“Wait.”
He stopped.
“How would you feel if I told you I was a lesbian?”
“I’d feel fine. You can check with my daughter Noreen, your half-sister. She’s been out as a lesbian since she was sixteen. She’s happy, I’m happy.”
She nodded. “Thanks.”
“The ball is in your court. Give me a call if you want to talk again.” He walked away.
Jesse took his place at the table. “So?”
“I don’t know.” She pushed the envelope toward him.
He whistled. “She sure looks like you.”
“He wants me to take a DNA test. But I need to track down my drunken bitch of a grandmother before I do anything else.”
“I know where she is.”
“You do?”
“I’ve kept track of her over the years.”
She sat back. “Why?”
“Because, as awful as she is, she’s your grandmother. I just wanted to make sure you could find her if you ever wanted to. Want to go now?”
“It’s late.” Then she laughed. “Sure. It’s not like she’s getting up for work in the morning.”
“Prepare yourself, P.J. She’s living in a pigsty. It makes the place she had when you lived with her look luxurious.”
“Bet she misses that child support check she got from the city.”
He pulled to the curb. “That’s it.” He pointed to a dilapidated building on the other side of the street. Except for a few lights in the cracked and dirty windows, it might have been abandoned. “First floor, back apartment. Want me to come?”
“Thanks, Jess. I’ve got to do this myself.”
There was no lock on the door, and by the smell of it, the narrow hallway was used as the neighborhood latrine. The rancid smell of the garbage added to the atmosphere. She held her breath and picked her way through the litter. Maybe it was easier if you were drunk and not so squeamish about germs and bacteria. The door was ajar. Parker rapped on it and walked in. The apartment wasn’t much better than the hall. A man lay on a dirty mattress. Parker checked for a pulse and was nearly knocked on her rear by the body odor and the stink of cheap wine and vomit that stained his clothes and the mattress. Sure different from the homes of the Nickersons and the del Balzos. She continued through the apartment and found her grandmother collapsed into a paint-speckled chair that tilted to one side. She looked like an ancient witch, her hair a wild bunch of Brillo, her few teeth yellowed and decayed, her clothes matted and dirty. She smelled as bad as her companion stretched out on the mattress in the other room. The old woman looked up and peered at her as if she was a shadow standing in the sunshine.
“Whatcha doin’ here, Tasha? Come to give your old mama some money?” She cackled, her voice rusty. She wiped her nose on her sleeve.
“It’s P.J., not Tasha. I need to talk to you.”
“Who? You think your mama stupid? You ain’t foolin’ me. Lookin’ for mail again? Well he ain’t writing. Randall don’t want you now you soiled. Not doin’ so good by youself, miss high and mighty? You be by youself with your precious jewel. Some jewel. You a whore just like me, just like your sister. Just think you better than us, gonna raise that little jewel like a princess. He ain’t comin’ back for you. Never. How come all a sudden you mama good enuf to keep you junk? Can’t pay the rent huh? Now get them boxes and get outta my sight.”
So it was true. Randall was involved with her mother. Well that’s what she wanted to know. Parker threw fifty dollars on the table. She knew most of it would go for drink, but maybe the old lady would get one meal out of it. She was almost out the door when she realized what the old bitch had said. She walked back to the kitchen.
“What boxes?”
“You always be acting so innocent. The ones you snuck in the back of that hall closet. Woulda tossed them but forgot they was there. Didn’t notice them until we already carried them here. Ain’t nothin’ but some old papers, nothin’ worth sellin’.”
“Where are the boxes?”
“Under the bed. Now we even, money for boxes.” She seemed to think this was hysterical.
There was no bed, but Parker looked through every room until she found three cardboard boxes with her mother’s things in a closet in the kitchen. She carried two boxes out to the stoop and returned for the third.
She glanced back at the old woman as she carried the last box out of the kitchen. She realized she was no longer angry about the abuse and neglect she had suffered at those claw-like hands. It was another time. She was no longer that little girl desperate to be loved and praised and fed and taken care of. Her grandmother no longer had any power over her. She was just a wasted old drunk, who had nothing to do with the adult Penelope Jasmine Parker.
Jesse had already carried the first two boxes to the car and stowed them in the backseat. She slid the last box on top of the other two.
“How did it go?”
“She thought I was my mother and she sort of confirmed what…” She wasn’t sure what to call him. “What Randall Young said. And it turned out these three boxes belonged to my mother. All these years and I never knew. I don’t know why I never found them. I searched that damn house from top to bottom when I was a kid.”
“But you were usually looking for food or money, so maybe you ignored them.”
“True,” she said, remembering all the times she had been hungry and frightened, how she had learned to hide food right after the social worker’s visit when her grandmother always stocked up for show. How she had learned to steal from her grandmother or the man sleeping with her at the time, never a lot, just enough to buy a burger or a slice of pizza. And how after Patrolman Jesse Isaacs noticed her scavenging for food, he bought her lunch and/or dinner almost every day and kept her company while she ate, always encouraging her to study, go to school, make something of herself. That changed of course, when Uncle Aloysius came into the picture. But even though Uncle Al and Aunt Mariah fed and clothed her, it was an unpleasant duty, not love for them. Jesse had continued to be her emotional anchor. She glanced at Jesse in the dim light of the car as they drove back to Manhattan. He’d stood in for the father she didn’t know she had, spending time with her on the weekends and sometimes after school. “Um, Jesse, I was wondering how you feel about gays and lesbians?”
“You trying to tell me something?”
She shrugged.
“You need to find somebody to love, and I don’t care what sex as long as they’re good people. But, you know as well as I, it’s not easy being a gay cop.”
It made her smile. “I’m not a lesbian, Jesse, but I think it’s gotten easier. Corelli is a lesbian and that seems to be the least of her problems right now. Anyway, working with Corelli on this case, learning about those gay guys and that lesbian painter, meeting other lesbians and gays has turned my head around. Up ’til now, I’ve mainly met gays and lesbians as a cop or an ADA, so I had a skewed picture, know what I mean?”
He laughed. “Detective Parker, you are getting an education. Good for you. It’s a big world out there and gay or straight, white, black, brown or yellow, there are good people and bad people. Up ’til now, you’ve spent too much time with the bad, that’s all.”
Jesse stopped in front of Hattie’s so she could pick up her car, and then he followed her to her apartment house. She got out. He rolled down his window. “Want help with the boxes?”
There was no way she was going to bring boxes from that filthy, roach-infested place into her apartment.
“I’d like to leave the boxes out here, just take the stuff inside. Could you stay until I carry everything in?”
“There goes my beauty sleep,” he said, smiling. “C’mon. Let’s do it.”
First, they removed the contents from the cartons and piled everything on the steps, then he tossed the empties on top of the garbage bags waiting on the curb for pickup. While he methodically shook each item to get rid of any roaches living in the paper, she made multiple trips to her
apartment, stacking her mother’s books and papers and letters in neat piles on her desk. When at last she stooped for the last pile, she straightened up and acted on a sudden impulse to hug Jesse, surprising both of them. Usually she just barely tolerated the physical contact when he hugged her.
“Thanks for being there for me, Jesse. Tonight. And back then.”
Parker stood at the desk looking at the books and papers and unopened letters, her mother’s books and papers and letters. She picked up one of the notebooks and ran her finger over the neat, round schoolgirl script on the inside cover where her mother had written her name, Tasha Parker. She’d never held anything her mother had held or seen anything her mother had written, or if truth be told, never really had proof that her mother had existed. Now she hoped she would finally know something of the woman who had loved her, had wanted her, and had thought of her as her precious jewel, a woman she’d already outlived by eight years.
But first she needed a shower to rid herself of the smell and creepy-crawly feeling of Thelma Parker’s hovel. Afterward, she dried off and lay down with the notebook. She immediately fell asleep.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Monday – 6 a.m.
The alarm must have gone off, but Parker sure hadn’t heard it. She jumped up, straightened the bed, and was in and out of the shower before the hot water could make it up from the basement. She pulled her tan suit and red shirt out of the closet while drying herself, then dressed, strapped on her gun, and checked the mirror. She hung the wet towel in the bathroom. Ready to go in eleven minutes. She hesitated in front of the desk, debating whether she could spend just a few minutes looking through her mother’s papers, but duty called. Corelli might look drawn and exhausted, but she was always on time. The papers would have to wait.
She arrived at Corelli’s apartment fifteen minutes later than the usual six thirty a.m. and rang the intercom.
“Be right down,” Corelli’s disembodied voice beamed down from the eighth floor.
A few minutes later Corelli smiled at Parker from the doorway of her building. “Morning,” Corelli said, sliding into the car. She handed Parker an insulated cup. “Thought you might need something to get you started.” She waved a tinfoil packet. “Brought you a bagel, too.”
Expecting the kindness to be followed by an attack, Parker tensed. She took a sip. The industrial strength coffee careened through her bloodstream, knocking the fog out of her head and putting her body on alert. She sighed. Damn Corelli always had her off-balance. Why was she being so nice? “Thanks, I needed that.” She started the car and pulled away from the curb. “Sorry to be late.”
“How many times do I have to tell you that apologies irritate me?”
Parker steeled herself for a tirade.
“Relax. You didn’t leave here until, what, eleven thirty? You deserve a little sleep.”
Yeah, more than two hours. “I was afraid we might be late for the morning meeting.”
“I shifted the meeting to seven p.m.”
“Right,” Parker said, hitting herself on the forehead.
They arrived at the station a few minutes before seven. Word about the meeting being rescheduled must have gotten out because there were only a few members of the press lounging behind the barricades and no sign of the police who, even though the gauntlet was prohibited, often arrived early enough to jeer them. Maybe things were starting to loosen up.
By seven fifteen, they were in the conference room. “Our appointment with Councilman Collins isn’t until nine. Why don’t you catch up on paperwork while I read through any reports I haven’t seen? We’ll leave for City Hall about eight thirty.” Corelli examined Parker. “Heavy night last night? Maybe you should take a nap while it’s still quiet.”
A lot heavier than you imagine. But I’m not ready to discuss it with you.
“Yeah, I had a couple of drinks with Jesse after I left you. Your coffee should do the trick.” She unwrapped the bagel Corelli had brought her and took a bite. “Good. Thanks.”
“Looks like I have to have a talk with Captain Isaacs. Can’t have him leading the troops astray,” she said, smiling, as she turned to the stack of papers to be reviewed.
Parker wished she understood Corelli’s moods. Why was she so cheerful this morning?
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Monday – 9 a.m.
By the time Councilman Collins invited them into his office, Corelli was ready to arrest him. He’d kept them waiting twenty minutes, despite their appointment. That was totally unacceptable in her book unless he had an emergency. Their time was as valuable as his, especially when they were trying to solve three murders and head off a fourth.
His office was smaller than Kate Burke’s but the pictures lining his walls were interchangeable with those on Burke’s walls, except he was the one shaking the hands and receiving the awards. Today’s Daily Post was open on his desk confirming her suspicion the delay was designed to put them in their place. He glanced at the cards they’d given his assistant. “What can I do for you, detectives?”
“We have a few questions, sir.” Corelli made no effort to conceal her anger.
He remained seated at his desk. “Can my girl get you coffee, tea, or water?”
Girl? His secretary was a middle-aged woman. Now she was really irritated. “We’re not here to socialize, Councilman.” Corelli’s voice was hard.
He pursed his lips. “Please sit.” He waved them to the chairs facing the desk.
They remained standing, staring down at him. “Where were you Tuesday and Friday evenings of last week?”
He crossed his legs and leaned forward. “You’re heading up the GALS investigation, right? What has that got to do with me?”
One of the newspapers had tagged the case Gay and Lesbian Shooter and the acronym GALS had quickly caught on with the press and the public.
“As I’m sure you’ve heard, several of Speaker Burke’s friends have been murdered and one aspect of the investigation is looking into who would want to hurt Ms. Burke. Since you opposed her in the election, we need to eliminate you. So please answer the question so we can move on.”
He straightened an already straight pile of papers, picked up his appointment book and turned a few pages. “Uh, right. I was in Washington, D.C. I left early Tuesday morning and got home last night about ten. I have the plane tickets and the boarding passes, if you would like to see them.”
“Great. If you could have your assistant make copies of the tickets and boarding passes, the bills for hotels and meals, and a list of appointments while you were there, we’ll be all set. I’ll send someone over to pick them up this afternoon.”
He glared at her. “You don’t believe me? I’ll show you the boarding passes right now.”
“It’s not a matter of believing you, sir. It’s routine to confirm what you’ve told us.”
“But I’m a goddamn New York City Councilman, an elected official. My word should be enough. What will my constituents think?”
Not my problem asshole. “No one outside of our team needs to know we’ve talked to you, but we must see the documents in order to eliminate you. I’m sure your assistant can pull the information together in an hour.”
His face and neck turned red. “This is outrageous. Are you insinuating that I would kill three people over a job? You’ll just have to take my word for it. I won’t waste our time and the taxpayer’s money.”
She leaned over his desk, making sure she had his attention. “If you force us to subpoena you to get the information, it’s very likely you’ll end up with bad publicity, the very thing you say you’re trying to avoid. I’ll expect the documents by the end of the day today or tomorrow morning at the latest.”
They left him looking slightly ill, staring into space.
As soon as they stepped out of City Hall, Corelli called Dietz. “I need somebody on Councilman Collins, immediately. He’s hiding something and I want to be sure he doesn’t do a runner. Send somebody who knows what he
looks like. Parker and I are outside City Hall now. We’ll wait to be relieved.”
Twenty minutes later, Detective Charleen Greene showed up.
Corelli explained why they were watching the councilman. “Just stay on him today. I want to make sure he doesn’t take off. Keep a record of where he goes. Call me if he does anything unusual. Somebody will relieve you tonight.”
Greene nodded. “Will do.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Monday – 10:30 a.m.
Corelli’s phone rang as they walked into the case conference room. “Yes, Chief. We’re looking at him because he threatened Burke after she won the election.” She listened for a minute. “All I did was request copies of his receipts and the names of the people he met with. Now he’s threatening me. Clearly he’s hiding something. Let him call the mayor but that won’t stop me from getting the information I need.” She listened again. “No, I can’t play nice with someone who might be killing people to get even. Sorry.” She ended the call.
Dietz stuck his head in the door. “We identified three of the religious fanatics from the stuff the Daily World sent over. We nailed one of them, a guy named Orrin Snape. He’s in room three. Another one, name of Fred Wilpersett, is on the way. We’re still looking for Luther Phelps. Snape’s a little weird. Take a look before you go in.”
Observing Snape through the two-way mirror, they watched him ping-pong between two walls, touching one then crossing the room to touch the other, all the while muttering. He was stick-like and colorless. Except for the black cover and gold trimmed pages of the small book clutched in his right hand, everything about him was gray, like charcoal burned to ash, his clean but crumpled and threadbare clothes, his complexion, his scraggly hair and beard, and even his eyes.
“You guys do anything to agitate him?”
“Nah.” Dietz shook his head. “He has a file. He’s been around for years, always at the Gay Pride Parade picketing, not really bothering anybody, but the last year or so, he seemed to lose it. At the demonstration the day of Burke’s election, he actually got physical with one of the other demonstrators, a gay man, and they both were arrested for fighting. Could be he snapped.”
The Blood Runs Cold Page 23
