As The Twig Is Bent: A Matt Davis Mystery

by Perrone Jr. , Joe

  “Well, I’m not sure,” she said. “It could be him, but—”

  Realizing that he was showing her a picture of a much younger Richter, Chris explained that the picture had been taken about ten years ago. “If you could, try picturing him older, you know, with gray hair and—”

  The woman shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “I just don’t know.”

  “So, it’s not him?” said Chris.

  “Oh, it could be,” said the woman. “It’s just that I’m not quite sure. I mean I’d hate to make a mistake.”

  It was obvious to the two detectives that the woman hadn’t seen a thing. Like many widows who lived alone, she enjoyed the attention—even if it involved a murder case. For her, this was like a Friday night date. They thanked her politely, and left her standing in the dim light of the hallway.

  The police radio chattered incessantly as the two detectives sat quietly in the front seat of the unmarked car; the white noise of the radio masking that of the passing weekend traffic.

  Something was bothering Davis. “You know,” he said to his partner. “I’m starting to have second thoughts about this whole thing.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Freitag.

  “Maybe I’m too close—” said Matt.

  “Shit, you know we can get a warrant,” said Chris. “The prints alone—”

  “Yeah, I know we can get a warrant, but—”

  “So, let’s get the warrant, and let’s go get the cock sucker.”

  Davis scratched his head, considering his options. They could just get the warrant and go talk to the priest. Or, they could get the warrant, and make the arrest. Deep down inside he didn’t want to believe the man was guilty. But, he’d seen other cases like this one before: an innocent- looking wife, ultimately found guilty of bashing her husband’s head in with a clock; retired spinster school teacher poisoning her overbearing mother.

  “Maybe you’re right,” said Matt. “Tell you what. Let’s run it by Foster. If he likes Richter, we’ll go with it.”

  “Sounds good to me,” replied Chris. “If we go the warrant route, we ought to bring Martini, Wolinski, and Valdez along.”

  “Give the three of ‘em a call when we get back to the station,” said Matt. “I’ll see if I can track down Foster.”

  In a few minutes, they arrived at the precinct. Freitag headed for his office to phone the other members of the squad, while Matt hurried upstairs to Foster’s office. The lights were out, and he turned to head back down to his own office, when Davis heard Foster’s unmistakable baritone voice.

  “Davis, is that you?” he called.

  “Yeah, boss, I thought you were gone.”

  “Nah,” said the Captain, “I’m just catching a few Z’s. I’m on a four to midnight.”

  “Yeah,” said Matt. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Something happen?” asked his boss.

  “I think we like somebody for the stranglings,” said Matt matter-of-factly.

  Foster sat up straight in his chair, all evidence of sleepiness gone. He flipped on the light.

  “Come again?” he said. He and Davis blinked their eyes, trying to adjust to the light.

  “It’s weird,” said Davis. “You know I’ve been working with that priest down at St. Jude, right?”

  “Yeah,” replied Foster. “He steer you to somebody?”

  “I wish,” said Matt.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s him we like,” said Matt, quietly.

  “Him, who?”

  “The priest.”

  “The priest? You’ve got to be kidding me!”

  “I wish I was. You remember all those fingerprints belonging to a John Curran?”

  Foster nodded in the affirmative.

  “Well, for a while we hit a dead end. But we finally traced them all the way back to an assault and battery case in the sixties in Pennsylvania. That’s where Freitag and I went last week.”

  “Okay, so what’s the connection?”

  Davis spent the next ten minutes detailing the unraveling of the mystery concerning Richter, before Foster finally stopped him.

  “Okay, okay, I get the picture,” he said. “Let’s get a warrant and pick the guy up.”

  “Tonight?” asked Matt. He was still in denial.

  “No time like the present,” said Foster. “I’m not giving this guy another chance. Get the rest of your people, and I’ll reach out to Judge Marcus in Manhattan South for a warrant. He owes me one.”

  Davis grabbed the portable phone on his desk, and dialed his home number. Valerie looked at the caller ID on the phone, and answered on the first ring. “Hello, who is this?”

  “You picked that phone up pretty quick, lady. Expecting somebody?” quipped Matt.

  “Yeah, my secret lover boy.”

  “Well, I hate to disappoint you,” he said. “But I’m afraid he’s going to be late.” Matt had promised to be home early, and it was already going on ten.

  “How come?” asked Valerie, disappointment showing in the tone of her voice.

  “He had a better offer,” said Matt, with a laugh.

  Valerie was not amused. “Seriously, honey, you promised to come home early tonight. Can’t whatever it is wait?”

  “I’m afraid not, Val. We had a real break in the case. You’ll never believe what happened.”

  Valerie wanted to be as excited as Matt appeared to be, she really did. But all she felt now was disappointment. She took a deep breath, blowing the air out slowly between her pursed lips.

  “Val?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” she said. Trying hard to sound excited, she said, “Okay, I’ll bite. What happened?”

  “Remember what you said about it probably being some horny old priest?”

  “Uh huh,” she replied.

  “Well, you were right!”

  Valerie sat up straight. Now she really was interested. “You’re kidding! Really?”

  “Nope,” said Matt. “And you’ll never believe who we like.”

  “Who?”

  “Father Pete.”

  “Father Pete? I don’t believe it! What made you suspect him?”

  “We didn’t. You know how we went up to Glen Ellyn? Well, when we finally found Curran’s records, they showed that he had changed his name when he took his vows. Curran is Richter.”

  “That’s incredible. So, what are you going to do, arrest him?”

  “Yep,” said Matt. “Foster’s getting the warrant right now. Then we’re going over to St. Jude to make the collar.”

  Valerie giggled. “That’s funny,” she said.

  “What’s funny?” asked Matt.

  “Oh, nothing. It’s silly—really. I just had this stupid thought – a little gallows humor.”

  “Tell me,” he said.

  “Well, it’s just that, you know, you’re going to make the collar—on the collar.”

  “V-e-r-y funny.”

  “Who would’ve ever thought it,” said Val. “I’m sorry it turned out to be him,” she said. “I know you kind of liked him and all.” Then, not wanting to dwell on the subject, she added, “I guess you’ll be late, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “Any idea what time?”

  “No clue. Even if everything goes perfect, it’ll be after midnight, maybe later.”

  “Well, we’ll leave the light on for ya.” It was her standard line whenever Matt worked overtime.

  “Thanks, honey,” he said. “But, seriously, don’t wait up, okay?”

  “We’ll see.” Davis knew what that meant. No matter how late he came home, Val would always be waiting to greet him.

  “I love you, Val,” he said.

  “Love you, too, honey. Be careful.”

  “I will,” said Matt. He hung up the phone just as Foster appeared in the open doorway.

  “Okay, Matt,” he said. “We’re all set. Marcus came through for us. He’ll fax over the warrant in a couple of minutes.�
��

  “Good. I’ll get the rest of my guys, and as soon as you’ve got the warrant we’ll go.” Davis buzzed Freitag. “Get a hold of Martini, Wolinski, and Valdez. Tell ‘em we’ll pick ‘em up on the way over to St. Jude.”

  CHAPTER 65

  8:45 p.m.

  Rita and Father Pete shuffled lazily around the miniature dance floor, barely noticing that the mariachi band had stopped playing. The effects of just one drink on Rita were noticeable, and she leaned heavily against the priest, who had a high tolerance for alcohol. What Rita didn’t realize was that while she was visiting the Ladies Room, Richter had slipped a dose of Rohypnol into her second drink. He had never used drugs before—but tonight was different. Realizing that he couldn’t take any chances, he talked a local junkie into getting the drug for him, in exchange for salvation—and two crisp twenty-dollar bills. Now, the “date rape” drug was taking full effect, and he knew he had to move fast.

  “I really think we should be getting you home, don’t you think?” said Richter, his heart pounding in anticipation.

  “My place or yours?” giggled Rita. Her tongue was thick with the effects of the Rohypnol, and the words came out slurred.

  “Well, actually, I thought I’d just see you home—what with my…uh…situation and all,” said Richter.

  “Let’s just have one more eensie-weensie drink,” slurred Rita. “I promise I won’t tell.” Richter had all he could do to contain himself. He ordered two more Margaritas, paid the tab when they arrived, and left Bob a hefty tip. He downed his drink in one swallow, and waited patiently while Rita slowly sipped hers. Can’t rush, he thought. God, I wish she’d hurry up.

  Five minutes later he helped her out the front door. Anyone watching the couple would have thought they had known each other for years. The sky was clear, and the temperature had dropped appreciably. Rita snuggled against Richter, in an effort to get warm, and he waived at several passing taxis, before successfully stopping one with an illuminated vacant sign. He gave the Middle Eastern driver Rita’s address, and relaxed back into the seat alongside Valdez, who was nearly asleep.

  In a little while, the cab pulled to the curb in front of Rita’s apartment building. Richter shook Valdez gently, “Hey, Rita, we’re home.”

  “Wha—?” Cobwebs filled her head from the brief sleep in the taxi, along with the effects of the Rohypnol and the alcohol from the Margaritas. Richter paid the driver, and helped Rita from the vehicle. Together, they wobbled up the stairs to her apartment. He waited while Rita fumbled in her purse for her house keys.

  “Oh, shit,” she said. “I forgot my hat.”

  Oh great, thought Richter. He could imagine what would happen if they went back to the bar now. She’d sober up, and probably change her mind. It was early, and he still had big plans for the rest of the evening.

  “So, get it tomorrow.” His mind was racing madly. “Tell you what,” he offered. “I’ll pick it up tomorrow, and drop it off to you.”

  “You promise?”

  “Yes, yes. I promise. You have my word as a gentleman.” He couldn’t resist giggling at the absurdity of it all. “If I don’t get it, I’ll give you mine.”

  “I don’t want yours,” she pouted. “I want mine.”

  “I promise, I’ll get it.”

  “Okay. But, if you don’t—”

  “Hey, what is this? Our first fight?” he laughed. Just like all the rest, he thought. Why do they always have to make it so hard?

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to be a ball buster,” she sighed. The drug was working rapidly.

  There was no time to waste, thought Richter. He laughed nervously to himself. He wasn’t sure how to act. He had never done it like this before. It had never been planned; it had just happened. Women made him so damned uncomfortable. Christ, now what do I do?

  Rita unlocked the door, and stumbled through the opening. The light was blinking on her answering machine, but she didn’t bother checking her messages. “I’ll just make us some coffee,” she offered. Those drinks had really been strong, she thought. I’ve just got to wake up.

  Richter was shocked—no, elated would best describe what he felt – at how well things were progressing. It was too good to be true. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, then opened them again. Everything was still just like it was a second ago. Rita was just standing there, looking fantastic, waiting for him to close the door. So he did. And when he did, his hand brushed across her breast, causing her to stiffen. Oh God, now I’ve done it. He hesitated, then feeling a need to do something – anything – he kissed her hard on the mouth. She gasped for breath, and broke free.

  “Hey,” she said, “That’s not supposed to happen. You were just going to see me home, and—”

  “And do what, just be a good boy and go home?” said Richter, a hint of angry sarcasm in his voice. He grabbed Rita, and kissed her again – hard enough to cut her lip.

  “Hey!” she shouted. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Rita turned on the light.

  Oh shit, said a voice in Richter’s head. Now I really screwed it up. And then, another voice sounded from deep within the recesses of his mind—a much louder one this time. You’re already screwed, Jack—you might as well enjoy it!

  “Yes, yes, I know it,” he whispered back. “I will. I promise.”

  Rita looked at him with a puzzled expression. “What did you say?” she asked.

  You don’t owe her any explanations, Jack, said the voice in Richter’s head. She’s just a cunt—like all the rest. Tell her nothing!

  “Look, Father, I think you better leave – before this gets really out of hand.” Rita turned on the light, caught the wild look in his eyes, and realized it was already too late. Suddenly, she was more frightened than she had ever been in her life.

  “You’re just like all the others!” shouted Richter. Without warning, he slammed his fist into Rita’s face, knocking her to the floor; she tasted blood inside her mouth. A second punch, an uppercut, caught her under her chin, and knocked out a tooth. She felt as if she might lose consciousness; her head was swimming. Richter stood over her, his hands at his sides. Rita’s service revolver was inside her purse on the table by the door. If she could only reach it, she might have a chance. But, before she could make a move, Richter reached down and yanked her to her feet by her hair. He was incredibly strong, and she knew that her only chance was to convince him that she wasn’t a threat.

  She never got the chance.

  CHAPTER 66

  Freitag reached Martini on the second ring. He told him to be outside his apartment in five minutes. Wolinski sounded tired, but also agreed to be ready.

  When he called Valdez, the phone rang unanswered for five rings before the answering machine picked up. Boy, will she be pissed when she finds out we went without her, he thought. Oh well, that’s the way it goes. He started to hang up, and then changed his mind and decided to leave a message. “Hey, Rita,” he said. “It’s Chris. We’re heading over to St. Jude to pick up Father Richter. We’ll tell you all about it when we see you.” He hated talking to a machine. He hesitated, then added, “Hey, if you get this message, meet us over there as soon as you can.” Then, he hung up and headed out the door.

  Foster sat alongside Matt in the seat usually reserved for Freitag, who sat crunched up in the backseat. Chris’s long legs nearly rested against his chest, but he knew better than to protest. Davis drove quickly toward Martini’s place; the magnetic police light affixed to the car’s roof flashed brightly against the dark of the night. They had agreed not to use the siren; no point in alerting Richter, who probably wasn’t even aware he was a suspect.

  Martini was standing in front of his apartment building, wearing a puzzled expression when Davis pulled the cruiser to the curb.

  “Just get in!” shouted Freitag, as he swung open the back door, and slid over to permit Martini to enter, all in one practiced move. Martini plopped down next to Chris, a
nd slammed the door barely in time, as Davis wasted no time in powering the car out into traffic, tires screeching in protest. A few minutes later, they picked up Wolinski.

  “So, what’s the story?” asked Martini. Freitag filled him on the details. Like everyone else, Martini expressed his disbelief, not bothering to spare the expletives.

  “Holy shit! You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’,” exclaimed Wolinski.

  “Nope,” said Chris. “Richter’s the guy alright. I couldn’t believe it either, but it all fits.”

  It was eight-thirty when Foster, armed with the faxed copy of the search warrant in his left hand, rang the doorbell of the rectory with the other. Davis, Freitag, Wolinski, and Martini stood in a row behind the Captain. In a moment, the darkness inside and outside the building was erased simultaneously, as a light within the foyer was turned on, along with one outside the front door. Davis and Foster stood side-by-side as the white-haired housekeeper answered the door.

  “New York Police Department,” said Foster, flashing his shield. “We need to see Father Richter immediately.”

  The woman began to respond, but before she could speak, a voice rang out behind her, “Who is it, Mrs. Flynn?” It was Father Anthony.

  Davis and Freitag looked past the woman at the young priest. “Father Anthony, we’re looking for Father Richter. Do you know where he is?” asked Matt.

  The priest appeared confused.

  “Sir, it’s imperative that we speak with Father Richter.”

  “But, why?” asked the priest, his voice filled with confusion.

  “I’m afraid we’re not at liberty to answer that,” replied Freitag.

  “But, I don’t understand,” said Father Anthony.

  “That’s not important,” said Matt. “Right now, what’s important is that we find Father Richter. Now, can you please tell me where he is?”

  The young priest’s face turned red.

  “You do know where he is, don’t you?” asked Freitag.

  “Y-y-es, yes,” stammered Father Anthony, “well, not exactly.” He leaned close, and whispered into Matt’s ear. “I think he has a…well…a date. My God, this is all so…embarrassing.