“Don’t mention it,” Brannigan said. “Glad to have you aboard. Little different operation from what you’re used to, though, right? The kind of things my people work on are more cerebral.”
“More cerebral?”
“Sure. White-collar crime requires brains—which puts it on a higher plane. Not as exciting, probably, to somebody who’s been running a precinct squad. The guys we chase steal with greater finesse.”
“And get away with more money.”
“A lot more. It’s what makes the work so challenging. Our bad guys are well educated, know more loopholes than most lawyers. That’s why it takes special skills to nail them. When we do, the money we recover is about a million times what one of your street punks runs off with.”
Tolliver wasn’t about to get into a pissing contest over who was doing more to protect New York from the criminal hordes. “Yeah, well. Thanks anyway, for your help.”
“Glad we could lend a hand. Mulloy giving you everything you need?”
“Yes, so far.”
“He’s swamped, you know, with the investigation he’s working on. I wouldn’t want him to get sidetracked. So if you’re gonna need much more assistance, see me. I’ll assign somebody else.”
“All right, fine.”
Brannigan sat back in his chair. “How’s it going, by the way?”
“Well enough, I guess. Few loose ends.”
“This latest thing was some wrinkle, huh? The woman killing herself? Whatever went on with her and the senator, she sure paid for it. All those stories—no wonder she jumped.”
“Yeah.”
“I was saying to the DA, it was a lousy way for Cunningham to go out, too. Poor guy couldn’t even die in peace. But that’s to be expected, under the circumstances. Same kind of thing happened when Nelson Rockefeller died.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s like Oppenheimer says, everything gets tried in the media nowadays. Nobody knows better than him how much trouble they can make.”
And what you’re really telling me, Ben thought, is that you and the DA are very close. Chat together regularly about various matters.
Brannigan was elaborately casual. “So how long you figure it’ll take you to get this finished up?”
“Hard to say. But not too long, I hope.”
“Anytime you want to talk about it, bounce some ideas, don’t hesitate. By the way, I have a spare office you can use while you’re here. Mulloy will show you.”
“Okay, sounds fine.”
“Good morning,” a voice behind Tolliver said.
Ben turned to see a tall man step into the room. He was slim and urbane in a gray pinstripe and a paisley tie, his dark hair brushed straight back.
Brannigan stood up. “Morning, Fletcher. Say hello to Lt. Ben Tolliver. Ben, this is Fletcher Shackley, the senior prosecutor who’s handling the Cunningham case.”
They shook hands and Shackley said, “Understand you’re doing a report on the senator’s death. Is that right, Lieutenant?”
“I’m investigating it, yes.”
“Have you been making progress?”
“Some.”
“Very unfortunate turn of events. Not only for the senator and that poor woman who committed suicide; it’s also upset our work, ironically.”
“Why is that?”
“Why? All the publicity, of course. Focuses too much attention on the family. And their business.”
Shackley had a way of speaking that suggested he was explaining arithmetic to a retarded child. It occurred to Ben that listening to it could get on his nerves in a hurry.
“What’s more,” the prosecutor went on, “it removed what would have been a valuable source of information. We certainly would have questioned the senator, at an appropriate time.”
“I see.”
Shackley went to a chair and sat down. “Nice to meet you, Lieutenant. Good luck with your work.”
It was a clear note of dismissal. “Thanks,” Ben said. “See you later, Captain.”
“Sure, drop in again.”
Tolliver turned and walked out into the area where Jack Mulloy was working at his desk. When the detective saw Ben, he rose to his feet, saying, “Hey, we got some space for you.”
“So I’m told.”
“Come on, I’ll take you over there.”
Ben followed him across the crowded floor, where male and female plainclothes cops sat typing and talking on telephones, to one of the glass-enclosed cubicles on the outer wall. The furnishings were standard issue: a gray metal desk, a swivel chair with a vinyl seat, a couple of straight-backed visitor’s chairs, a gray metal filing cabinet. A stand supported a beat-up typewriter. On the desk were a telephone, an in-box, and a couple of scratch pads.
Mulloy smiled. “Not bad, huh? Even got a window.”
This was true enough. A grimy double-hung window faced an air shaft, giving a view of the neighboring brick wall. If you stood on your head near the window and looked up, you might be able to see a small patch of sky.
Tolliver took off his raincoat and hung it on a wall hook. Then he sat down at the desk and surveyed his surroundings. The office wasn’t much different from the one he occupied as a squad commander in the Sixth Precinct, although that one at least looked out onto Tenth Street. Thinking of it made him feel nostalgic.
Mulloy folded his arms and leaned against the glass partition. “How’d the funeral go?”
Ben glanced up. “How’d it go? It was a big deal, of course. You should have been there, Jack. You would’ve loved it.”
“I doubt it. Funerals depress me.”
“That’s what they’re supposed to do. After that, I went to the Silk autopsy. That was some show, too.”
“I can imagine.”
“The ME found something interesting.”
“What was it?”
“There were marks on her body that didn’t come from the fall. Bruises and love bites. And burns.”
“Burns?”
“From a cigar, he said. And Senator Cunningham smoked cigars.”
“Holy Christ. You sure about that?”
“Yeah, I am. His son mentioned it when I went to the house, and there was a humidor in his office.”
“Sounds like he had something going with her, after all. Something freaky. Right?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Like everything else with this thing, there’s no way to prove where the marks came from—or who put them there.”
“You told anybody this?”
“No. Keep it buttoned up.”
“Don’t worry, I will. Need anything more from me?”
“Yes. I want to see the files on the Cunningham brokerage case.”
“Okay, sure. But remember, the stuff is supersecret. I’m not supposed to let those files out of my hands. If Shackley knew I turned them over to you, he’d have a shit fit.”
“I’ll take responsibility. Give me everything, including whatever you have on any of the other family activities, as well. You said there was information on the commercial real estate company, too, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, some. Just be very careful with the material.”
“I don’t intend to pass it around,” Ben said.
“Okay, be right back.” The detective limped off toward his desk.
Ben rifled through the phone messages. One of them was from his zone commander, Michael Brennan, telling Ben to call. He picked up the phone and dialed the number, but the cop who answered told him the captain was out. Which was a good thing. Brennan would want to know what was going on, and Tolliver had no desire to be told again to let things rest.
Another of the calls had come from the medical examiner, Edgar Feldman. Ben returned that one next, and when the ME answered, Ben said, “It’s Tolliver, Ed. You come up with anything?”
“There was nothing under her nails, but I did find something else. What you might call a romantic footnote.”
“How so?”
“Just before her exit, the lad
y made love.”
“She what?”
“There was semen in her vaginal tract. When I looked at it under a microscope, some of the spermatazoa were still active.”
“I’ll be damned.”
“Fascinating, right? Sort of a Romeo and Juliet ending. I knew you’d be pleased.”
“Any way of fixing the time? When it got there?”
“Come on, Ben. I’m only a genius, not a wizard. But I will say it probably wasn’t long before she took her big jump. Maybe she found the guy a disappointing lover. Premature ejaculation, or something. You know how women are.”
“Have it analyzed, will you? I want the DNA.”
“It’s already at the lab.”
“Good work.”
“A pleasure, Lieutenant.”
“Say, Ed?”
“Yes?”
“You plan to put this in your report?”
“Of course.”
“What if I asked you not to?”
“Sure, I could leave it out. If I wanted to lose my license. Which I don’t. The One-seven has jurisdiction, so I have to send it up there. Anyway, the report’s confidential, as you know.”
“Yeah, but things have a way of leaking. If what you told me got around, it could louse up my investigation. At the moment, there’s only one other guy besides us who knows this.”
“Meaning the one who deposited the semen.”
“Exactly.”
“I see what you mean. Look, how’s this? I’ll put it in the report, only I’ll tuck it into a reference to the chemistry in her body, okay? That way, I can practically guarantee nobody will pick it up. That help you?”
“A lot. Thanks, Ed.”
“What are friends for? Just remember, you owe me one.”
“I sure do.” Ben put the phone down and sat back in his chair, thinking about what the ME had told him.
Silk had had intercourse not long before she went off that terrace? For once, he wasn’t dealing with conjecture. Or with conclusions based on hunches. What this almost surely meant was that she hadn’t been alone in her apartment before she died.
But what else did it mean—that nothing about her death was what it seemed to be? Who had been there with her? Why would she have sex with him and then jump? Or was she pushed? Did her lover push her? Did someone else?
Supposedly she’d been writing an article about the senator. If that was true, where were her notes, and where was the manuscript?
Had the witnesses told the truth about what had happened in the senator’s study that night? Apparently not; Tolliver had caught Silk in a lie about it. Had there been other lies?
What about the administrator, Ardis Merritt—had she lied, as well?
And the family—how much did they know? The signs of physical abuse on Silk’s body—the bruises and the burns—where had they come from? Maybe the senator had put them there, but he certainly hadn’t deposited the semen the ME found; by that time, he was already dead himself. Also under circumstances that might not be what they seemed.
Everywhere Ben looked, he saw only shadows.
Mulloy returned with an armful of thickly packed manila folders. He plopped the load down onto Tolliver’s desk. “Be sure you keep this stuff locked up.”
“I will.”
“Anything you want more information on, just let me know. Like I said, the ADAs are doing most of this, but I know everything that’s going on.”
“Okay, thanks.” For a moment, Ben was tempted to tell him about the call from the medical examiner, but then he decided against it. As he’d said to Feldman, the fewer the people who knew about that, the better.
“The family is some outfit,” Mulloy said. “It’s one thing about all the good they do. But then when you start poking around in their business deals, it’s a whole other thing.”
“So I gather.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah, let me ask you something. You ever hear of an orkis?”
“Of a what?”
“An orkis. O-r-k-i-s.”
Mulloy grinned. “What’s this, a gag? It’s a female dick, right? The thing in front?”
“That’s a clitoris, Jack.”
“Oh. Must be something else, then.”
“It’s not in the dictionary; I looked. So then I thought maybe it’s somebody’s name. But there’s no listing for it in the phone book. Not in the Manhattan directory, or the ones for the other four boroughs.”
“So what’s the point?”
“I saw it written on a pad in Silk’s kitchen when we were in her apartment.”
“Damn, I missed that.”
“The pad had that day’s date printed on it. So she must have written it sometime before she jumped.”
“Orkis, huh? Beats me.”
“Still could be a name.” Ben looked at the pile of material in front of him. “You never ran across it in any of the work that’s been done on the Cunninghams?”
“Not that I remember. But I’ll keep an eye out. Maybe I should check Albany’s records and VICAP.”
“Good idea. They might have something.”
“Sure. About these files,” Mulloy said.
“Yes?”
“Shackley’s one of the top guns around here. But some of what you’ll find is gonna make you curious. You might want to look into his approach. Okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll bear that in mind. I’m sure I’ll have questions later.”
Mulloy left the office, and Ben picked up the first of the file folders. It would take hours to go through it all, but he wanted to get started. At least the material would give him insights into what the Cunningham family business was about.
As he began leafing through the investigator’s reports, he thought once more of what Feldman had told him he’d found in Silk’s body; and about what he’d seen when he watched the ME conduct the postmortem—the bruises on her neck and shoulders—and about the burns Feldman said had most likely been made by someone pressing a lighted cigar against her flesh.
From the beginning of this assignment, only one person had claimed to know anything about the senator’s sex life. And when she’d tried to talk to him about it, he told her to get lost.
Getting up from the desk, he went to his raincoat and dug out the card that had been given him by the TV reporter, Shelley Drake. Then he picked up the phone and called Drake’s number at WPIC TV.
When she answered, he said, “Lieutenant Tolliver.”
“Hello, Lieutenant. I was hoping I’d hear from you.”
“I’ve been thinking over what you told me.”
“That mean you accept my offer?”
“It means I’m willing to discuss it.”
“Wonderful. I’ll buy you a drink.”
“Wrong.”
“Don’t you want to get together?”
“Yeah, but I’ll buy. You’re on Forty-second Street, right? See you at Christ Cella at six o’clock.”
22
I’m sure there was a reaction,” Peggy Demarest said. “I know there was. I saw it.”
She was sitting in Dr. Chenoweth’s office, feeling disappointed and frustrated. On successive days, she and the psychiatrist had spent hours with Jan in her room, but there had been no repetition of the response Jan had shown earlier.
Peggy twisted her fingers together. “You do believe me, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” Chenoweth said. “And I take it as a very positive sign.”
“But why would she go back into her shell afterward? She actually cried tears when I told her Senator Cunningham had died. But now each time I go to see her with you, it’s as if nothing ever happened. She’s just the same as always, sitting there not moving, not hearing anything we say to her.”
“Let’s be grateful that she did respond,” Chenoweth said. “That’s the first indication since she’s been here that something might have gotten through to her.”
“Yes, but here’s another thing I thought of. Do you suppose it was
the wrong kind of response? I mean, that by telling her something sad, all I did was make her worse? Cause her to withdraw even further? After all, when she heard about the senator’s death, that must have been a shock.”
“If she comprehended what you were saying, I’m sure it was.”
“If she did? I’m telling you, it was when I talked about the senator dying that she cried. So she must have understood me. When I mentioned it the first time, I thought I saw a reaction, but I wasn’t sure. Then I said it again, slowly, while I watched her. I said Senator Cunningham was dead. And that time, there was no mistaking that she heard. There were tears in her eyes. I got so excited, I ran down here right away, looking for you. You can imagine how I felt, can’t you?”
“Of course I can.”
“But now she’s right back in that awful blank state again, as if she’s in another world. Even when you mention the senator to her, it just doesn’t register. Or if it does, she certainly doesn’t give any indication that she understands.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“So isn’t it possible that what I said to her might have had a bad effect? That maybe it would be better for her if I’d never said it?”
Chenoweth took a deep breath. “Peggy, let me be very frank with you. The answer to your question is that at this point, I don’t know. There simply isn’t enough to go on. But all my experience tells me that even though her reaction was one of sadness at hearing that news, we have to take it as a hopeful development. As far as the possibility of her withdrawing further as a result of this is concerned, I don’t think that’s very likely.”
“Then what do you think?”
“I think that what happened was, Jan responded because what you told her caused a strong jolt to her emotions. She probably had a great affection for Senator Cunningham, undoubtedly knew him quite well from the time she worked for the family. Therefore, when she learned he was dead, she reacted in the most natural way possible. She cried.”
Hearing this, Peggy felt tears form in her own eyes. She brushed them away. “So you don’t think it did her any harm to hear that?”
“No, I don’t. I think we should only be encouraged. In a way, this was as if she was telling us to keep on working with her, to keep on trying. You see, sometimes a reaction to bad news can be stronger than hearing about something joyful. It can exert a deeper tug on the emotions, even in a healthy person. But the most important thing is, a sorrowful reaction is better than no reaction at all. Remember that.”
Flesh and Blood Page 14
