Little Dead Riding Hood: Dead Cold Mystery 13

by Blake Banner

  It was Dehan who answered. “That has to be some kind of consolation, Chad.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Consolation?”

  “It sucks every way, Chad, but this way it sucks less, and at least you get to keep the memory.”

  The anger drained from his face. “It’s cold comfort.” He shook his head. “So are you going to charge Detective Lenny Davis?”

  I said: “I don’t know yet, Chad. To me, the case against him is getting weaker. Besides, we have no idea if he’ll make it.” Then I asked, “Chad, why didn’t you tell us all this from the start?”

  He looked surprised. “Are you kidding? I didn’t find out for a couple of weeks or more that she had been killed. There was no evidence against anybody, and I was the last person to see her alive, after a quarrel because she had been unfaithful. At the very least, it would have meant a police investigation and a trial that would have ended my career before it had even begun. As far as I was concerned, she had betrayed me and screwed the wrong guy. End of story.” Then he stared hard into my eyes. “You know who did this, don’t you?”

  I shook my head.

  He said, “I have to go. Thanks for bringing me the news.” He slid along the bench to stand up, then stopped and hesitated. “I’m sorry I got it wrong. I should have stepped up.”

  He left twenty bucks on the table to cover his lunch and walked out, hunching his shoulders into the rain.

  I shifted around to Chad’s seat, where I could see Dehan across the table, picked up his burger and started eating it. Dehan watched me do it and said, “Boy, did we ever get it wrong.”

  I said, with my mouth full, “I never liked Lenny for the murder.”

  “I gotta hand it to you, Stone. You were right on the money.” She picked up her own burger and bit into it. We stared at each other across the food, ruminating like two sheep. She swallowed and took a long pull on her beer, then showed her empty glass to the waitress and made a ‘V’ sign with her fingers. After that she shifted her ass so she was sitting in the corner, looking at me and eating.

  “So,” she said after a while, “We have Chad and Celeste, post infidelity trauma, in post make up sex bliss, and they promise each other that they are going to try to make it work. She is longing for the family she’s been promised all her life by her crazy dad and brother, and he has these values he’s learned from his dad—focus and commit! So between them, they are starting to build a dream. They are going to make a family.”

  I was nodding and chewing. I agreed with what she was saying.

  She took a big bite out of her burger and spoke with her mouth full. “She gomph hom…”

  “She goes home?”

  “Mm-hm…”

  I took over to give her the chance to eat for a while. “But Dad and Sam are, literally, as mad as hell. As far as they are concerned, her behavior over the last couple of days…”

  “Lasht couple beers!”

  “Last couple of years, indeed, has been sinful, wicked, even evil. There is an unspoken, perhaps even un-admitted, perception in the family that Celeste killed her mother. Dad denies it furiously: she is his baby girl. But Sam certainly believes it, and so does Helen. I get the impression that there is an idea that Helen was driven into her psychotic state by her mother’s death. In short, Celeste is held responsible for all the evil that has befallen that family.”

  I took another bite of my burger. Dehan took a swig of beer and pulled the third burger over to her. “You want to share?” I shook my head and chewed. She went on. “So if her behavior until that point has been evil and sinful, that weekend she really crosses a line, staying out Friday night, Saturday night and coming back late Sunday morning, probably talking about staying out Sunday night too. All hell breaks loose, in more senses than one. She goes upstairs, breaks up with Lenny over the phone and cries herself to sleep.”

  “Chad calls.”

  “She tells him she is on her way. She has her second row and leaves. Now, Lenny calls her from the landline, telling her to come home. He is coming after her. She stops at the playground to wait for him because, as we have said before, she doesn’t want Chad to witness what her crazy family are like. Lenny calls while she is waiting, but contrary to what we thought, she tells him to leave her alone—and he does. Chad calls. She says that she is almost home. Samuel turns up in his truck. Parks. She gives him a mouthful. They struggle, she starts screaming, and he chokes her to shut her up, or maybe because he is venting all the hatred and resentment he has stored up against her since she killed his mom. Suddenly, he snaps out of it and realizes what he has done. In a fit of grief and remorse, he hugs her. We know he’s strong enough to hold her upright. And that is when Chad shows up and sees what he believes is Rod and Celeste in an embrace. Samuel picks her up in his arms and, as you said, carries her to the truck.”

  I finished my burger and sat licking my fingers and sucking my teeth. The waitress delivered my second beer and I took a pull. “Unless Lenny pulls through and can substantiate some of that, we haven’t got a shred of evidence to support it, aside from some very weak eyewitness testimony. It is all circumstantial. How do we prove it?”

  “We have one chance,” she said. “We show how he disposed of the body. Maybe we can nail him if we can show how, and why, he disposed of the body the way he did.”

  I nodded. “Yup, I think you’re right. We need to get back on that, even if it means going in person to each business along the river, one by one.”

  SIXTEEN

  My phone pinged, letting me know I had an email, and a second later, it began to ring.

  “Stone.”

  The inspector’s voice said, “Ah, John, it’s John.”

  “Good afternoon, sir.”

  “Indeed, listen, I have word from the hospital. Lenny is dead. He died this midday. They did all they could in surgery, but it seems the damage to his left lung was too extensive and he had lost a lot of blood. They couldn’t save him.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” I glanced at Dehan. She mouthed, Lenny? Dead? I nodded. She closed her eyes and buried her face in her hands. “Listen, sir, Dehan and I have been discussing the case, and we had a talk with Chad Norris, we think it isn’t as clear cut as…”

  “You know, John, I am sure you’re right, but there is more to be taken into account here than the minutiae of precisely what happened, how, where and when. Not least is Lenny’s wife and kids, who face a very harrowing time ahead. There is the impact on the department itself: questions will be asked by the media and also at a very senior level of the department, about how this could have happened, on my watch, and this will not be an easy time for me either.”

  “I understand that, sir, but the point is, we think its possible that, though Lenny was having an affair with Celeste…”

  “A girl who thankfully was of age, but barely so, and he in his late forties, old enough to be her father. The press will have a field day and the last thing we need, John, is accusations of a cover up or attempting to whitewash this case. We need to be upfront, transparent and honest. Heaven knows we do our best, but they don’t realize it is impossible to one hundred percent eradicate corruption. Policemen and women are people, after all, at the end of the day!”

  “Sir…”

  “We are going to close the case, John. You and Dehan have, as always, done exceptional work. It is a shame that the guilty party was one of our own. But we must be brave and face it down.”

  “Sir…”

  “Yes, John.”

  “I don’t think Lenny did it.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “I appreciate that, John, but we just have to roll with this one.”

  “No, I don’t think you understand, sir. We are actually convinced that Lenny did not do it. He couldn’t have…”

  “John, the case is closed. I’ve had someone notify Mrs. Davis. We’ll keep our heads down and with a little luck, the storm will blow over.”

  “Sir…?”

  “Take a few
days off, and I’ll see you back here next week.”

  He hung up.

  Dehan was looking at me with her hands in front of her mouth like she was praying. I could see the tears in her eyes. I said, “You OK?”

  She nodded once, then asked, “What’s going on?”

  “The inspector closed the case. Lenny goes down as a murderer, and his wife and kids have to live with that.” I shook my head. “He was a rat and a cheat, and I don’t condone what he did, but he wasn’t a murderer.”

  She sighed and her breath was a little unsteady. “He almost was, John.”

  I shook my head again, more emphatically. “No, Dehan, and I speak as his intended victim. Celeste was murdered. In the airport, he believed he was fighting for his life. What he did was stupid, but it wasn’t murder in the way that Celeste was murder.”

  She frowned at me for a long time. “That’s a discussion that will have to wait for a bottle of wine and a couple of whiskeys in front of the fire. Right now, we have a chief who is about to make a very serious mistake. What are we going to do about it?”

  “He’s put us on leave till next week. What we are going to do is ignore him.”

  “How?

  I grunted. “We could start by going to give the Reynolds the news.”

  She screwed up her nose and thought about it. “Provoke Sam into discussing his sister? Get him really mad and see if he admits it?”

  I shrugged with my eyebrows. “As a family, they are not hard to provoke. You could leave me alone with the dad and take Samuel off to one side, talk to him in confidence about Lenny, make him feel that you would understand how somebody might feel with a sister like that…”

  “It could work, but it’s a real long shot. He’s not big at opening up with women, either. May be better if you spoke to him.” She jerked her head at my phone. “What was the email?”

  “Probably another list of names from the riverside businesses. I’ve had three so far and the names mean nothing.” I pulled out my phone and opened the message. I started to read, frowning. “Blackstone’s Builders, no job too big or too small…”

  “Spam?”

  I shook my head. “No, I was looking into extending the house into the backyard…” I looked up at her. “You know, for the kid’s room.”

  She gaped and I laughed. “I don’t know what it is, let me read it. “Dear Detective Stone, further to your yadda yadda, attached is a list—another list of personnel.” I glanced at her. She was still gaping, but now she was smiling, too. “Four down, only ninety-six to go. P. O’Mally, E. Brown, J. Fenlon, W. Codey, C. Clay, nana, nana, nana…” I skipped through the names. There were about thirty of them. Then near the end, I saw it. I slid the phone across the table to Dehan. She read it out loud:

  “…S. Reynolds.”

  “Let’s go talk to them.”

  * * *

  Blackstone’s Builders was on Bronx River Avenue, a hundred and fifty yards from Westchester Avenue Bridge. It consisted of a big yard, maybe a hundred and fifty feet across and seventy-five or a hundred feet deep. It was fenced off from the road with a chain-link fence, but the other three walls were improvised out of sheets of corrugated steel that had started going rusty, and the far wall was overgrown with bramble and trees reaching over from the river bank beyond.

  The yard was strewn with building materials and there were several trucks, a long warehouse and, in the far right corner, a two story building that overlooked the site. It was made of wood and had an outside staircase leading to the upper floor.

  We pulled up on the muddy gravel just outside that building and made our way at a slow run to the main door. A bell rang as we pushed in, hunched into our coats and closed the door behind us. There was a desk painted green with a smiling woman sitting behind it, watching us. And there was a man in a red v-neck jumper with a large, black moustache, leaning on the desk with his elbow, also watching us and smiling.

  “Nice motor,” he said. “How can we help you?”

  I showed him my badge. Before I could say anything, he said, “Aha, Detectives Stone and Dehan, of the 43rd. You’re here about our employees of 2016.” He held out his hand. “Geoff Blackstone. This is my wife, Kathleen. I am not sure how helpful we can be, detectives, we use a lot of casual and part time labor. It’s the nature of the business.”

  Dehan said, “We are particularly interested in one employee. Anything you can tell us…”

  “Come through to my office. Kath, make us some coffee, would you?”

  “Of course, Mr. Blackstone!”

  They both hooted with laughter and he led us through to a very basic office with one small window that overlooked the yard. He had a gray, steel desk with a black, imitation leather chair behind it and two blue chairs where he indicated Dehan and I should sit as he lowered himself into his vinyl throne.

  “Who is the employee you are interested in, detectives?”

  Dehan answered. “Samuel Reynolds.”

  He thought for a moment, gazing at the ceiling. “Yes, I recall him. He worked for us on and off for a long time. Big man, strong, good worker. Very devout, as I recall. Sam, Sam Reynolds. He never had a long term contract, though we did offer one. I seem to remember he hoped to start up his own business. I can only imagine he was eventually successful, because he stopped coming to us and we have never seen him again.”

  “But before 2016 he worked for you on a regular basis?”

  “Yes, a few months on, a couple of months off…”

  There was a knock at the door and Kathleen Blackstone came in with three cups of coffee on a tray. We thanked her and Geoff barked with mock severity, “That’ll be all, Miss Blackstone!” and they both roared again as she left the office.

  Dehan’s mouth gave a thin smile while her eyes thought about something else. “Did Reynolds ever have a key to the premises, Mr. Blackstone?”

  He frowned like the idea was absurd. “Good grief, no. He was just casual labor. A good worker, but he didn’t enjoy our trust.”

  “Can you think of any way that he might have gained access to the premises in November of that year?”

  He frowned at his desk top for a while, then bellowed, “Kathleen!”

  She leaned in, smiling. “Yes, dear?”

  “Remember the break in, couple of years ago?”

  She nodded. “Mm-hm…”

  “When was that?”

  Her eyes seemed to scan the ceiling, as though she had an invisible calendar pinned up there. “That was the night of Sunday, 6th November. I remember because it happened on a Sunday, when we were not here, and it was the week Trump was elected.”

  Dehan looked at me and her eyes were alight. Her face said, ‘This is it!’ Geoff was saying, “You are a marvel, Kathleen! Isn’t she extraordinary! It was an odd business, to be sure. We were having trouble with the alarm system. Basically, it was going off all the time, either because some bum wanted to sleep in the yard, a fox or a cat slipped through, or any number of other reasons. In the end, we decided to set alarms inside instead, where we stored the valuable gear, and simply have a solid padlock on the fence. We had, after all, never been broken into. This was back in 2014. We left the signs saying there was an alarm system, CCTV and dogs, but what we actually had was alarms on the office and on the warehouse, and CCTV on the inside of those buildings, where it might be of some use.

  “Well, on November 6th, somebody cut through the chain, let themselves in, stole absolutely nothing and left without disturbing a damn thing. It was quite bizarre.”

  I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees. “Mr. Blackstone, this is extremely important, is there any direct access to the river from this yard?”

  He looked mildly astonished. “Why, yes! The boys loosened a couple of panels over in the corner, years ago, and made a kind of doorway out onto the river bank. It’s rather pleasant out there and they have an area set up for their lunch breaks and coffee breaks in summer and spring.” He laughed. “Management are not allowed, but
I believe they actually have a refrigerator out there in hot weather. I am happy to let them enjoy it…”

  “Could we see it, please?”

  Now he looked worried. Kathleen was still at the door. She looked worried, too. He said, “Well, yes, of course, but I am sure they are not breaking any laws…are they?”

  I shook my head. “No, please, just point us in the right direction and we’ll find our way.”

  “It will be frightfully muddy at the moment.”

  I smiled. “Will you show us where it is, please?”

  He led us out of the office again, back to the front door, and pointed through the glass, across the muddy yard, to a section of the corrugated steel in the corner, about forty yards away. It was heavily overgrown with creepers and bramble, but I could just make out that one of the sheets did not fit snugly.

  “You see the one that is protruding slightly? Well, if you tug on that, it leads out to a rather flat, grassy area which is a part of the river bank. The boys have set it up… Well, you’ll see when you go out there. You don’t need me to come along, do you?”

  Dehan shook her head and we stepped out of the small reception and once again into the drizzle. We squelched the forty or so paces through the mud and puddles with our collars turned up and finally came to the corner of the yard. The loose sheet of steel was now clearly visible, as were the improvised hinges in the corner, made from bent wire looped through holes punched in the edge of the sheet. I took hold of it, pulled it back and hitched it open. Dehan crouched, peered through the opening at the rich, abundant, wet grass on the other side, and stepped over the threshold. I followed.

  We were on a shoulder of land that protruded into the water. The river itself was barely visible because of the thick growth of ferns, grasses, brambles, bushes and trees that swarmed along the edge. To the left, the shoulder ended abruptly beyond an elder tree and plummeted twelve or fifteen feet down to the dark water of the river. To the right, the shoulder tapered into a narrow path that skirted the fences and buildings, following the course of the river upstream toward the bridge. Ahead of us, it was just a tangle of undergrowth, obscuring the river from view.