one of the reports Lamar had read. The padlock and chain had been sent off for analysis, but the results hadn’t come back yet.
Lamar picked up the receiver and dialled the number of the Manhattan forensic unit. He was put through to two different people before eventually getting hold of Kathy Osbom. The pair had known each other for twelve years, having joined the NYPD at the same time.
It turned out Kathy knew all about the padlock and chain. Although her team wasn’t involved in the investigation, she was following the case as it evolved. So far they had only tested for fingerprints, which hadn’t revealed anything. The next stage would take some time, but Kathy didn’t hold out much hope of uncovering vital clues.
Lamar asked her if it was possible for someone to have escaped through the exit, slipping their hand back round the door to pull the chain across behind them. Kathy had to admit she wasn’t sure. It sounded plausible, but they would need to test the idea out to be certain.
Lamar thanked her, dialling the number for the FBI right after he’d hung up. He got straight through to one of his contacts at the Bureau, and was pleased to find him still at work at dinner time.
Lamar explained he needed to take a look at the Bureau’sreports on neo-Nazi activists in New York. He knew the FBI kept a close eye on these sorts of militants as part of the fight against terrorism, especially since the Timothy McVeigh case. For some time, the FBI had been criticised for focusing only on Islamist extremism, seeming to forget the threat posed by the far right, in spite of the damage it had already caused. The truth, as Lamar knew, was that the Bureau was still adding to its files on a regular basis.
The agent, Clark Fenton, agreed to send over everything he had as soon as he could, and urged Lamar to put a call out to all the precincts in New York since most of the FBI’s intelligence came from police officers on the ground.
Lamar spent the next two hours trying to put out a request for information through his superiors at the NYPD. He was held back not by refusals but by the fact that most of them had gone home. It was almost nine.
The detective was polishing off a burrito when the fax machine started spitting out paper. It was a circular, instructing members of every precinct to contact Lamar Gallineo immediately should they have any recent intelligence on persons or groups suspected of involvement in neo-Nazi or similar activities, or of sharing such ideologies.
His computer let out a little beep, alerting him to a new email.
Clark Fenton had got back to him as promised.
‘Synchronicity,’ mumbled Lamar, opening the attachment.
Fenton had sent a summary of all known neo-Nazi activity in the city of New York and surrounding areas.
It named several small cells, but drew particular attention to two larger groups, described as ‘alarming’.
Lamar read through the document, making the occasional note but not convinced any of it was of much use to him.
Three of the smaller clusters were predominantly made up of teenagers, who had usually been manipulated, or ‘recruited’. Two of these operated out of Manhattan: one from the Alphabet City area to the south, the other from the Upper West Side. The first group met in its members’ apartments, but hadn’t actually committed any recorded acts. They used their meetings to exchange opinions and strengthen each other’s views, according to the report’s writer. The second group was harder to pin down; they’d been seen in Central Park after dark and in several disused subway stations, most often the one on 91st Street.
All of them were suspected of trafficking of one sort or another, usually drugs, on a fairly small scale and without much organisation. Occasionally they ventured into firearms, which the report judged to be ‘a more serious issue’.
Lamar leant back in his seat.
Another cop by the name of Arnold was sitting at his desk on the other side
Lamar picked up the receiver and dialled the number of the Manhattan forensic unit. He was put through to two different people before eventually getting hold of Kathy Osbom. The pair had known each other for twelve years, having joined the NYPD at the same time.
It turned out Kathy knew all about the padlock and chain. Although her team wasn’t involved in the investigation, she was following the case as it evolved. So far they had only tested for fingerprints, which hadn’t revealed anything. The next stage would take some time, but Kathy didn’t hold out much hope of uncovering vital clues.
Lamar asked her if it was possible for someone to have escaped through the exit, slipping their hand back round the door to pull the chain across behind them. Kathy had to admit she wasn’t sure. It sounded plausible, but they would need to test the idea out to be certain.
Lamar thanked her, dialling the number for the FBI right after he’d hung up. He got straight through to one of his contacts at the Bureau, and was pleased to find him still at work at dinner time.
Lamar explained he needed to take a look at the Bureau’sreports on neo-Nazi activists in New York. He knew the FBI kept a close eye on these sorts of militants as part of the fight against terrorism, especially since the Timothy McVeigh case. For some time, the FBI had been criticised for focusing only on Islamist extremism, seeming to forget the threat posed by the far right, in spite of the damage it had already caused. The truth, as Lamar knew, was that the Bureau was still adding to its files on a regular basis.
The agent, Clark Fenton, agreed to send over everything he had as soon as he could, and urged Lamar to put a call out to all the precincts in New York since most of the FBI’s intelligence came from police officers on the ground.
Lamar spent the next two hours trying to put out a request for information through his superiors at the NYPD. He was held back not by refusals but by the fact that most of them had gone home. It was almost nine.
The detective was polishing off a burrito when the fax machine started spitting out paper. It was a circular, instructing members of every precinct to contact Lamar Gallineo immediately should they have any recent intelligence on persons or groups suspected of involvement in neo-Nazi or similar activities, or of sharing such ideologies.
His computer let out a little beep, alerting him to a new email.
Clark Fenton had got back to him as promised.
‘Synchronicity,’ mumbled Lamar, opening the attachment.
Fenton had sent a summary of all known neo-Nazi activity in the city of New York and surrounding areas.
It named several small cells, but drew particular attention to two larger groups, described as ‘alarming’.
Lamar read through the document, making the occasional note but not convinced any of it was of much use to him.
Three of the smaller clusters were predominantly made up of teenagers, who had usually been manipulated, or ‘recruited’. Two of these operated out of Manhattan: one from the Alphabet City area to the south, the other from the Upper West Side. The first group met in its members’ apartments, but hadn’t actually committed any recorded acts. They used their meetings to exchange opinions and strengthen each other’s views, according to the report’s writer. The second group was harder to pin down; they’d been seen in Central Park after dark and in several disused subway stations, most often the one on 91st Street.
All of them were suspected of trafficking of one sort or another, usually drugs, on a fairly small scale and without much organisation. Occasionally they ventured into firearms, which the report judged to be ‘a more serious issue’.
Lamar leant back in his seat.
Another cop by the name of Arnold was sitting at his desk on the other side
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