Brooklyn Blue: A Madison Knox Mystery (Book 1)

by M. Z. Kelly

  “Speaking of that, we have services scheduled this Wednesday night. I expect you will all be available for security during the event.”

  “You expecting zombies to show up or somethin’?” Amy asked.

  Thorndike’s creepy laugh returned. “You never know.”

  ***

  Max and I took the C line to Precinct Blue, arriving a few minutes early. We went by and met with Rita Jenkins, the precinct’s secretary, to report our change of address. Rita was about fifty, about fifty pounds overweight, with about twelve strands of bright red hair.

  She handed us each a clipboard. “Each of you needs to fill out the 1023 completely, don’t leave any blanks, and sign and date it at the bottom.”

  We took a couple minutes, filling out our forms, before handing them back to her. She checked to make sure everything was filled in, then said, “Funk’s Forever Fields. Is that some kind of cemetery?”

  “We’re staying in the caretaker’s quarters,” Max said. Trying to take the edge off, she added, “It’s a nice, quiet neighborhood.”

  “I know that place,” a man who had been working on some paperwork in the corner of the room said. He stood and came over to us, introducing himself. “Frank Woodson. I’m new to Blue. You can call me Woody.”

  We all shook hands, Max and me telling him our names. Woodson was tall and gaunt, with brown hair and drooping brown eyes. Something about his monotone voice and bland appearance brought the word “fatigue” to mind.

  “I worked patrol in the area where you’re living for a while,” Woody said. “There was lots of vandalism and gangs in the cemetery.” His unsmiling features fixed on us. “You’re not safe there. You might even end up dead.”

  I looked at Max, unsure if he was trying to be funny. “Thanks for the warning,” I told him, realizing that Lenny Stearns had walked by, overhearing our conversation.

  “You two belong in a cemetery,” Stearns said, coming through the door and walking over to us. “Your careers are both dead, anyway. Wait until I tell the others about this.”

  The “others” consisted of Carmine O’Brien, Laverne Piper, and Penny Kurtz, who took great delight in hearing about our new living arrangements, as Max and I poured ourselves coffee in the breakroom a few minutes later.

  “You’re really living with a bunch of dead bodies?” Laverne said, coming over to us. She looked like she’d spent most of her morning applying makeup, a gooey glop of red lipstick and blue eye shadow. Maybe she was hoping for a clown undercover assignment. “Just the thought of it gives me the creeps.”

  Max placed her hands on her hips. “You oughta be an expert on creeps.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re hanging out with Stearns and O’Brien. They wrote the book on the subject.”

  As the two male cops defended themselves, Penny came over to support her friend. “It just so happens that we all got our Blue time cut in half. We’ll be out of here while you guys are still living with the dead and doing pushups.”

  “How did you manage that?” I asked.

  Penny smoothed out her blouse, revealing how breasts that are filled with silicone can look as natural as having a pair of bowling balls in your blouse. “Laverne and me got us some influence with the higher ups. We’ll be back working real cases while you two are patrolling the parks for perverts.”

  Ten minutes later, we gathered in the squad room. Lieutenant Dimwit took a few minutes introducing Frank Woodson, who, he said, had last worked in the 23rd precinct. While the lieutenant stepped out to take a call, Carmine O’Brien asked Woody, “So what kind of trouble got you reassigned?”

  Woody’s tired expression didn’t change as he said, “I made the mistake of sleeping with another detective’s wife.”

  Carmine laughed. “No kidding. What was her name?”

  “Kathy O’Brien.” Woody was still expressionless. “Your wife was a wild one in the sack.”

  “I thought you were divorced!” Laverne screeched at Carmine. “You lying sack of shit.”

  “He’s making stuff up,” Carmine said. He stood up, went over and confronted Woody. “What’s your beef with me, man?”

  “I don’t have a beef. And, according to Kathy, you don’t have much beef either.”

  The room erupted in laughter. The only thing that saved Woody from being flattened was the lieutenant coming back into the room. Even though Carmine had walked away from the older cop, he was still cussing at him.

  “What’s the problem here?” the lieutenant asked.

  “There’s no problem,” Woody deadpanned. “Other than Carmine being the shortest dog in the Precinct Blue Kennel Club.”

  “Don’t know ‘bout you,” Max said to me, as Carmine made a feeble attempt to defend his pedigree after the room erupted in laughter again, “but I kinda like the new guy.”

  “Maybe we should take him to lunch, find out what his real story is.”

  Three hours later, Max and I took Woody to Bennie’s Subs and asked him about his beef with Carmine O’Brien.

  “I don’t have anything against Carmine, other than I’d like to see him drawn and quartered.”

  “What gives?” Max asked. “You really have a fling with his ex?”

  I decided that Woody was physically unable to form a facial expression. “Never met the unfortunate woman.”

  “Then what gives?” I asked.

  “Carmine O’Brien’s father sold phony annuity policies, including one that my mother bought. I can’t prove it, but I believe Carmine was in on the scam. They took her life savings. I’ve made it my life’s mission to pay him back in spades.”

  “Couldn’t happen to a better guy,” Max agreed. She then changed the subject, asking, “What can you tell us about Funk’s Forever Fields?”

  “Just what I said before. The place is full of gangs and more than the usual amount of drug dealing. It hasn’t been cared for in years.”

  “We’re hoping to be able to spruce the place up a bit,” I said.

  Max lowered her voice. “You ever heard about a guy they call the Phantom operating in that area?”

  Woody fixed his droopy eyes on my partner. “You know, don’t you?”

  “Know what?”

  “The locals refer to the place as the Killing Fields. Everybody knows the Phantom buried his victims there over the years, but nobody ever followed up.” Woody’s voice came down a notch. “Rumor has it the Phantom might still be at work there, killing girls.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  Max and I caught a break—if you want to call being prostitutes a break. We were given the afternoon off and told to report to the 11th Precinct that night to participate in a prostitution sting. While Max went home and took a nap, I agreed to meet Amy for an early dinner to hear the latest on Bobby Angelo and his ties to Asia Trainor and Billy Cornelius.

  “Angelo’s got a shitload of his goons around him all the time,” Amy said, as we had burgers and fries at a place called Rockers, a throwback to a 1950s diner. “I couldn’t get close to him, but I got the impression he’s raking in a ton of money from his numbers games.”

  “If he’s living in Manhattan, that would have to be the case,” I said, munching on a fry.

  “I got me a plan, if you’re not busy tonight.”

  “I’m free until nine, then I have to go turn some tricks.” I smiled and explained about the prostitution sting.

  “You and Max as working girls?” Amy said, laughing.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “It’s just that…” She continued, giggling, “...I don’t think you two are out of central casting for the part, that’s all.”

  After feigning that I was upset by what she said, Amy went back to her plans for the evening. “If you’re game, I thought we could stakeout Angelo’s place again, see where he goes.”

  I agreed to her proposal, then moved the conversation in a different direction, telling her what Woody had told Max and me about our new home. “When he wo
rked patrol in the area, rumor had it that the Phantom might still be at work, maybe burying bodies in the graveyard. He called our new home the Killing Fields.”

  “As if the place wasn’t already creepy enough, now we gotta watch our backs for a serial killer.”

  “I’ve been thinking the three of us should do some nighttime patrols, maybe see what goes on in the cemetery at night.”

  Amy sighed. “I suppose you’re right, but I’m not looking forward to it.” She put some bills on the table. “Let’s go see what Mr. Angelo is up to.”

  We got to Manhattan as the sun was setting. After lots of horn honking and flipping off a half dozen Uber drivers who were swarming the streets like a hive of bees, Amy managed to find a place at the curb, down the street from Angelo’s penthouse. We spent the better part of an hour watching his building before we saw an attractive blonde woman leaving.

  Amy tapped her cell phone, scrolling through a website with some photos of the mobster and his family. “That’s Angelo’s wife,” she announced.

  “You sure? She must be thirty years younger than him.”

  She rolled her eyes. “If you believe that money can’t buy you love, I got a little bungalow in the South Ward of Trenton I’d like to sell you.” She started the car. “Let’s follow her.”

  The mobster’s wife, who we learned from the web was Suzanne Angelo, age thirty-one, tipped her driver and then took the wheel of the car, heading through the city’s heavy traffic.

  “Why wouldn’t she use her driver?” I asked.

  “Maybe Susie’s going someplace she doesn’t want anyone to know about.”

  We spent twenty minutes weaving through heavy traffic before our subject stopped in front of a building on 54th Street. We were still in an upscale neighborhood now, just not on a par with the expensive neighborhood where the Angelos lived.

  Amy pulled to the curb a few yards down from Suzanne’s car and said to me, “Get out.”

  “What?”

  “Follow her. I’ll try and find parking. And whatever you do, don’t let her out of your sight.”

  I got out of the car and followed her into the building. I did my best to look inconspicuous as I managed to scramble over to the elevator and get in with her. She pushed a button for the sixth floor, so I chose the seventh.

  “Beautiful evening, isn’t it,” she said, glancing at me.

  “Lovely,” I agreed. “I’m glad the cold weather finally let up.”

  “Me too. I’ve been freezing.” The elevator stopped, the doors popping open. “Have a nice evening.”

  I returned the greeting and managed to hold the elevator, letting the doors close and then open again after a few seconds had passed. I discretely watched as she moved down the hallway, stopped, and tapped on a door. In a moment, a man appeared. He and Suzanne held one another in their arms, exchanging kisses. It was only after she’d gone inside his apartment and the man took the time to glance up and down the hallway that I recognized him.

  In that instant, it felt like some pieces of a very large puzzle had spilled out and scattered across the floor. Suzanne Angelo was having an affair with the man who had paid us to find his brother—Dr. Cleo Cornelius.

  THIRTY

  “Are you sure it was Dr. Cornelius with Mrs. A?” Amy asked me for the third time. We were back home in our underground living room with Max.

  “I have no doubt about it,” I said. “Dr. C is playing some kind of game and is also cheating on his wife.”

  “I don’t get it,” Max said, yawning after we woke her up and filled her in on everything. “Why would he hire you two to find his brother if he’s cheating with Angelo’s wife?”

  “Maybe he was desperate to find Billy,” Amy suggested. “It could be that he’s been playing Suzanne, thinking she might lead him to his brother and, so far, it hasn’t worked.”

  “I doubt that the doctor’s motives are that noble,” I said. “And, like I said, he’s cheating on his wife.” Inspiration struck. “Hey, maybe Suzanne wants out of her marriage to the mobster so she can marry Cleo.”

  “And how does Cleo’s brother fit into the scenario?” Amy asked.

  I mulled that over. “Not sure.”

  “Maybe Suzanne and Cleo have been ripping off Bobby,” Max suggested. “It might even be that Asia and Billy were working for them, things went south, and Asia got whacked.”

  “There are dozens of possibilities,” I said. “The question is, where do we go from here?”

  “We dig into Dr. C’s background,” Amy said. “We see what’s really going on with him. I’m gonna put Edgar on this.”

  I groaned. “Edgar. Really?”

  “He’s not so bad. You just gotta back off and let him work.”

  Edgar Lemon was Amy’s sometimes partner. He was an ex-cop, pushing sixty, with the personality of an angry bull. He was a pain in the ass, at best, and a bully, at worst.

  “Just make sure Edgar doesn’t let on to Dr. C that we’re checking up on him,” I said. “If he gets wind that we know he and Suzanne Angelo are involved, it will be a game changer.”

  “Same goes for Bobby,” Max said. “If he finds out what’s going on, it wouldn’t be healthy for any of us.”

  We heard a sudden rumbling sound boiling up from somewhere outside our living quarters. It was much louder and deeper than the noises we’d heard last night.

  “If that’s a ghost, he’s got gas,” Max said. “And I’ll be damned if he’s gonna fart all night and keep me awake.”

  We went out into the hallway and followed a dark passageway toward the continuing rumbling noises. The clanging sound got louder as we turned a corner. We stopped there and saw that Max had brought her gun.

  “Are you our own personal ghostbuster?” Amy asked her.

  “I ain’t ‘fraid of no ghosts,” Max said. “As long as they stay dead.”

  I moved on down the passage, with the others following. I stopped in front of an ancient wooden door. “Here goes nothing,” I said, pushing the door open. I realized there was a man in the small interior room, working on the plumbing.

  “Don’t shoot!” the man said, his eyes wide as Max held her gun on him.

  Max put her gun away. “We thought maybe you was a ghost.”

  The plumber’s lips parted, exposing perfect white teeth. He had curly dark hair, brown eyes, and a body…let’s just say that he was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt and was ripped like someone out of a romance novel.

  “I might rattle a few pipes,” the plumber said, “but I promise you I’m not a ghost.” His smiled grew wider. “I’m Jake Rogers with JGP.”

  I glanced at Amy, who was biting her lip, then looked back at the plumber. “JGP?”

  “Jolly Good Plumbing.”

  Now Max’s brows shot up as the plumber went on. “A guy named…” He pulled a work order out of his pocket. “…Thorndick called me and said you all have a hot water problem.”

  We all laughed. “It’s Thorndike,” Amy said, “but I like your version better. Do you think we’ll have hot water soon?”

  “It’s hard to say at this point.” He held up a rusted pipe. “I’m gonna have to reroute some of the older pipes. It might take a couple days.”

  “Take your time,” Amy said, her smile growing wider. “Can we get you anything?”

  Like maybe a woman on the rebound?

  “I’m fine,” Jake said, smiling at her. “But thanks for asking.”

  Back in our apartment, Amy sighed, “I think I’m in love.”

  “I think you’re in lust,” I said. “Max and I have to go to work. Maybe not having any hot water is a good thing.”

  “Why is that?”

  “You need a cold shower.”

  ***

  Max and I reported to the 11th Precinct just after eight. The location for our prostitution sting was a truck stop, just outside the city. The weather had turned cold again, and I wasn’t looking forward to offering up what little I had with what little I had on.
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br />   After Max and I slipped into dresses we’d brought along that were way too tight and way too short, Jim Walsh, a Vice sergeant, told us what was needed. “You two will be wired and on the stroll at the truck stop. Find out what the perp wants, get him to agree to a price, and our guys will swoop in. Any questions?”

  “What if they want something we can’t offer?” Max asked.

  Walsh was a little guy with a fussy, particular manner; not your typical Vice cop. He seemed nervous and acted like he wasn’t used to anyone questioning his authority. “What are you talking about?’

  “I’m talkin’ ‘bout guys that want guys. Can we send ‘em your way if they want a root canal?”

  Walsh drew in a couple sharp breaths, tried to speak, but choked on the words. “No…I mean…that’s not...that won’t happen.”

  Max put her hands on her wide hips. “How do you know? You been on the truck ‘n’ fuck circuit before?”

  The sergeant’s buddies were behind him, laughing. “No. And I’m not…” He paused, trying to regain his composure. “Just do as you’re told. Don’t create problems.”

  After Walsh walked away, Max smiled and said to me, “I think maybe I made him a little nervous.”

  “I can’t say that I disagree,” I said. I’d also seen something in the sergeant’s manner that made me wonder if he was gay.

  Max fixed her dark eyes on Walsh as he chatted with his officers. “I seen guys like him before who deny their sexuality. My guess is that he’s spent a whole lotta years going the wrong way in the drive-through of life.” Her gaze took in the truck stop, which was about a football field from where we’d parked. “There ain’t nothin’ good going on here, but Walsh is denying the DNA the sweet lord gave him.” She met my eyes. “And believe me, the lord knows what She’s doing.”

  We spent the next several hours making the rounds of the truck stop, arresting dozens of johns who offered to pay bottom dollar for all manner of sex acts. Around midnight, I met up with Max and said, “I don’t know about you, but knowing that somebody wants to pay me five bucks for a blow job isn’t doing much for my self-esteem.”