“What the fuck is going on here?” Screech whispered as Nick Petrazzino’s red face faded in his rearview mirror.
Chapter 23
“Where the hell is he going?” Hanna asked, slipping the suture into her pocket.
“I have no fucking idea,” Drake said as he watched his friend drive off. He wasn’t sure what had happened; Screech had gone from being his usual, sour self one minute to looking like he’d seen a ghost the next. And now he was gone. “I don’t know.”
“Weird,” Leroy murmured.
“Well, Screech is weird.” Drake opened the door to his Crown Vic. “Just get in.”
Drake waited for them all to file into his car before turning to Hanna in the passenger seat.
“Where did you find that?” he demanded.
Hanna’s expression made it clear that she didn’t care for his tone of voice.
“In the fucking house. Where do you think?”
“And you just picked it up?”
Hanna’s eyes narrowed.
“Is that a real question? No, I used the power of the Force to raise it from the ground. Of course I fucking picked it up. What is with you? This is the first piece of evidence that we’ve come across—you should be happy.”
“Evidence?” Drake asked. “It’s not evidence anymore. It won’t be admissible in court.”
Hanna’s upper lip curled.
“Listen, Poirot, you’re not a fucking cop anymore. I don’t know what this case is doing to you guys but all of you twats are acting out of your minds. We’ve got a madman out there… all I care about is stopping him before he kills again. Who gives a shit if this is admissible?” She pulled the suture from her pocket and held it up for all to see. When Drake predictably went to push her hand down, she moved it out of reach. “I’m no doctor, but this looks exactly like the one used on the mannequin, does it not?”
Drake couldn’t argue with her on that point.
“Looks the same to me,” Leroy confirmed from the backseat.
Hanna was also right about this case doing something to them. Drake wasn’t sure why, but everything about it felt different. Unlike with Tobin, he had an uncanny impression that their best course of action was to play by the rules, by the book, and bring this guy down legally.
This wasn’t at all like him, which was why he felt compelled to pay attention to the feeling.
“If we can’t use it in court, then what good is it?” he asked.
“Are you fucking serious right now?” Hanna asked with such conviction that Drake had to pause and consider his words before answering.
“Yeah, I’m serious,” he said after a moment of reflection. “If it can’t be used in court, then—”
“In court, really? Like with Tobin Tomlin? Everything you did—including getting your buddy at the Times to set up a fake news article and then, well, ‘accidentally’ running into Tobin in the alley, that was for… court? Is that right? Do I have that right? Because I just want to be a hundred percent sure I understand where you’re coming from, that we’re on the same page here.”
Drake looked away and put the car into drive. Hanna had a point, of course, but she was also missing the point.
“This is different.” As soon as Drake had spoken those words, he wished he could take them back. With some people—most people—you get away with dropping comments such as the one that Drake had uttered. But not with Hanna. She wouldn’t let you off the hook that easily.
It was something that he admired about the woman and also something he loathed.
“Oh, realllly. It’s different because… let me take a wild guess here… because this case involves rich assholes while Tobin Tomlin was trash? Is that it?”
Drake bit his lip.
“I mean, you’re not lying.”
Hanna turned her body completely around to look at Leroy.
“What do you mean, you’re not lying?”
“Well, whoever did this, it’s not gonna be like it was with Tobin. You aren’t going to trick them into meeting up in a dirty alley. And if you do? You’re going to have to push through an army of lawyers to get to them.”
Hanna huffed and glared at Drake before falling back into her seat, the suture resting on her lap. The fact that Leroy was right didn’t take the sting out of his words. And the man was speaking from experience. People from his world didn’t get out on bail, didn’t have an army of lawyers working day and night trying not just to prove their client’s innocence, but to overburden the crown. Drake knew firsthand that public defenders, even those appointed for murder trials, often didn’t meet their client until minutes before the proceedings began. They did their best, but they were novices playing in the all-star game.
“I don’t give a shit about evidence,” Hanna said, mostly to herself. “All I care about is catching whoever did this.”
“That much we can agree on,” Drake replied.
“So, let’s say that those are the same stitches, what does it mean?” Leroy asked, changing the subject. “Did Lisa do this herself? Was it her husband? Why?”
Drake mulled these questions over.
“I don’t know. I don’t get the impression that they’re behind this, though.”
Hanna inhaled sharply, and for a second Drake thought that she was once again going to contradict him.
“I don’t think so either,” Hanna said, surprising him. “Doesn’t make sense. These people are all about image, about clout, keeping up with the Joneses, or whatever. Lisa might be a cunt but is she messed up enough to fuck up her own event?”
Hanna seemed so sure of herself that even if Drake disagreed, which he didn’t, he wouldn’t have uttered a sound.
“Yeah. I don’t get it. Where did you find the suture?”
Drake’s eyes drifted to Hanna’s lap. It certainly looked the same as the ones that Dr. Nordmeyer had pulled from the mannequin.
“It was under a table near the bathroom. I tried to snoop around more but Jeeves was all over my ass.”
“It can’t be a coincidence—no way. You heard Dr. Nordmeyer, she’d never seen anything like those sutures before. They’ve gotta be rare. But I agree with Hanna, the motive for Lisa or Norm to do this… I just can’t imagine it.”
“Maybe the help?” Leroy offered. “One of the maids couldn’t take Lisa anymore and decided to get back at her by ruining her little gallery event?”
Drake considered this.
“Maybe. But why not just kill Lisa, then? Why kill three other women and sew them together? Seems like a lot of work just to make some sort of cryptic message.” Drake sighed. “First things first: let’s get this suture to Dr. Nordmeyer, see if she can confirm that it’s the same.”
Hanna nodded in agreement and Drake sensed Leroy lean back into his seat. The three of them fell into silence as Drake pulled onto the main road. The longer he drove, the more the houses around them seemed to contract. After about ten minutes, Drake doubted that the Fairchilds’ foyer would fit inside the apartments that flanked them.
“Did either of you see how weird Lisa got when you showed her the picture?” Leroy asked. “The photo of the waiter?”
Drake pictured Lisa’s face and recalled how it had instantly gone red after just a quick glance at the image.
“Yeah.”
“And let me guess, she said she had no idea who he was?” Hanna remarked.
“Naw, and she acted all weird about it.”
“Not surprised.”
Drake let the two discuss the finer points of Lisa Fairchild’s personality as his mind turned inward. He found himself not thinking about his most recent meeting with the Fairchilds, but the one prior, the one that took place in a broom closet.
Something in his brain suddenly clicked.
“Shit.”
“What? What is it?”
Drake ignored Leroy and reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out his tape recorder and rewound it.
“What’s going on?”
“Just l
isten.”
Drake pressed play and Lisa Fairchild’s whiny voice filled the Crown Vic’s cabin. She was mouthing off about something and Drake quickly fast-forwarded. He played another section and then shook his head and rewound the tape again.
“What are you searching for?” Hanna asked.
Drake opened his mouth to answer when he heard something on the tape.
“That,” he said with a grin.
“I didn’t hear anything,” Leroy said.
Drake went back a few seconds then played it again, this time turning the volume to maximum. The first voice they heard was Lisa, followed by Drake himself, then Lisa again.
“Yeah, I think so. I think they’re all here.”
“Okay, okay. Thanks.”
“Can we go now?”
Hanna snatched the tape recording from Drake’s hand.
“I don’t get it… are you guys talking about the waiters? Because she—”
“No,” Drake shook his head. “Not the words, but the sound. Play it again and listen to the sound right after I say thanks.”
Hanna did as instructed, and Leroy immediately piped up.
“Glass. Sounds like tinkling glass.”
“Yeah, it was glass alright. Lisa leaned up against a bookshelf and there was some broken glass on the floor beneath it. What do you think someone like Lisa would do if she saw glass on the floor at her exhibition? Even if it was in a closet?”
Leroy’s reply was immediate.
“Tell someone to clean it up. Order someone to clean it,” Leroy corrected himself.
“Yeah, only she didn’t do that. She pushed it under the bookshelf with her foot.”
Hanna’s eyes shot up and met Drake’s. After holding her stare for several seconds, a grin started to form on her lips.
“You’re shitting me.”
“Nope. Didn’t even look down.”
Hanna whistled.
“Little slut.”
Leroy pushed his head between the two front seats waiting for them to elaborate. When neither did, he spoke up.
“What the hell are you guys talking about?”
“You wanna do the honors?” Drake asked Hanna.
Hanna, her grin wide now, turned to face Leroy.
“Well, sweetie, sometimes mommy and daddy aren’t getting what they need from each other. Sometimes they go shopping at a new grocery store just in case their local shop was missing something.”
Leroy made a face.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Hanna chuckled.
“Lisa Fairchild was fucking the help.”
“No way. No fucking way.”
“Yes, fucking all the way.”
Leroy looked to Drake for confirmation, and he offered it.
“And you came to this conclusion how? Because she didn’t want to clean up broken glass?” he asked, still incredulous.
“That, and the fact that she got angry when she saw the photograph. It also explains her mysterious disappearance right after addressing everyone at her exhibit.”
Leroy’s eyes bulged as he finally came around.
“And that’s why you stopped Screech from showing Lisa the picture of her with the mysterious waiter.”
Truthfully, Drake wasn’t sure why he’d done that. If this was the reason, it hadn’t been a conscious decision.
“Chalk it up to instinct, I guess.”
“Cop gut?” Hanna asked.
Nope, she wouldn’t let him get away with anything.
“IBS—I don’t know. All I know is that Lisa’s lying. She knows the waiter.”
Another chuckle from Hanna.
“Knows his every ridge and vein.”
Drake frowned and applied more pressure to the gas pedal.
“We need to split up,” he said. “And we need to find out who the hell this waiter is.”
He pulled his cell phone out and dialed Screech’s number. He wasn’t expecting the man to answer and was surprised when he did.
“Screech? Everything alright?”
The man on the other end cleared his throat.
“Yeah, fine. Just—just had to take care of something.”
Drake knew better than to press.
“I think we’ve got a lead. You still busy or can you meet us at DSLH?”
“I’m two minutes out. What’s up?”
Drake glanced over to Hanna and then at Leroy in the rearview.
“I need you and Leroy to put pressure on Yasiv, to see if they have any hits on the waiter using that face recognition software or whatever.”
“Yeah, I have a feeling that Yasiv’s going to be busy for some time.”
Drake felt his forehead crease.
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. I’ll try, but no promises. What about you and Hanna?”
Drake looked at the suture in Hanna’s lap.
“We’re going to be paying our favorite medical examiner another visit. Wish us luck.”
Chapter 24
“You shouldn’t be here,” Detective Dunbar hissed as he pulled Screech aside. The man’s eyes darted to Leroy and then around 62nd precinct. “You guys shouldn’t have come.”
The place was abuzz with activity as most of the officers who had attended the DA’s press conference were still hanging around. The only reason that Screech and Leroy were able to slip into the precinct without being noticed was that the NYPD and DA’s collective excitement was giving them blinders.
“Why? Is it—”
Dunbar pulled Screech into a side room and Leroy closed the door behind them.
“—because of Drake?” Screech finished. “I thought the gallery thing would take top priority. We’re four people, Dunbar. That’s it. We need as much help as we can get.”
Dunbar chewed the inside of his cheek.
“No, it’s not about Drake—maybe not, anyway. But something’s come up. The DA’s going all in on Nick Petrazzino’s arrest. Did you see the presser?”
Screech wanted to say that not only had he seen the presser but that he’d also witnessed the NYPD dragging Nick and his men out of Taglia’s. In the end, he decided that it would be in his best interest to distance himself from the head of the Casata Sacra. Even if he hadn’t seen it live, it was running on a loop on the TV behind them. Twenty-four-hour news networks were desperate for content, and the DA was more than happy to supply them with images of his wide, grinning face.
“Yeah, well, what Trumbo didn’t say is that the police officer who OD’d? The third one they found dead?”
Screech nodded, concentrating hard as he tried to follow along. The press conference had been brief and overwhelming. Screech wasn’t up to date with everything going on in the NYPD and DA’s office—he had his own shit to take care of—but he’d taken note when he heard that Officer Scott Spencer had been murdered by Vinny, one of Nick Petrazzino’s favorite henchmen. The two had gotten into a shootout in the suburbs and both had ended up dead. Officer Spencer’s partner, Officer Marvin Pendergast, had been missing… until today. According to the DA, Officer Pendergast had met the same unfortunate fate as his Spencer. A third, as of yet unnamed police officer, had also been found dead from a suspected overdose. The DA had glossed over the exact link between these police officers and the infamous mob organization, but he had suggested that they were the ones who were responsible for Nick and his men being in custody.
For Screech, however, this package was wrapped too neatly, with all loose ends being tied up in a nice little bow. The timing was curious, as well, coinciding with DA Trumbo’s bid to become the next mayor of New York City. If he were to bet, Screech would have put his money on the officers being involved with the Casata Sacra and not working a sting operation against it.
And what Detective Dunbar said next did nothing to dissuade this idea.
“The officer who OD’d was Officer Kramer.”
Screech’s eyes bulged.
“What?”
Officer
Kramer was a certified asshole, someone who had it out for Drake for years. But a drug addict?
“Yep—he died from a drug overdose. Oxy,” Dunbar continued.
Screech still couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“You sure?”
Dunbar made a face.
“Yeah, I’m sure. And now the DA’s main focus is on prosecuting Nick and his men. And because of Drake and Kramer’s history, it’s probably best if—”
“What about the women?” All eyes were on Leroy now. He looked angry. “Doesn’t the DA give a shit about three women who were skinned alive?”
Dunbar inhaled sharply and his gaze went to the conference room windows. The blinds were closed.
“Keep your voice down,” he said, which only further enraged Leroy. Screech couldn’t remember the last time the man had been this angry.
“I’m not going to keep my voice down. I don’t care about the DA and his politics. I care about these women.”
Leroy was starting to sound more like Hanna than Hanna.
Dunbar took a deep breath.
“We all want that, Leroy.” Leroy started to interject, but the detective quickly followed this up with, “But what the DA doesn’t want is any bad press right now. He wants this case solved, but he wants to keep it out of the media. And you guys being here… well, it just raises more questions.”
Leroy scowled and Screech spoke up.
“We don’t want to be here, either. The faster you give us what we need the faster we can get out of this circus.”
This seemed to be an acceptable proposition for the detective.
“What do you need? I can’t give you more men right now.”
“We don’t need more men. We need the results of the facial recognition software. We need to know who the waiter is.”
“I don’t have anything yet. Did you ask the other wait staff? Maybe they knew him?”
Screech was suddenly embarrassed. Despite their disdain for the insulation that Lisa and Norm Fairchild, and their guests, had received, DSLH had fallen into the same trap and had treated them differently because of the number of zeros in their bank account. Of course, the detective was right: talking to the other wait staff was the quickest way to find out who this man was. But instead of spending their morning asking them questions, they’d been dealing with Norm and Lisa and their lawyer.
Straw Man Page 11
