Flack flipped through the pages of a clipboard that Ursitti had handed him. "According to this, you had shaving duty this morning in A Block."
"Yeah, that's right." Ciccone studied the table intently, not looking into Flack's, or anyone else's, eyes.
"You gave them each a safety razor."
"That's the procedure, yeah. They go inside, they do their business, then they gimme back the razors."
Mac said, "Isn't procedure also to check each of those razors when they give them back to make sure that the razors are intact?"
"Yeah, but there's, like, sixty guys in there, and they start pissing and moaning when you stop to check every single one. 'Sides, most of 'em don't bother, so I just check 'em randomly. That's SOP around here."
Flack put the clipboard down on the table. It only made a mild clack when he did, but Ciccone flinched.
"SOP is also to use a magnet to check the razor," Mac said. "According to Lieutenant Ursitti here, you've been issued an electric magnet that you're supposed to place every safety razor on to make sure that the blade's still in there."
Now Ciccone rolled his eyes, and Mac couldn't help but notice how bloodshot they were. Fresh sweat was beading on his forehead even though it was still nice and cool in the interrogation room.
"Right, SOP, sure. I wasn't 'issued' anything, and there ain't no procedure for that. Yeah, we got the magnet, but it ain't on any list of prison equipment, right, Lieutenant?"
Ursitti had remained calm throughout, but his eyes were blazing now as he said, "You know damn well we got that on the down-low, Ciccone-that doesn't change the fact that I ordered you to use the thing."
"Order? How can you order me to use something we ain't supposed to have?"
"I swear to you, Ciccone, there will be a disciplinary hearing, and-"
"Knock yourself out, Lieutenant." Ciccone was now looking straight at Ursitti. "But I didn't do anything wrong by not using that magnet."
Mac said, "Nevertheless, Officer Ciccone, Jack Mulroney was able to create a weapon used for murder thanks to your negligence. Even if you hadn't used the magnet, you didn't actually check Mulroney's razor."
"I told you, I was doing a random-"
"It didn't occur to you to check the razor of the man who got into a brawl the previous day?"
Ciccone had nothing to say to that, which didn't surprise Mac, so he continued: "I don't suppose the fact that you didn't use the magnet had anything to do with your four-alarm hangover?"
At that, Ciccone tensed. So did Ursitti, though it was due to anger rather than nervousness. The CO said, "I don't know what-"
"You're sweating, your eyes are bloodshot, you're sensitive to noise. The magnet's electric, so it makes a humming noise-that probably would've driven you crazy." Mac leaned forward, his palms resting on the table, and stared right at Ciccone. "A man's dead because of your negligence, Officer Ciccone. Maybe we can't nail you for not using the magnet, but I intend to make sure that you pay for your role in this."
"Fine," Ciccone said, "then I ain't saying a goddamn thing without my lawyer."
"Then we're done here," Flack said. He looked at Ursitti, who sent Ciccone to wait in the captain's office.
They talked to a few more COs, among them Sullivan. They all more or less repeated the same story, corroborating what the evidence seemed to indicate.
At least as it pertained to the Barker murder. The details of the Washburne murder remained elusive.
"I didn't see a damn thing," Sullivan said. "And I don't mind tellin' you, I'm really pissed off about it. Washburne was a good police back in the day, and he was what you call your model prisoner. I mean, mosta these guys, the ones that aren't stone-cold assholes, they try to be polite, y'know? They figure it'll help with parole and all that-but Washburne was genuine. He was-what's the word-repentant, that's it."
Mac smiled. "That's where the word penitentiary comes from. A place intended to make a criminal repent."
"Yeah, that's prob'ly why they changed it to correctional facility, 'cause these guys mostly don't go in for repenting." Sullivan snorted. "Course, they ain't all that correct, neither."
When they were finished with Sullivan, a final CO came in: Randy Andros.
Flack was looking at a different clipboard this time. "You've only been here a month?"
Andros nodded. "Worked in Sing Sing for the last few years. My wife got a job in Jersey, so we moved to Elizabeth, and the commute to Ossining from there sucks." He shook his head. "I'm sorry I bothered."
Ursitti said, "They'll get over it."
"Over what?" Mac asked with a frown.
"The COs," Ursitti said. "They assume any new guy is a rat."
Mac hardly needed that bit of slang to be translated: a new CO was assumed to be a mole from Internal Affairs. Having recently been subject to the whims of the NYPD's own Internal Affairs Unit, Mac could understand the disdain.
"So I get treated like crap. Kind of a comedown after actually getting invited to weekly poker games and dinners and stuff."
As much as Mac sympathized, he really wasn't interested in this man's personal life. Neither was Flack, as he immediately started asking questions about Mulroney, about Barker, and about Washburne.
Andros had nothing new to add about the former two, but he had a radically different perspective on the latter: "He was just another asshole. Probably pissed somebody off and got himself conked on the head."
"You didn't like him?" Mac asked.
"We're not supposed to like the convicts, Detective, we're supposed to guard them. I don't get why this guy was supposed to be treated differently just because he used to be a cop. He's just like all the rest." Andros barked a bitter laugh. "He even tried the usual crap with his meds."
"What do you mean?" Flack asked.
"Most of these guys are on medication. Some of them try all sorts of tricks to not take their pills. This morning, I was supervising the distribution of meds in Charlie Block, and Washburne tried to palm his Klonopin."
"That's used to treat anxiety," Mac said. "Not surprising for a morally centered man who committed vehicular homicide."
"Morally centered, right," Andros said with a shrug. "If he's so damn morally centered, why'd he start drinking again? And don't give me that 'alcoholism is a disease' crapola. You get a disease, you don't have a choice, but you choose to walk into the bar and order a beer, know what I mean?"
Mac was starting to suspect that there was more to Andros's socialization troubles than just the COs' belief that he might be a rat, but said nothing.
Once they finished with Andros, Danny and Sheldon joined them in the interrogation room. Danny said, "Hope that 'copter ain't got a weight limit, 'cause we packed up half the yard to bring back with us."
"Plus two bodies," Sheldon said. "I'll do up the receipt for that."
Mac nodded. RHCF would need receipts for the bodies of both Washburne and Barker. Normally, it would have to be from the medical examiner, but Sheldon's time as an ME meant he was authorized to provide it in the absence of someone currently attached to the ME's office.
Flack leaned back in his chair. "I've got about eight million more people to talk to."
"I'll stay and give you a hand." Mac turned to his subordinates. "You two, get back to the lab, start processing everything. And tell Peyton, or whichever ME's on duty, that Washburne's the priority of the two."
Sheldon nodded. "Sure thing, Mac."
They headed for the door. Mac followed them both into the corridor. "Sheldon, any thoughts on what happened to Washburne?"
"Looks like somebody hit him on the head with a weight. Beyond that…" Sheldon shrugged. "With any luck, we'll find something on the weight, but there were forty-five people in there, and it's a public place. It's going to be hard to find any trace evidence that'd be meaningful, especially with a murder weapon that's been touched by so many people."
"Well, Flack and I will be talking to all forty-three suspects. See what you can find."
/> "We're on it, Mac."
With that, the pair of them headed down the corridor, accompanied by two COs.
Mac knew that convictions usually came from a combination of eyewitness testimony and forensic evidence. One was good, but both were better. With that in mind, he trusted Sheldon and Danny to find the latter, while he stayed behind to help Flack with the former.
10
STELLA HAD ALREADY TAKEN an instant dislike to Jack Morgenstern, and she found that she could easily extend that sentiment to his lawyer.
Courtney Bracey was a very attractive woman: pale skin, short dark hair, perfect teeth, a cleft chin, and penetrating brown eyes. She wore an Armani suit that practically advertised how expensive it was.
Morgenstern, though, didn't bother dressing up. He was wearing a red T-shirt with what looked to Stella like a Southwestern Indian design in black on the chest, black jeans, and black Rockports. His long brown hair was tied back in a ponytail.
"My client," Bracey said as soon as the two detectives entered the interrogation room, "is willing to cooperate with you up to a point. If at any stage it looks as if he is being accused of a crime, I will end this interview until such time as you place my client under arrest."
"By the way," Morgenstern said, "nice touch coming in twenty minutes after our appointment was for. Courtney wanted me to get up and walk out after five, but I'm in a good mood today."
"The delay was unavoidable," Angell said as she sat down. "We-"
Morgenstern held up a hand. "Spare me. I know all the techniques-you let the perp stew in his own juices for a while before coming to talk to him, figuring the boredom might drive him to talk. Bravo, you learned Interrogation Technique Number One. Let's move on, okay?"
Stella shot Angell a this is gonna be fun look.
"Are you aware of the fact that Maria Campagna is dead?"
Looking confused, Morgenstern said, "No, but that's mostly by virtue of not having the first clue who Maria Campagna is."
"She was one of the young women who worked at Belluso's Bakery."
Now his face fell, his eyes growing wide. His surprise certainly seemed genuine. The majority of killers were dumb as posts and bad actors, but Stella had met plenty of good fakers on the job, too.
"Jesus, Maria? She's dead?"
"Yes."
"Oh my God. I-I didn't know her last name, but-"
Angell took out some of Lindsay's crime scene photos. Unsurprisingly, she'd chosen the grisliest of them. "Someone strangled her. Someone wearing a black sweatshirt. Someone who went into Belluso's just before closing time."
Morgenstern refused to look at the pictures. "I really don't need to see that, and I don't appreciate Interrogation Technique Number Two, either." Now he seemed to be over the surprise. "Oh, and for the record, yes, I was wearing a black sweatshirt last night. So was half of New York."
"So you knew the victim?" Angell asked.
"Yes. Maria was a friend of mine."
"So good a friend," Stella said, "that you don't know her last name?"
"Believe what you want. I went into Belluso's all the time, but it was all first names. I don't think any of the people there know my last name, either."
That was actually true-O'Malley only knew it because he had Morgenstern's business card-but Stella saw no reason to share that.
Angell said, "Witnesses saw you going into Belluso's right before closing."
"I assume by witnesses you mean Annie, since the only people who saw me were her and Maria."
"Answer the question," Angell said tartly.
Bracey was equally tart. "You didn't ask one, Detective, you made a statement. If you ask a question, my client will be happy to respond to it."
"All right, then, how much is he paying you to be a pain in my ass?"
Her eyes flickering over Angell's T-shirt and jeans, Bracey said, "More than you could afford, I'm sure."
"Saucer of milk, table one," Stella muttered.
"I'm sorry, Detective?" Bracey said.
"Never mind."
Morgenstern, Stella noticed, was smiling and leaning back in his chair-and then he winced. She recalled how stiffly he was walking when she and Angell saw him at his house earlier.
"Mr. Morgenstern," she said, "why were you coming into Belluso's so late?"
"I just got out of fighting class. I take karate at a dojo that's just around the corner from Belluso's-it's called Riverdale Pinan Karate." He smiled. "Pinan is Japanese for 'peace and harmony,' by the way."
"So naturally," Stella said, "you take fighting classes there."
"A great way to achieve peace and harmony is to blow off steam, Detective."
Stella couldn't actually argue with that-she'd abused many a punching bag in her time after a particularly stressful day.
Morgenstern went on: "I'm usually dehydrated after class, and the dojo only sells Gatorade, which I can't stand. So I come into Belluso's and get a bottle of water. I saw Annie leaving, and Maria was behind the counter. I asked for water, she gave it to me, I paid for it, I left."
"Did you like Maria, Mr. Morgenstern?" Angell asked.
"Sure. I like all the women who work there. I flirt with them all the time-it's fun. Part of the atmosphere."
"You do know that many of them are underage, right?"
Bracey tapped a finger on the table. "Don't even think about going there, Detective. This department has already tried to make my client into a rapist-you try making him into a pedophile, and he'll be able to buy a much bigger house this time. Stick with what happened on the night of Ms. Campagna's death."
"Fine," Stella said. "Did you flirt with Maria last night?"
"Probably." Morgenstern shrugged. "I honestly don't remember. I was exhausted."
"So you don't remember getting into a fight with her? Maybe her punching you?"
"What?"
Bracey started, "Detective-"
But Stella barged on. "How'd you hurt your ribs?"
"Senpai John kicked me in the ribs. He's seventeen years old and doesn't know his own strength, and I didn't block his side kick in time."
Angell smiled. "You got beat up by a teenager?"
"A teenager who's a black belt, Detective, that's why I call him 'Senpai John.' The word senpai is Japanese for 'senior student.' He's been taking karate since he was four. I've been taking karate since I turned thirty-five, and I'm only a green belt. He's just a little bit better at it than I am-for now."
Stella reached into her bag and took out her Nikon. "I'm going to need to take pictures of any bruising on your chest. If you want to make this difficult, I'll get a warrant-we're already getting one for your apartment, so…"
Morgenstern and Bracey exchanged glances. Bracey said, "I don't think it's a good idea."
"They're getting a warrant anyhow," Morgenstern said with a shrug. "She brought her camera and everything." He lifted his shirt.
The beginnings of bruises were forming over Morgenstern's sternum. No obvious impressions from a fist, but the Nikon's resolution was a lot better than Stella's eyes. They'd examine the photo in the lab.
As she took the pictures, Stella asked, "Do you wear protective gear in fighting class?"
"Yeah. Boxing gloves over wrist wraps, full headgear, foot protection, jockstrap. I usually wear shin guards, too, and some of the women wear chest protectors."
Once she was finished photographing and Morgenstern lowered his shirt, Stella said, "We'll also need your clothes from last night."
"You're welcome to them, but I already washed them-and before you start screaming 'smoking gun!' at me, I was sweating like a stuck pig last night. As soon as I walked in the door, I tossed my clothes and my gi into the washer."
"Ghee?" Stella asked.
Angell answered. "His karate uniform."
"Is there anything else, Detectives?" Bracey asked.
"Not yet," Angell said, "but after we search your house, we may have more questions."
"Assuming you get the warrant," Br
acey said, "that's fine."
"They'll get the warrant," Morgenstern said dismissively. "There's hundreds of judges in the city-at least one of them has to owe one of these two a favor. Besides, their probable cause actually doesn't suck too badly."
"Gee, thanks," Stella said.
"I'll be present when you serve the warrant," Bracey said as she and Morgenstern rose to their feet.
"Thanks for the warning," Angell said with a sweet smile.
After they left, Angell looked at Stella. "Whaddaya think, Stell?"
"I think we need to take a trip back up to Riverdale and talk to the people at Riverdale Pinan Karate, and see if we can get a piece of footgear. I want something to compare those bruises to."
"Yeah, and I want to talk to this Senpai John kid."
"To verify his story?"
Angell nodded. "And if he really did kick that jackass in the ribs, to shake his hand."
"Oh yeah," Stella said.
"I'm liking this guy more and more for our killer," Angell continued. "He washed the clothes-and he knows procedure enough that he knows it's suspicious, but it's also reasonable for him to have done so after a fighting class." She smiled. "I love perps like him-they think they're smarter than they really are. Makes it that much more fun to take them down."
"Assuming it is him," Stella said. "The only trace we've found so far is the world's most generic fiber."
"Well, we'll see what happens when we toss his house-not to mention when you guys get the results back on her bruises."
A uniform stuck his head in the door. "Detectives, I got a guy here, says he has an appointment-Robert DelVecchio?"
"Yeah." Angell brightened. "Show him in."
DelVecchio was a tall man with no discernible neck and a barrel chest that would've been more impressive without the developing beer gut. Stella figured him to be in his early twenties, yet his brown hair was already showing the beginnings of male pattern baldness. He was wearing a T-shirt with the words MT. ST. VINCENT FOOTBALL emblazoned on the front and knee-length white shorts, revealing tree-trunk-sized legs. Stella knew the type: school jock whose glory days were already in the rearview mirror.
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