by J. J. Murray
“Sure,” Matthew said.
She ran up the stairs.
Matthew served several customers, but he didn’t wish them a Happy Panic Day. When Angela returned, she wore her signature smile.
“You okay?” Matthew whispered.
“I’m a little lighter,” she said. “Can you take me out to dinner tonight?”
“I’d love to.” He kissed her cheek. “You’re doing the right thing, Angela.”
“I know. I just wish I had done the right thing sooner.” She looked at the tip jar. “Did you get some tips?”
“I hadn’t noticed.” I was too busy watching the kitchen for your return.
She peered into the tip jar. “You did.”
And I wasn’t even trying.
“What did you do differently?” she asked.
“I have no idea,” Matthew said. “Maybe your customers are getting used to me.”
She kissed his cheek. “It might be all our kissing. I think my customers are your customers now.”
Matthew looked out into the dining area. “You think?”
She hugged him. “I know.”
“So I should keep flirting with you and kissing you and hugging you down here whenever I can,” Matthew said.
“Yes.”
Matthew smiled. “You may need to get a bigger tip jar.”
Chapter 32
Detective Sidney Novak arrived alone before eight. Novak was in her mid-fifties, had reddish-gray hair, and wore black slacks and a brown leather jacket.
“We’re almost closed, Detective,” Matthew said. “Angela’s finishing up the kitchen.”
“And you are . . .” She took out a small notepad.
“Matthew McConnell,” he said. “I’m Angela’s business partner, lawyer, and boyfriend.” Matthew seated Novak in his booth, then sat across from her.
“You’re the infamous Matthew McConnell,” Novak said. “Barbara doesn’t like you very much, does she?”
“Nope,” Matthew said.
Novak looked around. “The attack happened here in the dining area?”
“On the back stairs,” Matthew said, “but I’ll let Angela tell you about it.”
Angela came out of the kitchen, poured Novak a tall cup of house blend, and brought the cup to her. “Hello,” she said quietly.
Novak nodded and took a sip. “Thank you.”
Angela locked the front door and joined them, taking Matthew’s hand under the table.
“Miss Smith,” Novak said, “thank you for calling.”
“I don’t know if I’ll be any help,” Angela said. “It happened four years ago.”
Should I be here for this? “If you’d rather talk to Detective Novak alone, I can start mopping out here.”
Angela gripped Matthew’s hand. “I want you with me.”
“I will stay then,” Matthew said.
Novak took another sip of her coffee. “As her lawyer?”
“No,” Matthew said. “As her friend.”
“Okay,” Novak said. “First, I need to see where the attack took place.”
“It happened . . .” Angela slid out of the booth. “In the back.”
They walked around the counter into the kitchen.
“I had different doors back here then,” Angela said, pointing at the two steel doors.
“How were they different?” Novak asked.
“The back door had little glass inserts on the upper half, twelve, I think,” Angela said. “It was all wood below.”
“What kind of lock did you have on your old door?” Novak asked.
Angela sighed. “It was only a single deadbolt, and there was only one chain.”
Novak wrote it down. “Take me through the attack.”
Angela looked toward the stove. “I locked the front door and turned off the shop lights as I always do and came back here.” She looked at the floor. “I saw broken glass here.” She pointed to the floor near the door. “But since the deadbolt was still locked and the chain was up, I thought maybe a bird had knocked out a pane of glass. That had happened before. I keep my windows clean.” She fumbled with her hands. “I was pretty tired that night. A lot of people were stocking up on coffee and sweets before and during the snowstorm. I got a broom and a dustpan and started sweeping up when the door going upstairs . . .” She pointed at the stairway door. “That one. It was a cheap wood door then, and it was never locked.” She swallowed. “That door flew open . . . and he came out.”
“Did he have a weapon?” Novak asked.
“No,” Angela said.
Novak skipped back in her notes. “You described him as six-three, six-four, and maybe two-fifty, wearing a black ski mask. Can you describe what else he was wearing?”
“He was wearing dark jeans, snow boots, a big puffy jacket, and black leather gloves,” Angela said.
More new information. I may get the whole story tonight for the first time. I don’t know if I want to hear the whole story.
“Then what happened?” Novak asked.
“He dragged me by my hair and neck up the stairs to the landing and closed the door behind him,” Angela said.
“Show me,” Novak said.
She opened the stairway door, the light blinding. “I didn’t have that light here then. It was pretty dark.”
Novak shielded her eyes. “Go on.”
“He . . . he pinned me into the corner of the landing with his body,” Angela said. “He had one hand on the back of my neck, and he . . .” She closed her eyes. “He pulled down my pants.”
“Did he say anything to you?” Novak asked.
Angela opened her eyes and started shaking. “He said, ‘Dis da way you like it? You gonna like what I got to give you.’ ”
Novak wrote rapidly. “He said that exactly.”
“I won’t ever forget it,” Angela whispered.
“You’re absolutely sure,” Novak said.
“Yes,” Angela said.
Novak underlined the quote.
Novak jumped on that piece of information. Matthew had trouble feeling his hands. Warrick had to have been here four years ago.
Novak stepped around Angela and looked up the stairs, taking several more notes. “What happened next?”
“I felt him . . . I felt his penis against me,” Angela said, her voice shaking. “He, um, he came before he could . . . before he could rape me.”
“He didn’t rape you,” Novak said.
“No,” Angela said. “He didn’t.”
“You’re sure.” Novak stared into Angela’s eyes. “You’re absolutely sure.”
“I’m sure,” Angela said, sighing. “Because that’s when I kicked back with my right heel and hit him hard in the balls.”
Novak blinked. “You’re sure you kicked him there.”
Angela nodded. “He dropped to the landing, screaming and holding his . . . package, and that’s when I pulled up my pants, kneed him in the nose, and ran out into the snow.” She looked at Matthew. “I drove my knee into his face. I had forgotten that. I broke his nose. No wonder there was so much blood on the landing. All this time I thought it was mine.”
“You broke his nose and you’re just now remembering it?” Novak asked.
Angela focused on Novak. “I have PTSD because of the attack.” She looked at Matthew. “It’s about time I admitted it, huh?”
Matthew nodded. She junked his junk and fractured his face. I love this woman! She doesn’t need a Taser or a hammer.
Novak wrote it down. “You’ve been diagnosed.”
Angela nodded. “By Dr. Kenneth Penn. He comes to see me or I call him to come see me. I haven’t been out of my shop much since the attack. Matthew has been helping me get outside again. I’ve been having flashbacks since the blizzard we had recently. I still don’t remember everything that happened four years ago, but Dr. Penn says that eventually I will.”
Novak tapped her notepad with her pen. “What happened next?”
Angela stepped off the landing int
o the kitchen. “I ran this way and tore open the back door. I broke the chain I pulled so hard. Then I ran out into the snow trying to find help, but I couldn’t find anyone. I was outside for hours, I don’t know how many. I watched from the back alley to see if he was still inside, and eventually I came back in.”
Novak stepped into the kitchen. “We’ll need to get some crime techs out here in the morning.”
“I don’t know if it will do any good,” Angela said. “I scrubbed the landing with bleach.”
“We might still be able to find some of his blood and maybe even some of his semen,” Novak said. “It might have had time to soak into the wood before you cleaned it.”
“Will they . . . will they disrupt my business?” Angela asked.
“I can meet you with the techs back here,” Novak said. “We’ll try to be discreet. Do you still have the clothes you were wearing?”
“No,” Angela said. “I burned them all.”
Novak nodded. “Did you burn your shoes, too?”
“I threw them out,” Angela said. “They were ruined.”
Novak shook her head slightly. “Why didn’t you report this?”
“I was . . . I was ashamed,” Angela said, pulling on her fingers. “I was afraid. I was angry for not protecting myself. And since I wasn’t raped or really hurt, I tried to forget about it. When I read the story in the paper, I decided to let you know.”
Novak closed her notepad. “You should have reported this four years ago.”
Angela nodded. “I know. I . . . excuse me.” She ran up the stairs, slamming the apartment door behind her.
What a rotten thing to say! I know she should have, and so does Angela. Some things should always go unspoken.
“Is she all right?” Novak asked.
“What do you think?” Matthew asked. “Of course she’s not okay.”
“Is she on any kind of medication?” Novak asked.
“No.” He looked at the ceiling when he heard the toilet flushing upstairs.
“Should she be?” Novak asked.
He stared at Novak. “I’m not her psychiatrist.”
“I know that,” Novak said.
Matthew left the kitchen for the dining area.
Novak followed him to the booth. “Do you know if Dr. Penn prescribed anything for her?”
Matthew sat. “She’s not taking anything.”
Novak sat across from him. “We’ll need her to come down to look at a lineup.”
“I don’t know if she’s capable of that yet,” Matthew said. “She won’t close the shop, and she can barely walk three blocks away from here without panicking. But if Warrick was wearing a ski mask and attacked her from behind, a lineup would be useless.”
“She obviously got at least a glimpse of him, right?” Novak said. “And if we don’t have her do a lineup, the defense will say she never identified him in a lineup.”
True. “She might recognize his voice.”
“After four years? I doubt it.” Novak sipped her coffee. “All the guys we had in the lineup were from Williamsburg, and they all sounded alike to me.”
Matthew nodded. “Do you think this is the same guy?”
“I can’t say for sure,” Novak said, “but it’s looking like it. The man hasn’t changed his script. He waits for a snowstorm. He uses a similar method of entry, usually through an old back door. He breaks into a store, most often in a back alley, locks up behind him, and the victim thinks she’s safe. He says almost the same exact words to each victim. We think he’s been at it since 2006.” She sipped some coffee. “But in these recent attacks, he only simulated the rapes.”
Matthew blinked. “He didn’t rape them?”
Novak shook her head.
“Because . . .” Holy shit! “Because Angela junked his junk.”
“An interesting way to put it,” Novak said. “It may be the reason, it may not be.”
“Have you checked?” Matthew asked.
“I wouldn’t touch Warrick if you paid me a billion dollars,” Novak said. “He’s slimy.”
“You have to check,” Matthew said. “Maybe some hospital has a record of his injury, or he has to take Viagra or something.”
Novak nodded. “It’s a possibility.” She wrote down the information.
“What about his nose?” Matthew asked.
“That thing’s been broken so many times he can probably fold it all the way to his ears,” Novak said.
“Does Warrick have a public defender?” Matthew asked.
“You aren’t thinking of defending him, are you?” Novak said.
“No, of course not.” What a stupid question to ask me!
“Warrick has somehow retained Avery Filardi,” Novak said. “He’s taking Warrick’s case pro bono.”
She has to be kidding. Filardi normally represents a much higher class of thug, mostly corporate types. “Why would Filardi agree to represent Warrick?”
“Who knows?” Novak said. “Filardi loves the spotlight, and this could be a spotlight case. You know how he likes to put his Botoxed face on TV.”
Why would any lawyer take a case he couldn’t win unless he could win it somehow? “What did Warrick plead?”
“Not guilty,” Novak said. “Filardi is already pushing to get Warrick’s charges reduced to breaking and entering and menacing in the third degree.”
“Menacing?” Matthew said. “That’s bullshit.”
“I know,” Novak said.
Matthew shook his head, sighing. “Menacing, not rape.”
“You’re a lawyer,” Novak said. “What’s Filardi up to?”
“If I was him, and I’m not,” Matthew said, “I’d probably push Warrick’s inability to get it up. It would go something like this: How can my client be a rapist if he can’t physically get it up?”
“He doesn’t have to get it up for it to be considered rape,” Novak said.
“I know that,” Matthew said. “And you know no jury in Brooklyn will accept menacing after what he’s done. If the other women were as shaken up as Angela still is, their testimonies should put him away for life.”
“That’s what we’re hoping, provided we can keep these women interested in testifying,” Novak said. “They each want to put it behind them, much like Angela has done. We had to dig one of the victim’s clothing from her garbage, and she had already washed them. All of them are still scared of the guy. That’s why we need as much physical evidence as we can find. When would be a good time for us to return tomorrow?”
“We open at six,” Matthew said.
“We’ll see you then,” Novak said. “If she remembers anything else, let me know.” She handed him her card.
“I will.”
Matthew mopped the dining area, turned out all the lights, went up the apartment, and found Angela balled up on the couch. She stared blankly at the window, her arms grasping her knees. “Angela, none of the other women was raped.”
Angela turned slowly from the window. “They weren’t?”
“Nope.” He sat in the chair and smiled. “He couldn’t get it up.”
“What?” Angela released her legs and sat up.
“Mr. Warrick did not have a working member, his soldier would not rise to attention, his John Thomas was asleep, he has a non-functioning penis,” Matthew said. “I think you damaged his manhood beyond repair, Miss Smith.”
“But he still tried to force himself on them,” Angela said. “Isn’t that still considered rape?”
Matthew nodded.
Angela bounced her head on the back of the couch. “I should have told somebody. The fear those women are feeling right now is because I was too afraid to tell anybody back then.”
“You’re telling people now, Angela.” He left the chair and stood in front of her. “Feel like taking a walk?”
“I don’t feel like walking tonight,” Angela said.
“It’s warmer out tonight,” Matthew said. “Stars are shining everywhere.”
“I’
m tired,” Angela whispered.
He knelt in front of her. “They got him, Angela. They got the man who attacked you. He’s locked up. He’s not out there anymore.”
“How do you know?” Angela asked.
“Novak told me about the other attacks, and they follow the same script,” Matthew said. “They’ve got him.”
“I’m just . . . I’m just tired. Really. Aren’t you?” She held out her hands. “Just hold me for a while, okay?”
“Okay.”
He turned off lights and snuggled with Angela on the couch, rubbing her back until she fell asleep.
“You had a big, breakthrough day,” he whispered. “Sleep well.”
But when he woke several hours later, he couldn’t find her in the apartment. He opened the stairway door, a wave of bleach assaulting his nose. He squinted through the blinding light and saw her.
Angela was scrubbing the landing with a brush and a bucket, a towel wrapped around her neck.
He crept down the stairs. “Angela, what are you doing?”
Angela kept scrubbing.
He sat two stairs up from her. “Angela.”
She looked up briefly and continued to scrub.
“Angela, the crime techs are coming in the morning,” Matthew said softly. “You might be destroying evidence.”
She dipped the brush into the bucket then slapped the brush onto the landing.
“Why are you doing that?” Matthew whispered.
She scrubbed the baseboards. “Habit.”
“It looks clean, Angela,” Matthew said. “Come back to bed.”
Angela slumped into the corner. “But I still see the blood, Matthew. I know it’s not there, but I still see it.”
“Angela, was any of it your blood?” Matthew asked.
“No,” she said. “It was all his. I shattered his nose. Don’t you believe me?”
