Clue: it was often a helpful word, the path to a solution, yet it was also a four-letter word confounding in its definition, mysterious and slippery.
Jimmy took a sip of his beer and savored the dark hickory-flavored stout. He turned as the front door opened, wondering which ghost might pass through its frame. It could be any number of them: real or alive, Kellan, Frisano, Mickey. But it was none of them, just a couple wrapped in each other’s arms, their own world, wanting to share a drink before enjoying whatever else the night would bring. Jimmy wanted to be jealous of them, but he knew it was a useless emotion. He had ample opportunity to share a life. He made choices that kept him from indulging even temporary happiness.
A lull in the action brought Paddy to him, sidling up from behind the bar.
“You okay, Jim?”
“Fine, I’m more concerned with you, Paddy.”
“Life hands you challenges, and you either die by them or seek to overcome them.”
“An evolved perspective.”
“I’ll forever miss my boy. He didn’t deserve what he got. A turf war. I believe in justice.”
“I’m working on it.”
Paddy poured a second Guinness and slid it toward Jimmy. “I know that. I trust in that.”
“Paddy, did you see Kellan the night he…”
“He died? He was here at the pub, keeping his old man company. He got a phone call from that poor girl, so said the cops, going on his call log. He left. Collateral damage, I suppose.”
“I think Kellan was, too.”
He nodded, his eyes afire. “Mickey Dean, what have you learned?”
“Actually, I have a lead on bringing him down. Patience, Paddy.”
The door opened just then. Both men turned, partially out of curiosity but mostly out of fear.
But it was a friendly face, Maggie McSwain, taking the available seat at the bar beside her lone son. It had been her late shift, he realized. He should have picked her up outside the Calloway. He was glad to see her, safe, sound, and at his side.
“Hi, Ma.”
“Jimmy. Paddy. Give a girl a martini?”
Paddy smiled. His sister could always elicit one, and Paddy set about performing the job that had defined him, a drink for her during the war. He set the shimmering drink before her, from which she took a grateful drink and let out a sigh.
“Tough night, Mags?”
“Tough audience, but you can’t let them affect you. Tomorrow you’ll have another one.”
True enough, life in the theatre was transient. The patrons who arrived for a night’s show were a prime example. For two and a half hours, they owned the place only to drift out afterwards, their presence a mere memory. Not so for Maggie. The Calloway Theatre was a second home, the aisles as familiar to her as the contents of her refrigerator.
“Surprised to see you here, Jimmy. Your case ended early?”
“When your client is under house arrest, time is not the only constraint.”
“You look nice, sort of,” she said. She rubbed his cheek. “A suit, but not a shave.”
“A PI has to retain some kind of edge,” he said.
“Tough guy,” she said, with a rueful smile, “You would have made such a good cop.”
Jimmy paused the pint glass by his lips. “Why would you say that, now?”
“Jimmy, I always think it. You would have done my Joseph proud.”
“Would have?”
“If he had lived, to have seen you follow in his footsteps, no telling the heights he would have reached in the force.”
“I thought he was happy being on patrol, his beat.”
“At the time, sure. Didn’t mean Joey didn’t have his ambitions for himself and for you.”
“You think he’d be disappointed now in my choice of career?”
“If life had been different, so might you. You could be in uniform, doing as he did.”
“And married with kids?”
“Oh, Jimmy, that’s not where I was going with this. A woman, a man, that doesn’t matter. You should be happy, that’s all I’ve ever wanted for you, for all of my children, but know this, nothing plays out, ever, how you perceived it. Look at Meaghan, unwed and soon to be a mother. I’ll have to help raise that baby, and don’t think for a moment I regret that. That new life is part of us and deserves as much of a chance at happiness as the rest of us. It’s just, it’s not the way I wanted it for my girl. Mallory, she might never have kids, but she’s so driven in her career. And you…I know you can marry, and I know you can adopt. I just don’t know what you want.” She sipped at her martini, fortification to keep her philosophy in hyper-drive. “We may be the last of the McSwains. Is that important in the scheme of life? I don’t know. No one has power over God, over destiny.”
“You okay, Ma? You don’t often talk this way.”
“Losing Kellan, it makes a parent think.”
“Is that why you’re here, for Paddy?”
“I’ve been here every night this week,” she said.
“You’re a good sister,” Jimmy said, “And the best mother.”
“Shush now, that’s the booze talking.” But she laughed.
Jimmy kissed her cheek and drained his beer. Her wise words had gotten him thinking, and so he excused himself. He didn’t need another drink, not with his meeting the next morning. Maggie took hold of her son’s wrist before he could leave.
“Yeah, Ma?”
“I love you, Jimmy.”
“I love you, too, Ma. You’re the best.”
“Don’t you forget it.”
He laughed, his heart full. “Like you’d let me.”
Back into the dark of night he went, the cold attacking him. A heavy snow was falling, and a fresh coating already was dusting the sidewalks and tree branches. He heard the shrieks of delighted people at the sight of the white fluff and saw a couple of lovers trying to catch the flakes on their tongues, doing so before sweetly kissing. The scene was as simple as life got, as perfect as it was supposed to be, just two people sharing a moment, energizing the spark which had drawn them to each other to begin with. Jimmy didn’t feel left out. Instead he chose to find comfort in what he saw, not denial over what he was missing out on.
He kept walking, lifting his collar around his neck. The air felt good and enervating after the two heavy stouts he’d consumed. Where he was going, he wasn’t sure. He just wasn’t ready to hide upstairs yet. He was enjoying the falling snow, how fitting it seemed after the holiday party seeing the faces of those kids for a night given the chance to forget their troubles and their illnesses. Jimmy wondered what he would get for his mother that Christmas. He hadn’t given a thought to shopping. December for most people was a time to reflect on the past year and to enjoy the colors of upcoming celebrations. The only red Jimmy had seen was blood and the only green that of money.
He ended up as far west as he could go. The Hudson River rolled on by, dark against a starless sky. He hopped over the chain-link fence, heading toward Pier 46 like he’d done so often as a child. The place was deserted just as he wanted. He made his way along the long pier, finding a metal bench and sitting atop the back with his feet resting where most people sat. It gave him perspective to gaze at the lights of Jersey across the river like another world existed over there, one far safer than the one he lived in. Jimmy kept a careful watch on his surroundings. Just because he was all alone didn’t mean it would remain that way, not with men like Mickey Dean on the loose.
He hadn’t given Mickey much thought that day, focused as he was on Serena Carson’s case.
The next day that would change. Would Salvatore Frisano be welcoming or dismissive?
But he hadn’t come to the pier to think about the next day. He still needed to digest what he’d witnessed that night and what he’d learned from the women he spoke with. There were a total of six women on the board, including CEO Melissa Harris-J’Arnoud, all of them seduced, whether willingly or not, by a social pariah disguised as a soci
al climber, a man with a penchant for smacking women around when he didn’t get his way, meaning money. He wasn’t surprised a slime like Henderson Carlyle had met an ending like he had. Fate had a way of finding its own satisfaction. Jimmy thought any of the ladies could have done it, except the nature of his murder continued to perplex him, which is why his mind went to the one person who could have done it: Dr. Philippe J’Arnoud, a surgeon who was more than familiar with how to crack a thorax.
The man had been absent from the Nutcracker benefit, at least according to his wife stuck on a plane and delayed. Perhaps that hadn’t been the case. Would he have told her the truth when his goal was to exact vengeance on a man who had slept with then beaten his wife? Had they been in collusion? But it made no sense, not after Melissa hired him to solve the crime ahead of the police.
A swift wind whipped off the river, reminding Jimmy he wasn’t properly dressed for the cold weather. He hadn’t been all night. He didn’t need to get sick, not then. It could have been the middle of summer, he realized, and he would still feel the chill that hit his bones. The Henderson Carlyle case still wasn’t making sense.
He went back to the word “clue.” He was sure he’d heard something important that night. His mind hadn’t processed the details yet. It was like he’d opened a jigsaw puzzle and dumped out all the pieces in front of him. He just needed the time to put it all together. Start with the frame, then fill in the interior. Before long a picture would emerge, and Jimmy already knew it was going to be as ugly as the images of the two bodies eviscerated at Serena Carson’s beautiful home. The truth could be more brutal than murder.
Chapter Fourteen
New York City moved slowly when it snowed, and the last night’s flurries had turned into three inches of fluff. Of course by the time Jimmy left home at ten o’clock, the sidewalks had been shoveled, and the street corners were slushy from a constant barrage of stomping feet. The traffic on 9th Avenue was backed up, horns the soundtrack of the morning, and snow plows moving at a pace that worsened the usual gridlock. His meeting was scheduled for eleven downtown, and he wasn’t going to take a chance by taking a cab. He walked to Times Square with the commuting throng, swiped a Metrocard at the subway station, and found his way through the underground maze to the N train.
A train pulled in within two minutes, and Jimmy hopped aboard with the daily workers. It was a Thursday, the tease of the weekend carrying them along their journey. Jimmy concentrated on the forthcoming meeting, wondering just how far he would take things with the largesse that was Lieutenant Salvatore Frisano, father to his ex-lover, the man who the previous fall had squashed a sense of hope within Jimmy when he felt the truth about his father’s death neared. Not to be, it was a tease for Jimmy too. Soon enough the conductor announced Canal Street, which is where Jimmy got off, his mind closing as the doors did. He just walked then, intent on arriving at One Police Plaza with time to spare.
He found Lafayette Street easily, walked south past the courthouses, down Park Row, and soon the blocky structure that housed the NYPD’s headquarters loomed in front of him. Unlike the last week when he’d only gotten as far as perimeter of cement barricades, then he drew ever closer, gaining access through the guard gate. His name was in the books. He was expected. Jimmy felt his heart race as he approached the main doors. Not intimidated exactly, he’d dealt with the police on several cases, usually in a cooperative nature but sometimes combative. They all wanted the same thing: justice. Except as he went through the revolving door, justice seemed secondary to bureaucracy, and truth took a back seat to corruption. The NYPD did a lot of good, but they never seemed free from scandal.
“Can I help you?” a guard asked as he entered the main building.
“Jimmy McSwain, I have a meeting with Lieutenant Salvatore Frisano.”
Jimmy was frisked and patted down. Then he went through a metal detector. He was clean. He was cleared too and was soon making his way to the bank of elevators for the seventh floor. He reached for his cell phone while the doors closed and sent a text to the younger Frisano.
ON MY WAY UP. SEE U SOON.
The time was 10:50 when the doors opened up, spitting Jimmy out into the busy world of police administration. Plain clothes and uniforms walked in tandem, talking, joking, or looking like they carried the weight of the world on their shoulders. Jimmy could relate. Most people who joined the ranks of the finest did so with the greatest of intentions; some actually achieved it like Ralphie Henderson, able to return home at the end of the day exhausted yet fulfilled but others not so. He knew from experience that some men never came home. With the photograph of Officer Joseph McSwain imprinted on his brain, Jimmy felt motivated. It pushed him toward the front desk, where he once again announced himself.
“Please have a seat,” said a brusque woman who already looked harried. Perhaps she’d had a long shift.
Jimmy didn’t sit. He stood and observed. He wondered how life would have been different if he had donned the uniform. Would he have walked the streets like his father, as his mother had suggested last night, or would he have been plucked by some higher-ups for more behind-the-scenes action such as what swirled around him. The business of the NYPD was far different than what the rank and file did out on the streets. There it resembled any office with bustling people, the ringing of phones, and the clacking of keyboards. Ten minutes passed until he got his first communique, at last a return text from Frisano.
BE WITH YOU SHORTLY. WITH MY FATHER ALREADY.
Jimmy was of mixed emotion about having Frisano there for the meeting. Would the man’s presence hinder Jimmy or give him the fortitude to confront the lieutenant with what he knew and what he wanted? Only time would tell. That time had finally arrived. Jimmy stiffened at the sight of the sexy captain from the 10th, walking down the corridor with confidence as though he already belonged along these hallowed halls. It was no secret the senior Frisano had ambition to spare when it came to his son’s future. Jimmy was a mere distraction.
“Hey, Jim. Thanks, Maxine, he’s with me.”
“You got it, Captain,” the woman at the desk said. She didn’t even look up.
“Thanks for arranging this. It wouldn’t have possible otherwise, and it’s important.”
“I’m not sure how much you’ll get out of him. He hasn’t survived this long in the NYPD by giving up secrets. I’m guessing this is about the Seetha Assan case?”
“And by extension, my own father’s.”
“Something you haven’t told me about?”
“Why don’t we save it for the lou.”
As if that were their cue, they arrived at the closed door to the office of Lieutenant Salvatore Frisano, a gentle knock eliciting the bark of “enter.” Frisano turned the knob then entered, Jimmy following close behind. He stepped aside, allowing Jimmy one-on-one access to the high-powered cop. Salvatore Frisano, at six foot four with thick salt-and-pepper hair and an olive complexion, was already standing and looking out his window. Jimmy could see he had a spectacular view of Lower Manhattan. The Freedom Tower rose up with soaring majesty, a sign that mankind could overcome any tragedy. It could rebuild. It actually stirred confidence within Jimmy as he stepped forward to shake the hand of the handsome elder cop.
“Good morning, Lieutenant. Thanks for agreeing to see me.”
“Seeing you and agreeing to see you are two separate things.”
“Nonetheless, I appreciate it.”
“You’re not here to ask for my son’s hand, are you?”
It was a sudden shift in tone, throwing Jimmy off his game. He supposed it was deliberate.
“Father…”
Jimmy looked at the father then at the son. The former wore a smile of crocodilian proportion, and the latter exasperation. Jimmy himself felt his face redden.
“Look, Jimmy, we’re behind closed doors. I don’t expect you to call me ‘Lieutenant’ during whatever this is. Officially, this meeting isn’t happening, so I’m Sal, he’s Frank, and you’re yo
u. Got it?”
“Yes, sir, uh, Sal, and to answer your question, I’m not here for personal reasons. I mean, not of that nature, sir. Your son and I are…associates. The only thing we have in common is justice. We just might go at it differently.”
“I’ll say,” Sal remarked. It was a biting comment and judgmental.
Jimmy shifted where he stood. It was like the three of them were in the boxing ring together in an unfair fight. Taking the initiative without being asked, Jimmy took a seat opposite the large desk which occupied the spacious office. Frisano followed his lead and sat in the other one. Sal himself moved out from behind the desk, settling on the edge and holding an edge by towering above them.
“You’ve got fifteen minutes,” Sal said. “We’ve already wasted five on niceties.”
What they exchanged were niceties? Jimmy had a sense this trip might have been a waste of time.
“Sal, the last time we met—the only time we met—you warned me away from a case that was actually part of a larger one that I was working. At the time I dropped it, mostly because I had no further evidence to link the two. You remember what I’m referring to?”
Steely eyes zoomed in on Jimmy. “Officially that meeting didn’t happen either.”
“Is that what you do all day, sir, have imaginary meetings?”
“I make problems go away,” he said, “Problems that could create larger ones. It’s why I’m here at OPP.”
“One of the things you told me that day was you knew my father, and you respected him.”
“He was a good cop, one of the best.”
“Yet his murder remains unsolved.”
“It’s a long time ago now, Jimmy. We do our best, but we don’t solve everything.”
“He was a fellow brother, a man in blue, but he died covered in red,” Jimmy said. “There’s no statute of limitations on murder or on grief. I promised myself I would find out the truth, and I’m here today to ask for your assistance.”
Guardian Angel Page 22
