The big man with the bulbous red nose and protruding gut pushed his greasy hair back. Carney peered at their badges through his still locked storm door. He lowered the hand that had gone through his hair and scratched himself, leaving a wet greasy stain on the unzippered khahis he wore. Holden averted her eyes and grimaced.
“I know my rights. I don’t have to speak to you until I get my lawyer.”
“While that is very true,” Holden began in a courteous tone, “by denying to speak with us, we have to go to the trouble of getting a subpoena to question you. But, here’s the thing, if we happen to find oh, let’s say, a few traffic tickets that haven’t been paid, or that your driver’s license is expired. Hey, or maybe we find an ex-girlfriend has recently pressed charges for a domestic violence incident. Then, we have no choice but to follow the due process of the law.”
As she was speaking, Carney became visibly fidgety and cleared his throat one too many times. “Yeah and what if I forget the lawyer and speak to youse?”
Feinster smiled benignly and picked up where her partner left off. “Then, we just talk because we haven’t looked in your files.”
He narrowed his eyes at them before muttering a few choice obscenities. He unlatched the door and shoved it open. Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the house.
“He’s such a gentleman, ain’t he, Holden?”
Smirking, Jennifer walked through the door Feinster held open for her.
***
Tuesday, November 13th, 8:57 A.M.
Yearwood rang the bell none too gently. His agitation was apparent but seemed to be a bit more under control. Clift thanked whatever powers there were that the younger cop was calmer. It wasn’t pleasant working on pins and needles wondering when his partner would blow. They heard footsteps which seemed too light for a man that was supposed to weigh 258 and stand a decent 5’ 11”.
A ruddy-cheeked strawberry blonde who looked to be in her early forties opened the solid oak door and pursed her lips. There was a smile playing around her eyes that quickly faded when she eyed the uniformed men in front of her. “He’s not here, Officers. He split about a week ago taking all our savings and leaving me nothing to pay the mortgage.”
Clift watched her eyes. They were not sad or depressed. They were tired and bored. She already looked as if she wanted to close the door.
“Mrs. Oselow?”
“Soon to be ex, but yes.”
“May we come in?”
“’Fraid not. I’m about to go off to work and beg for an advance. Can’t be late if you’re asking for help now can ‘ya?” She winked at them.
Clift was glad that Mr. Oselow hadn’t stamped out every drop of his soon-to-be-ex-wife’s good-natured cheeriness. However, the cheer in her eyes never reached her full unsmiling lips. She took a step back preparing to close the door.
“Mrs. Oselow, we will only take a few minutes of your time —”
“Uh-huh. You already took them. I don’t know where he is. I don’t care where, either, just as long as he doesn’t come back. Twenty-three years of this bullshit is enough! I ain’t got no kids with him, and right about now that’s the best thing I can say about our relationship.”
“Did he say where he was heading?” Yearwood asked trying to hold open the door. It slammed shut and they heard the deadbolt snick into place. They looked at each other bemused.
“Hell hath no fury…” Yearwood cracked his first genuine smile in hours.
Clift’s stomach unclenched and he smiled back. “Guess we’ll have to dig further to try and find him, huh?”
“Yeper-doodle,” said Yearwood walking down the paved footpath back down the street to the squad car. He even began whistling.
Clift simply smiled.
“So, who do you want to do next? Rossini? He’s in Starrett City — um, no. They changed the damn name. What is it again?” Clift walked briskly to catch up.
“Spring Creek, and I don’t care. You get to choose now since I picked the first one.”
“Spring Creek, yeah, that’s it. Okay, then. It’s Rossini, and Bart’s last.”
“Where’s Bart located?”
“He’s in Newark. We’re doing Bart last so we can swing over and go see Rennkler’s daughter again. I have a few more questions for her.”
Yearwood nodded but a dark cloud seemed to cross his face at the mention of the daughter of the deceased.
Clift wondered what was on his mind.
Yearwood shrugged. “Fine, Rossini in East New York is next.” He was already in the driver’s seat and had started the engine as Clift struggled to get his girth into the passenger seat. Clift breathed heavily. He would hate if he had to drive feeling the way he did. Pulling his legs in after him, he tried hard not to wheeze from the exertion of the brisk short walk. Once he closed the door and got settled, he took some deep breaths in an attempt to slow his racing heart.
***
Tuesday, November 13th, 11:40 A.M.
“I’ll drive,” offered Jennifer as they headed back to the squad car.
“What? You sick or something? You hate driving!”
“I don’t hate it. Brooklyn drivers suck and since we’re not in Brooklyn…” she motioned her hands in a circular movement wanting Betty to follow her logic.
“Yeah, whatever.” Betty tossed the keys over the hood of the blue and white vehicle.
Once inside, Jennifer felt chatty. She looked over at Betty, “What a monumental waste of time, huh?”
“A lot of what we do seems that way. But, we now know Carney had nothing to do with anything. He’s just, today, back in town from sunny California. Don’t think his boarding passes would lie, do you?”
Jennifer snorted, “I wish they could. I’d feel better and like we accomplished something.”
“Well, we did. We cross Barnabas Carney off our list. Now, it’s on to Giordano. Maybe there’s something barking up that tree.”
Jennifer shrugged, “Yeah, maybe.” She glanced over at Betty who was hunched over in the passenger seat, her face was pinched with worry. “What’s up? Why the long face?”
Without looking at her, Betty threw Jennifer a curve ball. “What’s up with Chad?”
“Whoa. That came out of nowhere.”
“Not really. You were all gooey-eyed over him and now, nada.”
“In all of this mess you’re thinking of hooking me up? You’re a hopeless romantic, you know that? What man would want me now?”
“You’re evading the question. Did you speak with him recently? You have a date with him Friday, don’t you?”
“For your information, he called this morning just before I came into the conference room with you yahoos. I already backed out of Friday. Blamed it on the Rennkler case.”
“Huh. Shudda figured you’d weasel out of it.”
“Betty, how the hell do I blithely go on a date now? What? Do I say over drinks — ‘Oh, by the way, I’m a serial killer. Just thought I’d warn you before dessert, when I might eat your innards.’”
“Didn’t figure you for a coward.”
“I’m not doing this, Feinster. You know it wouldn’t be fair to the man to drag him into any of this.”
“Why don’t you let him decide for himself?”
“Not doing this. Told you that. Already told him date’s off. Case closed.”
Nodding, Betty went in for the kill. “Lady Ariella needs the keys to your apartment so she can clean up.”
It took the space of two heartbeats before Jennifer responded, “Shit! They can move that fast?”
“Clift and I are surprised they haven’t taken you off-duty yet,” she mumbled dejectedly.
Jennifer started the car and checked the time on her watch and said, “It’s not even noon yet. It’s only quarter to. How ‘bout we swing by the safe house and drop off the keys before heading to Giordano’s in Staten Island?”
Betty looked over at her with narrowed eyes. “Why so anxious to do this? I thought you’d balk. T
he High Priestess is going to go through your stuff and get rid of anything that could be incriminating. Rather sketchy stuff given that we know we could get in heaps of trouble for this…”
Checking traffic, Jennifer slid into a lane seamlessly and headed towards the highway. “This isn’t rocket science. It’s really simple, Feinster. I had a demon jacking me from the inside. You think I’m going to have a problem with someone who helped rid me of said demon going through my stuff? Nah-uh. Lady Ariella needs to get whatever she needs to get done, now.”
Newfound respect gleamed in Betty’s eyes as a smile lit her face making it a beautiful thing to behold. “Well all right!” Leaning back in the passenger seat, Betty dialed the High Priestess to let her know they were on the way.
***
Betty ran inside with the keys jangling in her hand. Lady Ariella greeted her with a nod and pointed to two brown bags on the kitchen table. “Those are your lunches. Thought you might like a couple of chicken salad sandwiches, a cup of pumpkin bisque soup and that Thermos of coffee is sweetened and has half-and-half in it already.”
In lieu of an answer, Betty bear-hugged the High Priestess and placed the keys on the table after scooping up the two bags and the Thermos.
“Was she okay with me being in her apartment and going through her stuff?”
“She was cool. Said that it had to be done and you already saved her from the Fury, so how much more could you possibly discover.”
“She said that?” Lady Ariella’s voice rose in skepticism.
“Not in so many words but I’m sure that’s what she meant.”
With a lopsided grin, Betty snagged two apples and popped one into each bag. “I’m off! Call or text me when you’re done at her place. Keep a low profile. I have no idea if IAD is hanging around. You might have to go during the wee hours of the morning…”
“It might be too late then.”
“It may be too late now.”
They both looked at each other refusing to believe that; refusing to believe that Jennifer would be punished for Derrick Palmer’s murder.
“You’d better head out before she thinks you’ve ditched her,” Lady Ariella said.
Betty nodded curtly trying to ignore the burning behind her eyes as she walked out of the kitchen, hoping for a miracle.
***
Tuesday, November 13th, 12:10 P.M.
Driving more humanely, Yearwood headed for the Belt Parkway to get to the East New York section of Brooklyn. Studiously ignoring Clift, Yearwood’s thoughts kept drifting towards Holden and her choice of male company. It burned that she had played him. Well, she’s going to get hers! If I can’t have her, well who cares what happens to her?
Interrupting his thoughts, Clift made a pronouncement. “Gotta get some food. Starving. Only place worth its salt in this neck of the woods is the Lindenwood Diner. Let’s stop there before going to Rossini.”
Yearwood gritted his teeth but grunted his acquiescence. He positioned himself on the right to get off the Belt Parkway at Exit 15 even though he had a couple miles still to go. He tried to keep himself cool but it was hard for him with so many idiots in his midst.
Abatu kept Yearwood’s anger and animosity reined in and kept infusing him with tranquility, but it was draining. The man’s rage seemed to know no bounds. This was precisely why the Fury disliked utilizing men; they were irrational. The Fury began second-guessing its plan to use the hotheaded cop and wondered if the older cop would be a better host.
The Fury held onto its frustration in check and bided its time. At some point, soon, the original host would be nearby and the Fury would ensure that this time Yearwood would be alone with the original host. The Fury smiled its toothy grin as it relished the image of repossessing the lady law enforcement officer.
***
Tuesday, November 13th, 12:05 P.M.
Sliding back into the squad car with the two brown bags and the Thermos Betty gave Jennifer a bright smile. “Lady Ariella made us lunch — chicken salad sandwiches, pumpkin bisque soup and coffee. I added an apple.”
Watching a group of rowdy teenagers pass the police car, Jennifer took notice as one gangly kid flipped her the bird and scowled as he passed. Wanting to go over and run him just because Jennifer shook herself out of it and swung her gaze towards Betty. She had bigger issues to deal with than some latch key kid who had a chip on his shoulder. “Huh?”
“Food? Earth to Planet Holden. What’s up?” Betty turned around and looked at the kids that were now halfway down the block.
“Nothing. Kid’s got an attitude is all. Food? You hungry, again?” Jennifer glanced over at Betty and cast her eyes at her.
“What? A girl’s not supposed to eat?”
“Not like a horse. But fine, whatever. I’ll choose this time. Since we’re over here let’s go to Lindenwood. I feel for their Turkey Dumplings.”
Betty opened her mouth to protest. She shut it instead and shoved the brown lunch bags on the floor behind her seat. She shrugged and answered, “Whatever you want.” She knew this was not a day to tell Jennifer no about anything especially something as silly as what she should eat. Hell, it may be her last meal as a full-fledged cop…
Betty sighed and watched as Jennifer expertly guided the car towards the South Conduit. As they passed the Dunkin’ Donuts on Grant Avenue, Betty tried not to feel depressed as they passed. The pumpkin spice coffee was calling to her. Sighing, she forced her thoughts back towards the case and wondered if they would find out anything from Giordano later.
***
Jennifer pulled into one of the parking spots in front of the Diner and got out without speaking. She was fixated on the dumplings and knew her brain wouldn’t start working again until she popped one into her mouth.
Even though she was functional processing that her job may very well end in a few hours was not something she wanted to contemplate. The closest thing to a religion Jennifer had was her badge and gun. She couldn’t bear thinking about walking the streets without either one of her sacred items. This was not how she wanted her career to end. Marching into the Diner Jennifer seated herself, and grabbed a menu.
Betty trailed behind noting Jennifer’s rigid back and stiff upper lip. She could only imagine what thoughts were spiraling in her mind. Whatever they were they did not seem to bring her friend any solace. Scooting into the booth opposite Jennifer, she picked up a menu and pretended to read it but actually was surreptitiously observing her partner over the top of it. “So, the turkey dumplings are good?”
“I like them. I hear the Angus burgers are pretty good, too. But, I get stuck on stuff and I haven’t tried anything else since I happened on the dumplings.”
A slim dark-skinned waitress sauntered over to their table. “Ladies…what can I do you for?”
“Turkey dumplings, a side of sweet potato fries and a black coffee with a little cream on the side.” Jennifer handed the woman the menu and pulled out her phone and began fiddling with it.
“Um, I guess the Angus burger with American cheese and regular fries for me. Oh, and can I have the Virgin Miami Vice? I used to love that show.”
She smiled nervously as Jennifer ignored them both.
“Great, be right back with your beverages.”
The waitress walked away and Betty stared at her friend trying to figure out what to say to make it better. Nothing would make this situation better. Catching herself, she refused to sigh again and instead took a couple of deep breaths and blew them out. Betty knew she would need all of her wits about her to help Holden get through the upcoming IAD ordeal.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a flash of white and blue. Turning her head she noticed another squad car pull into the lot and park two slots over from their car. Interest piqued, Betty continued to watch to see who would emerge. Shock bloomed through her when she saw Yearwood’s tawny head pop out and watched as he walked firmly towards the entrance with Clift not far behind.
“Um, we’ve got company, Holden.�
�
Something in her tone made Jennifer look up and out the window. When she saw the other half of the team she let out a colorful expletive. “What else can go wrong today?!”
“Let’s just play it cool. We’re all a team and great minds think alike…obviously.”
Upon entering, Yearwood spotted them immediately. He paused long enough that Clift ran into his stiffened back.
“Hey, go in. I’m hungry.” He nudged him forward and into the restaurant and saw what had stopped the younger cop in his tracks. “Hey, Holden. Feinster! Guess we had the same idea,” he said as he shoved Yearwood out of his way and headed for the booth the female half of the team occupied.
They moved over to allow the men to sit.
Clift made sure to sit next to Jennifer and he patted her thigh reassuringly under the tabletop as he pulled his girth into the booth.Continuing smoothly, Clift said, “Since we’re all here, might as well catch up. What did you guys find out?”
“Not a damn thing.” Jennifer said in a disgusted tone.
“What she means is Barnabas Carney arrived home early this morning fresh from Cali. He’s been there for the past two weeks. He can’t be our guy. His boarding passes were legit and the tags on his luggage were still in place. We’ll run it past American Airlines’ roster but we’re pretty sure this guy’s alibi is airtight so a trip out to Forest Hills allowed us to cross off one name.”
Scratching the stubble on his wide chin Clift sighed heavily.
The waitress came over with Feinter’s and Holden’s drinks and took Yearwood’s and Clift’s order.
Clift smiled with relish when he ordered the Chicken Marsala making Yearwood’s order of fish and chips seems plain in comparison. Coffee was the drink of choice for both men.
“What’s in the fancy glass Feinster? Drinking on the job?” sneered Yearwood who was right next to her.
“How you wish. It’s a Virgin Miami Vice. Pretty good actually,” she took a noisy slurp through the straw and turned back to Clift. “What about you guys? How was your morning?”
Clift launched in quickly before Yearwood could open his mouth. “We went to Oselow’s in Brighton Beach. He split town a week ago. His ex-wife-to-be is pissed at him. She said he took all their cash and left her stuck with the mortgage. Will follow up on it but it’s pretty hard to believe Mrs. Oselow’s faking that fury. You women can be feisty when ticked off.”
Fury From Hell Page 24
