Making a Connection
Chapter 3
Connie thought it was romantic how she had met Gregory Kensington.
She had gone to the skating rink in Rockefeller Center with her sister. The rink, like everywhere else in the city, was festooned with Christmas decorations as holiday music blared from its speakers. Skaters glided by her from all sides of the tiny rink skated in unity around the rink and Connie and her sister had decided to join in on the fun, too. While making one of the turns, Connie had cut it too sharp. Her skates slipped from underneath her, and she fell hard onto the ice, landing on her bottom as other skaters past by her.
More embarrassed than hurt, she was about to help herself up when, from her peripheral view, she saw a male hand reach out.
"Here, let me help you," the helpful voice announced.
As Connie looked up, she was staring into gorgeous green eyes. In gratitude, she held onto his hand as he eased her up.
"Thanks," Connie said, a blush appearing on her cheeks, "I guess I wasn't as good a skater as I thought."
"Everyone falls," he told her with a friendly smile, "even the best of them."
When she smiled back at him, she was struck by the intelligence of his face.
"Thanks for that comment, too," she added.
As people skated around them, Gregory and Connie introduced themselves and soon they were skating together. Which led to coffee together. Which led to dinner together. And then it was a whirlwind of seeing each other almost every day for two weeks.
For Connie, it seemed like a Christmas dream come true.
.
Cafe Boulud is located inside the renowned Surrey Hotel. The posh restaurant has been an uptown mainstay for over a decade with its casually elegant ambiance. This was the latest of the many meals Gregory and Connie had shared. She was especially impressed how expertly Gregory spoke French when ordering. They were in the middle of their meal.
"This seared foie grae is divine," Connie told him, "I'm glad you recommended it."
Gregory lifted his wine and swirled it a bit before taking a sip, "I wanted to treat you to something special, especially after the day you've had."
Connie watched his face intently, "How did you know I was feeling stressed?"
"With the time we've spent together, how could I not?" he asked, "Care to talk about it?"
She looked down and smile. It was so nice to have someone so attuned to her feelings. She told him she was working on the Central Park Strangler case, although, of course, she couldn't give any details about the ongoing investigation.
"...so in conclusion, I guess my feelings were just a little hurt that I wasn't called onto the crime scene," she told him, "I know I shouldn't be, but-"
Gregory didn't need to hear the rest of the story. He concernedly placed his hand over hers and squeezed it, "You have every right to be upset," he assuredly told her, "and selfishly, I'm glad you didn't get a call that night because it allowed us to spend the night together without any interruption."
She smiled. He understood her feelings. He understood her. He was perfect.
.
It was the next day and it had been a grueling day in court for Mike and Connie on a different case. The jury had rendered its decision and the defendant had been acquitted on all charges, meaning another loss for the prosecution. Even though it was towards the end of the day, they both decided to head out for the 2-7 in hopes of garnering some new information regarding the Central Park Strangler.
From the passenger side of car, Connie eyed Mike intently.
"You sure you're okay going to the precinct?" she asked concernedly, "You've already had a pretty rough day."
"You mean the loss?" Mike inquired. He put his foot on the brakes. The traffic was stop and go. There seemed to be double the amount of taxis and buses, "Sure," he agreed, "a loss is always hard to take, but it's not nearly as annoying as all this holiday traffic! Christmas can be a real headache!"
Mike was sounding irritated and tired.
"I'm surprised you just don't add a 'bah-humbug!' to the end of your complaint," Connie said sardonically.
He half smiled, appreciating that she was trying to add some levity to the situation.
"I would," Mike told her, "except I don't know what 'humbug' means!"
She smiled, "Maybe you're cranky during Christmastime because as a child, Santa put coals in your shoes instead of a present."
"Maybe," Mike admitted as he inched his car forward,, "and that could also explain why my mom used to say I was Claustrophobic," he deadpanned.
She laughed, and so did he. It felt good to laugh. Especially after losing a case and then getting stuck in heavy traffic.
.
"Tell me you've found a connection between the three victims," Mike inquired of the two detectives, the minute he and Connie arrived at the 2-7.
"And a happy hello to you, too," Bernard said sarcastically, "I hope the reason why you offer no greeting and seem to be in a rush is because you've been obsessed with thinking of a present for me," he joked to Mike.
"Oh, yes, Detective," Mike joked back, "and after spending a considerable time thinking about that special present for you, I've come to the startling conclusion that I know absolutely nothing about you, and don't care to."
Bernard looked up, a huge smile on his face, as Lupo and Connie also exchanged grins.
"Let me be the one to shower you two with happy holiday greetings, detectives!" Connie cheerfully said, "You'll have to excuse Mike. He's been like this all day with me, too. Mr. Christmas here is all about the case."
"Well, we do have a killer loose in the city," Mike said, getting back to business, "and thus far, we have no suspects."
"Relax, Mike," Lupo told him, "we are making headway on the case, you know. The latest victim has been identified, so we now have the names of all the victims."
"But we need the name of the killer and soon, so that Connie and I can do our jobs," Mike reminded them.
"Mike..." Connie gave him a chiding look," the detectives know how to do their jobs..."
Lupo showed them a paper, "As you can see, I have been busy making calls. I was hoping that maybe the victims had purchased their running shoes all from the same store."
"And?" Mike asked, high with anticipation.
"No such luck," Bernard continued, "in fact, we couldn't find any running shoe purchases on the credit card statements from any of the victims."
Connie lifted a brow, "No records on any of the purchases? How strange. All three must have paid cash."
"That's what we figured," Bernard told her, "and it also makes our job more difficult. So we showed the victims' pictures to any local stores that might sell running shoes. None of them recognized these women. So we're back to square one."
"Have you checked the stores surrounding New York City?" Mike asked.
Lupo gave a frustrated sigh, "Mike, I know you're trying to find a connection, but how wide of a scope should our search be for checking shoe merchants? Should we now proceed to neighboring states? Then head out to the Midwest? And then what? We don't have the time or the resources. For now, let's just chalk up these killings as random picks by the Strangler."
"Detectives, we're not here to tell you two how to investigate," Mike tried to keep his voice even, "but we need to find this guy. The whole city is being held captive by this Central Park killer."
"You don't think we know that?" challenged Lupo, "this case is not exactly getting me in a festive mood, either."
The phone rang, and just in time. Lupo reached over to answer it.
"Yeah, Detective Lupo here," they heard him say. He listened for a bit, and then his face fell, "Yeah, okay, we'll be right there." He hung up and looked over at Bernard. "There's been a hold-up at Lee's Liquor Store on seventh," he told his partner, "they got away with about $250 in cash and shot the owner dead."
Bernard groaned, "...Couldn't just take the money and run, could they?" he got up and grabbed his coat.
Connie looked surprised, "You two are leaving in the middle of all this? Couldn't they send other detectives on that case?"
"If you've notice, Connie, there's a shortage of detectives and police during the holidays," Bernard told her as he nudged his head over to the side, "but don't worry; all the information you'll need on the case could be found in that room over there."
Mike and Connie glanced over to where Bernard had indicated.
The detectives had set up a makeshift 'crime board' in one of the nearby conference rooms. It was a whiteboard with the victim's pictures along with any information, all organized so that one could get the entire picture of the case all at one glance.
A young male, no older than college age, was now pinning the photos of the shoes recovered from the right foot of each victim. He was very tall and lanky, like a basketball player.
"Who's the tall elf helping you with the board in there?" she questioned.
Lupo guffawed, "That tall elf? He's an intern, actually. Usually all they do is get coffee, but we decided to put him to work setting up this board. That's his Christmas present from us. Everyone deserves a break from the humdrum of menial office work."
"Except us," Bernard responded, gesturing back to the stack of paperwork, "...but anyway, feel free to enjoy our pride and joy," he said to Mike and Connie, pointing to the white board in the conference room.
"Yeah," Lupo said, putting his scarf around his neck, "Just be gentle with our baby." he lightheartedly warned them and then the detectives were gone.
Mike and Connie wandered into to the conference room and over to the board as the intern pinned the last shoe picture up. They identified themselves to the intern as they studied the board.
"Well, there goes the theory that all three victims wore the same name brand shoes," Mike told Connie, as he pointed to the pictures, "the brands are all different. Nike's, Addidas on this one, and Puma on the other one."
Connie looked more closely at the pictures, "The shoes here don't even have similar features. This one has air-pumps while the others do not. This other one has neon shoelaces. And look, only two of them are actual running shoes and the other is a cross-trainer. These shoes couldn't be more different. Not a thing in common."
"Except that they're old," the young intern casually commented to her.
"What? Are you sure?" Connie did a double take at the pinned pictures, "All three pairs look relatively new here."
"Believe me, " the intern insisted, "those tennis shoes are old."
"I was actually at the crime scene of the third victim," Mike stated, pointing to the picture of the latest victim's sneaker, "And her running shoe was definitely new. It was stark white and barely had a sign of a crease on the shoe."
The intern didn't look impressed.
"Yes, they are new in wearability, but style-wise, they are old," he said, as he pointed to each one, "The styles of these particular shoes have been out of production for a time. Last season, or I'm guessing even last, last season. Whoever wore these shoes was either a penny pincher or a major geek."
Of course a young college student built like a basketball player would know about out-of-season tennis shoes. Mike and Connie exchanged hopeful looks.
Thanks to the young intern, they may have stumbled across a possible connection among the three victims in the Strangler case.
.
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