27th Precinct
Late in the evening, Lennie Briscoe was sitting at his desk, going over his notes on the Manhattan Slasher.
The bastard was a real neatnik. Not a trace of a clue to be found anywhere, on any of the bodies. It was presumed that the Slasher washed the bodies of his victims after he was done with them.
Even finger and toe nails…
Lennie sighed, and rubbed his eyes tiredly. Then, he saw...her.
Claire Kincaid, bending over him, hand on his shoulder, fright in her eyes. Her lips were moving, speaking urgently. But Briscoe couldn't hear what she was saying.
"Lennie!" Logan's voice shook him awake.
I fell asleep at my desk, Briscoe thought in disgust. Then, he saw Logan, the worry in the other man's eyes.
"Mikey?"
"We gotta go down to Hogan Place, Lennie. Jamie Ross just called. McCoy's gone missing."
Ten minutes later, everyone was on the scene, Briscoe and Logan looking at Jack McCoy's bike, the leather briefcase and bike helmet, both on the concrete floor, and the traces of blood.
Claire Kincaid was there too, wringing her hands at the sight.
Briscoe closed his eyes, opened them again. Kincaid was still there, and she was so frightened.
That's it…I've gone off the deep end…
But she was looking right at him, most steadfastly.
Claire? Briscoe didn't dare speak out loud. But it seemed she heard him anyway.
What happened to the Counselor? He asked.
And that was when he saw…
Jack McCoy walks up to his bike. Judging by his expression, he's in a very foul mood as he sets the briefcase down on the floor. A man steps up from behind, and Briscoe, observing passively, recognizes the man.
Dr. Liam Kennedy…
McCoy starts to turn, but Kennedy wraps both arms around the attorney, one arm around his throat, choking him. Then, the doctor swivels, slamming McCoy's head against the trunk of a nearby car…
The attorney collapses, and Kennedy opens the trunk of the car, stuffs the body inside, closes the trunk, then opens the driver-side door, gets in and drives off.
"Lennie!" Mike Logan brings him back to now. "You okay?"
"Yeah…" Lennie stared at the empty space where the car had been. "We need the surveillance tapes."
…..
27th Precinct
7 AM
Everyone was gathered around the monitor, watching the brutal kidnapping as it happened. Adam Schiff had to sit, face gone gray at the sight of Jack McCoy's body gracelessly stuffed into the trunk of a blue Mercedes.
Lieutenant Anita Van Buren quietly took command.
"We've got the license plate. It's registered to Dr. Liam Kennedy. He hasn't reported in for work today. He's gone into hiding, it seems. Cancel all of your appointments. Finding Kennedy-and our missing Counselor-is our Number One priority."
She paused.
"Are you all right, Lennie?" she asked. "Jack McCoy's life is hanging in the balance here, and we need everyone at their best, and brightest."
Oddly, Briscoe looked to his right, at the wall. Then, he nodded slowly.
"You know…" he spoke hesitantly, still looking at the wall. "The Counselor dug up a body in the Warehouse District, and two of the other bodies were found in the Docks District."
"Meaning…what, Lennie?"
"Meaning Kennedy might be the Manhattan Slasher. And there's a distinct possibility that he's operating in and around the Warehouse and Docks Districts."
Van Buren nodded.
"We'll focus our search on those areas then. Remember, this could be a hostage situation; in which case, getting Mr. McCoy back, alive and well, is our first priority."
…..
There was darkness, interspersed with flashes of light, and sound…
Weeping and screaming, accompanied by guttural sounds that might have been a lion, or wolf…
Jack McCoy's head throbbed mercilessly, and…something…hot and wet was dripping into his eyes.
He couldn't move to brush, or wipe it away. He was immobilized, arms and legs alike. His stomach lurched and roiled.
Where…
Eyes fluttering open. Awake now…
He'd effectively been duct-taped to what looked like a surgical table, more duct tape across his mouth.
He still heard the cries, the screams, and those…animalistic howls…
McCoy managed to turn his head…
His blurring sight showed him another surgical table, a body duct-taped there too, but McCoy was sure this one was female, body naked, a…surgeon standing over, surgical tools, clenched in his left hand, dripping blood…
Kennedy…He's the Manhattan Slasher…
Powerless, Jack McCoy watched Kennedy move, scalpel blurring, as he struck again and again; and, every time he struck, Kennedy howled, like a wolf in heat.
Jesus…
McCoy wanted, desperately, to unsee what he was seeing. It was the most horrific thing he had ever witnessed.
Finally, the thing was done. Kennedy bowed his head, hand dropping to his side. Then, he shivered…the shuddering slowly taking over his whole body.
He sank to his knees, rocking slowly back and forth. Then, abruptly, the…seizure…spell…whatever it was, stopped.
Kennedy took a deep breath, stood, and stretched languorously.
"Don't worry, Jack," he said as he stripped himself down to underwear. "I always clean up after."
And, so he did…
The place had running water, a shower-head hanging over the now-dead body of the girl McCoy had just seen him kill. And the man had also come prepared, with soap, and various scrubbing appliances.
By the time Kennedy was finished bathing the body, only the stab wounds were left to show how she had died.
If she fought, he cleaned her fingernails, and everything else. Again, the detectives won't find anything…
That was when McCoy realized a frightening truth.
I'm next…
Kennedy was coming over.
"What am I gonna do with you, Jack?" he asked, looking down at his scalpel. "Killing men isn't my thing."
He put his scalpel away.
"You and I are gonna have us a little walk out on the docks. But first things first…"
He produced a syringe.
"This is a knockout drug," he explained as he pulled his prisoner's shirt collar back to inject the drug into McCoy's shoulder, into the blood-stream…
"Once this has taken effect," Kennedy added. "You and I are gonna go out onto the docks, and you, my friend, are going to take a swim."
With that tape over his mouth, McCoy couldn't even speak. Although he had no idea what he might have said, given the chance…
Utterly pointless anyway. I'm dead, no matter what I say…
Darkness came swiftly…
…..
Kennedy's Mercedes had been located. In the Docks District.
Now, the entire 27th was converging on the scene.
Detective Mike Logan was moving behind Lennie Briscoe. The older man had offered to take point.
Come to think of it, Briscoe seems awfully sure about where he's going…
Lieutenant Van Buren was a few paces behind, along with Detectives Profaci and Kurtz.
A gruesome sight lay just ahead. Two surgical tables, one occupied, one not.
A girl, roughly late teens or early twenties, dead body virtually bloodless, pale eyes staring sightless upward.
But she was still duct taped to the table.
He hasn't moved her yet. Could still be nearby…
Lennie Briscoe looked briefly to his right. Then, oddly, he nodded, took out his weapon.
"Out to the Docks," he whispered. "He's still there…"
Guns drawn, all five snuck to the back of the warehouse, the rear exit on the dock.
Kennedy was there, bending over a body, wrapping something around its legs.
"Police! Freeze!"
Kennedy straightened, holding-of all things-an anchor in his right hand; and the body at his feet…
Jack McCoy, seemingly unconscious.
Duct tape bound his arms and legs together, more duct tape over his mouth.
Kennedy briefly looked down at McCoy, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth.
"Catch!" he dropped the anchor, and ran, as the anchor dragged McCoy's unresisting body into the water.
"No!"
Oddly enough, that sounded like Claire Kincaid. But Logan had no time for that.
He holstered his gun and ran to the water. He heard gunshots ring out, but he only had eyes for the water.
Without thought, he dove in, aware of someone else doing the same right next to him.
He found McCoy's body, and…Profaci was next to him. The other detective quickly unraveled the anchor from the attorney's legs.
Now, they both powered back up, heading for the surface, McCoy's limp body between them.
Logan felt hands reaching out, pulling the attorney out of his and Profaci's arms…
…..
Lennie Briscoe ran up, along with Sammy Kurtz. Kurtz had shot Kennedy as he fled; shot him dead.
"Whaddya want?" Kurtz snarled at him. "Man killed all those girls and now, McCoy's probably dead too. And, more to the point, he fucking ran."
Briscoe sighed. There would be time, later, to deal with the legality of what Kurtz had done.
Claire was there, standing on the docks, terror and grief in her eyes.
McCoy first…
He ran over, just in time to see three bodies reach the surface, close enough for Briscoe and Kurtz to reach.
Van Buren was speaking into her communicator, ordering an ambulance.
Briscoe reached out, hauled McCoy's drenched body out of the water, laid it down on the pier.
Van Buren knelt on the other side, began to tear the tape off the man's mouth as Briscoe checked for signs of life.
Nothing. No pulse. The man's chest was still.
"CPR now!" Van Buren ordered.
She did the mouth-to-mouth, while Lennie, remembering the CPR class he had taken recently, did the chest compressions.
And Claire Kincaid…
She stood there, weeping, wringing her hands…
Jack McCoy was surrounded by darkness, and he had no idea where he was…
But Claire was there…
Claire…
He walked up, took her in his arms.
"I'm so sorry, Claire," he whispered into her hair, the perfume she always wore filling his senses.
"Jack…don't," she pushed him away. "You can't."
"I can't lose you again," McCoy knew that now. "I couldn't bear losing you again…"
"You can't, Jack. It's not your time. You know that's true."
"Claire…"
"No," she kissed him on the forehead. "You have to go, Jack. Now…"
Her hands came up to his chest, and pushed him away, back into the darkness…
Doing the chest compressions, Lennie Briscoe heard a choking sound…
Van Buren turned Jack McCoy's body onto its side, and suddenly water streamed from the attorney's nose and mouth.
Now, McCoy was coughing, vomiting up all of that water.
Van Buren lifted him, held him tightly as the ambulance arrived, the EMTs running up.
The duct tape was torn off his legs and arms, and oxygen mask settled over his mouth and nose, tank turned on max.
It was hard to tell, given Jack McCoy's drenched state, but…
It looked like he was crying silently, eyes squeezed shut, head resting on Van Buren's shoulder, tears blending in with the rest of the wetness…
"Give me your coat, Lennie," Van Buren commanded. Mutely, Lennie complied, and Van Buren wrapped McCoy up in its warmth.
…..
Bellevue
Adam Schiff sat by the patient in ICU, keeping watch over his friend.
Jack McCoy had been stripped out of his drenched clothes, and wrapped up, virtually swaddled in multiple layers of heated blankets.
The head wound didn't need stitches, at least.
He almost drowned. He would have drowned if Van Buren and Briscoe didn't know CPR…
The doctors had said it was likely McCoy would make a complete recovery, but Schiff had his doubts…
He's died twice, in less than a year…
"Adam…" Jamie Ross spoke just behind. "The doctors say they think he'll be fine."
"I know," Schiff looked down at the man he loved like his own flesh and blood.
He bent over, laid a hand on McCoy's forehead.
"We'll talk about your recently acquired habit of taking life threatening risks later," he murmured softly.