“No, but he confirmed what Phillip’s girlfriend told you. One of his followers is named Steven. The other one’s named Gabe. They’re in an apartment at 3179 Kensington.”

Chapter 16

The cameras and microphones were lined up in the parking lot of police headquarters, trained on the portable podium bearing the police department’s crest. Ten microphones with logos from local and national media outlets were mounted there, and dozens of reporters waited anxiously for the press conference to begin.

Lynch stood inside the front entrance, watching as the media frenzy took shape. Flanked by the homicide captain, a deputy commissioner, and Lieutenant Mary Smithson, Lynch made it clear that he was more interested in the progress of the investigation than the progress of the public relations campaign.

With special units deployed and ready to move, he was in no hurry to satisfy the needs of the press, especially if it meant compromising the safety of his people.

“Is the task force on location up in Kensington yet?” Lynch asked.

“Yes, sir,” the captain said. “They’re in position and ready to move.”

“And Coletti’s with them, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where’s Sergeant Jackson?”

“She’s downstairs eyeballing the guys they brought in from the raids this morning. So far she’s had us pull two of them aside.”

“Good,” Lynch said, turning to Mary Smithson. “Based on the information Coletti got out of his interview, I think congratulations are in order. Your profile was right.”

“I appreciate that, Commissioner, but I don’t think anybody should be congratulated until we catch this guy.”

“Fair enough,” Lynch said as he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and looked at the two additional names she’d submitted to him an hour before. “Have we been able to get warrants on these guys yet?”

“They should be coming down from the bail commissioner’s office any minute,” the deputy commissioner said. “They’ll call me when they’re ready.”

“Okay,” Lynch said, looking at his watch. “I’m going to go out here and make a statement, and the minute you get that phone call, I want you to tap me on my shoulder. Right after that, I want you to give the order for everyone to move.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lynch walked out into the summer air, the stars on his shoulders gleaming in the noonday sun. Flashbulbs popped and tape recorders hissed as he spoke into the microphones.

“Good afternoon,” he said. “I’m Commissioner Kevin Lynch. To my left are Deputy Commissioner Halsey and Captain Riley. To my right is Lieutenant Mary Smithson of the Pennsylvania state police. As you know, over the past twenty-four-plus hours, there have been multiple homicides in the city of Philadelphia that have been connected to a killer who has dubbed himself the Angel of Death.”