Crooked Numbers

by Tim O'Mara

  “How’d you know that?”

  “I swung by the funeral home this morning, hoping to get some quotes for the article. I went inside and read the guestbook and saw your name. I missed the family by half an hour. Just as well. Saved me from having to ask a bunch of stupid questions I already knew the answers to.”

  “Like you’re about to ask me?” I said.

  She smiled and her eyes brightened even more. Maybe answering some inane questions wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I suppose so.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Tell me about Dougie. What kind of student was he?”

  “Not … outstanding,” I said, keeping in mind my words would probably be showing up in the next day’s newspaper. “He struggled with reading and math. Most of my kids did, but they brought other things to the table.”

  “Special ed, right?”

  “Yeah, but it’s not what most people think. Dougie had a quick mind. He could be funny as hell.” I smiled at the thought. “He’d dis another kid so … effectively, the kid felt honored to have been his target. Dougie always seemed to know where the line was. He never pushed it.” I realized what I had said and looked down at the black piece of tape. “At least not when I had him.”

  “You think he could have pushed someone too far this time?”

  “Don’t put words in my mouth, Allison. I’m just saying, Dougie knew how not to piss people off. I’ll take those kind of smarts over working the Pythagorean theorem any day in the real world. What happened here … this … is off the charts.”

  “Any idea what he was doing out here at that time of night?”

  “Not a clue. His mom told me he went to bed just after eleven and, the next thing she knows, she gets a call from the cops.”

  “Shit,” Allison said. “Hell of a wake-up call.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “I told her I was going to ask you to look into this a bit more.”

  “She wants this story pushed? She trusts the news to get this right?”

  “More than she trusts the police. She wants the truth, Allison. Something—someone—got him out here that morning. We want to know who it was.”

  “‘We’?”

  She caught me. “Yeah,” I said. “She’s got me talking like that.”

  “Who doesn’t trust the police?” a voice said.

  Allison and I turned to see a man in sunglasses and a dark blue overcoat walking toward us. The coat was open and underneath was a blue suit with a white shirt and a red tie. He looked as if he’d just walked out of the NYPD Detectives’ Winter Catalog. When he got close enough, he offered his hand to Allison.

  “Ms. Rogers,” he said. “A pleasure. Again.”

  “Detective Murcer, thank you for coming. I know you’re very busy.”

  “Never too busy to pass on an opportunity to see you, Allison.” He turned to me and removed his shades. “Raymond.”

  Holy shit. “Dennis,” I said, and turned to Allison. “Why didn’t you tell me he was going to be here?”

  “You two know each other?”

  “Graduated from the academy together,” Murcer explained.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that over the phone, Detective?”

  “Thought I’d surprise old Ray here,” he said. “And I wanted to see the look on your pretty face, Allison.”

  “This is your case, Dennis?” I asked.

  “Yep,” he said. “Can’t catch a winner every time.” He paused. “Sorry, Ray. Allison told me you knew the vic.”

  “Dougie,” I said. “He was one of my kids for two years.” I turned to Allison and gave her a what-the-fuck look.

  “When you said you would meet me,” she explained, “I called Detective Murcer, and he agreed to come on down and hear your side of the story. I obviously had no idea you two—”

  “My side…” I struggled for the right words. “I don’t have a ‘side of the story,’ Allison.” I looked at Murcer. “The Douglas Lee I knew would not leave his house late at night without a good reason. Whatever brought him out here must have been real important. And it was not drugs. That’s my side of the story. What did his teachers tell you when you spoke to them?”

  Murcer cleared his throat. “Douglas was an above-average student with no disciplinary issues.”

  “How long did that phone call take?” I asked, and immediately wished I hadn’t. “What did his classmates say?”

  The look on Murcer’s face went from slight embarrassment—he realized Allison was paying close attention—to something close to indignation. Not the righteous kind. The pissed-off kind. I’d seen that look many times years ago.

  “Is this why I’m here, Allison?” he asked, his eyes on mine. “So I can get lectured by Chief Donne’s nephew?”

  “Oooh.” Allison faked a shiver. “I love it when boys get all … testy.” She took another sip of my coffee and handed back the cup. “I asked you down here, Detective, because I know a good story when I see one. This one,” she looked down at the black tape, “has a lot of unanswered questions and requires a tad more … imagination.”

  Those words were a lot more polite than the ones I was thinking, but they were close enough to push the conversation in the direction I wanted it to go.

  “What unanswered questions?” Murcer asked.

  “How’d he—and his bike—get into the courts if they were locked?” I said.

  Murcer gave that some thought. “Maybe the attendant forgot to lock up.”

  “Is it the same guy who’s on duty now?”

  Murcer shrugged. Allison said, “Let’s go find out.”

  We found the guy inside the little attendant house outside the gate. He was sitting in a chair next to a portable heater, reading a newspaper. Some light jazz was coming from a small transistor radio on the table. The gold stitching on his green Parks Department shirt said his name was TERRENCE, and Terrence didn’t look too thrilled at having visitors, especially one with a badge dangling outside his jacket.

  “Help ya, officers?” he asked.

  Allison and I waited as Dennis reached into his jacket and pulled out a small notebook. He flipped through a few pages. “You were the attendant on duty last week?”

  Terrence gave us a bored look. “Which day?”

  “The night the kid was killed, Terrence.”

  Terrence considered that and nodded. “Yes, I was. I left here just after one. In the morning. Officer.”

  “Detective,” Murcer corrected. “And you told the responding officers the next day you had locked up the night before, correct?”

  “At one A.M. That is correct. Yes.”

  “And you’re sure of that because…”

  “Because I don’t got too many complicated duties around here,” Terrence said. “I sweep up the leaves and the garbage, move along the loiterers, every once in a while I get the thrill of removing a dead animal. Mostly pigeons and squirrels. Last thing I do is lock up. One A.M. Every morning. Like clockwork.”

  “And you found the body?” Murcer asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So you locked up at one,” I interjected, “and you opened up at seven. Doesn’t leave you much time for sleep.”

  Terrence grinned. “OT, my friend. I don’t sleep when I’m tired, ’cause I’m gonna sleep when I’m retired. You cops know all ’bout overtime, don’tcha?”

  “He’s the cop,” I said, pointing my thumb at Murcer. “I’m just a schoolteacher.”

  “Bet you two get invited to lots of parties.” He glanced over at Allison. “How about you, Miss? Police or teacher? You too cute to be either.”

  Allison held up her notepad. “Press.”

  “Ooh. You gonna put me in the papers?”

  Allison turned to Murcer. “You didn’t interview Terrence last week, Detective?”

  “By the time I arrived,” Murcer said, “my partner’d concluded the interview. I did a canvass of the park.”

  “And…?” I asked.


  “Not too many people around, and those that were didn’t see anything.” Murcer looked at the attendant and handed him a card. “You think of anything else…”

  Terrence took the card and flipped it onto the table. “Right.”

  We all turned to leave when a thought hit me. I turned back to Terrence as Murcer and Allison stepped out of the building. “Those black marks out there,” I said.

  “Sneakers,” he said. “Tennis shoes, my mother called ’em.”

  “I figured that. What about the longer ones?”

  Terrence shook his head. “Damn kids with their skateboards. That’s the main reason I gotta lock this place up. Think the city worries about people sneaking in and playing a late-night tennis match? Maybe stealing some nets? Shit. It’s those brats doing three-sixties and whatnot. All we need’s some kid to crack his head open ’cause I left the gate unlocked, and the city’s got themselves a big old lawsuit and I’m back shoveling shit at the dog runs.”

  “So they climb over the fence after you’re gone?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Any way a kid could sneak a bike through the locked gate?”

  “Houdini’s kid, maybe,” he said. “I lock that thing tighter than a nun’s legs.”

  Nice. With no more questions, I said, “Thanks for your help, Terrence.”

  “No problem, Officer,” he said. “I mean, Detective.”

  “I’m the teacher.”

  “Whatever.”

  When I got outside, it took me a few seconds to find Allison and Murcer. They were standing with their backs to me, arms folded, watching a tugboat make its way up the East River. I heard Murcer say something about coffee and Allison mention she had to head back to the paper and write this piece up. They heard me coming and turned.

  Murcer smirked. “Learn anything new from Terrence?”

  “Said kids sometimes use the courts for skateboarding, usually after hours. That’s what those longer scuff marks are from. Kids just hop the fence.”

  Allison thought about that. “But the gate was open when they found Douglas.”

  “Somebody must have unlocked it to let Dougie in with his bike.” I looked at Murcer. “You ever find the murder weapon?”

  “Nope.”

  “The ME give you any indication what it was?”

  Murcer took out his notebook again and flipped through it. When he got to the page he was looking for, he said, “Eleven small entry wounds. ‘Punctures’ was the word he used. Shallow penetrations. Ten to the torso, front and back, one to the upper thigh. That one was not so shallow. One superficial two-inch wound to the upper neck. Not much internal damage. Vic just bled out. Jacket soaked up most of the blood.”

  “The victim’s name was Dougie, Dennis,” I reminded him. “The wound on his neck. Was it made by the same weapon as the other wounds?”

  Murcer checked his notes. “ME didn’t think so.” Dennis tilted his head and squinted at me. “How’d you know to ask?”

  “Two different types of wounds,” I said. “The gate was unlocked, I’m thinking maybe the murder weapon was a lock pick. Also, the killer most likely knew where Dougie lived and knew Dougie could get here fast by bike.”

  Allison took out her notebook. She started writing so quickly her hand was almost a blur. Murcer reached out and touched her arm.

  “You can’t put that in the paper, Ms. Rogers.”

  “The hell I can’t. This is the kind of stuff that’ll keep this story—sorry, the investigation—moving in the right direction.” Allison read the look on Murcer’s face and said, “We may have different jobs, Detective, but I’ll tell you one thing we do have in common: bosses who will not be able to ignore this information.”

  “That’s not information,” he said, pointing at Allison’s notebook. “It’s Mr. Donne’s imagination. You print that and—”

  “And what?” Allison asked. “You’ve got more important stuff on your desk than a dead black teenager?”

  She might as well have kicked Dennis between the legs. He turned away from us and let out a large grunt. This was not why I came across the river.

  “Okay,” I said. “Everyone take a breath. It’s not a competition. At least it doesn’t have to be.” I turned to Allison. “How’s this?” I said. “After returning to the scene of the crime and taking a fresh look at the details, Detective Murcer agreed to pursue another course of investigation into the death of Douglas Lee.”

  Murcer spun back around. “I don’t need your help, Raymond.”

  “And I don’t want to make you look bad, Dennis,” I said. “But I know what happened here and so does Douglas’s mother. You got handed a loser, and you want to see it go away. Yesterday. That’s not going to happen. You can either take our help, or we can just wait and see how your bosses react after reading the story Allison’s dying to write.” I lowered my voice. “We both know how they love a good cops-screwed-up piece next to a picture of the victim’s grieving mother.”

  Allison tried to object, but I kept going.

  “And, Allison, that kind of story is too easy for you. This new information—whatever you want to call it—came to light as a result of Detective Murcer agreeing to look further into the facts. What could have become another routine unsolved is now an ongoing investigation. That’s a better story than what you came here with.”

  Allison knew I was putting a shine on the situation, but after a while she realized what I was saying sounded pretty good.

  “Okay,” she said. “I can see it playing. And it is the truth.”

  Murcer still didn’t look happy. I remembered that look well.

  “Leave out the part about the murder weapon possibly being a lock pick,” he said. “It is an ongoing investigation, and we don’t want to give the killer a reason to get rid of any evidence.” He looked at Allison’s face. “Please.”

  Allison nodded. “And you keep me on the top of your call list when you become aware of any new developments.”

  “I can do that,” Murcer said and looked at his watch. “The school’s closed for the weekend. I’ll head over there Monday and talk to some of the kids and teachers.”

  “What about the rumor of a gang angle?” Allison asked. “The Royal Family?”

  “How’d you— We’re looking into that,” Murcer said. “Off the record?” Allison gave him a reluctant nod. “They keep pretty much on the down low, and their structure’s a bit hard to get a read on.” I kept my mouth shut as he went on. “From what we are hearing”—he looked at me—“it doesn’t seem like Douglas fits the profile of a gang member. But we’ve got our feelers out just in case.”

  The three of us stood there silently for a few moments. When it became obvious none of us had anything to add, Allison flipped her notebook shut. “Thanks for your time, gentlemen. I’ve got to head uptown and write this baby up. I’m gonna try and catch a cab.” She pointed north to the entrance ramp of the FDR Highway.

  Murcer buttoned up his coat. “I’m going to see if I can catch the ME before he heads out for the weekend and run this lock pick idea past him.”

  Dennis was getting on board. At least in front of Allison.

  “Thank you both,” I said. “Dougie’s mom will find some comfort knowing the press and the police are taking this seriously. It’ll mean a lot to her.”

  I shook their hands. Murcer held on to my hand a bit longer than customary. “You got a few minutes to stay and chat, Ray?”

  “Yeah, Dennis.” I turned to Allison. “This’ll be in tomorrow’s paper?”

  “It damn well better be.”

  “Okay.”

  With nothing else to say, Allison walked north. Murcer and I watched as she did. I noticed the limp again. When she was out of earshot, Dennis turned to me.

  “What the fuck, Ray? You think I can’t handle this myself?”

  “Dennis,” I said, “I had no idea you caught this case. Shit, I had no idea you’d been assigned to the Lower East Side. When did that happen?”
r />   “Your Uncle Ray didn’t tell you?”

  “We don’t see each other all that much, and when we do he doesn’t talk much about his Boys, Dennis.”

  He grinned and shook his head. “You’re still smarting over that, huh?”

  “Over what?”

  “Me getting that gig. That I got to spend six months as ‘Chief Donne’s Boy.’”

  “Why the hell would I resent him picking you?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Ray. Maybe because you wanted it.”

  “Yeah, that would’ve looked good: Chief Donne picking his nephew to be on the fast track to promotion.”

  “I earned my fucking promotion, Ray.”

  “I’m not saying you didn’t, Dennis. I wouldn’t have put in a good word for you if I hadn’t thought you were a good cop.”

  “I didn’t need your good word.”

  “Dennis,” I said calmly. My hands were getting cold so I stuck them in my pockets. “We had a graduating class of a couple of hundred cadets. Everybody he considered needed a good word.”

  “And yours was the best, right?”

  “I’m his nephew. Yeah, it carried a lot of weight. You deserved it.”

  Dennis looked out at the water, the lights from the bridge twinkling in the approaching darkness.

  “How fast you get your shield?” I asked.

  “Year-and-a-half after I left your uncle. He wanted to place me in Midtown North after I left him.”

  “The Cuff Link Crew?”

  He laughed. “Yeah. Told him I wanted the Ghetto Squad. Make my bones the old-fashioned way. Working case after case, getting my hands dirty. Made second grade two years ago.”

  “That’s why I put in the good word, D. I didn’t take you as someone who’d take the easy route.”

  He looked back at the river. “You don’t have any regrets?”

  “About…?”

  “What if he had helped you out, and you were the one with the special assignment six months after the academy? All nepotism aside. You don’t think about that? About how your future as a cop would’ve changed?”

  I let out a deep breath. “You talking about my accident?” My legs tingled when I flashed back to the fire escape.