by JP Ratto
I relaxed and picked up the discussion again. “It makes sense if you can believe that exposing Grayson’s tie to Marnie’s kidnapping is more lethal to his presidential bid than a long-ago affair and fathering an illegitimate daughter.”
“Okay, I see what you mean, but you have no proof to tie Cain or Grayson to any of it.”
“That’s where Giaconne’s murder comes in. He must’ve had proof—something to implicate Cain.” I couldn’t help lamenting how close I came to finding out what that was. “Damn,” I muttered under my breath.
“What?” Maddie asked.
She sunk against the back of the sofa and sipped her wine. It felt good to have someone to talk with. I reached over and tucked a few strands of hair behind her left ear.
“I was just thinking that if Giaconne wasn’t scared off by the police showing up outside my house, he might still be alive.”
“Maybe you should have waited to find out what he wanted before you wrestled him to the ground.” Maddie raised her glass to her mouth to hide a smile.
“Ouch.” I feigned offense, but she was right. I had overreacted.
Maddie laid her wineglass on a side table, leaned over, and kissed me. “Sorry. Where does it hurt?” She didn’t wait for my answer, kissing my lips, chin, and neck while unbuttoning and spreading my shirt open. She put her hand on my bare chest, over my heart. “Here?”
I nodded and returned her kisses. Maybe it was the wine, or not being sure what to do next, but I let satisfying base emotions take over. Thinking how skilled Maddie was at taking my mind off my troubles, I was about to suggest we move somewhere more comfortable when my phone buzzed. It was Ray Scully.
Chapter 20
Clutching his cellphone, Douglas Cain repeated Emmett Kerrigan’s words. “Harold’s dead?”
“Yes. The concierge in his building found him in one of the elevators late last night.”
“Oh my God, and Greta?”
He heard Kerrigan clear his throat. “As it happened, Greta was with Claire and me and a few other friends.”
Friends? Cain suppressed a snort. Since when are the Kerrigans and Sheppards friends? “Greta was with you when Sheppard died? I didn’t know you socialized.”
“We don’t usually, but friends of ours invited her for dinner and drinks, and we joined them.”
“Do you know how he died?” Cain asked.
“No. Might have been a heart attack. He’s with the medical examiner.”
Cain stood and paced as he spoke. “He was under a lot of stress.”
“Yes. The sniper shooting may have put him over the edge.”
Douglas Cain’s jaw clenched at the insinuation that he was to blame for Sheppard’s death. “Oh, come now, Emmett. The pressures of his job began long before that.” When Kerrigan didn’t respond, Cain asked, “Will the committee replace him?”
“We already have.”
***
News of Commissioner Sheppard’s death shocked the city, and no one was more stunned than Ray Scully. Slouched over his desk at the Twelfth Precinct, he stared at an official press release.
Commissioner Harold Sheppard found dead. Details as to cause of death are pending an autopsy. He is survived by his wife, Greta, and two children…
The rest gave a short bio of the commissioner and his years of service.
Sean McCarthy rocked in his chair and turned to Scully. “Ray, can you believe this?”
Scully shook his head. “I’m trying to absorb it and not let conspiracy theories take over.”
“I know what you mean. Rumors are flying, and I’ve never seen Roy Burke look so frazzled. His hair looks like he combed it with a whisk, and he’s yanked his tie away from his neck. The captain never loosens his tie.”
“Yeah, I noticed. He’s taking Sheppard’s death hard. But it’s not just grief; he looks worried.”
“You have to admit his death coming on the heels of the sniper shooting the other night is disturbing.”
“He wasn’t shot, Sean. I’ve known Sheppard a long time. He’s always had high blood pressure and was on medication. It wouldn’t surprise me if the pressure from the job had something to do with his death.”
Sean McCarthy leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “You really are trying to avoid any conspiracy theories. Well, that’s a switch, because I can’t help thinking there’s more to it.”
Scully agreed but didn’t want to lay out all his fears until he spoke with Lucas Holt. He’d had a brief conversation with his friend to give him the news. As soon as he could manage, he planned to see Holt at his home. Captain Burke told everyone that as far as he knew, there was nothing suspicious about the commissioner’s death, and it was business as usual. He would let them know the funeral arrangements.
Sean was right; Burke was worried about something. His disheveled appearance and agitated behavior belied his words. Scully wondered if Burke was concerned about someone targeting those with a connection to Marnie’s kidnapping. Giaconne wasn’t directly involved, but the case could be made that his relationship to Rose Bardinari gave him access to information. He was anxious to learn what progress Holt made with his visit to Ellie Clarkson. Glancing at Sean, who clearly wasn’t buying Scully’s nonchalance, he stood.
“I’m taking my lunch now, Sean. Can you hold down the fort?” That meant covering for Scully in case Burke or Sergeant Rodriguez looked for him.
Sean twisted to look at the bullpen’s giant wall clock. “Kind of early. But sure, go ahead. I was going to suggest we continue with the interviews on the Jackson case. It can wait, though. I doubt anyone’s going to get much done today. Keep in touch, okay?”
***
Douglas Cain returned to his desk and sat. He let his cellphone slip from his palm and drop onto a pile of papers. His hands shook as he closed a brief he’d been reading before Kerrigan’s call. In his office, hours before his secretary or associates, another unsettling event kept him from his work.
Harold’s dead?
Emmett Kerrigan had given him the news with his usual detachment. Considering the renewed interest in Marnie Holt’s kidnapping and the committee’s participation, Cain expected Kerrigan to show more concern. Although he was annoyed by the intimation that he was responsible for the commissioner’s death, the lawyer was surprised Kerrigan didn’t outright accuse him of killing Sheppard. Cain had no reason to want Sheppard dead; he’d been the only committee member he could count on for help when needed. Like Giaconne’s death, Harold Sheppard took quick action to make it look like a robbery and pin the death on a drug addict.
They’ve already replaced Harold.
Cain had wondered who the replacement was, but didn’t ask the question aloud. Kerrigan ended the conversation before he could.
It’s too quick. Emmett had someone in place before Harold died. But why would he need to do that?
His mind racing with scenarios of Sheppard’s sudden death, Cain grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and shrugged into it. He opened a desk drawer and removed another cellphone. Sweat dampened his skin as he remembered Sheppard’s last words to him.
…I assure you, I won’t be the only one to go down.
After informing his secretary that he would be out of the office the rest of the day, Cain left the building. He walked toward Central Park and punched in a familiar telephone number.
***
Keeler tossed and turned on the sofa where he’d fallen asleep after hours of searching the internet. He opened his eyes to the bright light streaming through the living room windows and shut them tight again. He drifted back into a restless sleep.
Tom Keeler picked up his breakfast tray and walked down the aisle to find a table. A soft sound drew his attention to Mike Washington, who offered him a seat.
“Hey, Tom. I felt bad for you taking another pounding at inspection yesterday. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, for the moment. I’m starting to think someone has it in for me. I haven’t worn that shi
rt. That stain is brand new.”
Washington let out a sigh; he seemed to be wrestling with a notion. “Yeah…” He lingered on the word as if stalling to get his thoughts together. “I heard something that explains everything, but you can’t let on it came from me. Are we clear?”
“Clear. What’s going on?”
“Calloway and Browne. They’re concerned about their class grades. They noticed Ramirez made you his pet project, so they thought it might be to their advantage if you disqualified. If you were, there might be some reluctance to disqualify two more candidates. I mean, who would senior staff blame if there was a fifty percent washout? You know, maybe they would lower the passing mark.”
Tom Keeler lay in his bunk, hands behind his head, gazing at a full moon. His father, an irritable person who lived a life of hard times, warned him to never make important decisions when the moon was full: it messes with your thinkin’. Nevertheless, he had to do something.
He was conflicted. The unwritten code of ethics wouldn’t allow him to go to Ramirez and tell him what he’d learned. He needed to resolve the problem himself—but how? Reasoning with them was out of the question. He had no leverage. Without Washington to back him, they had no reason to admit they were behind this or to stop.
Keeler could attack in-kind, undermining their inspections, but they would be on the lookout for that. Direct confrontation is the only way.
Calloway was gym-strong and street-stupid. Keeler believed Calloway didn’t have the heart to meet an enemy head-on, and walked in Browne’s shadow. It explained why Calloway wanted to be a sniper. If I can take out Browne, Calloway will fall in line.
He had studied Browne in hand-to-hand combat. Browne was in his element. His six-foot-tall frame made his chest and arms appear overdeveloped. His skill and appearance intimidated the other candidates when he gave a brutal beating to Washington in his first fight. After that, each opponent countered solely using defensive maneuvers.
His main weakness was his over confidence; he would kill everyone and let God sort it out. This gave Keeler two tells he could use to his advantage.
“Hey, Keeler. Calloway says you’ve been eyeballin’ him. Is that true?” Browne stood by his bunk pretending to be busy folding laundry. Every eye in the barracks focused on Keeler.
“That’s between him and me.” It’s time.
Ramirez had left for the night and everyone witnessed Browne initiating an argument. Keeler squared his shoulders to face Browne, a clear sign that he wasn’t backing down. Browne’s eyes widened in curiosity and a smile followed; he tossed the folded t-shirt on the bunk and walked across the room.
“Calloway is my friend. Besides, a fuck-up like you shouldn’t look anyone in the face.” Browne poked his finger in Keeler’s chest.
“I’m looking you in the face right now.” Keeler wanted to grab that finger and bend it back to his wrist, but he stuck to the plan. Browne took a step back, appearing confused by Keeler.
Nodding his head, Browne blurted, “You want to take this outside?”
Keeler smiled and raised his voice. “Browne, are you saying you want to fight me?”
The silence had been near deafening and now felt to Keeler like they existed in a vacuum.
A questioning look on Browne’s face made Keeler think, he knows he’s being played and doesn’t like it. Browne’s eyebrows knitted, and through gnarled lips, he spat out the words, “Yes, asshole.”
The six candidates walked out behind the barracks. Washington brought up the rear, a look of uncertainty on his face.
Chapter 21
Ray’s crack-of-dawn phone call with the news of Harold Sheppard’s death put a halt to the romance Maddie and I attempted to rekindle. We cleaned up the wine and cheese, showered, and put on a pot of coffee.
The morning was cool, but sunny enough to bring our mugs out to the back terrace. I brushed leaves from the cushions of two wrought iron lawn chairs. Maddie and I sat quietly sipping coffee, and in spite of the unsettled events of my trip upstate and Sheppard’s death, a sense of contentment passed between us. I could get used to this.
The doorbell rang. Maddie leaned forward. I rose. “I’ll get it; it’s probably Ray. I’ll bring him out here.”
I opened the door, letting in a blast of fresh air and the sounds of city traffic from the avenue. Ray stood with one hand in his jacket pocket and the other grasping a plastic bag. “Hey, I brought us lunch.”
He held up the bag, and I could smell warm deli meats. “It’s a bit early, but then we’ve been up most of the night, so it doesn’t matter what meal we eat. Thanks. C’mon in.”
Grabbing the carafe of hot coffee and an extra mug, I led Ray to the terrace. I cleaned off another chair.
As we ate our pastrami and corned beef, I asked Ray about Sheppard’s death. “Was it natural?”
He shook his head. “Not sure. They’re doing an autopsy, and we should know in a couple of days. From what Captain Burke tells us, it looks like a heart attack.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
Ray swallowed a bite of his sandwich. “I would love for him to have died from natural causes. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that he didn’t.”
“The autopsy will confirm the cause one way or the other.”
Maddie, who’d been nibbling at her food, pushed her plate aside and poured herself more coffee. “Ray, if there’s foul play, do you think Sheppard’s death is connected to what happened fifteen years ago, or what’s happening now, or both?”
“My gut tells me it’s all tied together. It’s no coincidence. First, Giaconne is murdered. Then after I try to access files pertaining to the kidnapping and Bardinari’s death, someone takes a shot at me. And now the person in charge of both investigations is dead.”
“By the way, Ray, Maddie has some interesting information about Rose Bardinari.” I looked at Maddie. “Want to tell him?”
“Sure. I made a few contacts yesterday, here and in Baltimore. It appears that Rose Bardinari’s father used to head the Staten Island sanitation crew.”
Ray raised a brow. “Organized crime?”
“Yes, and the rumor is Rose’s death was payback in a territorial war. Another high-ranking member of the crew lost his construction-worker son in a mishap that he claimed was no accident.”
“How come this never came up at the time?” Ray glanced at me.
“I wondered the same thing. Sheppard would have known the answer. Now we can only speculate.”
“Even if Bardinari’s death wasn’t connected to the kidnapping, it doesn’t help us now. Seems like Sheppard was up to his neck in cover ups.”
Maddie nodded. “Let’s look at who has the most to gain by Sheppard’s death—”
“Or the most to lose if Marnie’s kidnappers are exposed,” I said.
Ray drained his coffee mug. “The obvious answer is Todd Grayson. But he’s not going to get his hands dirty, so that means we’re looking at Douglas Cain.”
I couldn’t sit still. Talking about Marnie’s disappearance always fueled my anger. I stood and paced. “Yes. Who I’ve said all along was behind the kidnapping.”
“Lucas, what happened when you went to see Ellie Clarkson?” Ray asked.
“Ellie Clarkson is dead.” I filled Ray in on all the details. “I’ve hit more dead ends than rats in a maze. Although, I found out that I’m not the only one interested in Clarkson, and the adoption. Ray, I think the person you saw the night of the sniper shooting sounds like the guy who visited Clarkson.”
Ray and I compared descriptions. “I think you’re right, Lucas. That bumper sticker is the clincher. We need to find him; he could be a danger to Marnie if he’s looking for her. Maybe you should have stayed upstate.”
I shook my head. “There was no address on the papers I took from Abrams’s house. Loretta Turner, the only name that was legible, wasn’t listed among at least fifty Turners.”
“I can help with that,” said Maddie. “It will give me something
to do.”
I walked over and placed my hands on Maddie’s shoulders, gave them a gentle squeeze, and kissed the top of her head. “That’d be great.” I glanced at Ray. “I need to put more pressure on Cain. On my last visit, I suggested he knew where Marnie was. He pretended to be nonplused by anything I said, but I could tell he was agitated.”
“What makes you think he’ll talk to you now?” Maddie asked.
“There’s only one good explanation for Giaconne’s death—he knew too much. Ray’s investigation disturbed the status quo. This close to the election, Grayson can’t afford any scandals—new or old.”
“But why go after Ray,” Maddie asked, “when Sheppard and Burke could take care of any connection to Cain and Grayson? I mean, they’ve done it before.”
“My guess is Sheppard cleaned up after Cain,” I said.
Ray stood. The sun had moved higher in the sky. Taking a cap out of his jacket, he placed it on his head to block the glare. “Do you think Cain hired this guy to stop me and then to find Marnie?”
“I tend to believe Cain is behind the shooting. It’s the sort of knee-jerk reaction he’s been prone to lately. I also believe he knows where Marnie is, and the reason for taking a shot at you was to stop us from finding out too.”
“Then why is Cain’s hired gun interested in finding Marnie?”
“That, I don’t know. Maybe Cain does.”
***
After making a copy of the adoption papers, I gave Ray the originals. With Burke preoccupied with the impact of Sheppard’s death, Ray was less likely to be under the captain’s watchful eye. We thought it was possible the sniper left a fingerprint on one of the sheets of paper. He hadn’t left a trace the night of the shooting, but if rummaging through files was outside his wheelhouse, he might have been careless.
