Murder Takes Patience

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Murder Takes Patience Page 6

by Giammatteo, Giacomo


  “Take an oath?”

  “I swear.”

  “Okay. I’m good with that. I know how you people are on oaths.”

  “You people? Are you getting prejudiced?”

  She kissed him. “Go to hell, dago.”

  “I love you too, Irish.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Welcome Home

  Bruce Stewart got in his car and headed toward the airport. There were few things he despised more than driving in New York, especially if it involved picking people up at the airport. The phone rang. It was Debbie. He looked at his watch.

  Late. She’ll be pissed. Again.

  “Hello.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Stuck in traffic. I’m about fifteen minutes away.”

  “Damn it, Bruce. I’m supposed to be at a meeting in one hour.”

  “You better call and tell them you’ll be late.”

  “You knew you had to pick me up. Couldn’t you have left earlier?”

  Like it matters now. “Sorry. I got tied up this morning. I thought I had enough time.”

  “This is a big meeting. I can’t—”

  “You’re the star of the show, Deb. They wouldn’t dare start without you.”

  That finally earned him a laugh. A small one, but it broke the mood. “I’m such a bitch.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.”

  Another laugh. “Point made. I’m outside of baggage.”

  “See you soon,” he said.

  Bruce pulled up twenty minutes later, got out, tossed her bags in the trunk, then gave her a quick kiss. “Get in, the meter’s running.”

  “Take me straight to the hotel. That’s where the meeting is.”

  “I missed you, too.”

  Debbie leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I did miss you. It’s been a tough two weeks. After this launch I’ll be able to relax.”

  “Maybe we can even have some fun.”

  Debbie dug through her purse. What began as a controlled search turned quickly to panic. “I can’t find my keys.”

  “Did you take them with you?”

  “I thought I did.” She pulled things out that shouldn’t have been able to fit in a purse, setting them on the seat beside her. “I can’t believe I don’t have my keys. I must have left them at home.”

  “At home? How did you do that?”

  “Remember? I had a driver take me to the meeting and then straight to the airport.”

  “I’ve got an extra set of keys. How about I meet you after work? We can—”

  Debbie shook her head as she dialed a number on her cell. “Not tonight. I’ll be swamped, and I’ve got another presentation tomorrow. Besides, I have spare keys at work.” She leaned over and kissed him again. “I’ll make it up to you when this is over. I promise.”

  “A promise? Now that sounds dangerous coming from you,” Bruce said.

  “Speaking of dangerous,” Debbie said, “did you give any more thought to what I told you about?”

  “You mean seeing your coworker at that guy’s house?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” Bruce said. “It’s probably nothing.”

  “This person had no reason to be there, and besides, the man who owns that house has a long history of big investments. If the SEC gets the faintest whiff of something wrong—”

  “We’ve been through this already,” Bruce said. “They might have been visiting a friend. A cousin. Who knows? If you ask me, I wouldn’t say anything. Let the deal go through, and if you still think something’s wrong after that, report the person using internal channels.”

  Debbie bit her bottom lip and stared out the window. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll think about it.”

  Traffic slowed to a crawl as they entered the city, and the worse it got the more she panicked. Eight blocks from the hotel, she unhooked her seatbelt. “Let me out here. It’ll be faster if I walk.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Wish me luck,” she said as she swung her legs out the door.

  “Good luck,” he said, and watched her walk down the street.

  Bruce waited at his house for Debbie to call. At five o’clock he decided to call her; she should have been done hours ago.

  “Debbie Parnell.” Her tone was rushed. She might as well have said, I’m busy. Speak.

  “I thought you would have called,” Bruce said. “How’d the presentation go?”

  “Great! I smoked them.” There was a moment of silence. “Sorry, I had to get somewhere I can talk.”

  “Smoked them, huh? I’m not surprised.”

  “I even amazed myself,” Debbie whispered.

  “I knew you would. Oh, I meant to ask, did you find your keys?”

  “What?”

  “Your keys? Did you find them?”

  “No, but I’m sure they’re at the house.”

  Bruce took a sip of water before continuing. “How are you going to get in?”

  A pause, then. “What?”

  She was obviously preoccupied. “I said, how will you get in the house without your keys?”

  “I already told you—I have a spare.”

  “I could come over and—”

  “Bruce! I said not tonight.”

  “You can’t blame a guy for trying. I watched porn the whole time you were gone.”

  “How romantic.”

  “You better change everything starting with the locks. What else was on your key ring?”

  “We’re back to the keys again?”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I’m sure they’ll turn up.” Debbie hesitated. “Although it is strange.”

  “What?”

  “Last week when I was out of town, something else happened. I found spyware on my computer.”

  “Doesn’t your work give you protection against that?”

  “On my work unit, yes, but not my personal computer. I noticed it slowing down so I had it checked.” Debbie stopped again. “Do you think someone is spying on me?”

  “Maybe you should call the police.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I don’t have time to deal with the police.”

  “I don’t know who would spy on you, but listen, you can’t fool around with stuff like this. Get your locks changed. Clean out your system. Check your credit cards for unusual activity.”

  “You really think I should?”

  “Absolutely. And get on the locks first. Call somebody tonight.”

  “Who should I call?”

  “Ask your super. Or better yet, the doorman. He’ll take care of it.”

  “All right. Thanks.”

  “I’ve got to go, but I’m serious. Get that stuff done. Whoever did this is likely after those hot videos we took of our lovemaking.”

  She laughed. “Maybe we should leak those videos ourselves and get rich and famous.”

  “Do you think it could be that guy you work with? The one you said was strange.”

  “No way. He wouldn’t do something like this.”

  “Didn’t you say he always tries to hit on you?”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, you happen to have a very hot fiancée. All the guys hit on me.”

  Bruce said nothing.

  “You know I’m teasing. Come over tomorrow night, and I’ll show you how much I missed you.”

  “What time?”

  “Make it eight. We’ll grab dinner across the street then make a night of it.”

  “Okay, see you at eight tomorrow. Love you.”

  “Love you, too. Bye.”

  ***

  The door to Debbie’s office opened. Chad walked in. “Who was so important you had to leave?”

  “It was Bruce,” she said, and typed a reminder on her calendar to meet him the next night.

  “You haven’t told him?”

  “I will. It’s just…”

  “Just what?”

  Debbi
e stopped and looked up at Chad. “I never asked—how did your interview go?”

  “Which one?”

  “The early-morning meeting you had before I left town. Remember? You were supposed to meet me.”

  Chad smiled. “Right. I forgot. It went well. We might make her an offer.”

  “You didn’t tell me it was a her.”

  “Does it matter?” Chad asked. “You’re still seeing Bruce. Even worse, he thinks you’re in love with him. When are you going to get the guts to tell the man you don’t want him in your bed anymore?”

  “He’s a nice guy. I hate to hurt his feelings.”

  “But you don’t mind screwing me on the side.”

  Debbie’s eyes narrowed. Lips pursed. “Don’t talk to me that way.”

  “Or what?” Chad’s laugh was taunting. “You know what kind of woman you are.”

  “Screw you, Chad.”

  “Yes, you will. See you tonight.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Back in Training

  Wilmington, Delaware

  I woke at five-thirty, like I used to in prison. Going back to the old ways was hard at my age, but I knew if I slacked up now, it would be harder come forty. I downed a glass of orange juice, grabbed a bottle of water, and headed for the woods. A few blocks later I raced up the first hill, avoiding the paths and keeping to uneven ground.

  Some people think that running is running, that it doesn’t matter where you do it. For cardio training they may be right, but for practical purposes—something different altogether. Running on a treadmill got my heart rate up, but it did nothing for stabilizing my ankle muscles. Running on rocks adapted them to the twists and turns I’d encounter if I chased someone through alleys and over rooftops—running in the real world. If I stuck to treadmills, I’d end up with twisted or broken ankles.

  In my old line of work, that meant I’d end up dead.

  I jumped over a tree that fell a few months ago, damn near slipped on the leaves, but recovered balance and continued toward the railroad tracks. They were ideal for this kind of training—the slopes were lined with rocks which made running on them treacherous.

  I had a routine. I’d run all the way to Elsemere on the rocks, then turn around under the bridge and run back on the rails. That was the most difficult part—running on a rail not quite three inches wide and slippery, especially when it was wet. I’d been doing this since I was a kid, though, so I guess I had gotten used to it.

  That thought made me remember jumping trains as a kid. We’d wait at the curve where they slowed down and jump on the ladder at the back of one of the cars. After a while we got enough courage to climb on top of the cars and run up and down—until Jimmy Borelli’s cousin fell off and got caught under the train. It cut him in half. I cried all the way home that day. Cried most of the night, too, not able to get the image of his body cut in two out of my head.

  As I navigated a curve, I slipped off the track, twisting my ankle. I caught myself before it got bad. Focus, Nicky. I picked up the pace the rest of the way home, completing what I had calculated to be a five-mile run. A hard five-mile run.

  At home I went to the basement for the rest of my workout. I put a bag of cement on each shoulder—96 pounds each—then went up and down the steps with them until I couldn’t do it anymore. Then I grabbed two twelve-inch cement blocks in each hand and walked around the basement. I couldn’t go far with them, but I kept it up until my hands either bled or my arm muscles spasmed and just wouldn’t work. Extreme stretching finished off the program. I showered after that and got ready for breakfast.

  Angie should be up by now.

  “Coffee’s on the table, Nicky.”

  Angie was unloading the dishwasher. I kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks, babe.”

  “I see you’ve been working out again.” Her voice had a suspicious edge to it.

  “Figured I better get in shape before I lose it all.”

  “That’s the only reason?”

  “What else could there be?”

  She handed me a few dishes to put away. “I don’t know. Just asking.”

  “I talked to Frankie last night. They have another nutcase running wild in New York.”

  “What else is new?”

  Rosa came bounding down the steps. “What did you say about Uncle Mario?”

  “Some nutbag in New York killed a couple in a hotel room. Bugs doesn’t think the guy’s done either.”

  “Is he still coming down for the christening?”

  “Depends on how this case goes. If he can, he will.”

  “I may have to help him solve it,” Rosa said.

  Angie got up to get more coffee. “Neither one of you is a detective—and don’t forget it.”

  Rosa poured her coffee and took a seat next to Angie. “How did he kill them?”

  “Pretty gruesome. I’m not saying how at breakfast.”

  “Where’s the respect?” Angie said. “Doesn’t anyone have respect anymore?”

  “I’m going to check the news,” Rosa said.

  “It won’t be in the paper down here,” I said. “Not unless he kills a few more people.”

  Rosa sighed. “Dad, I don’t read the ‘paper’ paper.”

  “I forgot.”

  “Get with it. Don’t get old on me.”

  “Too late,” Angie said.

  “Did you work out again, Dad? I heard you up early.”

  “You don’t want your father getting fat,” Angie said, and walked to the bottom of the step. “I think Dante’s up.”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t hear him.”

  “You think we should get a set of those intercoms?” Angie asked.

  “No need. When that kid wakes, you can hear him a block away.”

  “But suppose I’m out hanging clothes, or I’m in the basement doing laundry?”

  “Then he’ll cry a little. Exercise his lungs. In case you forgot, that’s what we did.”

  “Nicky, I’m serious.”

  “Do what you want, but I need to go. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  Angie grabbed my arm. “Nicky.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing is going on is it? I mean, with you working out so much, I…”

  I held her face and kissed her. “I swear, nothing is going on. I’m clean, and I intend to stay that way.”

  That brought a smile. “Okay, see you tonight.”

  ***

  Rosa slumped into a chair at the cafeteria.

  Sally put her tray on the table and sat next to her. “What’s wrong? You’ve been acting strange all day.”

  Rosa opened her milk and took a sip. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing, my ass. Tell me.”

  She shoved a forkful of corn in her mouth and stared straight ahead. “Nobody asked me to the dance yet. When Rudy came by this morning I thought for sure he would.” She sighed. “It’s getting too late now. I’ll probably be the only girl without a date.”

  Sally shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”

  “Not for you. You have a date.”

  Jennifer walked by with a tray and took a seat across from Rosa. “What’s up, guys?” Then to Rosa. “Why so glum?”

  “She doesn’t have a date to the dance,” Sally said. “I told her somebody would ask.”

  “Bullshit,” Jennifer said.

  “What?” Rosa asked.

  “Nothing,” Sally said, and kicked under the table at Jennifer.

  “Cut the shit, Sally.” Jenn turned to Rosa. “Nobody will tell you this because they think it’ll hurt your feelings, but you need to know.”

  Rosa straightened in her chair. “Tell me what?”

  “Nobody’s going to ask you because of your father.”

  Rosa threw her fork down. “What’s my father got to do with anything?”

  Jenn rolled her eyes. “Come on. What boy in his right mind is going to ask Nicky Fusco’s daughter out? Mike Riley was the only one stupid enough to do that. Now that he’s gone, t
here’s nobody else.”

  “Why, because he was in prison? I can’t believe it.”

  Jenn reached for her but Rosa pulled away. “Screw you, Jenn. You’re just jealous.”

  Jenn waited for her to settle down. “Think about it, Rosa. You’re beautiful. You have a great body. You’re funny. Why wouldn’t a boy ask you? Why wouldn’t all the boys ask you? For shit’s sake, even I got asked. Probably because they think they’ll get laid, but at least they asked.”

  Rosa lost some of her edge. “Don’t say that. You’re pretty.”

  “That’s bullshit, and I know it. Even my father knows it. He always talks about how pretty so-and-so is, or what a fox some girl on TV is. Never once does he say, ‘Jenn, you’re pretty.’ I can’t blame him. Just saying.” She got close to Rosa and tapped her arm. “Listen, I’m not shitting you. This has nothing to do with your dad having been in prison.” She looked away for a second then back at Rosa. “People say your dad is a killer.”

  “I know about that. But he served his time.” Rosa started to say something else but Jenn interrupted.

  “I’m not talking about that gang fight when he was a kid. I’m talking about your father being a friggin’ hit man.”

  Rosa darted her eyes from Jenn to Sally, looking for a denial, but instead she saw Sally’s agreement.

  Dad? A hit man? What a damn fool I’ve been.

  CHAPTER 13

  A Little Bit of Planning

  Brooklyn, New York

  The killer followed Debbie to the restaurant. She was easy to spot with her long legs, dressed to show them off. He, on the other hand, was just another face in the lunchtime crowd, another suit rushing to shove calories down his throat so he could finish the day and do it all over again. Not her, though. She used lunch for other purposes—like stalking unsuspecting men and finding new lovers. She smiled as a man hugged her, then gave her a kiss. This was not the man she had been with a week ago.

  Naughty bitch.

  The killer went back to work, but by the time Debbie got home, he was stationed at a spot across the street from her apartment. She stopped to talk to the doorman before going inside. The doorman presented a problem.

  The killer waited until it got dark then went to the back of the building. The older couple on the bottom floor were out of town. He broke one of their windows with a rock, went inside and made his way to the back bedroom. He slid the latch on the window so he could open it from outside, and then he went back out, careful not to leave any clues that he’d been inside. He smiled. He was done for the night and happy with his plan.

 

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