Black and White: A Novel

By Dan Mahoney

In a secluded New York City park, a double homicide draws two detectives named McKenna. One is a legend; the other is a brilliant young investigator. Together, they are entering a case that will grow more bizarre and more horrifying with each new piece of shocking evidence...

One of the victims was tied to a tree and slowly tortured to death. Veteran detective Tommy McKenna realizes that he has seen this killer's work before--eighteen years earlier...

Tommy will get a second crack at his killer. Brian McKenna gets to work with a legend. And both men are setting in motion an investigation that will take them to California, Arizona, a Costa Rican mountaintop, and all the way to the Far East. The two McKennas are on the trail of two human monsters who have been killing for two decades--and murder isn't even the worst of their crimes...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Sep 17, 2013
• ISBN: 9781466852730

Dan Mahoney

Dan Mahoney was born and raised in New York City. After serving the Marine Corps in Vietnam, he joined the New York City Police Department, where he worked for twenty-five years before retiring as a captain. He is the author of novels including Black and White and Hyde and lives in Levittown, New York.

Book preview

ONE

MONDAY, JUNE 7, 7:30 A.M., NEW YORK CITY

John Cocchi and Kathy Rynn had worked together for six years doing day tours in the 34th Precinct’s Sector Eddie. Like most partners, they had developed a routine that made casual conversation unnecessary. Each usually knew what the other was thinking. They made their arrests, gave their summonses, and handled all the radio runs assigned to them with few words passing between them. They had a stoic attitude about their job, but that didn’t slow them down. In a tough precinct they were known as good cops who weren’t afraid to work.

And work they did, most of the time. The 34th Precinct covered Washington Heights, a poor neighborhood at the northern tip of Manhattan where the vast majority of the residents were immigrants from the Dominican Republic, many of them illegal aliens. It was a tough life for the new arrivals. Most had learned to live by their wits, but there were always those prepared to prey on their neighbors. Consequently, crime was a sad daily fact of life for the good people and a livelihood for the bad.

As usual, Rynn and Cocchi expected that they would spend the day tied to the radio, going from one call to the next if they didn’t run into an arrest. However, like most radio car teams throughout the city, they tried to reserve to themselves the first half hour of the tour. They bought their coffee and bagels and headed for their spot in Fort Tryon Park, under the Cloisters. Although it wasn’t in their sector, they had used the spot for years and considered it their own secret preserve.

Rynn drove into the park, up the steep road leading to the Cloisters, the medieval castle perched overlooking the Hudson River. A quarter mile before the Cloisters, Rynn left the road and drove across a small meadow and into the woods on a narrow dirt track. Their spot was a hundred yards into the woods, where the road ended at a steeply pitched hill that ran straight down to the New York Central Rail Road tracks paralleling the Hudson. There was another car in their spot, a late-model two-door red BMW. The passenger door was open, but they didn’t see anybody sitting in the car. What immediately caught their attention was the rear license plate, NYC-9. Cocchi and Rynn naturally assumed that the politically important occupants of the BMW were trespassing and other-wise engaged in the backseat, using their spot as a lovers lane. That wasn’t allowed.

Let’s be nice to the big shot when we break up his session, Cocchi said as he got out of the radio car.

Let’s, Rynn said. She approached the car from the driver side and Cocchi headed for the passenger side. Then Rynn stopped and motioned for Cocchi to do the same.

Problem? he asked softly.

Maybe, she answered, pointing to the driver’s door. Window’s shattered and there’s glass on the ground. Be careful.

Both cops unholstered their guns and reached their positions at the sides of the BMW, nerves on edge and ready for anything. They relaxed a bit when they saw the body. He had been behind the wheel, but the force of the bullet fired into his head through the closed window had knocked his upper torso across the front seat. He was white, about thirty years old, and dressed casually in tan slacks and a green shirt. Death had caught him in an embarrassing position. His pants were pulled down to his knees and his eyes were wide open in shock. Hours before, a small puddle of blood had flowed onto the seat from his head wound. The blood had congealed and hardened.

He looks Irish. Unusual for this neighborhood, Cocchi observed.

Probably grew up around here in the old days, when the Irish were still in charge in the Heights. That’s how he knew about this place, Rynn surmised.

Probably, Cocchi agreed. Let’s go find the other body, if there is another one.

Okay. But remember crime scene protocol. No need to give ourselves more problems than we already have.

She didn’t have to say more. Both had been around long enough to know that many crime scenes were damaged and evidence inadvertently destroyed by the first officers on the scene. They prided themselves on doing the job right. Their problem would be explaining how they had stumbled on the BMW, deep in the woods and out of their sector. Both knew that they were headed for some grief from their cranky old sergeant, but what bothered them more was that their wonderful spot would no longer be a secret.

It took them only a minute to find the woman’s ripped and bloody clothes at the edge of the hill and another minute to sight her body. They couldn’t get to her. The killer had thrown her down the almost-vertical incline and the body had tumbled down until hitting a large rock protruding from the hill.

Even from a distance, Cocchi and Rynn could see that she was dead. She had come to rest face up, she had deep slashes all over her torso, her face was battered, and they were sure that her neck was broken.

That poor girl surely suffered before she died, Rynn observed.

You got that right. There’s a real sick bastard responsible for this mess, Cocchi answered. You ready yet for our own dose of misery?

Not really, but let’s get the ball rolling and get this over with. I feel a fit of depression coming on.

TWO

Detective First Grade Brian McKenna of the Major Case Squad was easily the NYPD’s most famous detective and had been involved in many news-worthy cases over the years, so many that people he had never met before stopped him on the street to ask him how Angelita and the kids were doing. McKenna figured folks overrated his skill and intelligence, but he was still New York’s darling and he loved it.

McKenna arrived for work at the squad office in Police Headquarters at 9:30 A.M., half an hour early. Inspector Dennis Sheeran, the Major Case Squad CO, was sitting on McKenna’s desk, waiting for him.

There’s been a murder, Sheeran announced. Two of them, in fact.

So? McKenna answered. Murders were handled by the Homicide Squads, not the Major Case Squad.

One of the victims is Cindy Barrone.

Cindy Barrone? Who’s she?

The married daughter of Paul Barrone.

Uh-oh. The speaker of the city council? That Paul Barrone?

The very same. Her body and the body of a man not her husband were found in a lovers lane by the Cloisters a couple of hours ago. He was executed straight out, one bullet to the head, but she got it much worse. Raped, tortured, and beaten to death. Some kind of sadistic bondage thing.

Am I being assigned to this Magilla? McKenna asked.

I’d say so, but I don’t think it was Ray’s idea. He wants to see you.

McKenna understood at once. Paul Barrone wanted that famous Detective McKenna assigned to what was sure to become a very delicate and embarrassing case, aside from being a family tragedy. But Police Commissioner Ray Brunette didn’t like political interference in his department and probably would have turned him down. No problem for Barrone; he’d gone straight to the mayor. By the time His Honor spoke to Brunette, McKenna’s assignment to the case was no longer a request. It was an order.

_________

Ray Brunette was on the phone, sitting back in his chair with his feet on Teddy Roosevelt’s ornate desk when McKenna entered his large office on the fourteenth floor. Although he was ten years older than McKenna, the two appeared to be about the same age. It was Brunette’s confident air, his outgoing personality, his straight black hair, and his dimples that made him look under fifty. People liked him minutes after meeting him, and nobody ever thought of him as one of the old guys.

Brunette closed the conversation with Thanks a lot, Tommy. I owe you. Then he hung up, took his feet off the desk, and turned his attention to McKenna. Whatcha been up to, buddy?

Been busy, but not killing myself, McKenna answered. I found out where Freddie Buchanan buys his crack and I thought I’d be able to grab him today.

Freddie Buchanan? Is he the note passer?

That’s him. Eight banks in ten weeks for a total of more than eleven thousand dollars without ever showing a weapon. From what I hear, he doesn’t even have a gun. He just gives them the note and they give him the money.

Who’s been working that one with you? Cisco?

Yeah, but it was my case.

Sorry, but it looks like Cisco gets the collar and the glory. I hate to do this, but I’m under some pressure and I have to give you this Barrone case.

I haven’t worked in Homicide in years, but I don’t mind taking it, McKenna said, lying to make Brunette feel better. Murders were always a sad business and he hated working them. Are the bodies still there?

Waiting for you.

Who’s handling from Manhattan North Homicide?

Tommy McKenna.

So that’s the Tommy who Ray was talking to, McKenna realized, shocked that Barrone would want Brian McKenna when he already had Tommy McKenna. Tommy was widely recognized as the best homicide detective in the NYPD. He had worked on all of the famous murder cases in Manhattan and had achieved a large degree of fame by solving most of them. His exploits had been featured in a book that was still in print and selling well.

Although McKenna had never worked with Tommy, he had no doubt that Tommy knew more about murder than he did. Barrone was making a mistake. Doesn’t Barrone know that he already has the best assigned?

When it comes to murder, that’s what I told him. But he doesn’t like it. Says he doesn’t want his daughter’s murder showing up in a book down the line with all the gory details.

Tommy’s still going to be working this with me, isn’t he? McKenna asked.

Sure. I’d never think of taking him off a case. As far as we’re concerned, you’ll be helping him out. As far as the press is concerned, he’ll be helping you out.

What does the press know so far?

Probably quite a bit, but they don’t know yet that one of the victims is Cindy Barrone. The pressure won’t be on you until you tell them.

Who was the other victim?

The guy? Don’t know, yet. It’s Cindy’s car and the killer took his wallet, so he’s not ID’d yet. I’m just hoping he’s not the son of some other big-shot politico.

Where’s Paul Barrone now?

At Cindy’s house with her husband, sweating it out and cooking up a statement through his tears. I imagine he’ll give his to the press right after you identify her for them and give yours.

Once I do, the press is gonna go crazy with that old McKenna-McKenna thing.

You mean I’m giving them a chance to find out which one of you two is really the best?

Exactly. They’re gonna read controversy and innuendo into everything we say to each other, and they won’t be afraid to print whatever they think.

I’m not worried about that. You get along with Tommy, don’t you?

Love him, but that won’t mean much to the press once they get their imaginations going. How’s he taking this?

Not well, at first, but I eventually got him to see things my way. Now he tells me he’s looking forward to teaching you a thing or two about murder.

Wonderful, because he’s the man to do it. Probably forgot more than I ever knew.

We’ll see, Brunette said, smiling. I think I’m gonna enjoy reading about this one.

THREE

McKenna had a hard time finding the crime scene. He cruised slowly around Fort Tryon Park without seeing any signs of police activity until he got lucky. A radio car from the 34th Precinct passed him and he followed. McKenna saw the driver, a female cop, eye him in her rearview mirror and then her partner turned around to get a quick look. They turned off the road, across the meadow, and into the woods on the narrow dirt trail for fifty yards before stopping. The road was blocked by a Crime Scene Unit van. There were many cars in front of the van including radio cars, un-marked cars, and a morgue wagon. The uniformed cops got out of their car and waited.

McKenna guessed that both were in their early thirties and had been on the Job a while. The row of medals above their shields told him they hadn’t spent their time idly. Sharp cops, was his first impression. He was the serious one in the team. Dark and handsome, he reminded McKenna of Valentino. Opposites sometimes do attract, and they did in this case. She was all smiles, and she exuded personality.

Are you gonna be working on this case, Detective McKenna? Rynn asked.

McKenna didn’t know them, but wasn’t surprised at being recognized. Yes, I am.

Then you’re probably gonna want to talk to us. We discovered the bodies.

What a piece of luck for me! McKenna thought. I’m not gonna be going in dopey when I see Tommy. I guess you’ve already talked to Tommy McKenna, haven’t you?

Yeah, talked to him for quite a while.

Okay, now talk to me.

While Rynn told him how they had found the bodies, McKenna noticed the cops had two cardboard trays of coffee containers on their backseat. Eighteen coffees told him a lot. He was headed into a crowded crime scene that was going to be in place for a while. Traditionally, the detective boss in charge at the scene of a long, drawn-out affair bought the coffee all around, and those folks usually didn’t spring unless it was absolutely necessary.

Who’s there now? McKenna asked.

Our captain, our sergeant, and another team from the Three-four. There’s a lieutenant from the Homicide Squad who came with Tommy, but I don’t know his name, Rynn said, looking to her partner for help.

Lieutenant Greve, Cocchi piped in.

Yeah, Lieutenant Greve, Rynn continued, counting off the cops on her fingers as she listed them. Then there’s four from the Crime Scene Unit, but the only one of them I know is Joe Walsh. A crew from Emergency Service, but I don’t know if they’re still there. They went down the cliff and brought Cindy Barrone’s body up. Rynn turned to Cocchi. Who am I leaving out?

Dr. Andino, Cocchi said.

A real high-powered crime scene, McKenna thought. The precinct CO being here is unusual. They usually deal in statistics, not specifics. And the chief medical examiner himself? A man in John Andino’s position doesn’t usually make house calls. John Andino, Tommy McKenna, and Joe Walsh on the case means that Cindy Barrone’s murder is already being handled by the best the city of New York had to offer. How many reporters are there? he asked.

Two, Rynn answered.

That didn’t make sense to McKenna with a victim like Cindy Barrone. This crime scene called for a gaggle of reporters, both print and TV. Just two?

Rynn and Cocchi exchanged a smile. When we saw that NYC-9 license plate, we knew these were hot murders and a big splash, Rynn explained. We figured that maybe whoever caught it would like some time to get a story together before the press caught on and started up the pressure, so we didn’t put anything over the radio.

Nothing? McKenna asked, impressed with Rynn and Cocchi’s logic and actions. They knew that the sharper reporters monitored the police radios, but nothing?

Not a peep, used landlines for everything, Cocchi said. Kathy stayed here to guard the crime scene and I went to the station house. Ran the plate from there on the computer and found out who the car was registered to. Then I went in to see the captain with the news. Got a big ‘attaboy,’ and the captain got on the horn to everybody else. Nothing on the air.

Captain’s a sharp guy, too, McKenna said.

A sharp lady and a square shooter, Rynn corrected, but both she and Cocchi were obviously pleased with the implied compliment. We were set for some misery with these murders, but she saved us some problems.

This isn’t your sector? McKenna guessed.

Unfortunately, no, and our sergeant has been in this precinct since before we were born. A real old-timer with old-time ways.

It had been years since McKenna had worked for one of those types, but he remembered. Run afoul of them by breaking one of the sacred old rules, and each eight-hour tour seemed to last forever. But if the captain thought they had done a good job, then that was it. Case closed.

McKenna searched his mind for more questions, something to give him more of an edge over Tommy. He came up with a few. Do you know if your spot has been used as a lovers lane before?

Sometimes, but they’re always gone by the time we get here in the morning, Rynn said. We find empty beer cans, wine bottles, pizza boxes, things like that.

We like to keep our spot tidy, so we always clean up after the slobs, Cocchi added. It’s pristine, and Tommy really liked that.

Another piece of luck for Tommy and me, McKenna thought. Anything found there was probably left by the killer. Now for the small question that could tell me quite a bit. Are two of those coffees for the reporters?

Yeah, Rynn answered. I think they’re pals of Tommy’s and he told us to count them in.

So it was Tommy who called them, McKenna thought. Called two old, trustworthy pals to watch him work his wonders. Thanks for the briefing.

The two cops nodded an acknowledgment, then grabbed the trays from the backseat. McKenna followed them up the trail to the crime scene tape stretched across it. John Harney of the Daily News and Phil Messing of the Post were there, chatting and looking bored. They were both in their forties, but the stress of their jobs hadn’t gotten to them. Each had a full head of wavy black hair with no gray, and they looked as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

McKenna knew both and counted them as friends, two good men who had been around long enough to know that breaking a confidence meant burning a source forever. There was no need to assign a cop to the crime scene tape to keep them at bay. They would wait for their statement and permission to get close enough to take pictures.

Harney and Messing’s casual and unexcited demeanor told McKenna that Tommy hadn’t given them the victims’ names. It looked like they still considered the crime a routine double murder, no big thing.

That all changed when they saw McKenna. McKenna on the scene meant they had missed something. It wasn’t routine; something extraordinary had happened and they were in the right spot at the right time. You gonna talk to us, Brian? Harney asked.

Don’t know much yet, but we can chat for a moment.

Harney and Messing each grabbed a coffee container from Rynn’s tray and the cops ducked under the tape to deliver the rest.

You gonna be working this case? Harney asked.

Yep. Just got assigned to it by the PC.

You been transferred to Homicide?

Nope. I’m still in Major Case.

So this is a major case? asked Messing.

Yes, turns out that it is.

Why’s that? Something special about the victims? Messing guessed.

You got it, Phil. It’s the victims.

Who are they?

As I understand it, we’ve only got one of them identified so far, the woman. I’ll leave it to Tommy to tell you who she is.

Is he still on the case? Harney asked.

Yes.

So who’s case is it then? Yours or Tommy’s?

It’s been assigned to me, but Tommy’s gonna still be on it with me.

Let me make sure I’ve got this straight, Messing said. Tommy’s not in charge of the case. For some reason it’s been given to you by Brunette, but Tommy’s still going to be working it.

That’s right.

So he’ll be working for you? Harney asked, choosing his words carefully. Tommy McKenna will be working for Brian McKenna?

In a manner of speaking, but that’s not the way I’ll be looking at it. I regard it as a learning experience for me and I feel lucky to be able to work with him, no matter how it looks to you right now.

These murders are going to be a big story, aren’t they? Harney asked.

Yeah, John. It’s gonna be a big one, so you and all your pals are gonna be putting a lot of heat on me before it’s over. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna get to work.

McKenna left them. As he ducked under the tape, he looked back and saw that both men were on their cell phones calling their editors to suggest that real photographers be sent over in a hurry. The circus was warming up and about to begin.

Cindy Barrone’s BMW was still at the end of the dirt road. Two Crime Scene Unit detectives were photographing the scene and another was scanning the ground around the car with a metal detector. Tommy was in the coffee clutch gathered around Cindy’s body at the edge of the hill, about a hundred feet away. Detective First Grade Joe Walsh was busy dusting the passenger door handle of the BMW while the uniformed cops watched and sipped their coffees. Walsh kept up a running commentary as he worked, explaining his craft to all who cared to listen. The cops looked bored, which told McKenna they had been standing there too long.

McKenna had expected Walsh to be there for the big case because Walsh kept his ear to the ground and somehow always knew which cases were likely to put his name in print. Universally recognized as the Crime Scene Unit’s leading expert on processing evidence and the NYPD’s leading ham and glory hound, Walsh was a big, gregarious man in his late fifties.

McKenna didn’t feel like talking to Walsh at the moment, so he just glanced into the car at the body still lying there. Unfortunately, Walsh saw him and stood up. What are you doing here, Brian? he asked. Come to get your picture in the papers?

No, Joe. Unlike yourself, I’m here because I was sent here.

The PC?

Yeah. He assigned this one to me.

He assigned Tommy’s case to you? Walsh asked, incredulous. Why would he do that?

Politics.

Walsh understood and he shook his head to indicate his disapproval. Dopey meddling bastards.

Yeah, it’s a dopey move, but it’s not Ray’s fault.

The mayor?

I guess so.

Wanna hear what I’ve got so far?

Not now, Joe. I’ll talk to you later, McKenna said.

Just as well because I don’t have much. This might be the cleanest crime scene I’ve ever seen. Guy was real careful.

That piece of news was a disappointment for McKenna, but he believed it. If Walsh couldn’t find it, then it wasn’t there. He walked toward the crowd gathered around the body, but the view was so beautiful that he had to stop for a moment to admire it. It was a great spot for a lovers lane, secluded with an expansive view of the Hudson, the Palisades on the Jersey side, and the George Washington Bridge. Unfortunately for Cindy Barrone and her late pal, those same characteristics made it a perfect spot for murder. Then he noticed that Tommy was staring at him, but he had a friendly smile on his face. By the time McKenna walked over and joined the group, everyone was staring at him and he felt self-conscious.

Tommy McKenna was the epitome of a detective. Always well dressed, he radiated authority and confidence. He had a reputation as a kind man, a great socializer, and was so well liked and respected that he had long ago been elected as the Manhattan trustee of the Detectives Endowment Association, the detectives’ union. It was a position he would hold as long as it suited him.

McKenna had known Tommy for twenty years, and the man hadn’t changed much. Tommy looked fifty-something then and he still did.

The first thing Tommy did was hand McKenna a container of coffee. Then McKenna shook hands all around, trying not to look yet at the covered body lying at their feet. Although he had spent years in the Manhattan South Homicide Squad and had seen more than his share of murder victims, McKenna knew it would take him a while before he could again regard death as objectively as did Tommy and the rest of his Manhattan North crew. He felt uncomfortable making small talk with the victim on the ground in front of him, but the amenities had to be observed.

John Andino was an old friend and he greeted McKenna warmly. He was a friendly, unassuming, outgoing character in his late forties, usually so cheerful that it was hard to imagine him cutting up bodies for a living.

Lieutenant Greve was the opposite, a serious man in his fifties with a detached air and slicked-back graying blond hair. He wasn’t tall, but his square jaw and weightlifter’s build made him look like a tough guy. Are you going to be officially working for me? Greve asked as he shook McKenna’s hand.

I guess so, Lieutenant, but it hasn’t officially been worked out yet.

Captain Uhlfelder was the surprise. She was an attractive woman in her thirties. McKenna would have thought her too young to be a captain, but there she was with the double gold bars and a row of medals besides. My, my! First one famous Detective McKenna, then Dr. Andino himself, and now the other famous Detective McKenna? We’re getting quite a few distinguished visitors around here today, aren’t we? she said with a smile as she shook McKenna’s hand.

McKenna felt that a reply was called for. Just going where I’m sent, Captain. I thought it was pretty sharp, the way you kept this whole thing under wraps.

I’m not the sharp one, she said. One of my cops suggested it and it sounded like a good idea to me. Just another case of good cops making the captain look good.

Why is Ray hiding this lady up here? McKenna wondered, very much taken with Uhlfelder’s appearance, modesty, intelligence, and sense of fair play. He should be showing her off in midtown, commanding a precinct under the bright lights.

After Tommy finished introducing McKenna to the few detectives there he didn’t know, it was time to look down and see what had been done to Cindy Barrone. McKenna reached down and grabbed a corner of the blanket.

Let’s have our coffee and talk first, Tommy suggested.

That was fine with McKenna. They left the group and walked a little further into the woods. For a few minutes, not another word was said. Both men drank from their containers as they surveyed the crime scene.

Tommy finished his first. I just want you to know that I’ve got no hard feelings over this. I know it wasn’t your idea, and I don’t blame Ray either. That prick Barrone put him in check, he said.

I still feel bad about it, McKenna said.

Don’t. You never were the grandstanding, piggy type, so we’ll probably make a good team. Matter of fact, we’re gonna have to be if we’re gonna solve this one.

Mind telling me one thing before we get into these murders?

Let me guess, Tommy said. What’s the real reason Barrone doesn’t want me in charge of this one?

Exactly.

What did Ray tell you?

That Barrone’s worried about this case winding up in a book of yours someday. Even in the middle of this, Barrone’s still thinking like a politician. I’m sure he’s going to want this case forgotten as soon as it’s over.

Then that’s a pretty good lie he fed the mayor, Tommy said, shaking his head. The truth is that his daughter’s murder means he’ll always be reelected, if he plays it right. He can count on the sympathy vote and that’s a big thing.

Then why?

He doesn’t want me working this because he hates me, and the feeling is mutual. Years ago, he welshed on a deal with me and I dragged his name through the mud for anyone who’d care to listen.

Union business?

Brian, it pains me to think that you’re one of the many who don’t pay attention to what we’re trying to do on your behalf, Tommy said, smiling.

Sorry, I’m one of those people, McKenna admitted.

Don’t worry about it. Most of the time this union crap bores me to tears. Anyway, about fifteen years ago Barrone was the city councilman from my home district and he was running for reelection in a tough race. This was before we had tenure, but it was our main concern. You remember what it was like back then, don’t you?

McKenna did. The issue had finally been resolved, but in the old days even a first grade detective making lieutenant’s money still served as a detective at the pleasure of the police commissioner, or at the pleasure of any politician who could get to the PC. Many who had been detectives for years found themselves demoted and back in uniform after making errors on a case, disagreeing with the boss, or getting into some other kind of jam. But no longer. Tenure was now part of the DEA’s contract with the city, meaning that any person who works three years as a detective stays a detective. So what was the deal you had with Barrone? Support us on the tenure issue and you’d work to get him reelected?

That was it, basically, and work I did. Me and my whole family, plus anyone else I could get to come out with me. Ringing doorbells, handing out pamphlets, making speeches, raising money, the whole rigmarole. Even got the DEA to endorse him as ‘the crime-fighting candidate’ for all the good it did us. Soon as he’s reelected, the slimeball doesn’t know me anymore. He got in bed with the mayor and worked against us on the tenure clause. Made me look like a horse’s ass, but I get him back every time I can. Hard as I worked for him, every time he’s up for reelection I work even harder against him. He’s won them all, but some were squeakers. Thanks to me, he’s had to spend considerably more time and money to keep his job than he would’ve liked.

I understand, but you’ve made yourself a powerful enemy, McKenna observed.

So has he, Brian. So has he, but he must know that I’d never use his daughter’s murder against him. I’ll work just as hard to catch her killer as I do on every other case. Barrone having the mayor send you here is just a personal slap at me, nothing more.

Are you gonna tell Harney and Messing that?

Yeah, but I’ll ask them not to print it. I’m not sinking to Barrone’s level just yet. He’s got enough on his mind right now, so I’ll let him think he’s won.

Tommy’s still a kind guy, McKenna thought. He’s been officially embarrassed, but he’s not lashing back at his grieving tormentor just yet. Should we set up the ground rules on how we’re gonna work this case? McKenna asked.

No need to. You just run it and I’ll help you out as much as I can. Maybe we’ll both learn some more about murder by the time this is over.

If you say so. I guess you’ve got a pretty good idea by now of how these two were done.

I know exactly how it was done. Let’s walk through it.

McKenna followed Tommy a short distance deeper into the woods to a fallen tree. This is where he waited for them to arrive. Sat here quite a while, Tommy said, then crouched down on his knees. McKenna followed his lead and Tommy pointed to some cigarette ashes intermingled with the dead leaves. No way of telling how many smokes he had, but he was careful. Took his butts with him. Left not another thing anywhere after he finished.

But it tells us something, McKenna said. He didn’t follow Cindy and her pal here. He was here waiting for them, targets of opportunity. He must’ve walked in and walked out of the park.

That’s the way it looks, unless Cindy or her boyfriend made a habit of coming here. The only clue the killer left us is that he has to be from this area to know about this spot. After the victims arrived, he waited a few minutes longer while they went at it in the car. Her boyfriend gets his pants down, but we don’t know what state of dress or undress she was in. In any event, none of her clothes are in the car.

McKenna stared at the ground, searching for something the killer might have left behind, but Tommy was right. There was nothing but the ashes. No footprints he could see, no butts, nothing.

Ready to go on? Tommy asked.

Let’s go. He followed Tommy to the driver’s side of the BMW.

He walks over and fires one shot through the closed window, killing this poor slob, Tommy said.

Any brass?

No, but I’m betting he used an automatic. Held the gun in a paper bag to catch the ejected cartridge when he fired. I’m also betting that when Andino pulls the slug out of his head, he’s gonna find paper residue burned into it from the bag.

So we’re dealing with a serial killer here, McKenna thought. Tommy’s seen his work before. What kind of gun is he using?

If I had to guess, I’d say a .380 Colt Commander.

McKenna waited for more facts from Tommy to justify his guess, but Tommy wasn’t ready to show his cards yet. It could wait. What happens next?

The boyfriend never saw it coming, but whatever she was doing, maybe Cindy did. After the shot, she was sharp enough to open her door and run. But she wasn’t fast enough and didn’t get far.

McKenna followed Tommy around the car and into the woods on the other side. This is where he caught her, Tommy said, pointing to the ground. Tackled her from behind and brought her down.

McKenna could see that the fallen leaves on the ground had been shoved aside, exposing the ground where Cindy had been pulled down.

Found two things here, Tommy said. There was some blood on one of the leaves here, presumably Cindy’s, so he must have smacked her to bring her under control. I’m assuming he hit her on the side of the head with his gun because she’s got a nasty lump there and I found this here. Tommy reached into his pocket, took out a handkerchief, and unfolded it to reveal a thin gold hoop earring with a small blood smear on it.

Which side of her head is the lump on? McKenna asked.

The right side.

Doesn’t look like there was much of a struggle here, so I’d say he hit her from behind when she was on the ground. If so, he was holding the gun in his right hand.

That’s my thinking, too. We’re looking for a right-handed killer, but that doesn’t help us much. After he had her under control, he brought her over here.

McKenna followed Tommy to a large tree growing at the the edge of the precipice. Be careful, but take a look at the other side of this tree, Tommy said.

McKenna held on to the tree and saw that the bark was recently scarred on the far side, two small marks. One was three feet up from the base of the tree and the other was about five feet up. How tall is Cindy?

Pretty tall. I’d say about five foot six.

Looks like he tied her to the tree at her neck and at her waist. Must have used some kind of chain to make those marks.

I’d say he used a couple of chain dog leashes, but the way he tied her is unusual. He used two sets of handcuffs, put one on each of her hands. He has her back against the tree with the chain tied around it at her neck. Then he stretched her arms back, ran the chain through the cuffs, and pinned her to the tree. Gagged her, then he probably went back to the spot I showed you before. Had a few more smokes and waited. If anyone else would’ve shown up here last night, maybe he would have left. But Cindy wasn’t that lucky.

What was he waiting for?

Dawn. He wanted to be able to see in order to enjoy himself thoroughly. Andino puts the guy’s time of death at about one this morning, but Cindy’s only been dead about four hours.

McKenna checked his watch. Eleven-fifteen. What time was dawn this morning?

Five-ten.

So he tortured her for about an hour before he finally killed her.

Right, but it gets even more bizarre. Take a look here, Tommy said, pointing to the base of the tree. The ground had been stamped down there and many of the leaves had been broken into small pieces. Thousands of small drops of blood speckled the ground to the left and right of the tree, but there was no blood at the base. She lose a lot of blood when he tortured her?

Most of it.

So he spread a tarp on the ground under her feet, McKenna said. Real careful. Caught most of her blood and anything he might have left.

You mean semen?

Yeah, semen. I’m assuming he raped her, but pulled out because he didn’t want to leave his semen behind.

Maybe you’re right, but I don’t think so. Andino says he shoved something in her orifices, but I don’t think it was his dick. That’s not the way this type gets off. He likes to watch the pain and degradation he’s causing while he jerks off.

McKenna took Tommy’s opinion as a fact only because it was Tommy who was saying it. But it was time for Tommy to justify his opinions. I guess you’ve seen this type of thing before.

Seen this very type of thing.

When?

Eighteen years ago. August 10th, 1981.

Where?

Right here. I knew just where to look for those marks on the tree because he chained his victim to the same tree last time. Also went right to the spot where he sat and waited. That fallen tree where he sat and had his smokes was still standing back then, but the ballsy prick had brought a lawn chair with him. Found the indentations in the ground where he had sat it down.

And how about that victim? Same type of torture?

When the emergency service guys finally got Cindy’s body up, I knew it was the same man. She suffered through the exact same kind of torture.

I guess you didn’t solve that case.

Never even got close. It’s not one of the ones I brag about. Matter of fact, hardly ever mention it to my fans.

Does Ray know we’ve got a serial killing case?

Not yet. When I talked to him, Cindy’s body was still down there, Tommy said, pointing down the precipice. I wasn’t certain until the ESU guys went down and brought her up, so you’ll be the one to tell him.

Problems for everybody, but especially me. A big case just got bigger, McKenna thought. Probably much bigger. Serial killers don’t kill once every eighteen years. There’s other cases, he said.

That’s what I thought, but not in this city there aren’t. I take a look at every lovers lane case that comes up and I looked at all the older ones, but it was never the same killer.

How about the rest of the country?

Thought I had another one in San Jose, California, about ten years ago. So many things were close. Gun used in that one was a .380 Colt Commander fired through a paper bag, but it wasn’t the same gun. Victim was different, too. In that case the killer executed the woman right away, but it was the man he had his fun with. Tied him to a tree the same way and tortured him.

Same kind of torture?

Different. Used the gun to kill the girl, but that guy was a slasher. This one’s a whipper.

He used a whip on Cindy?

Sure did. Really punished her, opened her up good.

And splattered her blood everywhere but in front of her, McKenna observed, pointing to the blood on both sides of the tree. He must have gotten quite a bit of it on himself when he whipped her.

I’m assuming he did, but you’ve seen how careful he is. Maybe he was naked when he did it. If so, he just cleaned himself up before he left. If not, he brought a change of clothes with him.

That’s another reason for the tarp in front. He didn’t want to leave us any of his bloody footprints.

Like I said, real careful. You ready to take a look at Cindy?

I guess so, but just one more question. Is Walsh gonna find anything here?

Not a thing that’ll help us. For once, the great Joe Walsh is gonna come up blank.

Too bad. Might as well get the unpleasantness over with.

The two men walked to Cindy’s body. Everyone was gone except Walsh and Andino. The blanket still covered her, but Walsh had pulled out her left hand and was busy taking her fingerprints.

McKenna could see that Tommy was right about the handcuffs. He had seen the same circular marks before on the wrists of prisoners who had struggled to free themselves from the cuffs, but never so severe as Cindy’s injuries. Her wrist was tattered, damage she had inflicted on herself as she struggled against her restraints during her painful

Reviews for Black and White

[ecw0647 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

The author makes a huge mistake right off the bat. I was listening to this book, and the two major protagonists are both named McKenna: Brian and Tommy. He then proceeds to compound the error by talking about each not by given name, but rather by patronymic. You really have to keep your head wrapped around this in order not to get confused. A quick look at Amazon reveals that the names are even spelled the same, although, in the author’s defense, Tommy McKenna is a real NYPD detective of some note. Whatever.

A man and woman are discovered dead near the cloisters, she the daughter of a wealthy, politically connected man, Brian is assigned as lead detective on the case even as they discover another similar set of murders that had haunted the other McKenna, Tommy. As the investigation proceeds, it becomes apparent the detectives are looking for two serial killers who are engaged in the production of snuff films. The chase leads all over the country in addition to Costa Rica, Thailand, Burma, and Barcelona.

It’s a well-done police procedural with lots of interesting investigatory detail and I do really hope (although I sincerely doubt) that the different police agencies here and abroad really do cooperate and get along and are all such nice guys as described in the book..