Duro nodded. “Yeah, both the apartment and adjoining areas of the basement.”
“Look, I had this guy in my sights for a while. You know the Wyatt case?”
“Who can forget it? Gesso sure was pissed,” Duro said.
Luca grinned and said, “Anyways, I can give you the inside story on him.”
“Sure, any help makes my job easier, and Lord knows I’m buried.”
“You tell me when you got a half hour.”
Duro checked his watch. “Now’s as good as any other time. Just give me five. I want to finish this report.”
“Okay, I’ll hang here. Mind if I browse through Johns’ case file?”
Duro pulled a file off the top of his credenza. “Be my guest.”
Luca pored over the file as Duro tapped away at his keyboard.
When Luca got to the crime scene evidence list, he asked, “I thought you said a bat was used? It says here it was a tire iron.”
“Bat? Who said anything about a bat, blue eyes? It was a tire iron.”
“Shit, you know when we searched Johns’ car we didn’t find a tire iron. I thought it was weird at the time. But he did have to bring his car in to change a tire, so I kinda dropped it and—”
“Luc, what the fuck are you rambling about?”
“It’s a long shot, but I remember thinking at the time that maybe the tire iron was the weapon he used to kill Wyatt.”
“Wyatt? That marine kid pleaded—”
“It’s complicated, but when’s the lab report due back?”
“Lab report? Fucking blood’s not even dry yet.”
Luca asked, “Where’s the evidence list from the search?”
“Doyle’s been out, but Joyce said the inventory list was gonna be ready tomorrow.”
Luca got up. “Let me know when you get it, okay?”
Duro watched Luca leave. “I thought you wanted to help me, fill me in?”
***
Luca picked up the phone. “Franco, it’s me.”
“What now, Luca?”
“I’m fine, and how are you?”
“Come on, Frank, you only call when you want something. What’s it this time?”
“The Foster Street murder. I want, uh, I’d like you to check the murder weapon, a tire iron, for blood types.”
“It’s not my first day on the job.”
“Very funny. I know the protocols, but I want to see if there are markers for more than the Foster Street victim’s blood.”
“Uh, but I thought this was Duro’s case. You’re working it too?”
“Kind of, just that we have some things pointing to Johns on another case, and I’m running things down.”
“Like what other case?”
“Um, the Wyatt case.”
“Wyatt again?”
“How fast you think you can run the tests?”
“You know what, Frank? You think I got nothing to do, just waiting for you?”
“Blah, blah, blah. Stop whining, Franco. You know you love me.”
After wolfing down a fajita at a Mexican dive for lunch, Luca grabbed a stack of messages from the front desk and headed for his office. Leafing through the pink slips, the detective paused when he came upon a missed call from Vinny Hill.
Luca returned five calls and filed two case reports before dialing Vinny. “Hello Vinny, Frank Luca here.”
“Frank! Thanks for calling me back.”
“No problem, how’s Peter doing?”
“Not sure. It’s only been a couple of days. He seems fine on the phone, but I’m heading there Saturday.”
“Good, what’s up?”
“Well, I saw they arrested that guy Johns for murder. The paper said he beat the guy to death, just like what happened to Billy. I know you had doubts about him, and I was just wondering if this could help Peter.”
Luca wanted to say that he was wondering the same thing, but instead replied, “Well, they’re going to look at everything and see what, if any, connection this Johns guy has to any other open cases.”
“Open cases? But isn’t Peter’s case considered closed?”
“Yes, but not in my mind.” The words tumbled out before he could stuff them back in.
“So, you don’t think Peter is guilty.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you said not in your mind.”
“What I meant was, I look at the entire landscape of cases when any evidence crops up.”
“Evidence? You have some evidence?”
“No, no it’s too early yet.”
“Oh.”
“Look, I don’t think it’s helpful to get your hopes up here, but if there’s anything I think you need to know, I’ll clue you in.”
Coming home from work, Luca answered his phone as he pulled onto his driveway. “Franco, what d’ya got for me?”
“Not much.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I ran tests on the murder weapon, and we easily tied the blood DNA to the Foster Street victim.”
“But what about any other blood on the tire iron?”
“That’s just it, while there was a trace of another blood type on it, its DNA structure was destroyed.”
“What do you mean, destroyed? How the fuck could it be destroyed?”
“A couple of ways, but with cleaning solvents or a bleaching agent.”
“But you said it was another person’s blood. You sure of that?”
“Absolutely, blood type markers are like concrete.”
“Good, how can I use it?”
“It’s almost useless.”
“How the fuck could it be useless?”
“Would you calm down? It’s only a blood type, and it’s type A, to boot, the most common.”
“But that’s the same as Johns!”
“And three hundred million others.”
“Damn it!”
The call was over by the time Luca slammed the front door.
“Frank?”
“What?”
“You okay?”
“Yeah!”
“Okay, what’s up now?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? You slam the door and come in with a puss on and want to call it nothing?”
Luca headed for the stairs. “It’s nothing.”
“Look, Frank, I’ve had enough of this bullshit. You said it’d be different, but the roller coaster of your job has gotta stop. I’m sick of you taking work crap home to me.”
Luca sighed and turned around on the stairs. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Now tell me what’s going on. Get it off your chest.”
Luca told Debra that Franco had called to let him know there was other blood on the Foster Street murder weapon, but it wasn’t conclusive.
***
Lou Cresi showed his credentials. Then he dropped his briefcase, belt, and suit jacket on a conveyor belt and walked through the metal detector. He collected his belongings and said hello to a guard as a barred door grinded open. Cresi stepped into a small corridor, and as soon as the door behind him slammed shut, the one blocking his path clanged open. Cresi was escorted through two more barred doors before being shown into a windowless room that was outfitted with a simple wooden desk and two plastic chairs straight out of Walmart. Cresi settled into a chair and removed a file from his briefcase.
With an ironclad case against his client looking certain, the court-appointed attorney was about to change tactics. He loosened his tie and cursed the lack of ventilation when a loud buzz rang out. A metal door disengaged and opened, revealing a handcuffed Jimmy Johns accompanied by two beefy guards.
Cresi straightened in his chair. “Good morning, Mr. Johns.”
Johns coughed as his cuffs were unlocked, then said, “What’s so damn good about it?”
As they retreated, the taller guard said, “You’ve got a half an hour. He gets out of hand, just hit the buzzer.”
“We’ll be fine,” Cresi said as Joh
ns took a seat.
Johns coughed as he lit a cigarette. “When you springing me outta here?”
“Well, that’s going to be very difficult, Mr. Johns, given the circumstances of the case. The judge refused to consider granting bail, which, even if it was granted, would be substantial.”
Johns choked as he took a drag. “Look, you need to work something out, you hear me?”
“Maybe you should cut back on the smoking.”
“Mind your fucking business! Now when you getting me outta this shithole?”
“I’m going to do the best I can.”
“You better watch your fucking ass, Cresi. This don’t turn out good for me, it ain’t gonna turn out good for you either. You hear me?”
Cresi made a mental note to get the threat on record with the judge and vowed if things deteriorated, he’d ask to be removed from the case. He had dealt with the worst of the worst, but after ten years in the public defender’s office, he was reaching his limits.
The lawyer clasped his hands. “You’re facing very serious charges, Mr. Johns.”
Johns banged his fist on the table. “You think I don’t know that?”
Cresi moved his hands in. “Of course you do. I’m just attempting to explain where we are.”
Johns stifled a cough and stubbed out his smoke. “Cut the lawyer bullshit and give it to me straight.”
Cresi swept his tongue over his teeth and took a short breath through his nose. “Give it to you straight? That’s fine with me, Mr. Johns. The most serious charge against you is murder in the first degree. Now, I’ve already tried to mitigate the charge down to manslaughter, but due to the aggravating factor regarding the brutality of the killing, there is no way the prosecutor or a jury, for that matter, would agree.”
Johns averted his eyes and scowled.
“There’s a significant amount of evidence against you, Mr. Johns, including an eyewitness and substantial forensic evidence. No two ways around it, they’ll have an easy time presenting their case to a jury. Is that straight enough?”
Johns’ ears flattened as he nodded.
“Now, before we even get to the felony burglary and home invasion charges, I have to advise you that the fact you were arrested possessing a firearm really complicates things.”
Johns pulled out another cigarette. “How so?”
Cresi explained that the prosecutor had already filed a death penalty motion with the court, and word was the judge had agreed. The lawyer then laid out the case for negotiating a plea. When he suggested that Johns plead guilty to manslaughter to avoid the death penalty, Johns shot out of his chair, sending it clamoring to the floor.
“You fucking kidding me? I ain’t spending the rest of my life in this shithole!”
Cresi moved his hand closer to the buzzer. “Uh, it was only a suggestion. Let’s take it easy now. I’m trying to protect you.”
“Protect me, my ass!”
Cresi hit the button. “Look, we’ve got to maintain our heads here.”
The door swung open and two guards rushed in. “Get your ass in the chair, punk!” a guard barked.
Johns’ eyes narrowed behind his John Lennon glasses, but he took a seat.
“You through here, Counselor?”
Cresi eyed Johns. “Stay close, but give us another five, okay?”
***
Luca sat, took the file from Duro and flipped to the inventory of items seized during the search of Jimmy Johns’ apartment. But a moment after his ass hit the chair, he popped back up. “I gotta see this firsthand!”
“Ain’t gonna happen,” Duro said, “unless you want to ask Gesso to put you on the case as my assistant.”
“Come on, Matty.”
“Hey, I don’t write the rules.”
“I need to see it.”
“You know I can’t do that, Frank. Gesso’ll have my ass if he found out, especially if he knew it was you.”
“I just want to take a glance, man. Just give twenty, thirty minutes. Come on, man, it’d really mean a lot to me.”
Duro studied Luca and lowered his voice. “Fifteen minutes, max, you hear? Not a second more.”
“You da man, Duro.”
Duro frowned. “You’re gonna owe me, Frank. Just remember when I come to collect.”
“Sure, sure, Matty.”
Duro checked his watch. “Meet me down in evidence in an hour.”
Luca presented his evidence request on an older case and waited in a caged area. Two boxes were brought in for him and placed on the long metal table. Luca signed for the goods and pretended to examine the contents as the officer left.
Luca was rummaging through the second box when he heard Duro being escorted in. They traded banter while the guard retrieved Duro’s request. The officer brought in Duro’s evidence and had him sign for it.
When the officer left, Duro slid two boxes toward the middle of the table. He then unloaded some of the contents of one box and whispered, “Your fifteen starts now.”
Luca quickly sorted through the assortment of pocketbooks on the table before moving to the box. He pulled out a couple of Hummel figurines before grabbing a beat-up wallet. Luca opened the wallet, but outside of a picture of a little girl in a ballet outfit and a totally faded receipt, it seemed clueless. He opened the center and grabbed a library card, but tossed the wallet aside when he saw it was issued to a Martin Whitney.
Luca moved on to the next box as Duro said, “Tick tock, tick tock.”
Luca pulled out a beat-up bracelet that was sitting on a bad knockoff of a Prada bag. When he pulled the fake bag out he saw a wallet that seemed to speak to him. Luca paused before lifting it out. He checked the outside for any markings before opening it up. The top of a frayed white card stuck out of a slot on the right side. He slowly pushed it up with his thumb, like a poker player squeezing out his next card. The Horizon name and the logo of Blue Cross Blue Shield emerged as Luca held his breath and yanked the rest out.
The detective exhaled, shook his head, and whispered, “Damn.”
Chapter 35
Lou Cresi waited to see his client in a dimly lit room walled in stone. The old New Jersey State Prison had the distinction of being both the oldest and the only completely maximum security facility the Garden State had.
The attorney shifted in his chair and shook off a chill, lamenting the depressing atmosphere he knew wore away at its occupants. Though the penitentiary, which was originally built in 1798, had expanded and was modernized over the years, the place never failed to give Cresi the creeps.
Cresi checked his watch and shook his head. He flipped open Johns’ file to insert his visit receipt when he noticed the receipt said Johns was being held in Block E. That meant Johns was kept deep in the bowels of the structure, next to New Jersey’s only death row, and would take time to arrive.
The lawyer shook his head thinking he couldn’t wait to get this case behind him. He got up and paced the room to generate some heat and while the time away. He was deep in thought about a disturbing new case when the clanging of an interior door brought him back to the matter at hand.
A red flashing light over the door lit up, and a buzzer sounded seconds before the door creaked open. Johns, shackled hands to feet, shuffled in as Cresi took his seat before the guards could say anything.
Johns’ hands were unshackled from his feet but recuffed to the table. As the guards retreated, the prisoner bent forward and worked a pack of Newports out of his pocket.
“Let me get that for you.” Cresi got up, grabbed the matches and lit the cigarette.
Johns nodded an acknowledgement.
“You look, uh, you okay, Jimmy?”
Johns nodded, then coughed as he bent forward to take a drag. “I’ve been in a few joints, but this shithole takes the cake. How’s my sis?”
“She’s doing fine. I spoke to her yesterday.”
“Yeah, what about?”
“She was frustrated that visiting rights are severely limited here.�
��
The prisoner cleared his throat. “Like everything else.”
“You getting any time outside the cell?”
“Fucking thirty minutes by myself.”
Cresi jotted a note. “Let me see if I can do anything.”
“This is bullshit. I’m being treated like I’ve been convicted already.”
Cresi pinched the knot in his tie. “You’ve got to understand, as I mentioned in our last meeting, the state has a strong case, an exceedingly strong case against you.”
Johns’ ears flattened. “Ain’t it your fucking job to get me out of here?”
Cresi shook his head. “Miracle worker I’m not, Jimmy.” Cresi clasped his hands. “I’ve been through all the evidence the prosecutor has put together at this point, and it’s compelling.” Cresi unhooked his hands and laid them on the table. “The fact that they have you where you are, in Block E, speaks directly to it.” Cresi rapped his thumbs on the table. “Now, the last time we talked about a plea, you were upset, and I understand that, but you’ve got to trust me on this. I truly think it is the best course of action.”
Johns pulled a hard drag on the cigarette. “What kinda deal can we make?”
Cresi couldn’t believe Johns was talking like he held some ace in the hole. Cresi gathered his thoughts before saying, “It’s hard to tell, but it’s early yet, and if we approach them before they spend any resources on the case, well, that’s a big plus.”
Johns pulled an earlobe and spit out some phlegm but said nothing.
Cresi pointed an index finger. “Now, we’ve got to lean hard on the substance-abuse angle. You were under the influence, etcetera, etcetera.”
Johns slowly nodded and grimaced as he reached for his back.
“Now, you’ve got to be willing to go into rehab. You’re okay with that, no?”
“Yeah.” Johns flipped his burning butt into an aluminum tray and immediately reached for his pack.
Cresi helped him with another smoke, hoping Johns would choke to death before he had to explain the process of pleading. Cresi continually stressed the part about saving his life, which had worked like an elixir in prior cases.
“But I ain’t agreeing to nothing that don’t give me a shot at parole. You hear?”
“I don’t know, Jimmy. They’ll resist the idea, but let me work on it.”
Am I the Killer? - A Luca Mystery - Book 1 Page 20
