After lunch I headed uptown and spent most of the afternoon interviewing tenants at the building where Burke’s body was found. No one I spoke to saw anything the night his body was dumped, nor did anyone know Burke or Gail Laurent, and none of them gave me any reason to think they were lying. I have a pretty good radar for that, and while they were nervous, which was understandable given that they were talking with a police detective about a homicide, they seemed forthcoming.
At five o’clock I called it a day. On the way home, I stopped off to pay Earl his three grand. He didn’t say anything about it, but from the way he smiled at me, I knew he knew I never made it to the game. He also knew I was working for Joel Cohen, and suggested that I be on the lookout over the next few days for some Russian-speaking muscle.
When I got home I called Cheryl, and as usual, inches of frost came over the line from her and Stevie refused to talk to me. Emma got on the phone and spent several minutes telling me how mad she was at me, but this time it didn’t sound quite as heartfelt. After that I took Bambi to Lucia’s for dinner and later brought her with me to the club. It was all pretty uneventful, although Bambi seemed to have a good time—especially with her drinks being comped—and she had no problem keeping herself entertained while I worked.
Right before midnight a collective moan went through the place. Asking around, I found out the Yankees had lost and the series was now tied three games apiece.
“Who’s Boston got on the mound for game seven?” I asked.
“I don’t know, but we’ve got Kevin Brown going.”
For a moment I felt my stomach sink as I imagined the unimaginable. Brown had been one of the Yankees’ biggest disappointments this year, and ever since they got him he was either injured or being shelled. “Boston always finds a way to choke,” I said. “Why should this year be any different?”
The guy I said this to nodded, but he looked about as unsure of this as I was feeling. With my shift over, I located Bambi on the dance floor, waved her over, and we left.
When we got back to the apartment, I again wrote Stevie and Emma another pair of long letters. This was going to be my routine for the next three months and probably well beyond that—calling and writing letters everyday. Eventually I’d wear them down, or at least let them know that I cared and wasn’t going to give up. When I was done with the letters I joined Bambi in bed. This time she waited up for me.
Chapter 18
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
Wednesday was more of the same with none of us accomplishing much more than spinning our wheels. I spent the morning finishing my interviews at the apartment building and could’ve slept in for all the good it did. No one I spoke with saw or knew anything that was going to help. We heard back from the FBI that morning, and it was the same thing with them. No DNA matches were found within CODIS, and they were unable to come up with a more specific time of death for the dogs.
At noon I left to pick up Zachary Lynch. I guess he had gotten accustomed to whatever it was he saw when he looked at me because this time when he caught a glimpse of me he didn’t flinch like before. On the way over I had stopped off for a couple of sandwiches, figuring that given his near-hermit life style it would be a treat. He seemed grateful for the gesture, and we ate lunch together in his apartment before heading out. While neither of us talked while we ate, he appeared more comfortable with me and showed less of his nervous twitches.
When we were in the car and heading back to the precinct, I made an offhand comment about how he was probably going to be seeing Lisa that night. That took him by surprise.
“The girl at Strombolli’s,” I said. “Wednesday’s when you go there, right?”
He nodded, his mouth weakening as he thought about it. “You really think I should talk to her?” he asked under his breath, his voice barely loud enough for me to hear him.
“Yeah, you should. She’d like you to. She told me so.” I paused for a moment, then asked if he was going to be heading over at six like he had the other week. He seemed startled by the question, not sure if I was just making small talk. I wasn’t. While I thought there was something to Jill Chandler’s theory that our killer was trying to tell a carefully scripted “story,” I didn’t buy that that was why he didn’t shoot Lynch. I still had to think he was out of bullets. Adding the bullets that were used on those dogs, so far fifteen rounds were accounted for, and more must’ve been expended on whoever the unlucky person was who stopped on the Parkway. Two clips, ten rounds per clip, and it pretty much added up. Our killer could be out there looking for Lynch to tie up loose ends, and if he was he’d be looking where he’d last seen him. I didn’t want to tell Lynch any of this, though.
“I think so,” he said, answering my question about whether he’d be heading to Strombolli’s at six. He smiled awkwardly. “Why, detective, do you think there might be a problem getting me back by then?”
I shook my head. “This shouldn’t take too long. I was thinking if you’d like to get there earlier I could stop off when I drive you home.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I could use the fresh air. And Lisa doesn’t start work until five o’clock. During the day, she goes to college. She’s studying to be a nurse.”
I already knew Lisa Williams’s hours and how Lynch would respond to my offer. I wanted him walking to Strom-bolli’s, but I needed to keep the conversation appearing casual.
“So you have talked to her,” I said.
He blushed, a light pink breaking up the pale grayness of his complexion. “She let it slip once,” he said, embarrassed.
I commented that with him once being a medical student he’d have something in common to talk with her about, but that seemed to send him into a funk. He sat quietly after that, too caught up in his own thoughts to pay any attention to my small talk, and shortly after that I stopped bothering to ask him anything else. When we got to the precinct I situated him so he’d be able to see the suspects without them seeing him. Seven of them ended up showing up. While they waited I checked with Lynch on whether he recognized any of them. He seemed shaken up by what he saw—not as bad as when he nearly went catatonic on me that time outside his apartment building, but still, shaken up. His expression rigid, he shook his head and told me none of them shot Gail Laurent. I had a couple of the other detectives interview them about their alibis while I drove Lynch back. Neither of us bothered talking during the ride. I spent the time wondering how I was going to be able to convince a judge to issue bench warrants for the suspects who didn’t show.
I pulled up to Lynch’s apartment building. His skin color still wasn’t right, and hard lines stood out along his mouth. I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask him what it was he saw when he looked at the suspects. He shook his head and told me it wasn’t anything I was looking for. He left the car, and I watched as he made his way up the stone steps of his building and disappeared inside it.
When I got back four of the suspects had been released, their alibis checking out enough. I moved from interrogation room to interrogation room, watching from behind the oneway as the other three were interrogated. While their alibis were vague, it was clear none of them were our killer. At one point Jill Chandler joined me and watched before saying the same. Shortly after that, we were satisfied enough to release them also.
At five o’clock I drove back to Zachary Lynch’s apartment building. While I waited for him to leave, I called Cheryl from my cell phone. There was less frost this time, although she complained about me calling earlier than I was supposed to. Stevie still refused to talk to me, but Emma got on the phone and this time talked about more than just her being mad at me.
It was twenty minutes to six when Lynch left his building. I followed him on foot, watching as he awkwardly made his way down the street, his stare frozen downward to avoid looking at any passersby. Even though there was no chance he’d make me tailing him, nor would it’ve mattered much if he did, I followed at a distance and made sure to keep myself as unobtrusive
as possible, the whole time ready to make a grab for my holstered service revolver. While I didn’t care much if Lynch spotted me, I didn’t want anyone out looking for him doing so.
Lynch made it to Strombolli’s without incident. I waited across the street while he picked up a week’s worth of groceries and took them to Lisa. From my vantage point, Lisa appeared nearly to be beaming while they talked. I couldn’t see Lynch’s face, but their conversation lasted ten minutes, so it had to’ve been over more than what was on his grocery list.
I followed him back to his apartment building. It was almost seven then, and after waiting for Lynch to get safely inside his building I headed off to Queens and Rich’s wake. I’d spoken earlier with Bambi, and she decided she’d spend the evening with friends, which was just as well. These things tended to make you feel like an outsider if you weren’t part of the fraternity.
The wake was held at a small Italian restaurant in Astoria and was supposed to start at seven thirty. I arrived a few minutes after that and the place was already crowded. It seemed well attended by our precinct, and I recognized officers from throughout the city. I talked with a few of them as I made my way to the bar. After I got a Bud, which I planned to nurse for as long as I could, I spotted Mary talking to Phillips. Her three sons stood next to her, all dressed stiffly in suits and looking about as glum as any kids I’d ever seen. Mary noticed me and gave me a brittle smile. I made my way over to her. Phillips on seeing me didn’t bother hanging around.
I gave Mary a hug, then a kiss on the cheek, and the way her eyes turned liquid I knew she wasn’t up to any third degree over what had happened to Rich, so I just stood quietly and held her hand. After several minutes of that, she told me that according to his doctor Rich developed some sort of post-op infection that spread quickly to his heart—too quickly for the doctors to act on it. It sounded like bullshit to me. Whatever he had, it looked like he’d had it when I first visited him after his operation, which meant he’d had it for a couple of days. Although Mary didn’t say anything I suspected she thought the same. Her boys began fidgeting and she told me she was going to take them to the buffet table. Before she left I mentioned again for her to call me for anything, and she said she would.
I felt someone looking at me and turned to see Jill Chandler making her way through the crowd, holding a drink and being careful not to spill any of it. She had that softer look about her again. She parked herself next to me and commented on the turnout. I was surprised to see her. She didn’t know Rich, had never met him as far as I knew, and being a member of the FBI didn’t make her part of our fraternity. I asked her if she was there alone, and she rolled her eyes and made a comment about who else was she going to be there with.
“I wasn’t asking if you brought a date. I meant whether the other two FBI agents on the team joined you. Thorne and Snell.”
She blushed slightly at that. “No, I came alone,” she said. “I thought I’d show some solidarity.”
I half-turned my back on her. I don’t know, it just didn’t seem right for her to be there, like it was an intrusion. After several minutes I turned my head enough to see that she hadn’t taken the hint and was still standing next to me. She smiled and asked me what my story was.
I stared blankly at her. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve read through your folder and know you’re divorced,” she said as if that would be a completely natural thing to tell someone. “In my head I’m always profiling people I meet, especially those I find interesting. Call it professional curiosity, but I’m wondering whether or not you’re involved in a relationship.”
I was taken completely aback by that. I wanted to say something other than what I did, but instead I controlled myself and asked why she’d gone through my folder.
Her smile turned more into the self-pleased variety. “Detective Green, what group tends to favor a .40 caliber handgun?”
I didn’t bother saying the obvious. We both knew the answer. A .40 caliber is typically a military or police weapon, and more than a few police officers have been known to have one as a second gun.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t single you out, detective. The first thing I was asked to do when I was assigned to the case was go through the folders of all the team members,” she said, still smiling that pleased smile of hers. “It’s standard procedure but I would’ve done it even if I wasn’t asked. I needed to eliminate the killer from being someone inside the investigation.”
Standing there at a wake for my partner in a room filled with my brother officers, I was more bothered by the idea of her doing that than I should have been. It made sense for her to do what she did, and it wasn’t without precedent. A cop could’ve been the shooter, especially if there was a motive behind the killings other than simply being the random work of a serial killer, but still, it bothered me.
“You still think a cop could be involved?” I asked.
She laughed at that. “Come on, detective, you’ve seen my profile of our killer. Show me a more convincing narcissist than Detective Jack Hennison.”
“Nah, you’ve read him all wrong. It’s just bluster with him. Dig deep enough under the surface and you’ll find a sweetheart.” I hesitated for a moment, then added, “Your question about my story. Yeah, I’m involved.”
She nodded, her smile dimming. We stood quietly after that, with her sipping what looked like a gin and tonic and me nursing my Bud. A tension was developing between us. It could’ve been worse; at least I swallowed back a crack about how we could still be friends. Fuck, I must’ve been in a rotten mood. After several minutes more of this uneasiness she excused herself and slipped into the crowd. I didn’t see her again that night.
The next several hours went by in a blur. I still had a two-hour shift waiting for me at the nightclub, so I nursed my beers as long as I could, which wasn’t easy given all the drinks people were trying to buy me. A cop dies, you buy his partner of ten years a round. I didn’t stop them from buying me them, I just passed them on to other cops. The whole night just seemed so damn surreal. Rich was gone, and for what? Because he got clipped crossing the street for a lousy cannoli? Because of some fucked up operation that a guy like Rich had no right dying from? None of it made any sense. I don’t know, maybe it was just his time, maybe it was that simple, but I was having a hard time accepting it.
The wake started to lose steam around midnight. Word had spread that the Yankees got bombed badly by Boston, which only added to the weirdness of the night. It was just a baseball game—it didn’t really mean shit. Inside the restaurant was reality. A good husband, a damn good father, and a hell of a friend dead for no reason that made any sense. I don’t know, though. You grow up with certain absolutes, like believing in the law of gravity, and then learn at age thirty-nine that it’s all bullshit. Yankees are supposed to win championships, Red Sox are supposed to find ways to lose them. Now, after blowing a three-to-nothing lead, the Yankees end up suffering what could be the worst choke job in the history of baseball, maybe in all of sports. It wasn’t supposed to be that way. While Boston would have plenty of opportunities to blow the World Series, it still seemed as if the world had been flipped on its head. Maybe hell did freeze over and I just hadn’t gotten the weather report.
Fuck it, it was just a game.
I got to the nightclub around twelve thirty. The place was quiet, almost like a tomb. If the Yankees had won, it would’ve been filled with people celebrating, but I guess as it was they were either at home in shock or drowning their sorrows. Around one o’clock, Joel came out of his office to check that I was there and to ask how the wake went. He didn’t say anything about it, but he seemed on edge, as if he were expecting something to happen. While we talked, his eyes kept shifting toward the front entrance. Before he headed back to his office, he asked if I could stick around until three. I told him I would.
I used the slow night to write my letters to my kids. Whatever Joel was expecting didn’t happen, at least not by three o’clock w
hen I left.
Chapter 19
Thursday, October 21, 2004
The city was in mourning the next day. It was one thing for the Yankees to lose, but to the Red Sox? And in the way they did? Maybe it was just me and the mood I was in, maybe I was overly affected by having almost no sleep the night before, but the somberness seemed palpable, almost like a fog that had descended over the city.
No one talked much inside the precinct, at least not much more than what was needed for the job, which meant we were mostly like monks that day since not much was going on with the investigation. We had our informants out in force looking for psychos who liked military knives and .40 caliber automatics, but the leads they gave us went nowhere.
I was able to get bench warrants for the four potential suspects who didn’t show up the other day, which surprised me given the thinness of my reason, but I guess the judge must’ve been in a rotten mood after the Yankees collapse. I rounded up the four without having to exercise the warrants. While none of them were happy about it, they all agreed to accompany me back to the station, and I was able to keep the warrants in my back pocket.
Zachary Lynch also wasn’t happy about making another trip to the station, but he agreed to it and, after a quick look at the suspects, told me they weren’t our shooter. I drove him back afterward, and during the ride he mentioned how much this took out of him. That while he’d like to help, he wanted me to limit his involvement to only suspects where we had strong evidence. I wasn’t in much of a mood to respond to that, which just made things tense again between us. When I pulled up to his building, he got halfway out of the car before stopping to thank me for pushing him to talk with Lisa the other day.
A Killer's Essence Page 14
