Rizzo's War

by Lou Manfredo

  “IMAGINE THIS,” Rizzo said, dragging on a Chesterfield and then blowing smoke out the open driver-side window. “We have to meet this kid in the street, like we’re a couple of drug dealers?”

  They sat in the Impala, parked at a fire hydrant on East Ninth Street just east of Fifth Avenue. McQueen glanced at his wristwatch.

  “She’s late, supposed to be here five minutes ago.”

  Rizzo squinted through the cigarette smoke. He watched as a tall, young woman made her way slowly through the pedestrian traffic on the sidewalk. She wore cut-off jeans and a battered Yankees T-shirt. A blue Yankees cap sat on her head, her sandy brown ponytail bouncing and swaying behind her as she approached.

  “There she is,” Rizzo said. “Yankees shirt and cap, just like she told us.”

  McQueen chuckled. “You’ve heard that old bartender axiom, Joe? Never talk politics or religion with the customers? Make like a bartender with this girl, but add one more topic: baseball. You start with that Mets line of yours and she may walk out on us.”

  Joe grumbled his reply. “Yeah, yeah, friggin’ pain in the ass Yankees fans got no sense of humor.”

  Lynn Daily, twenty-two years old and a po liti cal science major at New York University, recognized the gray Impala, two somber-looking men seated inside, for what it was: an unmarked police car. As she neared the car, the younger man in the passenger seat made eye contact with her. She smiled at him, noting his good looks and the broad shoulders beneath the plain blue sports jacket he wore. She angled toward the car, and the man opened a small black leather shield case, holding it just below the top of the car door. She saw the shiny blue and gold, noted the number, “1862,” and read the word “Detective.”

  “Ms. Daily?” he asked.

  She widened her smile and stepped to the rear door of the car, opening it as she answered.

  “Yes, that’s me,” she said, climbing in and slamming the door closed behind her. “And you are …?”

  “McQueen, Ms. Daily, Mike McQueen.”

  Rizzo turned in his seat and smiled at the woman. “And I’m Joe Rizzo, miss. We spoke on the phone.”

  “Yes, I remember your voice. It’s very distinctive. Nice to meet you both.” She extended a hand across the seat back, and they all shook. McQueen noticed that the girl carried her father’s mannerisms but closely resembled her mother in physical appearance. She was very attractive and refined, with an easy manner. He found himself liking her despite this being their first brief meeting.

  “I’m sorry about the secrecy, guys,” she said. “I just didn’t want to meet at school and have to explain to anyone why I was talking to the police. This just seemed more, I don’t know, practical.”

  “It’s not a problem, Miss Daily,” Rizzo said with a grin. “We wouldn’t want to embarrass you. This shouldn’t take very long. Would you like to get some coffee somewhere, or would you rather talk here?”

  She thought it over for a moment.

  “Here will be fine. How can I help you?”

  “First of all, Ms. Daily,” Mike began, speaking over his left shoulder to the woman, “what ever we do ask you, please don’t take it personally or read anything into it. We just have to cover certain standard bases, that’s all. To help find your sister.”

  She smiled. “You have nice eyes, Detective. Very beautiful. You know, it’s ge ne tically unusual for someone with brown hair to have blue eyes. Did you know that?”

  Mike returned the smile. “Someone did mention that to me once. I think it was my mom.”

  “Ms. Daily,” Joe said, his tone light, “was that your way of telling us to relax, you won’t mind a few personal questions?”

  She laughed. “No, that was my way of flirting with your partner, but okay, I get it.” She raised her right hand and crossed her heart with the fingers of her left. “I do solemnly swear I will not behave like the little rich bitch with the big-shot father that you probably had me pegged for, amen.”

  McQueen nodded as he answered. “Thank you,” he said.

  “When did you last see your sister, Ms. Daily?” Joe asked.

  She thought for a moment. “I didn’t go home when classes ended. I’m staying at the dorm to work as a teaching assistant at the summer Head Start program. I guess I was last home about two, two and a half months ago. I saw her then.”

  “Are you two close?” Joe asked, leading the questioning while Mike sat silently, observing.

  She shrugged. “We were once. I love Rosanne very much, I really do. But it hasn’t been easy. She’s been having problems— behavioral, mental, whatever— for most of her life. At one time we both attended the same high school. She was two years behind me. If you guys remember high school, you know it can be rough, probably more so for a girl than a boy. Well, it didn’t make it any easier for me being known as ‘Rosanne the Plumber’s’ big sister. All the silly little pimply faced boys thought, ‘Hey, I bet it runs in the family.’ Try dealing with that every day. I guess that was the beginning of our growing apart. She was just too wild, and, I hate to say it, too crazy. Can you sympathize with that, or do you think I’m some kind of monster?”

  Rizzo shook his head, Mike smiled when she glanced at him.

  “I think I understand, Miss Daily,” Joe said.

  “Please, call me Lynn.”

  “I think I understand, Lynn.” Rizzo paused and rubbed an index finger across his jaw. “Was that really her nickname at school? Plumber?”

  “Yes. Very sweet, isn’t it? Some joker figured, ‘She keeps everybody’s pipes clean, so she’s a plumber.’ ”

  “I’m sorry,” Mike said. “Young kids can be cruel.”

  “Everyone can be cruel, Detective. Young kids can be cruel, but honest.”

  Joe responded. “We read your sister’s diary. We know she had problems. What we’re looking for is information as to where she may have gone. Some friend, maybe. A boyfriend, what ever. Do you have any ideas? Your parents couldn’t give us much.”

  Now, for the first time, her face seemed to cloud over. Despite the deliberate attempt she had been making to keep things as light as circumstances allowed, now, when she spoke again, the detectives heard a new, more somber tone in her voice.

  “My sister had a diary?” she asked.

  Rizzo nodded. “Yes. We had your parents’ permission, written permission, to search her room and examine what ever we found. We found the diary. She had it hidden pretty well, but we found it.”

  She looked from one to the other before speaking. “Was my father home? At the time, I mean? Does he know she kept a diary?”

  “Yes, he was, Ms. Daily,” Mike said. “And no, he isn’t aware of it. As far as we know, anyway. Why? Is that significant?”

  She shook her head and her casual smile came back to her mouth, but Mike noted that it did not reach into her eyes.

  “No, no. I just thought, you know, when she ran off, you’d think she would have taken the diary with her. I’m sure she wouldn’t want our parents to see it. No girl would, certainly not one with Roe’s history.”

  Rizzo kept his face neutral as he replied. “I see,” he said.

  “There’s a mention in the diary of someone she calls ‘FC.’ She refers to ‘FC’ as ‘him’ a couple of times. Do you know of any male ‘FCs’ in her life?”

  Lynn thought for a moment. She appeared genuinely puzzled by the reference.

  “We have an uncle, my mother’s brother,” she said after a moment or two. “Uncle Frank, Frank Christiansen. But he lives in Minnesota. I haven’t seen him in two or three years. Neither has Rosanne, as far as I know.”

  Rizzo shook his head. “Can’t be him. She seems to have just dropped in on the guy from time to time. But she never gives any details.”

  Lynn frowned. “God knows what that’s about. Her record with men is not a positive one.”

  A moment or two of silence passed before Joe continued. “Did anything happen lately to cause her to run off? Something unusual or particularly upset
ting to her or your parents?”

  “Not that I’m aware of,” she answered.

  “All things considered, how did Roe get along with your parents? Any par tic u lar ongoing problems?”

  Lynn Daily laughed. “You’re joking, right? My father is a public figure and his youn gest daughter is running around whoring herself one minute, then locking herself in a dark closet crying hysterically the next. Of course there were problems! They were at each other’s throats constantly.”

  Joe laughed. “I tell people all the time I’m a detective, Lynn, but I don’t ever say I’m a very bright one. I leave that stuff up to Mike here. You know, he’s an NYU graduate. Majored in impressing all the coeds with his pretty blue eyes. That’s why he wound up a cop: his grades weren’t so pretty.”

  She turned to Mike with wide eyes. “Really? You’re a grad?”

  Now it was Mike who raised his right hand and crossed his heart. They spent the next few minutes discussing the educational advantages offered by one of the nation’s foremost universities. They found they had some professors in common and laughed at the shared experience of weathering the same idiosyncrasies and personality quirks of the academic lions who roamed the halls of the school.

  When Joe thought the conversation had served its purpose and re-relaxed the woman, he went back to his questioning.

  “How do you and your dad get along, Lynn?” he asked gently.

  She shrugged. “Fine. My father always favored me. I was his little Miss Goody-Goody. I was good for his career. Same as now, I’m an asset. NYU student, volunteer mentor to the underprivileged, the perfect campaign poster.”

  Now it was Mike who spoke.

  “You sound resentful,” he said.

  She laughed. “No, not really. Just realistic. My dad is not an emotional man. He’s not all warm and cuddly. He provides very well for our family. And in return, he asks us to play our roles with dignity. It helps him get elected. I’ve dealt with it as long as I can remember, and it’s just business as usual.” She smiled deeply into Mike’s eyes. “I’m a well-adjusted, upwardly mobile happy camper. Life could be worse, believe me.”

  Rizzo let a few moments pass. When Lynn offered nothing further, he continued his questioning.

  “Did Rosanne have a boyfriend that you know of?”

  “No, not really. She had one once, a nice neighborhood kid— John Morgan. He lived down the street on Ridge Boulevard. They went to Roe’s prom together, but even John, as naive as he was, knew it wasn’t going to last. His parents almost had a stroke when they found out he was going with Rosanne. Her reputation tended to precede her with parents, if you know what I mean. After the prom, they kind of went their separate ways. He went off to Villanova, and she stayed in the neighborhood.”

  “Did she have friends? I mean like a group of kids she hung out with regularly?”

  Daily nodded. “Sure. A bunch of white-trash losers that hung out on Fifth Avenue. A pathetic little dive of a bar called McDougal’s. Last I heard, they were still serving alcohol to underage kids there.” She smiled, then spoke with obvious sarcasm. “Funny how everyone in the neighborhood seems to know that, except for the patrol cops in the Sixty-eighth Precinct. How do you suppose that can be possible?”

  She looked from one to the other. Mike kept his face passive and remained silent. Rizzo smiled broadly.

  “I guess they must all be Mets fans in the Six-Eight. But about your sister, we know she used some drugs— grass and coke— but would you say she had a problem? A habit? Or was it just recreational?”

  “Absolutely recreational,” she answered, her tone and demeanor back to normal. “If anything, she had an alcohol problem. Gin, mostly. I’ve seen her drink it straight from the bottle like it was soda. Whenever she would swing into a phase, she’d start to drink. If there was a drug or two around, fine, she’d have some. But it was the booze she sought out. You should check the hospitals for alcohol-related admissions. If she’s on a real tear without my parents to rope her in, God knows what could happen to her.”

  “Tell me about when you last saw her. When was it? Two and a half months ago? Back around the beginning of April?”

  She nodded. “Yes, that’s exactly when it was. We had a nice talk, actually. She was on her meds, seeing her doctor, Mom was keeping her pretty busy. She seemed okay, for her. Come to think of it, though, she did mention something about some guy she had met. And she was all excited because he had a motorcycle and the warm weather was coming. Roe figured she’d get to ride with him a lot. Just in case she wasn’t in enough danger from her illness, she had to develop a strong fondness for motorcycles— those big, loud, horrible Harley things usually driven by some miscreant baboon. Just what Roe needed.” She shook her head, a sad smile on her face. “Maybe he’s the mysterious ‘FC’?”

  “Do you know anything about the guy?” Mike asked. “Where he lived, or worked, anything like that?”

  The smile left her lips. “No,” she said softly. “Wouldn’t it be nice if I did? Maybe she’s with him right now. My mother said she left without her car. I always wondered about that because she really loves that car. She told me once it made her feel normal, just like the other little rich girls: graduate high school, get a car, go to college, have a career, get married, have children, get divorced, and grow old. That’s how she put it. She told me that of all those things, the only ones she would ever be able to accomplish were high school and getting that car. It was very sad.”

  Mike dropped his gaze from her face when he saw her eyes begin to well with tears. He heard her clear her throat and speak again.

  “She’s my baby sister,” she said softly. “Please, find her.”

  Rizzo spoke in low, even tones. “Lynn,” he said, “I promise you we’re going to try. We’re going to try our best.”

  Lynn Daily looked into the dark brown pools of Rizzo’s eyes, and McQueen, now watching her carefully, saw a yearning trust tentatively enter her eyes. With tears beginning to flow, she smiled weakly at them both.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  They sat in silence for a few moments and then she spoke again. “When you find her, what will you do? I mean, you can’t arrest her, not just for being missing. What are you going to do?”

  “We’ve got that all worked out, Lynn,” Mike said.

  When she heard his words, her eyes suddenly hardened. Her voice had a sharp edge when she spoke.

  “You don’t have any authority to take her home,” she said. “You’re not simply two errand boys for my father, are you? What exactly do you have ‘all worked out,’ Detective McQueen? Dragging her back home?”

  Rizzo and McQueen exchanged fleeting eye contact as Rizzo answered for them.

  “Not a chance, Lynn,” he said gently. “But would it be a problem if we did bring her home? What would the problem be?”

  She looked from one to the other, and now a slight panic entered her eyes. She seemed at a loss, her mouth silently forming as if to speak, but no words coming forth.

  McQueen leaned forward toward her.

  “What, Lynn? Tell us. What’s the problem?”

  She shook her head. “There is no problem,” she said softly. “She just needs help. Get her some help. Get her to Dr. Rogers.”

  McQueen leaned back away from her. He looked at Rizzo.

  “That’s the plan, Lynn,” Rizzo said, reaching out a hand and patting her shoulder gently. “That’s the plan.”

  *

  LATER, THE two detectives sat in a small espresso shop on Christopher Street in the West Village. The Impala sat out front, late-day sunlight reflecting from its gray fenders.

  Their interview with Lynn Daily had taken more than an hour. Rizzo now leafed silently through his notes as he sipped at his coffee. Mike, too, sat in silence, his cappuccino growing cold before him on the small marble table. He reflected on Lynn Daily’s words and demeanor and the conclusions he had drawn from them.

  It was clear that Lynn suffered deep feeling
s of guilt in connection with her younger sister. Perhaps, Mike reasoned, age and distance had combined to ease those memories of the difficult position Lynn had been placed in by the actions of Rosanne. As a young adolescent growing up, it could not have been easy for Lynn, and perhaps she had often been short or harsh with Rosanne. It was possible that Lynn wished she had handled things differently, with a maturity and insight that she now possessed, but could not possibly have mastered five or six years earlier. If, in fact, she was feeling guilty over her previous relationship with Rosanne, she was being unfair to herself, and unrealistic.

  McQueen believed that Lynn knew something, something that she had not been able to bring herself to tell them, and he suspected that her guilt stemmed from that untold something. And when she suddenly feared they were merely hired guns bought and paid for by her father to hijack Rosanne, she had nearly panicked. It had become clear to them that Lynn feared her father, and even more so, feared him on behalf of her younger sister. Mike had seen her turn suddenly from an articulate, intelligent young woman in charge of her life and her surroundings into a scared, insecure young girl who sees monsters under her bed. It unsettled him. He knew it held significance, but neither he nor Rizzo had been able to draw anything further from her. She had only truly relaxed again when shown the mental hygiene warrant and told how it would allow them to civilly detain Rosanne and either deliver her to a sitting Supreme Court judge or, if they thought necessary, take her directly to Gracie Square Hospital’s psychiatric emergency room where Dr. Rogers would be paged at what ever hour of what ever day to come care for Rosanne immediately.

  “Did you notice how, when we told her we’re supposed to take Rosanne to the judge first, Lynn almost passed out?” Mike said to Rizzo.

  Joe nodded. “Yeah, I saw that. And then I saw the relief in her face when we told her our plan was to go straight to the hospital with the kid.”