“Good to know.”
“I think you should bring Marcus with you,” Laurie says, as always scornful of my ability to handle myself.
“It won’t be necessary; Willie will be there. It’s an honor thing; Russo owes Willie for saving his father. He wouldn’t do anything to me.”
“What if this gangster murderer is not quite as honorable as you think?”
“I’ll tell you what. Have Marcus in the area. If I need him, I’ll press a button on my phone that will be set to text him. He can then do the Marcus version of a home invasion.”
“Okay,” she says reluctantly. “By the way, what are you hoping to accomplish with this?”
“I’m checking off a box, that’s all. Vogel thinks Russo is behind it, and I’m doing my due diligence by following it up.”
“How will meeting with him give you the answer? You’re going to ask him if he did it and hope that he tells you the truth?”
“I’m just trying to assess his reaction. It’s a technique we lawyers use; I call it reaction assessment.”
“Clever name. I’ll be calling Marcus.”
Laurie tells me that she spoke to the authorities at the jail, and they promised to pay extra attention to making sure Vogel is safe. “They don’t have solitary confinement down there, but they’ll move him into a cell by himself, decrease his interaction with the other inmates, and increase their monitoring.”
“Good job. Who did you speak to?”
“Roger Cousins.”
I know Cousins; he’s head of jail security, and therefore something less than a fan of mine. “Did you mention my name?”
“No, once he asked if I was still married to that ‘asshole,’ it didn’t seem like a good idea.”
“That Roger; he’s some kidder.”
Laurie, Ricky, and I have dinner; she makes penne Bolognese, which is Ricky’s absolute favorite food. I like it as well, and I never take for granted that I am blessed to have a child that doesn’t like vegetables.
Once we’re done, I take Tara for a walk, then head to the Foundation. Willie and I will leave from there for the meeting with Russo, and this will give me a chance to spend some time with the rescue dogs and pretend I am doing my share.
Sondra brings Aggie down there each day as well; she loves to play with the other dogs. This gives me a chance to actually spend a little time with Aggie, so that when I tell Vogel that she’s doing well, I can know what I’m talking about.
“She’s doing great, Andy. She loves Cash, and he is nuts about her. He follows her everywhere.” Cash is Willie and Sondra’s dog; he and I found him running stray the day Willie collected a huge check for his wrongful-arrest suit. “If Vogel doesn’t want her back, she’s welcome in our family forever.”
“I’m sure if he can take her back, he will,” I say. “But in the meantime, I’m glad she’s doing so well.” She does seem happy, which is more than I can say for her owner’s lawyer.
I won’t say that I’m dreading the meeting with Russo, but it’s close. I believe that Willie’s presence will make me safe, at least for the length of the meeting, but I don’t relish hanging out with members of organized crime. Knowing that the person I am talking to has had people killed is somehow unsettling.
Willie seems unconcerned, though as a general rule he is impervious to concern. Laurie calls me to say that Marcus will be in place and ready to intervene if necessary, though he shares my belief that it won’t come to that.
At seven thirty Willie says, “Let’s go see Joey.”
I nod. “Good old Joey.”
Russo junior lives next door to where his father lived.
I’d been there once; I don’t remember the details of why I was there, but I’ve got a feeling it wasn’t for a frat party. I do remember that Willie was with me then, and I’m glad he’s with me now.
By the time we get into the den to see Russo, we’ve been checked out by four bodyguards, who collectively must weigh at least fourteen hundred pounds. Two of the uglier ones frisk me, a distinctly unpleasant experience.
I’ve never met Russo nor seen a photo of him, so his appearance comes as something of a surprise. His father was, to coin a phrase, a fat slob. Very, very fat and very slobby. From behind he looked like a disheveled, jiggly refrigerator freezer.
Junior is the opposite; he looks to be in terrific shape. He’s also dressed neatly in a sport shirt and khakis; his father considered himself overdressed in a sweatshirt.
Laurie’s cop friends had said that Junior is trying to convey a more businesslike approach, and that seems consistent with his appearance and demeanor.
He’s sitting at a desk when we walk in. When he sees Willie, Russo grins broadly and the two men hug. “Willie, my man.”
Willie responds with “Joey.”
“How goes it? You need anything?”
“Nah. Going good.”
These two guys can really keep a conversation going; I feel like I’m witness to a rebirth of the Algonquin Round Table.
Russo and Willie break off the hug, prompting Russo to look at me for the first time. His apparent pleasure at seeing Willie evaporates. “You’re Carpenter.”
“That’s uncanny,” I say.
“I hear from everybody that you’re an asshole.”
“It’s just nice to know people are talking about me.”
“Andy’s okay,” Willie says, a welcome intervention.
Russo thinks for a moment, then nods. “If Willie says you’re okay, maybe you’re okay. Of course, even Willie isn’t right one hundred percent of the time. What do you want?”
“Do you know Alex Vogel?”
Russo stiffens instantly. “No,” he says, clearly lying through his teeth. Based on his reaction, he absolutely either knows Vogel or knows about him.
“Are you sure?” It’s basically a meaningless question. I’ve already learned what little I’m going to learn from this meeting.
Russo turns to Willie. “Your okay friend doesn’t understand what no means.”
I had planned not to mention Russo’s now-deceased girlfriend, nor her connection to Vogel. I figured on the off chance that Russo didn’t know about their relationship, I shouldn’t be the one to break the news. Vogel has enough problems without enlisting Russo as an enemy.
“He’s my client. He’s the man accused of blowing up that boat with two people on it. Maybe you read about it.”
“I didn’t.”
“Okay. I know you’re an influential guy in the community, and that you hear things. So I thought maybe you heard something about him.”
“Is that right? You know what I heard? I heard maybe it’s healthier for him to be in jail. That’s what I heard.”
“Would you care to elaborate on that?”
Russo turns to Willie, apparently having tired of me. “Willie, you’re welcome here anytime. You were my father’s man, so you’re my man. But I think you should get your friend out of here.”
Willie nods. “Yeah. Be good, Joey.”
“Stay cool, Will.”
Willie and I leave. I text Marcus the news that we have left and don’t need his help. I’m glad we didn’t, though it would have been a treat to watch him manhandle Russo’s four bodyguards.
Willie and I don’t talk about the meeting on the way to his house, except for my thanking him for setting it up.
“Anytime” is his response.
I drop him off and head home to tell Laurie what transpired. She hugs me hello, an unspoken admission that she was at least a little worried about me.
We sit in the den with a glass of wine while I tell her my impressions of the meeting. “He definitely knew Vogel, even though he denied it. He clearly reacted when he heard his name, and his demeanor completely changed.”
“Changed how?”
“He got angry, and then even after telling me twice that he didn’t know Vogel and never heard of him, he basically threatened him. He said he was safer in jail than he would be on the outside
.”
“So is he a suspect now?”
“Let’s just say he’s not eliminated. I still don’t see him sending hit men out on the ocean to a yacht, but I don’t have anyone better.”
She nods. “Okay, so yesterday we had no suspects, and today we sort of have one. That’s progress.”
“Moving right along.”
Hike had visited with Vogel and gotten a rundown on his life.
Other than the ill-fated relationship with Joseph Russo’s girlfriend, not much seemed like a promising lead or theory. Laurie and Corey Douglas have been going through it all and interviewing people mentioned, but have not reported anything worth pursuing further.
Vogel has lived a rather uneventful life, dominated by work. He got married right out of college, but it only lasted two years. His ex-wife has remarried, moved to Seattle, and has three kids with her new husband. She and Vogel are no longer in touch, and he said the breakup was relatively amicable. It seems somewhat unlikely that all these years later she would hire two men to blow up her ex-husband on his boat.
He didn’t have that many friends. A group of six guys occasionally played poker and went to Knicks games, but Laurie said nothing casts any suspicion on any of them.
Dating Carla D’Antoni was something of an aberration for Vogel. With that notable exception, his dating life resembled my high school romantic exploits, which is to say they were basically nonexistent.
Laurie is trying to get updated on the investigation into D’Antoni’s death from friends on the police force. Once she does, we’ll delve into her life a bit and see if we can learn anything relevant to our case.
I still don’t believe that her relationship with Vogel caused Russo to send his men out on a high-seas mission to murder three people; it seems like literal overkill. But one never knows.
Vogel, by his own telling, does not seem the type to have taken up with D’Antoni. I am not saying that the circumstances seem suspicious, nor do I have any reason why they might be. But I’m reserving judgment until I find out more about it.
I don’t think the D’Antoni angle is particularly promising, but we’re not exactly inundated with positive leads. We just have to keep checking investigative boxes until we hit pay dirt. Or not.
I wake up at seven, which is typical for me. I hear the whirring noise of Laurie on her exercise bike, which is also no surprise. She doesn’t seem put off that she can ride for an hour and not get anywhere.
She always has a look of pure joy on her face when she finishes. I guess she and I have that in common. If I was crazy enough to exhaust myself by pedaling furiously to nowhere, I would also be happy when it was over.
I get ready to walk Ricky to school, until Laurie reminds me that it’s Memorial Day. I had no idea; when I work on a case, I get so caught up in it that I tune out everything else. Unless it’s football season; I never tune out football.
Instead I take Ricky down to the Tara Foundation. He loves to go there and play with the dogs. We always have twenty-five available for adoption, and Ricky pets every one of them. His personal favorite at the moment is a large black Lab named Bruiser. I don’t blame him; two dogs is enough for our house, but if we were going to add a third, Bruiser would be a great choice.
We’ve been here for about forty-five minutes when Laurie calls and tells me that Vogel called from the jail. He needs to see me on what he describes as an important matter.
I leave Ricky at the Foundation; Willie will drive him home when he’s had his fill of playing with the dogs. Knowing Ricky, that could take a couple of months. I just hope Ricky doesn’t talk Willie into letting him bring Bruiser home.
I head down to the jail. My hope is that Vogel has remembered something that can be helpful, something like the real killers’ names, addresses, and motive. I’m actually not expecting much; if Vogel is a typical client, he’s as likely to pump me for information as he is to provide any.
I’m brought into the lawyer visiting room, and the guard brings Vogel in five minutes later. I can see excitement on his face; either something good has happened or he’s got information to give me that he clearly thinks will be helpful.
He doesn’t waste any time. “I know who one of the killers is.”
“Tell me.”
“Well, I don’t know his name, I couldn’t hear the announcer real well, but…”
He’s rushing his words and not making a lot of sense. “Slow down, Alex. Just tell me what you know; I’m not going anywhere.”
He nods. “Okay. Sorry, I’m just really excited by this. They let the prisoners here watch an hour of television a day. Usually I’m not allowed; they seem to think I need some extra protection or something.”
I don’t interrupt to say that it’s a result of Laurie’s request; I want him to continue.
“But today they let me do it. The news was on and there was a story about two guys that were killed. Their bodies were left in a park or something. I think it happened a while ago; this was like an update on the investigation.
“Anyway, I didn’t get the names, but they showed pictures of the two dead guys, and one of them was the killer I saw on the boat.”
“Are you sure?”
“Close to positive. I really think it was him. The other guy might have been there as well, but I never saw his face.”
“Good. I’ll get right on it. I may have Hike come down here with more photos of them to confirm the identification.”
“Hike?” Alex is clearly not relishing the prospect.
Since he’s already spent time with Hike, I’m not surprised that he’s not looking forward to a repeat of that experience. An hour with Hike feels like a month. A miserable month. “I believe I had mentioned that he’s not a laugh-a-minute kind of guy.”
“You were right about that.”
“What did he say?”
“Well, I don’t remember how we got on the subject, but he started telling me about the number of people who die in prison. He said the food was so unsanitary that I’d be better off eating dirt, and that New Jersey compensates for not having a death penalty by using prison food to kill the inmates.”
“That does sound like Hike. But you should try and tune him out; he really is a good lawyer, and he’s on our side.”
“If you say so.”
“While I’m here, tell me how you came to meet Carla D’Antoni.”
“It was after work; me and some friends would occasionally go to a restaurant/bar near the office to have a drink. It’s called the Windward. Do you know it?”
“No.”
“Anyway, we’re sitting at the bar … actually that night I was there with Stephen Mellman … and this woman comes in and sits not too far from me. There was no one between us.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing. The next woman I start a conversation with at a bar will be the first. Fear of rejection, you know? Anyway, she orders a drink and then smiles at me. So I smile back. Then she asked me something. I don’t remember what it was, nothing important. Maybe, did I work around there, or something like that. A conversational icebreaker.
“The next thing I know we’re chatting away, and then we get a table and have dinner. I was a good ten years older than her, and she was really attractive. I figured, probably nothing will happen, but why not give it a shot?”
“What happened to Mellman?”
“He told me to go for it and then disappeared. He was being a good friend. I think he was also a little amazed, like I was.”
“Did you go anywhere afterwards?”
“Amazingly, yes. Back to my house. That was how all our dates ended, always at my house. She said her roommate was a pain in the ass.”
He shakes his head. “If I had any idea what would happen…” He doesn’t have to say any more; I can see it in his face. He is facing that he may be responsible for her death.
“You’re not the reason she died.”
“You can’t know that. But do me a favor? Prove me wron
g.”
I leave and call Sam Willis as soon as I get in the car. “Sam, did you see the story about the murder victims in Pennington Park?”
“Are they part of our case?” He’s clearly thrilled that we might be involved with something dangerous. Nothing like a couple of assassinations to brighten Sam’s day.
“Very possibly. So I need to know everything you can dig up about them. You need their names?”
“Andy, come on, give me some credit.”
“Okay. Please get back to me as soon as you can.”
“I’m on it.”
“I liked you better when you were retired,” Pete Stanton says.
“Maybe a better way to put it is that I disliked you less.”
“What a beautiful thing to say. Have you got a tissue?” I’m in Pete’s office looking for a favor. After what I did to him when he tried to question Alex Vogel, a favor might not be something he will be looking to grant.
“What the hell do you want?”
“Information. Two guys, Charlie Phillips and Orlando Bledsoe, were killed and their bodies left in Pennington Park.”
“Really? How come I didn’t know about this? Oh, wait a minute. I’m head of homicide, and those were homicides. So maybe I’m already working on it.”
“Based on your history, working on it means getting nowhere and then filing it away. Nobody has created more unsolved cases than you; you were Man of the Year in Cold Case magazine.”
“You trying to get on my good side? I’ll ask one more time before I throw your ambulance-chasing ass out of here: What the hell do you want?”
“I want to get information on the case.”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself; we haven’t arrested anybody yet. You can’t defend a scumbag and start collecting your ridiculously high fee until we arrest said scumbag.”
“Tell me about the two victims.”
Muzzled Page 8
