The Last Templar

Chapter 25

"Now tell me more about this chick."

Reilly groaned at the question. From the moment he'd mentioned his conversation with Tess to his partner, he knew this was a conversation he'd have to suffer. "This chick?" he deadpanned.

He and Aparo were headed east, through the choked streets of Queens. Apart from its color, the Pontiac they had been allocated was a virtual clone of the Chrysler they had wrecked in nailing Gus Waldron. Aparo made a face as he edged the car cautiously around a stationary truck with a steaming radiator, its driver uselessly kicking a front tire.

"I'm sorry. Miss Chaykin."

Reilly did his best not to appear nonplussed. "There's nothing to tell."

"Come on." Aparo knew his partner better than anyone; not that he had much competition. Reilly wasn't one to let people get close.

"What do you want from me?"

"She approached you. Out of the blue. Just like that, she remembered you from the museum, from a quick eyeball from all the way across the hall, after everything she'd been through that night?"

"What can I say?" Reilly kept his eyes firmly on the road. "The lady's got a photographic memory."

"Photographic memory, my ass," Aparo scoffed. "This babe's on the prowl."

Reilly rolled his eyes. "She's not on the prowl. She's just. . . curious."

So she's got a photographic memory and an inquisitive mind. And she's a total hottie. But you didn't notice any of that. Nah. You were only thinking about the case."

Reilly shrugged. "Okay, so maybe I noticed a little."

"Thank God. He breathes. He's alive," he mocked in a tone straight out of an old Frankenstein movie. "You do know she's single, right?"

"I kind of noticed." Reilly had tried not to make a big deal out of it. Earlier that morning, he had read the statement Tess had given to Amelia Gaines at the museum, just before he had asked a research analyst to look for any reference to the Knights Templar in the bulging files they kept on extremist groups around the country.

Aparo eyed him. He knew him so well, he could read him at fifty paces. And he loved needling him. "I don't know, but a babe like that makes a pass at me, I'd be all over her in a heartbeat."

"You're married."

"Yeah, well, I can dream, can't I?"

They were off the Long Island Expressway now and would soon be out of Queens. The address on Petrovic's file was out of date, but his old landlord there said he knew where Petrovic worked. The stables were somewhere around here and Reilly checked a street map, gave Aparo directions. Then, knowing that his partner would never let go, he reluctantly picked up the thread. "Besides, she didn't make a pass," he protested.

"Sure she didn't. She's just a concerned citizen looking out for the rest of us." He shook his head. "I don't get it. You're single. You're not butt-ugly. You don't have any offensive aromas I'm aware of.

And yet. . . See, we married guys, we need buddies like you, we need to live vicariously through you and, well, you're really letting the team down."

Reilly couldn't argue with that. It had been a long while since he'd spent any meaningful time with a woman and, even though he wouldn't dream of mentioning it to his partner, he couldn't begin to deny the attraction he had felt toward Tess. But he knew that, like Amelia Gaines, Tess Chaykin didn't seem to be the kind of woman who would take kindly to being treated casually, which was just as well, given that he wasn't exactly the casual kind either. And therein lay the paradox at the heart of his loneliness. If a woman didn't completely enthrall him, he wasn't interested. And if she had that special quality that got him going, what happened to his father would soon become an issue for him; his fears would inevitably kick in at some point and deny the relationship any chance of blossoming.

You've got to let go. It doesn't have to happen to you too.

Looking ahead now, Reilly spotted some smoke and, with it, the flashing lights of two fire trucks.

He glanced at Aparo and reached for the flasher, slapping it on the roof as his partner hit the siren and floored the gas pedal. They were soon weaving in and out of traffic, barreling their way through the nose-to-tail barrage of cars and trucks.

***

As they turned into the stable's parking lot, Reilly could see that in addition to the fire trucks, there were a couple of black-and-whites and an ambulance. Parking well clear of the exit, they left the car and walked over toward the scene, badging up as they went. One of the uniforms started toward them, arms spread wide, then saw the badges and let them through.

Although the fire was almost out, the smell of burned wood hung heavily in the air. Three or four people, stable staff by the look of them, were stumbling around in the drifting smoke, trying to control frightened horses amid the tangle of fire hoses that snaked across the ground. A man in a charcoal raincoat was standing with a grim expression on his face, watching them approach.

Reilly introduced himself and Aparo. The cop, a sergeant by the name of Milligan, didn't look thrilled. "Don't tell me," he said sardonically, "you just happened to be in the neighborhood."

Reilly nodded toward the charred stables. "Branko Petrovic," he simply stated.

Milligan shrugged and led the way into the stable, where a pair of paramedics were crouched over a body. Propped nearby was a lightweight stretcher.

Reilly glanced at it, then at Milligan who got the message: this had to be treated as a crime scene with a suspicious death. "What do we know?" he asked.

Milligan leaned over the body that lay blackened and crumpled amid splintered pieces of wood. "You tell me. I thought this was gonna be an easy one."

Reilly looked over Milligan's shoulder. It was hard to tell what was smoke-blackened flesh from what was blood mixed with soot and water from the fire hoses. Another gruesome detail that added to the macabre setting was that the man's left arm was lying there by the body, no longer attached to the torso. Reilly frowned. Whatever it was, the mess that had once been Branko Petrovic was barely identifiable as human.

"How can you be so sure it's him?" he asked.

Milligan reached down, pointing a finger at the side of the dead man's forehead. Reilly could see an indentation that, even among all the other damage, was clearly not recent. "He got clipped by a horse, years ago. On the force. Used to be proud of it, surviving a kick in the head."

As Reilly crouched down for a closer look, he noticed one of the paramedics, a dark-haired girl in her twenties. She seemed eager to chime in. Reilly met her eyes for a moment. "You got something for us?"

She smiled and held up Petrovic's left wrist. "Don't tell the M.E. I jumped the gun on this, but someone didn't like this guy. His other wrist's scorched through, but see this one here?" She was pointing at the detached arm. "The contusions on it are still visible. He was tied up." She pointed up at the doorway. "I'd say he had one hand tied to each side. Like he was crucified across the doorway."

Aparo grimaced at the imagery. "You mean someone let the horses stampede over him?"

"Or through him," Reilly added.

She nodded. Reilly thanked her and her partner before walking away with Milligan and Aparo.

"Why were you guys looking at Petrovic?" Milligan asked.

Reilly was studying the horses. "Before we go there, you got any reasons to think someone might want him dead?"

Milligan inclined his head toward the smoldering stable block. "Not particularly. I mean, you know how it is with these places. Wise guys like their horses, and given Petrovic's past . . . But no, nothing specific. What's your take?"

He listened intently as Reilly filled him in on the link between Gus Waldron and Branko Petrovic and their link to the raid at the Met.

"I'll ask for all this to be prioritized," Milligan told Reilly. "Get the crime scene guys over, ask the fire chief to run the arson tests today, push the autopsy to the top of the file."

As Reilly and Aparo reached their car, a fine drizzle had started to fall.

"Someone's tying up loose ends," Aparo said.

"Looks that way. We're gonna need to get the M.E. to take a closer look at Waldron."

"If that's what this is, we need to find the other two horsemen before whoever's doing this gets to them."

Reilly looked up at the darkening sky before turning to his partner. "Two horsemen, or just one," he countered, "if the last of the four is the one doing the killing."