Call Me Caesar
Aiden's POV
Before I'm even seated at my precinct desk, the phone rings. The sound is audible through the distant murmur of voices from the bullpen and the low hum of the computers.
I know . We both know who's calling. The same unknown person calling all this while, taunting our efforts. The killer perhaps. I remember this person calling us once but I wasn't sure if it was when Greta just got murdered.
Shit.
I have a lot on my mind.
“It’s Detective Aiden Cross here.”
Something hisses through the receiver, a low purposeful laugh. The sound sounds like dead leaves skittering across pavement and is dry and rattling.
“Ah, yes, hello detective. You seem to be still pursuing shadows.”
I held the phone tightly and exhale and I heard him laugh at the other end.
“Who is this?”
I wait.
A long drawn-out silence is the only response I get. It feels weighty and brimming with so much dangers. The line clicks and went dead.
My chest beats frantically against my ribs and I shut my eyes, anger swelling inside of me.
Dana's face is white in the harsh office lighting as she leans over my shoulder already.
Her voice is hardly audible as she whispers, “ That was the same guy. Last week that person called.”
I stroke my face, my palm touched and scratched the stubble. I can't seem to find a coherent thought, any thought at all. My head was filled.
“This person's boldness in calling us here in the precinct knowing our schedules and talking as though he were observing us from a sniper scope on a rooftop across the street is quite annoying.” I look at Dana who just sighs.
“Get the logs.RIGHT NOW. Follow it.”
Dana gives me a sharp nod and gets to her computer where her fingers move across the keyboard at a speed that never ceases to astound me.
“I can try to obtain a ping from the previous connection but it's difficult Aiden. He's intelligent. He's bouncing the signal throughout the city by masking it with multiple lines.”
I get up and pace the tiny office, my eyes very sleep and every ounce of tiredness got replaced by anger.
I look at the city maps, victim photos and timelines scrawled on whiteboards that line the walls. I can see Greta's face in a picture that is affixed to the corkboard.
I'm still dealing with the raw open wound of her death. I thought that Big Ray killed his wife but now what I think right now doesn't matter.
Someone else is out there. Maybe the killer.
It seems as if he is challenging us to make a mistake or display a vulnerability that he can take advantage of by calling us again.
My desk phone is ringing again. I and Dana exchanged puzzled glances.
My throat lurches with my heart. Dana's hands hover over her keyboard as she freezes. I give her a little shake of my head as she looks at me. I'm familiar with the procedure. To him this is a game. He wants me tense, whoever he is. His goal is for me, got us to feel powerless.
I allowed it to ring. once. Twice. For the third time. The noise is intrusive and high-pitched and I hate too much noise.
The room finally becomes quiet once more. I let out a long trembling breath as I tried to stop the fast pounding in my chest.
“Trace it now.” I say with a firm voice, driving my fingers through my hair.
Dana nods, her entire attention fixed on the screen before her. The minutes pass slowly. Every second seems endless and with excruciating slowness the wall clock ticks away. Dana then quits typing.
Her eyes widen as she freezes and looks at the screen. Softly incredulously she says, her eyes darting to me and then to the computer screen.
“I think… I think I got him.”
In two steps, I walk confidently to her desk. “Why do you say that?”
With a little hesitation she gestures at a line of code with a quivering finger. “The number. It is routed through a dozen proxies and is not local. However for a brief moment the origin signal originated from—well it's bouncing through a tower close to East 89th. Furthermore it has been dependable. Every single call. That same tower is the source of their ghost pings.” She explains. “He can now be triangulated.”
A cold shiver ran down my spine and I shook my head.
East 89th. That street had previously been mentioned in relation to the murderer, a tenuous connection we were never able to fully understand. I take a quick look at the pictures on the wall of Greta, the attorneys and the child protection workers. The wealthy neighborhoods of the city were somehow connected to all of the victims.
I give the desk a gentle side-fist punch, a tiny outburst of annoyance.
“Call Liam, technology division. We must track this down to the structure. Quick.”
Dana nods slowly and presses a speed dial number. Shortly afterward a clear and sharp voice can be heard over the speakerphone.
“This is Liam. What's up?”
Leaning over the phone, I say.
“ We just had him on the line again.The same voice, same person. We need you to begin a trace right away. No matter how many towers it bounces off I don't care. You've got to get me something.”
Liam's tone darkens. “Take note of that, pal. I will now begin the triangulation process. This isn't just a prankster, is it?”
“No,” I said in a somber voice. “Just get us something clean.”
“Give me five,” Liam responds. “As soon as we have something, I'll notify you.”
I nod and sit down slowly.
“Are you alright ?” Dana asks, watching me.
“Yes, I'm fine, Dana. Just pondering. Whoever this is, he is becoming more audacious. He enjoys the fact that he knows we are after him.”
After hesitating Dana asks,
“ Do you think it could be someone close to the victims? Someone who knew their schedules, their routines?”
With the idea growing sour in my head I bite my lip. “It is possible . It seems too close to be a coincidence. He called one certain time and now again. Shit.”
With the exception of the hum of computers and Dana's sporadic typing the office is once again quiet. I look at Greta's picture. She seems to be accusing me with her eyes reminding me that time is running out and the murderer is always one step ahead.
The phone on my desk then makes a brief sharp buzzing noise. I nod, Dana still had her eyes glued to the screen.
It's a familiar rough voice. It's not the murderer’s.
“Liam is here. You're warming up Detective Cross.”
“What did you find?”
“Some stuffs.” he chuckles.
“Enough games Liam! What have you got?!” I exclaim losing all patience.
His tone is now all business as he states The signal is stabilizing.
“Fifth Avenue, corner building, the third tower.
This building appears to be a penthouse.”
My belly churns. Penthouse? This isn't a random person. This person is wealthy and powerful.
“Can you tell me the precise location?” I ask.
“He is in motion,” Liam remarks. “The signal is not constant. Maybe he's trying to confuse us or maybe he's in a car.”
I lean back and briefly close my eyes before snapping them open.
We have to move. Each second matters. We must act quickly if he is preparing another attack. We can't risk losing another lawyer.
The speakerphone does a beep. Liam has ping-ed again.
“Wait,” he says in a tight voice. “The signal just ceased to function. It's steady. It isn't open.”
Dana's face is pale as she leans forward.
“Where?”
I hear the frantic clatter of keys from Liam's end during the pause. He then speaks in a strained low voice.
“My location is pinging. Getting closer. . . I got him.”
Dana looks directly at me as she straightens up. There's a deafening silence after Liam pauses before saying, “ But. This person's identity surprises me. We know him.”
The telephone line becomes silent.
The words sink like ice into me and I freeze.
There is only one meaning for that phrase in our field.
As I look into Dana's eyes I see the same horror that I sense in my own stomach. I see a gallery of faces in my head including friends, coworkers and informants.
Who?
The murderer is not merely a shadow in the city. He is walking by our side right here in our lives. Right beside us.
“Liam.” Dana calls. “Can you hear me?”
I smile. This means one thing that we have the killer. Yes, we've got him and I just can't wait.
“Yes,” Liam replies.
“What did you find?” I ask, excitement c
reeping in my voice.
“You won't like this a bit, you both.”
I inhale. “Hit me.”
There's a slight pause.
“Our guy is Keith. Keith Rockwell. The mayor's son.”