by Stuart Woods
“You think he could be ill or hurt?” Viv asked.
“I don’t know—there was nobody up there but a woman, and she left in a hurry.”
Viv flashed her badge. “Can you let us in? We just want to be sure he’s all right.”
“Sure, give me a minute.” He picked up the phone and asked for somebody to spell him at the desk, then he led them to the elevator and pressed the PH button. “Actually, he doesn’t usually lock the elevator door when he’s home. It opens directly into his foyer.”
The elevator stopped, and the two women stepped off.
“You want me to wait?”
“No, that’s all right. We won’t be long.”
The elevator door closed behind them.
“Mr. Fisher?” Viv called. “NYPD. Anybody home?”
Nothing.
Viv led the way into the living room, which was lit by lamps at either end of the sofa. A man was sitting on the sofa, his head back and lolling to one side. His fly was open and his penis exposed.
Viv walked over to him and shook him by the shoulder. “Mr. Fisher? Wake up. We’re the police.” There was no response. Viv peeled back an eyelid and the pupil contracted. “Well, he’s not dead.” She pinched his cheek, hard. Still no response.
“I think we need an ambulance,” Rosie said. “He could have OD’d. Look.” She pointed at a pile of white powder on a piece of brown paper on the coffee table. “There’s at least an ounce here.”
“It’s a neat little pile,” Viv said. “It hasn’t been cut into lines, and I don’t see a straw or rolled-up bill that he could snort with. I wonder how much he’s had to drink.” She tapped the brandy snifter on the table. “Most of at least one drink.”
Rosie walked across the room to a bar and lifted a bottle of Rémy Martin cognac. “Looks like a fresh bottle. One drink missing, maybe.”
“I’ll call it in,” Viv said, reaching for her phone. “We don’t want him to die on us.”
Rosie came back to the sofa, pulled the man’s pants up until the penis fell back inside, then zipped it up. “We don’t want to embarrass the EMTs, do we?” She looked toward the end of the sofa, then walked over and picked up a pair of torn panties. “Looka here.”
Viv ended her call. “They’re on the way.” She looked carefully at the panties. “There’s a tear, but not the sort of tear that would get made when somebody ripped them off. You know, this situation is off. I’m going to get somebody up here to take prints.” She dialed another number.
32
DINO WAS getting ready for bed when his phone rang. “Bacchetti.”
“Lieutenant, this is Viv DeCarlo.”
“What’s up, Viv?”
“I’ve got ahold of an alleged rape case, but everything’s a little off. Guy named Fisher, has a penthouse on Park Avenue. A young woman named Carson Cullers says he raped her, but there are no marks on her and no semen inside her. There’s other stuff that doesn’t add up, too.”
“What’s Fisher’s first name?”
“Herbert. Cullers says he’s a lawyer with a big firm.”
“Let me speak to Fisher.”
“I’m in his apartment, but he’s out like a light, and I can’t wake him up. I think there might be something in the drink he was drinking. I’ve called an ambulance.”
“Have them take him to Lenox Hill, and send your partner with him. I’m coming over to the apartment, and we’ll look at the scene together. Fifteen minutes.”
“Right.” She gave him the address.
Dino hung up and called Stone.
“Hello?”
“It’s Dino. I just got a call—some woman claims Herbie raped her, but my detective on the scene says her story looks hinky. Herbie’s unconscious in his apartment, and she can’t wake him. She’s called an ambulance to take him to Lenox Hill. I’m going to the apartment now.”
“I’ll meet you there shortly,” Stone said, then hung up.
Dino reached for his pants.
STONE WALKED into the apartment and found Dino there with his detective. There was a technician dusting surfaces for prints, but no sign of Herbie.
“Stone Barrington, Viv DeCarlo,” Dino said. “Stone and I were partners in the squad about two hundred years ago.”
The two shook hands.
“Where’s Herbie?” Stone asked.
“On his way to Lenox Hill,” she replied. “You know him?”
“We’re with the same law firm. Give me the tour.”
“We couldn’t raise anybody, so the doorman took us up. We found Fisher unconscious on the sofa with his fly undone and his penis out. I couldn’t wake him, so we called an ambulance.”
“Did you talk to the girl?”
“Yes, that’s how I got into this. She was in the ER at Lenox Hill, complaining of being raped, but the doctor thought she might be lying.”
“What’s her name?”
“Carson Cullers. Lives a few blocks up Park.”
Stone nodded. “Getting any prints?” he asked the tech.
“Two sets on the glass,” he said.
Stone turned back to DeCarlo. “Fisher has an arrest record, so you can pull his prints. Might be a good idea to see if the girl’s prints are on file. It would save you a trip to her place.”
The tech opened a laptop and went to work feeding the prints through a scanner. “Okay, I’ve got hits on both,” he said. “They match the ones on the snifter, and they’re both on the martini glass, too.”
“Herbie makes her a martini and pours himself a brandy,” Dino said. “He hands her the martini glass, so both their prints are on it. But why are both their prints on Herbie’s snifter?”
“What was the girl arrested for?”
“Possession of a controlled substance—cocaine,” he replied. “She got a suspended sentence and rehab.”
“We got cocaine here,” Dino said, pointing at the coffee table, “but it looks undisturbed.”
“Well,” Stone said, “we know Ms. Cullers knows how to buy the stuff.”
“That’s quite a lot to leave behind,” Viv said. “I wonder why she didn’t take it with her.”
“Because she wanted us to find it,” Dino said.
Viv showed them the panties in an evidence bag and explained her theory about them.
“I want to know what’s in that brandy glass,” Dino said.
The tech opened another briefcase and went to work on a computer analysis of the liquid in the glass.
“How the hell did Herbie get mixed up in this?” Stone asked.
“Who knows?”
“She is a very beautiful girl,” Viv said. “Lots of guys would have gotten mixed up with her.”
“Hey,” the tech said, “I’ve got a hit on the analysis. There’s Ambien mixed with the brandy. It’s a sleeping pill, and it looks like a hefty dose. He drank most of it, too.”
“I’m going to the hospital,” Stone said.
“Me too,” Dino replied. “Viv, you pick up the girl on suspicion of filing a false report. Take her back to the precinct and milk her dry before she can lawyer up. I’ll be over there later.”
“Yes, boss,” Viv replied, then left.
Dino and Stone took a good look around the apartment.
“Nice place,” Dino said. “I didn’t know Herbie had taste, except maybe in clothes.”
“Herbie packs a lot of surprises,” Stone said. “He made senior associate at the firm in two years. Never been done before.”
“Come on, we’ll take my car,” Dino said.
AT LENOX HILL they found Herbie in an ER cubicle, being attended by a young female resident. Dino made the introductions. “How’s he doing?”
“He’s still out. We’ve sent blood and urine to the lab, but we may not have results for a while.”
“He was drinking brandy, heavily laced with Ambien,” Dino said.
“Are you sure about that?”
“We can run that test on the scene these days.”
“In
that case, I know what to give him. I’ll be right back.” She left the cubicle.
Dino peered at Herbie. “Sleeping like a baby,” he said.
“Drooling like one, too,” Stone said. He picked up a tissue from a box at bedside and wiped Herbie’s mouth.
The resident returned with a hypodermic. She unbuttoned Herbie’s sleeve, swabbed a vein, uncapped the hypo, and injected it. “Watch this,” she said, recapping the hypo and tossing it into a disposal unit.
Herbie’s eyelids began to flutter, and in a moment he opened his eyes and looked around. “Holy shit,” he said. “This looks like a hospital.”
“That’s because it is,” the resident said. “You’re in the ER at Lenox Hill.”
“How are you feeling, Herbie?” Dino asked.
“A little fuzzy around the edges,” he said. “Last thing I remember, a beautiful girl had her face in my lap.”
Even the resident had to laugh.
33
HERBIE SAT in the backseat of Dino’s car. “Okay,” he said, “what the hell happened? How’d I go from getting a blow job to the ER?”
“The girl drugged you,” Stone said. “She put more than one Ambien in your brandy glass, then she went to the ER and said she’d been raped.” Stone told him the rest of the story. “Who is Carson Cullers?”
“She’s Dink Brennan’s girlfriend,” Herbie said. He told Stone and Dino how she came to be in his apartment.
“Dink had to have sent her,” Stone said. He explained to Dino who Dink was.
They parked in Herbie’s garage and went upstairs.
“There was an ounce or so of cocaine on the coffee table,” Dino said. “My tech took it into evidence.”
“I don’t remember anything about cocaine,” Herbie said. “I never touch the stuff.”
“You were set up, pure and simple,” Stone said.
“Listen, Herbie,” Dino said, “you get some sleep. Stone and I are going to the precinct and see what the girl is saying.”
Herbie showed them out. He was starting to undress for bed when he remembered something. He got dressed again.
STONE AND DINO were sitting in an observation room, watching through a one-way mirror while Viv DeCarlo questioned Carson Cullers.
“I told you, he hit me in the mouth, and he ripped off my panties and raped me.”
“Let me tell you the problems I have with your story,” Viv said. “First of all, there isn’t a mark on you anywhere, including your mouth. There was no semen inside you. Fisher was drugged with Ambien. Nobody believes you, Carson, not the doctor who examined you, not my boss, and not me. Now, you’re looking at some serious charges here, and if you want to walk away from this without doing time, you’d better start telling me the truth. Let’s take it from the top: why did you go to Herbert Fisher’s apartment?”
The door to the observation room opened, and Herbie walked in.
“I told you to go to bed,” Dino said. “Let us handle this.”
“Has she told you anything?” Herbie asked.
“Yes, a lot of lies.”
“Have you got a VCR in this joint?” Herbie asked.
“Right over there,” Dino said, “under the TV screen.”
Herbie walked over to the machine, inserted a tape into it, and pressed the play button. They all watched as a split screen came up.
“I forgot about this: Mike Freeman’s people installed cameras when they did my security system. It’s motion-activated.”
Each screen displayed a different view of the living room, so they could see two different angles. “I’ve cued it from when she arrived,” Herbie said, “and I’ve got a tape of her phone call, too.” He turned up the volume, and they watched and listened as Carson arrived. Herbie waited until she had left the apartment, then the screen went dark. A moment later it came up again as Viv DeCarlo and her partner entered the apartment.
“She’s nailed,” Dino said. “Rewind that, and we’ll show it to her.” He picked up the phone and pressed a button. In the interrogation room Viv picked up the phone. “Yes?”
“Watch the TV,” Dino said. “We’ve got the whole thing on tape.” He walked over to the equipment and fiddled with it, then the screen in the interrogation room came alive. They watched Carson’s face dissolve from anger to fear to tears.
“Time for bad cop,” Dino said. He left the room and appeared on the other side of the one-way mirror and sat down at the table.
“I’m Lieutenant Bacchetti,” he said to the woman. “I’m the detective’s boss. You’re in deep shit, young lady. We’ve got you cold on filing a false report, obstructing justice, drugging Fisher, and lying to the police. You’re going to do hard time.”
“I want a lawyer,” Carson said, and she was trembling.
“We’ll be glad to get you a lawyer,” Dino said, “and the minute he walks into this room, you’re cooked. He’ll tell you to shut up, and we’ll file the charges. Then we’ll show him the tape, and he’ll tell you to do a deal. But I’ll tell you what: you give us the truth in writing—the whole story about who put you up to this, agree to testify in court, and you can go home tonight, and your parents won’t know where you’ve been. Otherwise, you’ll sleep in a cell for a couple of nights, until your folks can post bail, and you’ll be convicted on the evidence you’ve already seen. Now what’s it going to be?”
“Can I have a drink of water?” Carson asked.
Viv went to a cooler and came back with a cupful. Carson sipped it and seemed to be thinking hard about her position.
“No charges?” she asked.
“Not if you tell us the absolute truth, sign the statement, and agree to testify. If you tell us even one lie, the deal is out the window, and your life as you know it will be over.”
Carson took a deep breath. “Dink made me do it,” she said.
“Dink who?” Viv asked.
“Dink Brennan, my boyfriend. His roommate at Yale, Parker Mosely, came to my apartment this afternoon, gave me the cocaine, and told me exactly what Dink said for me to do.”
Viv was taking notes. “And where does Parker live?”
“His parents live at 580 Park Avenue, but he went back to Yale. He lives in a dorm there.”
Dino ripped her notes from the pad and stood up. “You finish up here,” he said to Viv, “and get it all. Explain to her that her statement is being videotaped and recorded, and don’t let her leave until she signs the typed statement.”
“Yes, sir,” Viv said.
Dino left the interrogation room and went back to the observation room. Herbie took the paper from his hand and began to write. “Here’s the address and room number of his dorm,” he said, handing it back to Dino. “Tell your people they might get a disease if they touch anything in the place.”
“They’ll go in with a search warrant,” Dino said, “and I’ll bet we find drugs.”
Stone spoke up. “You know you don’t have anything on Dink yet. She didn’t get her instructions from him. You’re going to have to turn Parker, too.”
“Stone,” Herbie said, “can I talk to you alone for a minute?”
“I’ll go away,” Dino said, and left the room.
“What is it, Herb?”
“I’ve got a problem here, and so have you.”
“Marshall Brennan?”
“Exactly. He’s the firm’s client, and a very important one, and since you and I are both heavily invested with him, we don’t want to cause him any more pain than can possibly be avoided.”
“By having his son arrested and charged?”
“That’s it. Look, nobody’s been hurt here so far. She’s not going to charge me with rape, so it’s not going to make the papers and I’m not going to be fired from Woodman and Weld, and Marshall is not going to fire the firm, and my career won’t be over tomorrow.”
“You have a point,” Stone said. “How do you want to handle this?”
“Let’s do it a different way,” Herbie said, and began to explain.
34
HERBIE AWOKE the following morning, still feeling fuzzy. He’d had only about four hours of sleep, but that would be enough. He called the rehab farm in Connecticut and made an appointment to see Dink, then he had a long conversation with the director of the farm. He showered, shaved, had a good breakfast, then transferred his security tape to his iPad and put it into his briefcase, along with a copy of Carson Cullers’s signed statement. He inserted a tiny recorder into the breast pocket of his tweed jacket, then he called Cookie and told her to clear his morning, that he had to see a client, which was true. He got out the Maybach and drove up to New Haven, thinking that, maybe, he should be driving something less ostentatious.
He drove through the gates of the farm and presented himself at the reception desk, then waited in a comfortable lounge that reminded him of a hotel he had once stayed in.
Dink appeared a few minutes later, dressed in khakis and a polo shirt, clean-shaven and finely barbered. “Hello, Herb,” he said cheerfully, offering his hand. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I had to wrap up a group therapy session. I’m glad you could come to see me.”
“Oh, I was in the neighborhood,” Herbie replied, shaking the hand. “Have a seat, Dink. We need to talk.”
Dink sat down, crossed his legs, and smiled broadly. “I want to thank you personally for getting me into this place. It has really changed my life, and they tell me I’ll be ready for release in a week or two.”
“You’re entirely welcome, Dink. But what I’m about to tell you is going to change your life again—and again for the better.”
“Well, that sounds great, Herb.”
“Of course, there’s an alternative scenario, but we’ll get to that later. Right now you should know that you’re not getting out of here in a couple of weeks. In fact, I think you’re probably going to be here for the remainder of this year and maybe for the year after, too.”
Dink’s face took on a scowl.
“What are you talking about?”
Herbie took the small recorder from his pocket. “I want you to listen to what Carson Cullers had to say last night.” He switched it on. “She said it to the police, and then she put it in writing.” As Carson began to speak, Herbie switched on his iPad, which began to play his security tape.
