The day passed with agonising slowness. Riley reviewed case files from all three murders and the assault on Karen Smith, and tried to restrain himself from calling Harold. At lunch time he cracked under the pressure and pulled his phone out to call him, but it vibrated in his hand and he answered.
"I thought you might appreciate an update, Detective," came Harold's voice. "But I'm afraid I have no news on either of our current concerns. The data match is proceeding, and I still cannot determine what the number I received actually refers to." He sounded frustrated, a state of mind Riley fully shared. Carter called soon afterwards, and they exchanged some meaningless platitudes before she ran out of lunch break and had to end the call. He strode restlessly back into the bullpen and continued his paperwork.
It was almost the end of the shift when his phone buzzed again. UNKNOWN CALLER. His hands were shaking slightly as he picked it up and answered.
"I have good news and bad news," said Harold.
He breathed in carefully. "Tell me, Professor."
"The data match has failed to come up with a name for us," said Harold. The disappointment hit him like a physical blow.
"What? But, Harold-"
"-but it has come up with a face. We just don't have a name to match with it." Finch sounded puzzled and apologetic. "I'm sending it to you now."
The camera angle had not helped much. The blurry black and white photo showed a white male wearing some sort of overall and a baseball cap which obscured his forehead and one eye. He had light coloured sneakers on. There were no logos visible on either cap or overalls, but they had the flavour of some kind of uniform. Riley beckoned Fusco over.
"Lionel, Finch's source has come up with a picture for us," he said in a low voice.
Fusco stared hard at the image. "Where'd he get this?" he asked.
Riley shrugged, blank faced, and Fusco grimaced. "Yeah, yeah, it's the secret source that's never wrong. I get it. But without a legitimate origin we can't circulate this picture to anyone else, and we can't use it to establish probable cause either."
"Well, it's better than nothing," Riley defended Finch.
"I ain't arguing, John, but I'm just pointing out we need to keep this one to ourselves until we got some other evidence to back it up."
Riley nodded agreement. "How's the other matter going?" he said to Harold.
"Very slowly, Detective. I've run through every US database I can access, even Defense and the CIA. Now I'm starting on the international ones, but that will take all night, most probably. I fear that by the time I've even identified the number it will be too late." He sounded despondent.
"Well, call me if there's any progress, Harold," said Riley. He wished he could think of something encouraging to say, but words failed him and he ended the call.
Xxxxxx
At the end of the shift he went with Fusco to a small bar not too far from his apartment. They sat over club sodas. Reese was sure the Gingerbread Man would strike again that night. It had been forty-eight hours since his last attack, which meant he was almost overdue. Whatever twisted motivation was driving him, the pressure must be building by now. After an hour or so Carter joined them. They chatted inconsequentially for a long time, trying to ignore the tension in the air.
"Streets are getting dirty with all the garbage men on strike," said Joss, gazing out the window at some paper blowing past in the wind.
"You can't blame those guys for striking, though," said Fusco. "The new pay system the city put in for them can't get it right. Three months now they've been gettin' overpaid, underpaid or not paid at all. Poor bastards are getting mortgage payments bounced, having to pay back money that shouldn't be there...I'd go on strike too if I was them."
Reese listened to this with only half an ear. He was trying desperately to put himself in the shoes of the Gingerbread Man. His victim was already marked out, that was a given. But where? Manhattan General, or City General? Or some other hospital? There were dozens of hospitals and clinics in Manhattan, let alone the rest of the city. The camera blind spots, they were obviously key to his MO. Somewhere where nursing staff passed through, close to the hospital, with one or more blind spots, presumably with multiple possible escape routes... But that went nowhere near far enough in paring down the possibilities. There would be dozens, if not hundreds of sites like that scattered through the city.
A very early memory surfaced. He had been a young child, maybe two or three years old. Some grownup had given him a ball to play with, but it had been too big. His arms couldn't reach around it, and his hands couldn't get a grip on it. When it rolled away he'd tried desperately to grab it somehow, but it kept sliding and rolling away from him. Funny, he couldn't even remember the colour of that ball, just the feeling of utter frustration, and the laughter of the grownups at his efforts to recapture it.
The twilight outside deepened into night. At last Fusco looked at his watch and said apologetically, "Well, I might head home about now. Might as well wait on things there as here. 'Night, Joss, John." He slid off his stool and made his way out, nodding to them both.
Reese met Carter's eyes. "Your place or mine?" she asked with a smile. The tightness in his chest loosened just a little.
Xxxxxx
They ended up at her place again. He really could get used to this, Reese thought as he lay exhausted in Joss's bed. They'd had a shower. A shared shower. Soap. Who would have thought what miracles could be achieved with ordinary soap...? He drifted off into a satiated sleep.
He woke in the middle of the night – not wakened by his phone for once. He listened to Joss's breathing. It came softly, not quite as deep and slow as the rhythm of her normal sleeping breaths. He was struck again by the miracle of this. He could listen to her as she lay sleeping. Or not, as the case might be. "Are you awake?" he whispered very quietly so as not to wake her up if he was mistaken. A pause, then she whispered back, "Yes. You're supposed to be sleeping."
"Can't," he whispered, a little louder.
"You sound like Taylor used to when he was small," she said a little sadly.
"Do not," he said, just to see if he could make her laugh. She chuckled.
"You know, John, we never finished our conversation the other evening," she said quietly.
"Mmmm?"
"The one where I asked where we were going to go from here."
He reached one arm around her and snugged her into his side. He'd been expecting her to revisit that conversation, and he'd spent some time working out his answer. "Joss, you remember the night Bottlecap tried to shoot you? Remember what I said to you then?"
She lay there silent a moment. "You said whether I liked it or not you had my back, and I wasn't alone."
He traced her jawline with one finger. "Nothing that has happened since, nothing at all, has changed that. You're stuck with me. Even if the day comes when you wake up in the morning and decide you hate my guts and kick my ass to the kerb, I will still have your back. So whatever you decide you want from me, Joss, I will give it to you if it's in my power. And whatever you decide you can give me, I will take with gratitude, but that part's up to you. I've already decided what I'm going to do."
She lay still. "Wow." Her voice was very quiet. "You sure know how to lay it on the line, John."
"It's what I'm good at," he agreed.
"Well, let me tell you my side." She propped herself up on one elbow to face him, though it made little difference in the darkness. "You are a good man. You don't have to prove that to me, you don't have to atone for anything as far as I'm concerned. I know that you're still stuck on this crusade, this mission you and Finch have imposed on yourselves. And you'll probably both still be on that mission on the day you die, though I hope one day before that you'll be able to lay your burden down. But whether you do or not, I want to be with you, at your side. Right to the end. So it's kind of the same for me, John. You're stuck with me."
He pulled her close again, and they held each other for a long, long time.
Then his cell phone rang.
Xxxxxx
He and Joss clattered down the stairs to the subway station. Shaw was already there, lying on the cot which she had set up again. Obviously she was expecting action later in the night, but like any soldier she was resting while she could. Finch was barely able to wait for them to enter the subway car before he began speaking.
"The number was from an expired Australian passport, Mr Reese. Philip James Trent, an escaped murderer and child molester. He managed to evade the Australian authorities and made it to the United States, presumably under an assumed name about three years ago-"
"So I'm thinking he's probably a perp," said Shaw from her prone position.
Finch ignored this and went on. "- and this is what he looks like." He taped a picture up on the window. "A mug shot from the Interpol warrant outstanding for him."
Reese was still, his gaze locked on the photograph. "It's the Gingerbread Man."
Shaw sat up.
"This explains why he had no digital foot print. He's a fugitive and an illegal alien. No wonder the Machine could barely see him, he's been taking great pains to remain hidden," said Finch. "He had managed to amass a considerable sum of money before he left Australia, but it would seem a few months ago he began to run short. He took a job helping out on a delivery truck, all for cash and no questions about green cards asked. The truck is used by the contractors who do the hospital laundry at both Manhattan General and City General. He wears a dark green overall and a matching baseball cap when he's making deliveries."
"We've got him," breathed Reese. He walked over to the weapons cabinet and began to make his selection. Shaw moved to join him.
"That just leaves the problem of where he is right now and how we find him," Carter pointed out.
"Yes, we're still very much in the position of hunting a needle in a haystack, Mr Reese," Harold agreed. "But at least we now know the identity of our needle."
"Are there any other hospitals this company does laundry for?" Reese asked.
"Yes, but those two are by far the largest. The others are mostly small clinics which don't run to a large night shift. I suspect he uses the daytime delivery run to select his targets. He gets to know the nursing staff, tracks where the rosters are going, who's going to be on night shift next week... this is a very deliberate campaign he's planned well in advance."
"He's no ordinary serial killer, then," said Joss thoughtfully. "This isn't some mental problem driving him." She looked deeply troubled. "This really is pure evil."
"We still don't have a plausible source for our intel, either," said Reese. "I'll call Fusco, but we won't be able to access any help from the authorities aside from him."
He got out his cell phone and made the call.
Xxxxx
"I don't like this," said Shaw in his ear again.
Reese nodded, even though she couldn't see him. "I don't either, Shaw. But this is the best we could come up with. Even a small chance is better than no chance at all."
It was surely a measure of extreme desperation that the only plan they had been able to come up with was to pair off and take to the streets. Reese and Carter were taking the area around City General, while Shaw and Fusco were doing Manhattan. Even if they never found Trent, Finch reasoned, perhaps their presence would scare him off and thus save a life. And so there they were, wasting gas driving around New York in the dark while Finch played watchdog trying to keep track of hundreds of security feeds from cameras all over the area. It felt hopeless.
"Wonder where the unis are again," said Carter. It was true; despite the presence of a serial killer targeting hospitals they had seen only one police cruiser. Reese tapped his earpiece.
"Lionel? Any word on the foot patrols? How come nobody's here?"
There was a slight pause. "Because they're all here instead, John. The place is crawling."
"In that case maybe you and Ms Shaw could leave the area of Manhattan General and help John and Joss out over by City," put in Finch.
"It'll take a few minutes to get over there, but we're on it," replied Fusco.
"Wait!" said Finch suddenly. "There's a large blind spot over near the east entrance to City General. Two women walked into it a moment ago and one has just come running out. She's trying to make a call from her cell..."
"We're on it, Finch," said Reese as Joss threw the car into a tight turn and accelerated down the street.
To be continued...