Am I the Killer? - A Luca Mystery - Book 1

by Dan Petrosini

  Griswald shrugged.

  Luca leaned back in his chair. “Look, Donny, if you don’t start talking, I’ll lock you up right now.”

  “Hey, wait, you can’t do that for not talking. I got rights, you know.”

  “Sorry, my friend. Remember you lying to us? That’s obstruction, and in a homicide case, it’s serious business, buddy. Judges don’t look too kindly at that.”

  Griswald gnawed on a fingernail.

  “What’s it going be? You gonna tell me, or should I get my officer friend,” he said and gestured to the window, “to escort you to booking?”

  “You don’t understand, man.” He rapped his knuckles against his temple.

  “Then help me understand.”

  Griswald began cracking his knuckles. Luca looked at his watch and stood up. “We’re about out of time. Start talking, or you’re going to spend some time as a guest of the county.”

  ***

  Luca and Cremora paged through the file on Jimmy Johns, who was seen by the back neighbor the night of the murder.

  “Man, what a mutt, he’s got some history.”

  “Yeah, mostly drugs to go along with five assaults. Another fucking meth head.”

  “The last two assaults were recent, and the prick clubbed his victims.”

  “Yeah, and they ran him in on yet another one, some junkie dealer whose head was bashed in. Said it wasn’t him, and Johns pinned it on another zombie.”

  Luca smiled and said, “So, a rat to boot.”

  “Last known address is his sister’s basement.”

  “Where does the sister live?”

  “Keyport, the address should be in there.”

  Luca tapped the desk. “That’s only six, seven blocks from Wyatt!”

  “Let’s get him in here.”

  ***

  “Well I’ll be damned,” Cremora said and smacked his thigh.

  Luca had told him that Griswald wasn’t involved in the Wyatt murder. He said Griswald was banging the girlfriend of the biker gang’s leader, a violent guy serving time for a brutal assault, on the night of the murder. Griswald and his secret squeeze were holed up in a hotel just over the Jersey border in Easton. His alibi was confirmed by the hotel’s surveillance cameras and Griswald’s credit card.

  “You know, I’d have almost bet he had something to do it with it.”

  “It was kinda weird, big tough biker dude, pleading to keep it quiet. I swear, he might’ve cried if I pushed things.”

  Cremora snickered and said, “Well, that Blemmer is one sick puppy, remember the time he—”

  Gesso barged into the room.

  “Got a couple of things on the Wyatt case. Kennedy checked out Brown—he’s got a lot of contacts in the black community. Said Brown seems to have been at one of those Muslim things the night Wyatt got hit.”

  The detectives looked at each and Luca spoke, “He sure?”

  Gesso pursed his lips and nodded. “Yeah, got it from two sources, and besides, seems the kid’s really been keeping his nose clean.”

  “So that leaves us with the meth head.”

  Gesso put up his palm and added, “Well, the other thing is, a lead just came in.”

  Chapter 15

  Gesso began telling the detectives about the call from Mary Rourke’s mother. He thrust his chin at Luca and said, “She said she didn’t want to talk to the detective who was too rough on her daughter.”

  Luca spoke, “Just trying to poke holes in what was a—”

  Gesso waved him off. “With the pressure I’m getting from Stanley,” Gesso looked around and lowered his voice, “man, what a pompous asshole. Anyway, she said that Mary thought you should check out her ex-boyfriend. Said this guy’s just back from Afghanistan, and the story is complicated, but when isn’t it?”

  “Kid wants to be a detective, Luc,” Cremora said and laughed.

  “Okay, what do you got, Sarge?” Luca asked.

  “Well, Mary was dating this guy, Peter Hill, for a couple of years, but, when he went overseas, she started going with Wyatt. She said this guy Hill was gone a long time. Served two tours while things got serious with Wyatt. Seems Mary never got around to telling Peter it was over.” Gesso shook his head. “Then the poor kid got injured. Seems it was a real serious head injury, and she didn’t have the heart to tell him.”

  Cremora frowned and said, “She wanted to be nice after two-timing the guy?”

  “Sad and all, but that’s it.” Luca threw his hands up.

  “No, here’s where it gets interesting. Mary said that Hill found out she was two-timing him, as you say, the night Wyatt turned up dead.”

  The detectives shot glances at each other.

  “And Mary said she didn’t know too much, but that there was a little history between them.”

  Luca leaned forward and said, “Between Hill and Wyatt?”

  “Seems so. She said Wyatt was close friends with Hill’s brother, and, when they were kids, there was some friction.”

  “Does Hill have a record or anything?”

  “Nothing came up.” Gesso put his hands on his hips. “Look, nose around, but do me a favor and stay away from the girl unless you really get something. Okay, guys?”

  The detectives nodded, and as Gesso left, Luca swiveled his chair to face Cremora. “I know it’s a long shot, but can you get your guy at DMV to run this Hill guy and see what car he drives?” Luca stood. “I’ll grab us some coffee in the meantime.”

  When Luca came back holding two cups, Cremora told him there was no record of auto ownership for Peter Hill. They ran routine background checks as they drank their java and then headed out to see the new lead.

  As Cremora swung the car into a space across from Peter’s house, Luca said, “You see what I see?”

  “But Santiago said there wasn’t anything on record.”

  They popped out of the car and headed for the driveway where a burgundy Chrysler was parked. They peered inside the car and checked the car’s grill. The detectives nodded at each other and went to the front door.

  Peter was laid out on the couch, glued to some soap opera, and never moved when the bell rang. When the knocking began, Vinny put his coffee mug down and trudged barefoot to the door.

  “You know, Pete, you could get off your ass, man, and help me once in a frigging while. I just got up.”

  “Shush.” Peter inched his head toward the television as Vinny opened the door to two men in suits.

  “Can I help you?” Too old for evangelists, Vinny thought, scanning their faces as the coffee he’d drank began backing up.

  “Peter Hill?” Cremora flashed his ID.

  “No, I’m his brother, Vinny. Vinny Hill.”

  Luca peered over Vinny shoulder. “Is Peter home?”

  “Uh, yeah but,” Vinny pulled the door and lowered his voice, “he’s not well, you know. He got badly injured in Afghanistan.”

  Cremora nodded. “Yes, we understand, but we have a few questions we’d like to ask, informally, of course.”

  “About what?”

  “The Wyatt murder.”

  Vinny squeezed the edge of the door. “Billy was a good friend of mine, uh, of ours. What do you want to know? I can probably answer for you.”

  “So you knew William Wyatt well?”

  “Sure, we were buddies, best friends, man, through school and all.” Vinny shook his head. “I just can’t believe what happened. I’m sick to my stomach about it.”

  “Can we speak with both of you?”

  “Ah, well, you see, it’s not a good idea. He’s on a ton of meds and needs a lot of help. I take care of him.”

  “It’ll only be few minutes, I promise.”

  “I, I don’t think I can allow that. I mean, the doctors, you know, like I, we’d like to help the police and all, but his condition . . .”

  Luca tugged his ear. “Sure, we understand. Say, would you mind answering a few questions, and we’ll see if that clears things up so we don’t have to bother
your brother.”

  “Yeah, sure, sure.” Vinny looked down at his bare feet and smiled. “Just got off the night shift at FedEx. Let me throw some things on, and I’ll meet you out front.”

  Before the cops could respond, the door closed and the lock sounded.

  The garage door rose on a space full of furniture and boxes that Vinny snaked his way through.

  Cremora hiked his thumb at the Chrysler. “Got to say this car reminds me of one my uncle had. Is it yours?”

  “Uh, no, it’s my mom’s. Well, used to be. She passed away about two years ago.”

  “Sorry to hear.”

  “Yeah, frigging sucks.” Vinny frowned. “So what’s up?”

  “We just have a couple of questions for you about your brother.”

  “Shoot.”

  “So, how’s your brother’s recovery going? Must be tough.”

  “It’s been a nightmare, but he’s come a long way.”

  “Good to hear he’s making progress,” Cremora said.

  Luca hiked a thumb to the car. “He back to driving?”

  “Ah, not really. I mean, sometimes I let him drive with me.”

  “But he’s able to drive.”

  “As I said, a little. What, are you guys from the DMV, or what?”

  “Just routine. Trying to get a sense of his everyday life.”

  A blue sedan pulled up to the curb and Vinny said, “Look guys, I gotta run. That’s Peter’s physical therapist.”

  “We have a few more questions. Say, you work at the FedEx place off Hope Road. Why don’t you swing by on your way in next week? Does Monday work?”

  Spine shivering, Vinny quickly agreed and pulled down the garage door. Spooked as he entered the house, he wondered how they knew where he worked.

  ***

  Franco Greco had graduated from John Jay College with a degree in forensics. The forty-year-old now ran the county’s crime lab and was the closest thing Monmouth County had to a fingerprint specialist. When Luca arrived at the Freehold lab, he found the balding technician hunched over a microscope.

  “Frankomino, you looking at porn again?”

  Startled, Greco picked his head up and reached for his glasses.

  “Hey, what d’ya know, it’s George Clooney himself.”

  Greco started to take off his gloves, but Luca stopped him.

  “I know you’re busy, but did you get a chance to check out what I sent down?”

  Greco nodded. “Yeah, in spite of how crazy it’s been, I did.”

  “And, what did you find?”

  “It’d be easier to show you what you got me dealing with.”

  Franco led Luca to a windowless chamber cluttered with laboratory equipment that had a row of monitors along one wall.

  “Yikes, place looks like my high school chem class.”

  “Tell me about it, we’re so stretched for space, I had to put the new digital system in here.”

  Franco took a seat and tapped away at a keyboard, bringing the bank of monitors to life.

  “Here’s what we got off the evidence.”

  Two screens displayed blue colored prints that were partial and smudged.

  “Two? That’s it?”

  Franco nodded. “Sorry pal, but even using ninhydrin, these were the only prints that met the guidelines.”

  “How do they match up with Johns?”

  “Hang on, Luc.”

  Franco posted the prints of Johns’ thumbs, fore, and middle fingers, and Luca stepped closer, looking from image to image, trying to see the similarities.

  “What’s nice about the new system is we can overlay the prints.”

  When the combined images appeared, Luca said, “Wow, it’s like an exact match!”

  Franco shook his head and said, “Sorry, bro, but not even close.”

  “What?”

  “What we have is inconclusive at best.”

  “Look at this, man, these here line up perfectly.” Luca traced two lines that started on one side of the print and ran out the other side. “And look at these loops here.” The detective pointed to three lines that started at one end of the print and circled back to their starting point before being smudged.

  “Look, there are some ridges and loops that match.” Franco then pointed to the center of the second image where a pair of circular ridges overlaid each other. “There’s even a pretty good match on this whorl.”

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  “For starters, there are about a hundred and fifty ridge characteristics in the average fingerprint.”

  “Ridge?”

  “Points of identity. So, while we have a couple of lines that match, the smaller, more definitive points, which we call minutiae, truly define the individuality or uniqueness of the print, and they’re just not there.”

  “But—”

  “And they’re off, shall we say, poor quality prints, to boot.”

  Luca leaned against the wall and rubbed his chin. “Okay, okay. Hear me out a second. I know we might need more matching, but doesn’t this mean anything? It can’t just be a coincidence.”

  “Luc, I wish I could help you here, but to make any kind of judgment, we need ten or more points of identity to match. Otherwise, it’d get thrown out in court in a heartbeat.”

  Luca shifted his weight. “I see, but in a general sense, in an investigation, not a courtroom, would you say this data, no matter how incomplete, puts the focus on this guy?”

  “I really can’t say, Luc. It’s just not science, man.”

  “Fuck the science. Think like a cop, man.”

  Franco put his palm up. “Look, let’s just say it doesn’t give us enough to say it’s him, but it certainly doesn’t clear this guy, okay?”

  Chapter 16

  Luca barely kept his promise to be home for their first dinner together, arriving an hour late. Debra ignored him when he walked in, but a supermarket bouquet of flowers he picked up pacified her somewhat. The detective recognized he’d have to be sensitive if it was going to work this time, and since he wanted it to, he was going to try working at it.

  Tenuously reunited, the couple’s awkwardness receded with the draining of the first bottle of wine.

  It was Friday night, and knowing he’d spend the weekend running through the list of things he promised Debra he’d do, Luca focused on the night’s dinner and the pleasure of getting back into the bed he’d missed so much.

  After a leisurely meal, they rolled around on the couch while watching TV until Luca persuaded Debra to move the action upstairs.

  Luca showered quickly, and, feeling more content than he had in a long while, dozed off. When Debra hopped in beside him, he came to life, pressing his growing hardness against her. Luca pulled himself back to concentrate on pleasing Debra, and the couple enjoyed each other before falling fast asleep.

  Sunlight streamed into the kitchen as Debra poured a second cup of coffee for Luca. She reminded him, “Don’t forget to fix the drip in the shower. I could hear it all night. Didn’t you?”

  He grabbed her by the waist. “Drip? What drip? I slept like a baby.” He snuck his hand under her shirt. “Your body’s a sleeping pill for the Lucmeister.”

  She smiled and pulled away. “Easy, tiger, you got some work to do, and who knows? If you’re a good boy—”

  “Hey, that’s not playing fair.”

  Debra teasingly pulled her nightshirt up a bit as Luca’s cell phone rang.

  “Luca here.” The detective pursed his lips. “Okay,” he said, and added “shit” as he hung up.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Uh, emergency meeting. Sorry, hon, I gotta go in.”

  “What? But—”

  “I know, but it’s all hands on deck. Last night we had another murder and two vicious assaults.”

  “You promised it’d be different.”

  Luca approached her. “It will be. I know the timing sucks, but I can’t control it.”

  “Exactly, bad people ar
e always going to be doing terrible things.”

  “I promise I’ll get back as soon as possible.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get everything done, even if I have to stay up till three.”

  Debra turned away and headed into the bathroom, saying, “You still don’t get it, do you?”

  With Debra locked in the bathroom, Luca quickly pulled a suit and shirt out of his garment bag and changed. After buttoned his shirt, he strapped on his holster, draped a jacket over his arm and tiptoed out of the room.

  The squad room was loud with banter and a mix of uniformed officers and detectives. Luca waded through, greeting and ribbing his colleagues as he made his way to the front, where the detectives and senior officers sat.

  He chatted with a couple of captains for at least twenty minutes before JJ strolled in, and the partners paired off.

  Luca was telling JJ about the mess this meeting caused with Debra when the door swung open and Sergeant Gesso held the door for his boss, Captain Fusco, who was followed by Sheriff Meril and the county’s top law enforcement officer, Prosecutor Bill Stanley.

  Luca muttered as he took a seat, “Oh boy, Stanley’s making an appearance. This ought to be fun.”

  Fusco, who’d been more of a political animal for the department than a captain who ran the precinct, took the lectern.

  “Morning, ladies and gents, thanks to those of you who came in on your day off for this meeting, but we believe it’s a necessary sacrifice. Prosecutor Stanley would like to say a few words before we get into specifics vis-à-vis tactics.”

  Fusco moved aside as William Stanley, running for his second term as prosecutor and rumored to have an eye on the governorship, stepped up and grabbed the lectern’s side rails with both hands.

  “Thank you, Captain. As we all unfortunately know, the county’s been beset by an alarming rise in crime. Now, it’s true that we’ve been through spikes in the past, and things may eventually quiet down, but our mandate is to use the resources we have to secure things.” Stanley tapped his bony forefinger on the lectern. “We must provide our residents with the ability to conduct their lives without fear for their safety.” Stanley paused and surveyed the room. “We’ve all been around a few years.” He smiled and looked over at the sheriff and captain. “Who knows, maybe too long.” He got a few chuckles before continuing, “But what’s not funny are the scores of calls we’re getting, both in my office and the sheriff’s, from residents fearing for the safety of their children and businesses.”