Judgement Day

by Andrew Neiderman

  “A Rome district. You should know the Latin word regio, meaning region. There’s lots of Latin in law.”

  The waitress arrived.

  “I’ll have the same,” he said, nodding at Michele’s drink.

  “How does a policeman have all this worldly knowledge?” she asked, just a bit stung by his comment. She felt her face flush a little. Whether he meant it or not, he sounded critical. Was he one of these macho guys who automatically assumed she would be inferior to a man in her position, who would be more comfortable and confident if he were dealing with one of the male assistant DAs?

  “I did a lot of traveling before settling in New York and still do whenever I can. So District Attorney Barrett assigned you the Strumfield case as your first dip in the legal sea?”

  “It’s not my first dip. I’ve been prosecuting in Orange County. And rather successfully, I might add.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “But like everyone else from New York, you think you’re special, is that it? Nothing that happens in the hinterland can compare?”

  “I’m not from New York. But I do think New York’s special; otherwise, I wouldn’t be here, and my guess is neither would you.”

  She smiled. He wasn’t easily cowed. “You’re right. I read your report. You don’t speak like most of the policemen I know, and you certainly don’t write like a policeman, either,” she added. “I never read a police report as vivid in detail. It’s practically a literary work.”

  “We all have hidden talents,” he replied, and looked at the menu. The waitress brought his drink. “Have you chosen something?”

  “The cacio e pepe pasta. I’ve had it a few times.”

  “Done. Please make that two,” he said to the waitress, and handed her his menu.

  Michele did the same and then reached for her briefcase and took out Matthew Blake’s report. “I see that Lester Heckett had replaced the money he took but not until after he killed Strumfield.”

  “Clumsy attempt at a cover-up. The damage had already been done. There are two other partners in the company, but neither has been willing to pursue embezzlement as of yet. Of course, Heckett now claims it was all done with Strumfield’s verbal permission,” he said.

  “Which his wife contradicts. But why wouldn’t Strumfield have mentioned the embezzlement to the other partners, and why didn’t they know about it on their own?”

  “Best I could tell was Strumfield really wanted to give him the chance to redeem himself. They go back quite a ways, were in college together, but as you see from reading my interview with Cisley Strumfield,” he said, nodding at the report, “she insists that he still demanded that Heckett resign immediately after he restored the funds. The partners didn’t review the accounts during the period of time in question. They depended too much on Strumfield to oversee everything. Richard Longine spends most of his time private-jetting around for skiing holidays or beach holidays, and the other, Lawrence Kaplan, looks like because of family money, he fell into it all and isn’t really that swift when it comes to finance.”

  “How long did it take Strumfield to realize what Heckett had done?”

  “According to Mrs. Strumfield, her husband had suspicions, and about a week before he was killed, he had conducted a full audit privately.”

  “Why did Heckett think he could get away with it? He must have known Strumfield would realize what he was doing eventually.”

  “Most people who commit crimes believe they can get away with them; otherwise, they wouldn’t commit them. He did have control of the movement of funds, and there was a deep trust between him and Strumfield for some time. He didn’t begin the company with Strumfield, but Strumfield took him in and made him successful. He was perhaps a little too dependent on the belief that Strumfield wouldn’t think he would ever screw him.”

  She shook her head. “Still, that’s a hole I’d like to fill before opening argument,” she said. “He knew Strumfield for some time. I have to believe he knew he was going to discover the discrepancy eventually. Maybe Cisley Strumfield is wrong. Maybe he did give him permission at first and then, for some reason, changed his mind and demanded that the money be instantly returned. His defense attorney could easily suggest it and plant that thought in the minds of the jurors.”

  “I can help you there,” Blake said. “There’s no logic to that. Heckett didn’t invest the money in something. He didn’t buy himself expensive cars or expensive jewelry or upgrade his apartment. He socked it away in a foreign bank account. Maybe he thought he was smarter than Strumfield. Ninety percent of the time, ego gets people in trouble. Elliot Strumfield realized he had been robbed by someone he had trusted.”

  She nodded. “Okay. I feel confident about the motive for the murder. Tell me about the discovery of the pistol.”

  “It was buried under some towels in the bathroom cabinet. Not a place anyone normally would keep a weapon, of course, unless he or she was trying to keep it hidden.”

  “Didn’t he have a maid or anyone who might find it?”

  “Yes, but we got to it before the maid’s day to clean. I think he knew he would be a suspect and hid it in haste, expecting to hide it better later.”

  “Why didn’t he just get rid of it?”

  “Maybe it wasn’t his to get rid of. Maybe he was told to hold on to it.”

  “Who would tell him that?”

  “The actual killer,” Blake said, and sipped his drink.

  “What? I thought you concluded that he’s the killer. I don’t understand. What are you saying?” she asked, with more anxiety in her voice than she wanted. “We’re trying him for murder.”

  “Calm down. He is guilty of murder. He just hired someone else to carry it out.”

  She thought a moment and nodded. “I have to admit that Eleanor Rozwell has those suspicions. She told me the killing had the markings of an expert hit, and when I put that together with him being a financial businessman . . . well, I didn’t think it was part of Intro to Economics.”

  “Her instincts were correct. I have an amendment to my original report.”

  “Amendment? When was that submitted?”

  “I’m submitting it now, especially after reading the forensics report and after I reviewed Heckett’s background. There’s no evidence that he was familiar enough with guns to perform so perfect a hit. As you will see, forensics is estimating that the killer was a good fifteen feet away from Strumfield yet delivered two perfect wounds to his forehead, less than an inch apart. Because of the bullet’s trajectory, we know the killer stood on that little landing from the entryway to the living room. If Heckett was doing the actual killing, he would have had to be closer. It would make more sense that he would get closer to be sure he didn’t miss, anyway. Whoever did it was confident of his accuracy.”

  “And you just recently came up with these conclusions? What took so long?”

  “We’re terribly understaffed. Budget cutbacks. I had two other murders, a rather violent rape, and an armed robbery resulting in a death in between. But I think what I’m telling you now about this case is valid. Lester Heckett didn’t actually pull the trigger.”

  “You sound like you’re working for the defense. I’ve handled some shootings. Maybe he was just lucky with his shots.”

  “No. Think about it. If Heckett went to Strumfield’s house to kill him, he would have rung the bell and, when Strumfield opened the door, shot him or done so very soon afterward. The killer surprised Strumfield, which means he got in on his own. Heckett definitely hired someone, someone who was also expert at getting in and out unseen. He’s an experienced killer. I’m sure of it.”

  “But until now, we were claiming he was there. Cisley Strumfield is the eyewitness. That doesn’t make sense.”

  “She’s not claiming to have seen him in the building, coming out of their apartment, anything like that. She saw him near the building.”

  “From the way this reads, she’s implying she saw him leaving the building.”
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br />   “The defense will argue she’s assuming that. To be accurate, according to her exact testimony, he was walking away quickly.”

  “But if he hired someone, then why was he there at all?”

  “I don’t think he was actually in the apartment for the hit, but he waited outside to have it confirmed. He might have been instructed to be there.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s my guess that was when the hit man gave him the weapon and told him to hold it for him. He would do what he was told. He was involved in a murder now and had laid out a lot of money.”

  “The money he stole?”

  “Yes, but he had more.” He reached into his inside pocket and produced a paper folded lengthwise and handed it to her.

  “What’s this?” She looked at it and then looked up. “A statement from a bank in the Cayman Islands?”

  “Exactly what it says. You can see he withdrew seventy-five thousand dollars. And if you check the date, it’s a day before the killing.”

  She looked at it again. “How do you know this account is owned by Heckett?”

  “It is. You’ll have to confirm it.”

  “How did you get the statement?”

  “I went back and searched his apartment again, and this time, I found the paperwork behind a print hanging on the wall in the living room.”

  “When?”

  “This morning,” he said. “I was working off the original warrant. No worries. I’ve been busy, or I would have found it earlier. I’m involved heavily in another case. You know about Warner Murphy?”

  “Of course, his lawyer. The suicide. It’s been a headline story. Dave Duggan is figuring out exactly what I should say when asked about it. It’s sure to come up.”

  “It wasn’t a suicide. I can’t prove it yet, but it wasn’t,” he said, with such assurance she had to sit back and take it all in slowly.

  “You think all this is connected somehow?”

  “Somehow. I just don’t have any idea yet, but there’s something bigger happening here,” he said.

  “Bigger? How do you mean?”

  “I don’t know yet,” he said, and looked up as the waitress brought their food. He gazed down at his dish. “Looks just like it did in Trastevere,” he said.

  “You know the dish? I just thought . . . So you’re well traveled, you know Latin, and you know what a restaurant specializes in. You’re a little confusing, Lieutenant, or should I say surprising?”

  “Aren’t we all?” he said, and sipped his drink, his eyes reaching over the glass to softly caress her face.

  She felt herself blush, not from shyness as much as from the way her heartbeat quickened and her lips moistened. It was as if they were already passionate lovers, at that early stage when they couldn’t take their eyes off each other or not think of kissing and embracing constantly.

  At least, that was what it felt like.

  They both began to eat, but she couldn’t help looking at him. Despite the work he did, he had an aura of calmness about him. He was unlike any other detective she had ever met or worked with. Did it come from his self-confidence? She couldn’t recall any other man, detective or not, who sounded so sure of everything he said.

  “I really don’t understand the part about his being made to keep the gun,” she said. “Why would the killer want that, anyway?”

  “You know that when we investigate a murder, there are two major things to determine immediately: the cause of death and the weapon. When you tie the weapon to a suspect, you’re ninety percent there.”

  “I’m aware of all that.”

  “Sorry. I don’t mean to sound condescending. My point is, professional hit men know that, too. Ordinarily, they would dispose of the weapon. New weapons aren’t exactly difficult to acquire in this country.”

  “So why would the hit man still want it around?”

  “Think of it as an insurance policy. You hire someone to do the killing. He wants to be sure you can’t turn him in or double-cross him in some way, especially by giving him up if you’re tied to the crime. So he makes you keep the murder weapon. Maybe he claims he’ll be retrieving it after it all blows over.”

  “Following that logic, why would Heckett do it?”

  “Heckett’s an embezzler, not a killer. He’s afraid of the man he hired.”

  “He’s surely going to plead that he didn’t know it was there or that it was planted.”

  “We’re not dealing with someone who’s comfortable killing anyone or having anyone killed. He was rattled. I mean, look how dumb and inexperienced he was about hiding it. The best he could come up with was under a pile of towels in the bathroom? Didn’t he see The Godfather? At least he could have put it in the guts of a toilet.”

  She laughed and then paused, remembering a previous case and what she had said to Eleanor Rozwell. “But the bullets had no prints on them.”

  “Which supports my theory. A professional wears gloves when loading a gun. Heckett never touched the bullets.”

  She sighed. It wasn’t a fact she wanted to hear. “How is it?” she asked, nodding this time at the food.

  “It’s terrific. As good as the original.”

  “Original? You sound like you were there when it was first created.”

  He smiled. “I do feel that way sometimes.”

  “Have you always been a policeman, a detective?”

  “In one way or another.”

  She shook her head. “A detective who is himself a man of mystery.” She reached for the report as she continued to eat.

  “It takes one to know one, so I practice disguising the truth.”

  “Which is probably another excuse for avoidance.”

  “Did you take a course in personal relationships or something?”

  “Something,” she said, smiling. “Okay, let’s look at your interview with Cisley Strumfield. She claims she was on her way home from the drugstore. She had taken a taxi back because she doesn’t like walking too far. When the taxi dropped her off, she saw Lester Heckett walking quickly away. She claims she thought he had seen her and sped up. She was worried about it, so she hurried upstairs and discovered her husband shot. She called the police immediately. You weren’t the first to arrive, and you have a note here about the patrolmen traipsing too much on the crime scene.”

  “Fortunately, no one touched the body.”

  “Not even Cisley?”

  “Not according to what she says there, right? She was so shocked she nearly fainted and then went to the phone in the kitchen. She didn’t come out of the kitchen until the patrolmen arrived.”

  “How long before you were there?”

  “Medical examiner tells me about an hour and a half after he was shot. I would have been there sooner, but my last partner was having some personal issues, and I had to deal with that first.”

  “Oh?”

  “He’s retired, and I have a new partner.” He looked at his watch. “We’re going to rendezvous in an hour.”

  “Rendezvous?” She squinted. “Where are you from, Lieutenant Blake?”

  “Genetically?”

  “No, where were you born, smart-ass?”

  He laughed. “I can’t wait to watch you cross-examine witnesses. Okay, but no jokes,” he said as a prologue.

  “Okay. No jokes. So?”

  “Bethlehem.” He waited a moment and then smiled and added, “Pennsylvania.”

  “Jesus,” she said.

  “My middle name.”

  “Now who’s joking?”

  “No, I’m serious. I usually leave it out of introductions and documents if I can.”

  “Matthew Jesus Blake?”

  “One and the same,” he said.

  “You seem . . .”

  “What?”

  “Like you’re from somewhere else,” she said. He sat back. “A detective who’s a man of mystery,” she emphasized. “I’ll fix you.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

  “I’ll have you meet m
y aunt Eve, and she’ll check you out. She has special powers.”

  He started to laugh, then stopped as if maybe he believed Aunt Eve did have the potential to expose him. At least, that was how Michele took it. “Maybe you should return to the report. Time’s expensive for a man with my clock. They’re raining crime all over my jurisdiction these days.”

  She looked at the report. “Well, I’m confident we can tie Heckett to this murder. I mean, look at his alibi. Had a headache and was home all night. No calls, no visitors, no confirmation. He recently separated from his wife and lives on the West Side near Central Park, with high overhead costs. He has two young boys, one twelve and one ten, so there’s child support and alimony.” She paused and looked up. “Why did he embezzle the money if he had this much in the Cayman Islands?” she asked, sounding more as if she was asking herself.

  “Is there ever enough for these people? I think he was preparing to leave everything—his upcoming alimony, child support, and unhappy situation at work. He wasn’t making it fast enough in this economy. He had an escape plan and needed more. He might have taken even more than that, if Strumfield didn’t smell him out.”

  She nodded. “Can you get me some more on that, those plans to leave?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I have something for you now, but you’ll have to figure a way to introduce it in trial if Heckett doesn’t take the stand, which he probably won’t.”

  “Did he buy or rent a house?”

  “In Hong Kong, an apartment. I found the rental agreement,” he said, and handed it to her.

  She looked at it. “He went through an agency in the city. I can subpoena their records and call in the agent who processed it. No problem. Helps to further establish the motive. Very good work.”

  “Thanks,” he said, but she shook her head and looked troubled. “What’s wrong?”

  “We’re going to have a problem with this new twist you’re presenting today, him hiring a hit man. When the defense reads your amendment to this report and sees the hit man was an expert with weapons, which you claim Heckett wasn’t . . . By the way, how can you be so sure of that?”