this is going from bad to worse!”

  The Mayor held up his hands, giving his head a little shake, as if trying to rid himself of inner frustration. He spoke more calmly than Hendry, but looked no less upset.

  “So, tell me if I’ve got this right, Lawrence – this Boudoir Butcher might be Karga’s call girl whose done them all in, or it could be a handful of them working for someone else. We know they’re targeting gang leaders, but no one knows why, so the boys are all stirred up, wanting payback but with no-one to blame. They’re paranoid. Trying to strike first before they get done over themselves.”

  “That’s pretty much the sum of it, Mayor,” Jacob said.

  Guilio Armond frowned. His dark hair, peppered with grey, was combed over with Brylcreem in small waves that threatened to escape. He looked every bit the charismatic public servant you’d expect without the hint of insincerity that Mayor Sutherland had never been able to fully mask. Jacob liked him, and it grated on his pride that so far, he was failing to deliver.

  “Look, you said it, Lawrence,” Armond said, “things are unsettled enough as it is right now. If that crackpot from the Suppression of Vice Society gets any more airtime, we’re going to have an all-out witch hunt on our hands. The city’s already boiling just under the surface. With those morality loons out there stirring up trouble, making Mr. and Mrs. Voter paranoid about their kiddies being corrupted in their cradles, we’re up for big trouble.”

  The Commissioner’s voice was brusque. “We’ve already got the damned Triads, the Irish and the Bowery Boys trading bullets on every second street corner at night. I heard you even had a skirmish with the Rats, and they normally lay low. This is getting too big. If we don’t turn a hose on it, there’ll be public riots in the streets.”

  “I’m so close to cracking this case,” Jacob insisted, willing himself to believe it. “I just need more time, Sir. All these press statements are holding me up. Can you get someone else to –”

  “Not a chance,” the Commissioner cut in. “You’re the face of this beast now, Lawrence. I’m sorry, but the public wants to see you up there in the spotlight. They trust you. You brought Sutherland down and exposed his corruption, you locked up Pinzolo – you’re the poster boy for the NYPD right now and I’ll be damned if I’m going to lose that kind of good publicity, especially with this killer on the streets. You’re going to have to keep your head above water on this one.”

  “But I’m drowning in paperwork, Sir, all this media relations – I could be out on the streets, I need to be out on the streets.”

  “Then get yourself a damn secretary,” Hendry growled. He lowered his voice. “Look, I’m not an unreasonable man. I’ve given you the taskforce you asked for and whatever men
you need to throw at this. I need this psycho found and those gangs put on ice.”

  “We’re hanging on by a thread here, Sergeant,” Armond said, his expression sympathetic. “I’ll take whatever press off you I can, but the public needs to see your face in the papers, at least once a week. We’ve had a bad year. You got Sutherland thrown out and I got a job out of it – and I’m grateful for that – but since I stepped in we’ve had nothing but trouble. The voters are getting angry. Sutherland left a bad taste in their mouths and now all they see is corruption. We’ve got to turn this thing around, you understand?”

  “Yeah, I got it.” Jacob said.

  “Good work, Sergeant,” Commissioner Hendry said. His eyes flicked toward the door. “I’m running late.”

  With a curt wave, he left them for the inside of the Police Headquarters. Mayor Armond shook Jacob’s hand, then excused himself as well. He took off down the street where a young woman with a notebook and a man in a suit were standing, waiting for him next to a black Rolls Royce. Jacob sighed, rubbed his eyes with his hand and wished he could go home and lie down.

  “That balagan looked like it would give anyone a headache,” a kind voice said from the bottom of the steps. Jacob looked down. For the first time in what seemed like days, he smiled.

  “Aba,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

  “Came to see you, of course,” his father said. “You’re so busy these days it seems the only way I can catch a glimpse of you is in my morning paper. I guessed you were due for another press statement this morning, so I told your mother I was going out to play golf. I would have brought her with me, but you know –” He grinned.

  Jacob stepped down to where his father was standing and hugged him hard.

  “Poor Ima,” he laughed, “I said I’d call by for dinner weeks ago, but I just haven’t had time. Is she being unbearable?”