by JP Ratto
Ray swiveled his seat to look at me. “I hope I didn’t scare her off.”
“Scare off Madeline Grange?” I grinned. “Not a chance.”
“Is she still here?”
“I believe so,” I said, rising from the stool to refill my mug. “I haven’t seen her this morning.” Ray raised an eyebrow. I shrugged. “Considering the circumstances, we decided to take it slow. Good thing I have a couple of spare bedrooms.”
Ray reached over and turned up the volume on my computer. “Looks like the commissioner is preparing to give a press conference sometime this morning. Can’t wait to hear his spin.”
“Have you decided whether you’re going to the precinct or not?” I asked. “They’re undoubtedly looking for you.”
“I know. I’d like to go home and check on my family, but if I’m the target, I’d better keep my distance. At least until I figure out what’s going on.”
“Could have been a warning. I’m surprised no one’s shown up here.”
“I am too.” Ray slid off his stool and moved to the glass doors that led to my garden. “I spoke to Sean again. He was at the precinct all night and said things are eerily quiet there. Burke has everyone doing normal duty. It’s almost as if the shooting didn’t happen.”
“Hmmm, or they know what happened, who’s responsible, and want to keep it low key. Don’t get angry, Ray, but are you sure you were the target?”
Ray shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. “I can’t say with one hundred percent certainty, but it sure felt like the bullets were aimed at me.”
“And you think it’s because you were trying to access some locked computer files pertaining to Marnie’s kidnapping?”
Ray nodded. “Not just the kidnapping. The files on the daycare center fire and Bardinari’s death. I’m sure there’s a link between Giaconne’s murder and what happened to Marnie.”
…what happened to Marnie. My blood ran cold as it does whenever I relive the worst time in my life. More than fifteen years ago, while investigating the murder of a call girl, my six-month-old daughter was abducted from the daycare center owned by Rose Bardinari.
It was a sensitive case, in which the evidence pointed to Senator Todd Grayson in the stabbing death of call girl Sheila Rand. It was enough to question him, and Scully and I tried. The senator was conveniently unavailable and then Captain Sheppard called us off Grayson. I couldn’t let it go and, against orders, continued to pursue ways to connect the senator to the murder.
Until someone took my child.
I’ve never given up hope that I would find Marnie—I’d always believed she was alive. The proof came recently when I received a photo of a teenage girl who I’ve no doubt is my daughter. My optimism grew after meeting Frank Giaconne.
“Shame he’s dead.” I glanced at Ray. “I agree with you that his death is no coincidence. He had something to say.”
“Or sell,” Ray said.
Ray spent half the previous night relating the particulars of his investigation into Giaconne’s death. Frank Giaconne was in McAllister’s the night he died. Ray had entered the pub as Giaconne left, knocking into Ray on his way out. The next time he saw him was at the morgue.
“I’m surprised you recognized him,” I said, “after your brief encounter.”
“Me too. His face was pretty beat up. Now I know how you really hurt your hand.”
I could hear the admonishment in my friend’s voice for not being honest with him. I looked down at my right hand, which still showed slight bruising from its connection with Frank Giaconne’s face. I’d caught him peeking through the basement windows of my brownstone after he followed me home from McAllister’s.
“Sorry. I had other things on my mind.” My ex-wife Susan’s funeral being one of them. Wanting to speak to Giaconne before involving Ray, was another.
“I know, but when I saw your business card among his personal effects…”
“Our little street brawl attracted the attention of the neighborhood watch. Someone called the police. Before he dashed off, I gave Giaconne my card and told him to call me the next day. He never did. I understand how you might have thought I had something to do with his death.”
Ray nodded. “Then there were the news clippings about Marnie’s abduction I found in a box of stuff at Giaconne’s brother’s house. They connected him to you. But it wasn’t until I spoke to the building manager at Giaconne’s apartment in Staten Island that I found out about his relationship with Bardinari.”
“Another connection to me.”
“Yes. Gotta follow the evidence.”
“Yet you’re not convinced that Giaconne was robbed and killed by a drug addict.”
“Robbed? The guy left Giaconne’s gold ring.”
“Maybe the perp was in a hurry.”
Ray considered this. “Kwan had an expensive habit; he’d spend a few extra seconds to take what he could. Another thing, he wasn’t a big man. Someone lifted Giaconne and threw him in that dumpster.”
“He could have had help.” Ray’s brows snapped together and his lips tightened. He didn’t like me playing devil’s advocate. I continued anyway. “You said Kwan had a rap sheet. Sounds like a guy who was a magnet for trouble.”
“Petty theft and possession. Each time Kwan was arrested, he never had a gun on him.”
“Always a first time,” I said. “Did you run a check on who owned the gun?”
“I haven’t seen the report. Burke’s taken a personal interest. He made a point to call me into his office and tell me the case is closed.”
“Ah, well that’s enough for me to be suspicious. If Kwan didn’t kill him, and you don’t believe it was a random murder, what do you think happened?”
Ray laid his empty coffee mug in the sink. “I haven’t been able to put together a timeline of events since Giaconne was released from prison.”
According to Ray, Frank Giaconne was a convicted felon who, up until a few months before, had spent fifteen years at Moravia Correctional Facility in New York for vehicular homicide.
“What about before Giaconne was incarcerated?” I asked.
“I don’t believe he had anything to do with Marnie’s kidnapping. He had an alibi. I do believe he may have known something about it though,” Ray said.
“Because of your chat with Mason Reid?”
“Yeah.”
Ray had interviewed the man who shared a cell with Giaconne. Reid said Giaconne knew a “Fifth Avenue” lawyer with a connection to a political bigwig who could help him with his financial problems. Only one lawyer-politician duo came to my mind. Senator Todd Grayson and Douglas Cain, Esq. “You think Giaconne had information about Grayson and Cain?” I asked. “Do you think that’s what he may have been trying to sell?”
“Maybe. But not to you, Lucas. At least not at first. I don’t know what he did the last four months besides work as an electrician. In fact, if Giaconne had information he thought was worth something, why wait so long before approaching you?”
“That’s an excellent question.”
Chapter 4
On the way to One Police Plaza, Commissioner Harold Sheppard gazed out the window at St. Patrick’s Cathedral as his cab drove along a crowded Fifth Avenue. Dwelling on the conversation with Kerrigan and Mueller, a blatant crime in progress wouldn’t have registered. He’d been accused of being paranoid and always responded with the quote, “just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean they aren’t after you.”
Something’s wrong.
Emmett Kerrigan’s assertion that they had a decision to make added to the growing realization that they no longer considered him an equal member. Were they going to demote him? Oust him from the committee? Who could replace him?
When Sheppard had tried to rattle Kerrigan and Mueller by telling them Ray Scully made the connection between Giaconne’s murder and Marnie’s abduction, he could tell they’d already known. How is that possible? It appeared to Sheppard that whoever provided the information
had to be someone at the Twelfth Precinct—someone well placed. Well, he could deal with that; he’d put Captain Burke on it.
But what’s the worst case scenario?
Sheppard was not deceived by Emmett Kerrigan’s self-proclaimed sense of propriety. Pragmatic prick. Kerrigan said he didn’t want murder as his legacy but Sheppard knew he would do anything to see Todd Grayson in the White House. Even…
It came to him like an electric shock. They have someone to replace me, and I know too much.
Well, I can handle that too.
***
Sheppard called to alert his security detail of his arrival and instructed the cab driver to circle the cordoned-off area surrounding One Police Plaza. A throng of reporters, cameramen, and ogling tourists meandered near the visitor’s entrance. He was sure they had been pacing the area for hours. “Let me off at St. James Place.”
It was well known that Sheppard sometimes used that entrance to avoid them. It wasn’t an ideal solution, but it compelled them to split their forces. Five familiar faces ran up to the taxi and attempted to choke off his exit, firing questions at him.
“Any progress on capturing the sniper, Commissioner?”
“Was he shooting at a police officer or random targets?”
Sheppard ignored the press and waited for uniformed officers to escort him into the building.
“C’mon, give us five minutes,” one shouted. “You have to give us something.”
Sheppard wanted to tell them all to get the hell away from him, but lately the police had received a barrage of bad publicity. Since the advent of camera phones, everyone was an activist. A few overzealous officers, frustrated by a perception of a catch-and-release legal system, had pursued street justice to balance the scales. The ones who were caught hoped the courts would work as hard for them as it did for the criminals it freed.
As his security detail approached the cab, Sheppard swung the door open into a female reporter, forcing her to drop her voice recorder. Stepping out and standing erect, he focused on the lead reporter. “I’m going inside to meet with command officers. Once I have the latest information, I’ll hold a press conference. That’s all I can give you right now.” Sheppard tugged on the bottom of his jacket and straightened his tie. “All right. Make a hole and let me through.”
Sheppard entered the building and headed to his office, known as “the fourteenth floor.”
“Good morning, Tony,” Sheppard said to the lieutenant at the reception desk. “It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you here.”
“Good morning, Commissioner. I’m here as long as you need me.” Anytime things looked a bit dicey, like when someone was shooting at cops, Tony would suddenly appear stationed at the front desk, evaluating every face that got off the elevator. If Tony didn’t like your face, you would find yourself looking up the barrel of his Glock from the floor. Once the level of security returned to normal, he would go back to his regular duty with SWAT.
Sheppard walked down the center of the floor, cubicles to his left and right. Concerned faces turned in his direction, trying to sense his reaction and his mood. Did he look angry? Was he walking faster than normal? Sheppard knew if he appeared in control of the situation, they would relax.
He opened the door of his glass-enclosed office and saw the note in the center of his desk. The mayor called.
A rap on the glass door and his secretary timidly entered.
“Good morning, Commissioner. They’re all waiting to see you.”
“Thanks, Lynne. I need a few minutes.” She backed out, and he speed dialed Mayor Crandall. His secretary put Sheppard right through.
“Good morning, Harold. I know you have a lot to do today. I just want to tell you to keep me in the loop. I have reporters hanging outside City Hall. I guess I don’t have to tell you to make this your highest priority.”
“No problem, sir. I’m going into a meeting now. I’ll call as soon as it’s over. And it’s my only priority.”
“One last thing, Harold. I know how deeply it affects all police officers when someone takes a shot at one of them. But we don’t want vigilante justice, no rash responses that would make front page news.”
“I agree. I want this investigation to be done quietly, professionally, and expeditiously.”
“Thanks. Glad I can count on you.”
***
Every seat at the table in the large windowless conference room was filled. Sheppard stood behind the chair at the head of the table. He surveyed the silent group and immediately found his first problem. “Hello, George. I didn’t expect to see you.” George Wilson was a union representative. Whose brilliant idea was it to let this pain in the ass in here?
“I know the timing isn’t ideal, Commissioner—”
“You’ve got that right.” Sheppard waved his hand. “But get on with it.”
Sheppard’s brash interruption didn’t faze Wilson. “I’ll only take a moment of your time. I’m getting phone calls—even a threat from an unknown party. They’re the same as the last time; officers want me to speak up and find out what is being done to keep them safe.”
Sheppard was tired of this conversation and the timing stunk. He held Wilson’s stare.
“What do you want from me, George? If I could lock up every ex-con in New York with access to a weapon, I would. Then Manhattan would have more prisons than apartments. Tell your concerns to the Committee for Officer Safety, and I’ll listen to their recommendations. That should quiet the grievances for a while. Now, as you said, this isn’t the best time for this discussion.”
Sheppard’s dismissal was clear. Wilson quietly left.
Commencing with the purpose of the gathering, the commissioner summarized what he knew so far and received an update. An hour later, he stood up, indicating the meeting was over.
As everyone filed out, Sheppard stopped Roy Burke, captain of the Twelfth Precinct.
“Hang back; I want a few words with you.”
Neither Commissioner Sheppard nor Captain Burke spoke until the room cleared and they heard the soft click of the door lock.
“Harold…”
“Wait…” From the head of the table, Sheppard walked to the center of the room and surveyed the soft green walls, white ceiling, and lights. He looked under the table. Although the state-of-the-art conference room was recently renovated and swept for bugs, Sheppard was still cautious. It spooked him that, somehow, Kerrigan and Mueller knew more than they should have about Detective Scully’s investigation.
Sheppard gave Burke a satisfied nod. “Sit.” The commissioner took a seat close to Burke and spoke softly. “I have reason to believe there’s a leak at the Twelfth Precinct. Someone close to you—someone familiar with the Giaconne investigation.”
Roy Burke sat back in his chair, appearing startled at the charge. Sheppard waited for Burke’s response.
The captain’s eyes shifted from the floor to Sheppard, his mouth slightly parted. “I don’t know what to say. The case is closed. Scully, McCarthy, and Sergeant Rodriguez were the only ones on it. I spoke to all of them myself. What makes you think there’s a leak?”
“I was at a meeting with some associates—who they are doesn’t matter. They knew Scully discovered a connection between Giaconne’s murder and Marnie Holt’s disappearance. It made me wonder what else they know…and how it affects us.”
Shifting in his chair, Burke turned away from the commissioner. He rested his clasped hands on the table and stared at them.
It wasn’t lost on Sheppard that the captain seemed to be avoiding eye contact. I’ve known this guy a long time. He knows more than he’s saying.
Burke cleared his throat. “What do you want me to do?”
“Find out if McCarthy or Rodriguez is sharing information inside and outside the precinct. We can assume Scully has already spoken to Holt. But that’s as far as it will go. If the details of the investigation have gone beyond the precinct, then I want to know who knows what. The whole point of tying tha
t drug addict to Giaconne’s death was to keep a lid on his connections. And I don’t want to see any more about Giaconne in the press.”
“I’ll get on it this afternoon.” Burke stood and edged away from the table.
“One more thing.” Sheppard rose and moved closer to Burke, enjoying the apparent discomfort inflicted on his subordinate. “Where were you during the shooting?” He held Burke’s eyes.
“Excuse me?” Burke stammered his response. “I…I had already left—just before Scully. I was on my way home. You can’t think I had anything to do with the shooting?”
Sheppard’s stare was unrelenting, causing Burke to take a step back. “You have as much to fear as I do. Remember that, and remember where your loyalty lies.”
As Burke appeared to have been stunned into silence, Sheppard asked, “What have you done to find this shooter?”
“My guys swept the roof for shells and interviewed everyone who lived in the building. No one saw anything. He got in and out like a ghost. My officers are scared and angry. Even off-duty cops are hitting the street today to meet with their CIs. I tell you, Harold, with all the attempts on cops lately, I’m concerned officers will take matters into their own hands.”
Sheppard noticed Burke’s use of his first name. He wants to keep this meeting friendly. “Talk to them. Calm them down. If they harm a suspect, our politically astute mayor will tell the press he is bringing the hammer down on police violence. Internal Affairs will take that as a license to rip the precinct apart.”
“I agree. We need to bring somebody in soon.”
“Yes, someone…Burke, under no circumstance can it be made public that the target was Scully, even if it would allay the fears of the rest of the force.”
