Coney Island Avenue

by J. L. Abramo

  “When he sees you he won’t be too thrilled either.”

  The medical examiner had completed the preliminary examination and had told Detectives Ripley and Richards all he could relate with confidence before doing the lab work.

  “Was there any identification?” Richards asked.

  “No,” Batman said.

  “I can tell you who he was.”

  The detectives and M.E. turned to the man who had silently come up beside them.

  “And who are you?” Richards asked.

  “Kings County Assistant District Attorney Mark Caldwell.”

  “And the victim?”

  “Investigator Bill Heller,” Caldwell said. “Heller worked for us.”

  “So you are suggesting we wait to see who comes looking for the tape recorder,” Rosen said.

  “Yes,” Senderowitz answered.

  “We have Kevin Donahue cold for paying bribes to cover up illegal activity,” Murphy said. “Why not just pick him up?”

  “Because now we are looking to indict someone for murder and we have nothing to connect Donahue to Wasko or Gallo. We can’t even be sure Donahue was behind the killings.”

  “The other voice on the recording?” Rosen said.

  “Exactly, and we don’t know who that is. Hopefully Vincent can go back to the restaurant tomorrow and get the tape recorder back in. Someone wants it very badly. Sooner or later someone may come looking. We will make it seem as if the recording never left the place. Vincent found it, dropped it into his apron, forgot about it and no one had listened to it. We put the tape recorder on a hook, and then we sit patiently and keep watching to see if anyone bites.”

  “What about the guy in the restaurant who handed Vincent the tape in the first place?” Rosen asked. “Could he be the second man?”

  “We have no idea who he was or why he ditched the recording,” Samson said, “or how he came to have it.”

  “I’ll be damned, we never thought of that,” Senderowitz said.

  “Thought of what?” Murphy asked.

  “What if the man in the restaurant taped the conversation himself, with a phone bug perhaps, and he was planning to use the recording to blackmail the second man, or Donahue, or both.”

  “Great,” Murphy said.

  “What?” Samson asked.

  “Senderowitz may have just come up with a third suspect.”

  “Wow,” Rosen said.

  No one had anything more profound to add.

  “So, we’re arranging to let the tape out of our hands?” Murphy asked.

  “It might be worth the gamble,” Samson said, “if it leads us to a killer.”

  John Cicero had not said a word.

  “What do you think, John, are you on board?”

  “You’re not worried you may be tying Vincent to a stake?” Cicero asked.

  “We will be protecting Vincent every moment,” Samson said.

  “And he’s not a threat if we sell the idea he never heard what was on the tape,” Senderowitz added.

  “And what if no one comes looking for the tape?”

  “Then we bring Donahue in on the lesser charge. We sweat him or deal with him for the identity of the other man on the recording. Meanwhile we try connecting him to the killers. And now, I suppose we need to try finding the man who had the damned thing to begin with.”

  “I’m willing to give it a little time,” Cicero said. “But if someone hired Gallo and Wasko to kill my boy, I won’t rest until I know who. Right now, I need to get to the funeral parlor. My wife will be waiting.”

  After Cicero left, Senderowitz called Vincent Salerno to map out a plan and he reported to the others.

  “Vincent will be going to the restaurant tomorrow to ask his manager if he can start back at his job after his sister’s funeral. One way or the other he can get the tape back into the place, and tell the manager he found it Tuesday night and forgot about it. Vincent’s girlfriend will drive him there. Mendez and Landis, in plainclothes and an unmarked vehicle, will follow them and remain at the restaurant to watch. We will continue to stake out both the restaurant and Vincent’s home around the clock. The manager, Mike Atanasio, will be arriving at the restaurant by nine tomorrow morning to start setting up for lunch and Vincent needs to be at church by eleven for his sister’s memorial service and burial.”

  “I’ll let Landis and Mendez know they need to replace the overnight team by eight tomorrow morning,” Samson said.

  “Do you think this plan will pan out?” Rosen asked.

  “I think it’s worth a shot,” Samson said. “I don’t see why dealing with Donahue can’t wait, but we all need to agree.”

  Before they could tally the votes they received the call from Ripley.

  NINE

  Samson, Murphy and Rosen waited for Richards, Ripley and Assistant District Attorney Caldwell to arrive at the Six-one.

  Samson quickly brought Caldwell up to date on everything they had on the Lake Street case. Vincent Salerno, his sister Angela, Edward Cicero, Paul Gallo, Lee Wasko, Chicago, the tape recording, and their thoughts about using the recording as bait.

  “And when did Kevin Donahue enter the picture?” Caldwell asked.

  “We knew nothing about Donahue’s possible involvement until earlier today,” Samson said.

  “Okay. Let me try to fill in some of the blanks.”

  The Kings County DA’s Office had been looking at Donahue Contracting for nearly six months, conducting an investigation into alleged illegal business practices. An inquiry that now appeared to have resulted in the deaths of two innocent victims, two alleged killers and a DA Special Investigator.

  The investigation was instigated by an anonymous tip that Donahue had been underbidding for city contracts by illegally cutting labor costs.

  The Brooklyn-based company was suspected of using workers without valid work permits, or without authentic union affiliation, for labor on several building projects funded by the City of New York. At sub-standard wages.

  The DA’s Office had reached out to the City Comptroller’s Office, looking to find anything on Donahue Construction that would support the accusation.

  When nothing incriminating turned up, two possibilities were suggested.

  Either the suspicions were unfounded or someone inside city or state government made evidence disappear—perhaps for personal gain.

  Kings County District Attorney Roger Jennings was not ready to let it go.

  DA Jennings managed, with the help of a judge who owed him one, to sanction a tap on Kevin Donahue’s office phone. Then he handed the ball to his Assistant DA, Caldwell, and his special investigator, Detective Bill Heller.

  “The conversation you are all now familiar with was a result of that phone tap,” Caldwell said. “Heller contacted Donahue and gave him a hint of what we had. Heller asked for a meeting, suggesting there might be a way to make Donahue’s situation less damnable. Kevin Donahue played dumb, but he agreed to meet Heller as a gesture of respect to the DA’s office. Heller took the recording to Donahue’s office on Tuesday night. We were as interested in identifying the second man on the recording as we were in nailing Donahue, if not more. Heller was to propose a deal for that ID and Donahue’s future court testimony. Then Heller fell off the radar until his body turned up a few hours ago. We can only speculate as to what transpired.”

  “What is your guess?” Samson asked.

  “We are presuming that after hearing the recording Donahue asked for a little time to consider the deal and Heller granted him a short reprieve. We are also assuming that after leaving Donahue, Heller felt he was being followed and he stopped somewhere to be certain the coast was clear. Heller knew we would not want Donahue’s visitor tailed to the DA’s office.”

  “So it was Heller who slipped the recording to Vincent at the restaurant,” Murphy said.

  “It had to be.”

  “And obviously he had been followed,” Rosen said.

  “We think he was abducted
leaving the restaurant and interrogated. Heller was subjected to serious physical abuse before he was finally killed. We believe they were after the recording and when they didn’t find it they tortured him in an attempt to discover where it was.”

  “You said they, are you guessing Wasko and Gallo?” Rosen asked.

  “From what you’ve told me,” Caldwell said. “Yes.”

  “If all of your suppositions are correct, then Heller was followed by Wasko and Gallo from Kevin Donahue’s office and they not only knew of the recording, but knew Heller left the office with it. Doesn’t that drop the whole business right in Donahue’s lap?” Murphy asked.

  “Not positively,” Senderowitz said.

  “Explain,” Murphy said.

  “I’ll let our new man explain.”

  All attention turned to Ripley.

  “Wasko and Gallo could possibly have been employed by someone else to keep an eye on Donahue. One or both of them could have spied on his meeting with Heller and would have known what Heller had and also known he took it away with him when he left,” Ripley said. “When Heller could not produce the recording, they might have guessed he ditched it at the restaurant, which would explain why Gallo popped up there on Wednesday. When Gallo was led to suspect that the bus boy might have found the recording and kept it, they began the hunt for Vincent Salerno.”

  “I don’t get it,” Murphy said.

  “Don’t get what?” Samson asked, hoping Ripley wouldn’t have to run through the whole thing again.

  “I don’t get the importance of the tape,” Murphy said. “I’m sure you guys at the DA’s office have a copy. Even we have a damn copy.”

  “A copy does not hold as much weight in court, particularly now that we are looking at multiple homicides including the death of a police investigator. And Ripley is correct, we cannot be certain Donahue sent Gallo and Wasko after Heller.”

  “So we are back to the other voice on the recording,” Murphy said.

  “And back to deciding if we let Vincent return the original to Il Colosseo,” Senderowitz added.

  “Who had the most to lose?” Samson asked.

  “Before anyone was killed,” Caldwell said, “Donahue had less to lose. There would be fines and wage compensation, the company would fall off the city’s eligible contractors list, but there wouldn’t be jail time involved. We’re talking about a lot of money, but it wouldn’t break the bank. The majority of their contracts are with private corporations and Donahue would not lose too many of those due to a hand-slapping by the city. The bottom line is everyone who is building anything is looking only for the lowest price, the city included. However, anyone inside the city or state bureaucracy involved in suppressing evidence of misconduct would definitely be looking at prison time.”

  “So, the second man on the tape was most in jeopardy,” Samson said.

  “Before the killing started, yes, but now it’s a new ball game.”

  “How so?” Richards asked.

  “If we can connect him or Donahue to Gallo or Wasko, the DA’s office will not rest until one or both are indicted for murder. And killing Heller was a capital crime. But trying to find someone in city or state government who may have tampered with damning evidence against Donahue would be like trying to find Jimmy Hoffa. There could be hundreds of suspects, from who knows how many different bureaus. Department of Labor, Division of Labor, Division of Labor Standards, City Comptroller, Attorney General’s Labor Bureau, and the list goes on.”

  “Why can’t we simply confront Donahue again?” Richards asked. “We break him down and get a confession or compel him to finger the other man. Wasn’t that your plan in the first place?”

  “It won’t be easy to get a confession when we are talking about the murder of a police detective, carrying a possible death penalty. But it would certainly be worth considering if we can find him?” Caldwell said.

  “Find him?” Samson asked.

  “No one has seen or heard from Kevin Donahue since his visit from Bill Heller on Tuesday evening.”

  It was nearly eight when the gathering at the Six-one broke up.

  Caldwell would go directly from the precinct to his office and speak with his boss, Roger Jennings.

  How to handle Vincent Salerno and the original tape recording would be the District Attorney’s call. Caldwell would inform them of Jennings’ decision first thing in the morning.

  Richards, Samson and Ripley were all anxious to get to their homes and their respective families.

  Murphy and Rosen decided on dinner together.

  Bernie Senderowitz decided he needed a few drinks.

  Before settling on a place to dine, Murphy and Rosen had to make a stop at Tommy’s apartment to see to Ralph’s culinary and biological needs. Finding a parking spot in Bay Ridge on a Friday night was going to be near impossible, so they left Rosen’s vehicle at the precinct.

  Whether it was a miracle, or simply the luck of the Irish, a car was vacating a parking space on Marine Avenue just as they arrived.

  After taking care of the dog they walked to a Middle Eastern restaurant a few short blocks from Murphy’s apartment building.

  “What do you make of this entire mess?” Sandra asked after they had been seated and served cocktails and salad.

  “I don’t know. It gets more complicated by the minute, and it has all the markings of a hazardous road leading to a dead end. On top of that, it seems as if our part of the case is done. Our job was to discover who shot those two young people on Lake Street, and it looks as if that particular mystery has been solved.”

  Murphy took a swallow of his bourbon.

  “What do you think is worse…”

  “The watered down drinks or the bitter salad dressing?” Murphy said before Rosen could finish her question.

  “You are a remarkable comic, Tommy. Ever think you may have chosen the wrong profession?”

  “All the time.”

  “What do you think is worse,” Rosen said, trying once again, “dying for a reason or a cause, or dying as a result of being in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

  “For the survivors, the Salernos and the Ciceros for example, it is much more difficult to accept when an innocent is killed.” Murphy said. “As for the victims, I can’t see that it makes much difference.”

  Whenever Marty Richards arrived home he did two things immediately.

  First, he kissed his wife Linda. Second, he found his eight-month-old daughter Sophia, lifted her from the crib or the playpen, cradled her in his arms, and marveled at her fragility and her beauty.

  When he had accepted the invitation from Samson to join the 61st he was aware Linda was not all for it.

  The job of a detective on the streets was a lot more dangerous than that of an IAB investigator, barring the chance of being assaulted by an irate police officer under scrutiny. But he needed to make the move, for his own sense of self-worth.

  He needed to do the kind of work that would make his daughter proud.

  “Are things going well for you at the precinct?” Linda asked her husband, as he held the baby snug against his chest.

  “Very well. I mean Murphy still ribs me at times about having been Internal Affairs, but that’s just Tommy. He gives everyone a hard time. I try not to react because it only encourages him. But I am much happier there than I was at IAB. The detectives at the Sixty-first are an exceptional group, a group who I know I can trust to watch my back.”

  “So, you had a good day.”

  Richards spared Linda any details that might worry her unnecessarily. As much as the sight of Heller’s battered body had affected Marty, he knew it was better left unmentioned.

  “Yes, I did. But now I’m very happy to be home with my girls.”

  Samson was pleased he was able to get away from the precinct by eight.

  Taking the eastbound Belt Parkway out to Douglaston would not be too bad.

  Most of the traffic at that hour would be headed in the opposite direc
tion toward Manhattan.

  He would be home in time to visit with his two young daughters before they were off to bed, and he knew Alicia would have something warm for him in the oven.

  He would try to put police business out of his mind until morning, try to clear his head, relax and enjoy being where he most preferred to be.

  The girls were delighted to see him when he walked into the house.

  Kayla, his eight-year-old, sprinted to the door to reach him first.

  “Hi, Dad. Did you eat?”

  Samson tried to recall when she had graduated from calling him daddy.

  “I’ll eat later,” he said as five-year-old Lucy ran up to join them, “but first I want to hear all about your day.”

  “Are you going to ask me about my day,” Alicia said, coming in from the kitchen.

  “I think I will hold that inquiry until after I eat,” Samson said, smiling, and he walked over to give his wife a hug and a kiss.

  Once the girls were safely tucked away, Samson sat at the kitchen table working on a surprisingly tasty bowl of vegetarian chili complimented by a few homemade jalapeno corn muffins.

  Alicia straightened-up around the kitchen while he ate.

  When he was done they moved to the living room.

  “So, how was your day?” Samson asked.

  “I’m a little concerned about Jimmy.”

  Jimmy was their seventeen-year-old son.

  “Aren’t you the one who is always saying I worry too much about the boy?”

  “Yes, and you do worry too much, but now I’m worried.”

  “What’s the rumpus?”

  “The rumpus?”

  “An expression from a movie I saw,” Samson said. “Something like what’s going on.”

  “Was the character who said it an African-American?” Alicia asked.

  “No.”

  “I’m not surprised. The rumpus is Jimmy’s grades last semester. The poorest since he began high school. Not bad by average standards, but very disappointing considering what we know he is capable of. He is starting his senior year in less than two weeks and he will have to do particularly well to compensate. Acceptance to a good college and hope for a tuition scholarship are on the line.”