by J. J. Murray
“I believe you.” I have no other choice.
“They’re wasting their time here anyway,” Angela said. “They won’t find anything.”
What else can they check? “Did you ever go to the doctor about your heel or your bruises?”
“No. I stopped going out, remember?” Angela said. “My heel only hurt for a day or two. I’m lucky I was wearing some pretty heavy boots that day.”
Boots? She wore boots? “You wore boots, not shoes.”
She dropped the brush into the bucket and started drying the landing. “It had been snowing, right? There was a blizzard going on outside. I wore boots. I had shoveled the sidewalk off and on all day when I could. I didn’t want anyone tracking in snow.” She stopped drying the landing. “I was wearing my daddy’s boots all day that day.”
“You said you threw out some shoes,” Matthew said.
She glanced into the corner of the landing. “I did throw out a pair of shoes. I kept them over there in the corner.” She flattened her hand on the spot. “Here. They were white Nikes. They had blood on them.”
“You threw those shoes away,” Matthew said.
Angela nodded.
“But you didn’t throw out the boots,” Matthew said.
“No.” She looked up at him. “I wouldn’t have. They were my daddy’s boots.”
And they might be upstairs right now! “Where are the boots now?” Matthew asked.
Angela looked past Matthew. “I put them back in his closet.”
In a room she never goes in. “Have you worn them since?”
Angela shook her head. “No. I haven’t needed to wear them, right?”
Matthew remembered the layers of dust in her parents’ room. “When’s the last time you were in their room?”
Angela squinted. “Not since that night.”
“Do you want to see if they’re still there?”
Angela nodded. “Yes.”
Angela rose, Matthew took her hand, and they went up the stairs and to her parents’ door. He opened it, turned on the light, and only saw a few of his footprints in the doorway from when he had borrowed the mirror from the back of the door.
Angela pointed at the closet. “They should be in there.”
If they’re in there, and I’ll bet they are, we can’t disturb them. “We’ll let the techs check tomorrow.”
“Why?” Angela asked.
“There may be some of his blood or fluids on them,” Matthew said, “and the amount of dust in here proves that you haven’t been in this room for a long time. We have to preserve the evidence.”
“There can’t be anything on those boots,” Angela said. “I ran around in the snow for hours. Whatever might have been on them washed off in the snow.”
“Describe the boots,” Matthew said.
“Green, rubber, black laces,” Angela said. “They came up to my knees. My daddy’s tall.”
“Maybe some of Warrick’s blood soaked into the laces,” Matthew said. “How deep was the snow that night?”
“Deep. I was up to my knees.” She shivered.
“There’s always a chance,” Matthew said, and he shut the door. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“It’s almost time for me to get up anyway,” Angela said.
“Just for a little while.” He led her to the bed, letting her become his blanket.
“What do I say when Detective Novak asks me about the boots?” Angela asked.
“Tell the truth,” Matthew whispered. “Tell her you just remembered.”
“She won’t believe that, Matthew,” Angela said.
“She’ll have to,” Matthew said.
“I don’t think she believed a word I said,” Angela said.
He rubbed her back. “It’s in her job description to be suspicious of everything. She’ll believe you.” Eventually.
Angela sighed. “I hope to God I don’t have to testify.”
“Why?” Matthew asked.
“Why? Because I’m crazy, Matthew.” She held him more tightly. “I scrub a clean floor with bleach. I must have scrubbed that floor five hundred times. I avoid a room for four years for no reason, and now I know it’s because of some boots. I don’t go outside. I have more locks on my doors than most prisons do.”
He held her face in his hands. “That’s not crazy. You’re protecting yourself from something you don’t want to relive. That’s nowhere near crazy. That’s completely sane.”
“Detective Novak thinks I’m crazy.” She shrugged off the covers. “I’m getting up.”
“Now that’s crazy,” Matthew said. “You just got warmed up.”
“I smell like bleach,” Angela said. “And it’s almost four o’clock. I need my routines.”
Matthew squeezed her hips. “What about this routine?”
“I have to warm up the ovens,” she whispered.
“That’s what I’m trying to do,” he whispered.
Angela smiled. “And I appreciate it. I do.” She slid out of the covers and stood.
“Could I help you?” Matthew asked.
“Do what?” Angela said.
“Get that bleach smell off you.” He squeezed her booty.
Angela sighed.
“I’ll soap myself up and let you use me as your washcloth,” Matthew said.
“No thank you,” Angela said.
She went into the bathroom and turned on the shower.
Matthew lay back on the bed. I’d let her be my washcloth. Her soft, silken skin rubbing on me would definitely wake me up. He got up and checked the bathroom door. Locked. He sighed. God, help us get through this day.
It might be a hard one.
Chapter 33
Two hours later, the crime techs arrived at the back door of the shop and immediately went to work, photographing the stairway and taking samples from the landing, the back stairs, the stairway walls, and both doorframes, all out of sight of any customers or Angela on her stool at the counter. They even pried up several boards on the landing to swab underneath.
Matthew beckoned Detective Novak to him after the floorboards were back in place. “Angela remembered something else last night.”
“What?” Novak asked.
“They’re upstairs,” he said. “And bring someone with a camera.”
“What’s upstairs?” Novak asked.
“You’ll see.” He led her to Angela’s parents’ door.
“What’s in there?” Novak asked.
“Evidence, I hope.” Matthew opened the door. “First, take pictures of where my feet have been.” He squatted and pointed. “I’m the only person who’s been in this room in four years. Angela has avoided this room since the night of the attack.”
The tech took several shots of Matthew’s footprints.
“What evidence is in here, McConnell?” Novak asked.
“In the closet are the boots Angela was wearing that night,” he said. “She wasn’t wearing shoes. She was wearing her daddy’s boots.”
“She’s sure?” Novak asked.
“Yes,” Matthew said. “She threw out some shoes she had in the corner down there because they had his blood on them. She had been shoveling snow and wore the boots all day.”
The techs put on booties and latex gloves before entering, taking pictures as they moved carefully toward the closet. While one opened the closet door, the other took pictures while another scanned the carpet behind them.
“They should be green,” Matthew said.
“They’re here,” a tech said.
The other tech took several more close-ups of the boots and then bagged and sealed them.
A tech brought the boots to Novak.
“They fit her?” Novak asked.
“I’m sure she clunked around in them,” Matthew said. “They belonged to her father.”
“Get them analyzed,” Novak said to the techs, and they left the apartment.
Matthew’s phone buzzed. He heard the standard computerized jail recording and accepted the
call. Jade sure is persistent. “This is Matthew McConnell. How may I help you?”
“You da coffeehouse lawyer dat lives at Smith’s Sweet Treats on Driggs, right?” asked a gravelly voice.
That’s definitely not Jade. “I do business at Smith’s Sweet Treats, yes. Who is this, and how can I—”
“Business,” the man interrupted. “Right. Third booth. You sure do like your pastries and turnovers. You oughta lay off the coffee. It’ll rot your stomach.”
Someone has been watching me. “How may I help you?”
“How’s your girlfriend doing?” the man asked. “Haven’t seen her go outside much in a coupla years. Four years, right? She afraid of her own shadow or what?”
Warrick. Matthew motioned Novak into the bedroom and turned on the speaker. “Please state your business, Mr. Warrick.”
“You recognized me,” Warrick said. “Yeah, dey tell me you’re real sharp.”
Novak nodded, checked her watch, and began taking notes
“It was stupid of you to give up all dat money with Schwartz, Yevgeny, and Ginsberg, but to each his own,” Warrick said. “I also hear you and Angie are shacking up. What are you, her guard dog?”
“State your business, Mr. Warrick,” Matthew said through gritted teeth.
“Have da techies left yet?” Warrick asked. “I’ll bet dey haven’t. Dey ain’t gonna find nothing. My date with Angie was a long time ago.”
Warrick admits he was here. What a fool! “It wasn’t a date, Mr. Warrick. You broke in and attacked her.”
“Angie is a little firecracker,” Warrick said with a low laugh. “She liked it rough, the rougher the better. But you should know dat, right? I heard you shouting up a storm da other night.”
The footprints in the snow.
Warrick came here after the storm, and he was down there the first night I was up here in the apartment. He wrote a note on Novak’s notepad: “He was in alley during/after storm.”
“You know, it’s kinda funny,” Warrick said. “I coulda got her for assault. My poor nose.”
“Which she broke after you assaulted her,” Matthew said.
“Angie told you she invited me in, right?” Warrick asked.
Not in a million years. “You broke a window to get inside, Mr. Warrick.”
“I don’t remember it dat way,” Warrick said. “I remember her opening da door for me with a big smile on her face, kinda like she used to do for you every morning before you two started playing house.”
He’s been spying on us for weeks! “What do you want, Mr. Warrick?”
“Angie sure walks fast, don’t she?” Warrick asked. “I’ve had trouble keeping up.”
And he’s been following us. Angela was right to be paranoid.
“I just wanted to talk to you about our date,” Warrick said. “Yeah, it was some date. We started out okay. Angie dropped dem panties in a flash. Angie got a nice ass, don’t she? Nice and round and brown. But den she changed her mind and somehow da window got broke. I’m pretty sure she broke it with her hand. And, man, did she want me, oh yeah, she wanted me, and den . . . she didn’t. Angie knew she couldn’t handle me. There she was, open for business, if you get my drift, and den suddenly she was closed for da night.”
I’m getting tired of this bullshit! “You’re going to get life,” Matthew said, “and I hope they put you in with the general population.”
“You know I won’t get life, Matty-boy,” Warrick said. “I may get a few years, three or four tops, and my lawyer will make sure I’m in protective custody da entire time. I can do four years standing on my head. Bet Angie won’t even be able to go outside for the next ten years.” Warrick laughed. “I’ll be out before she will!”
Matthew bit back a string of curses. “You’re out of your mind.”
“Angie’s the one seeing that doctor, not me,” Warrick said. “At first I thought he was her boyfriend, but he’s too old for her. He got some cool snowshoes, though. I gotta get me some of dem. It’d make it easier to cover my tracks.”
Warrick has been everywhere and watching everybody. He’s beyond obsessed with Angela. “You’re insane.”
“Nah,” Warrick said. “We thought about using dat defense, but I won’t need it. Filardi says it’s important da jury sees me as an ordinary, normal guy. Filardi says I’m da victim in all dis.” Warrick laughed. “Dat’s right, I’m da victim. The DA needed a scapegoat, so dey arrested me. Filardi says we’re gonna embarrass a lot of people. I can’t wait for dat to happen. Hey, my time’s almost up. In more ways dan one. You know Filardi is gonna get my bail reduced, and I’ll be out looking for a good cup of Angela’s coffee in no time.”
I wouldn’t mind him showing up here. Angela has lots of weapons now, and I’m one of them. “You do that. I’ll be here.”
“You ain’t nothing, Matty-boy,” Warrick said.
“Test me,” Matthew said.
Novak shook her head.
Matthew turned away from her. “I look forward to meeting you face-to-face, or are you too much of a coward? You like hiding in alleys and preying on defenseless women. Really, Warrick. Calling you a pussy would be a compliment.”
“It’s been real good talking with you, Matthew. Dat’s what she calls you, right? Matthew. Oh, Matthew. Say hello to Angie for me. You know, if you weren’t banging the hell out of Angie, I mighta asked you to be my lawyer.”
“I would never represent you, Robbie,” Matthew said.
“Hey, anything can be arranged, right?” Warrick said. “I think I’ll tell this to Filardi, see if he can get you to join my defense team. Gotta go. Oh yeah, one more thing. Ask Angie what she said to me dat night. She was sure talking up a storm. Get it? A snowstorm outside, and your little girlfriend couldn’t stop talking up a storm to me. ‘Give me what you got, big boy,’ Angie said. ‘Don’t keep me waiting all night.’ ”
Click.
Matthew turned to Novak. “She would never have said that.”
Novak checked her watch and wrote down the time. “We’ll have to ask her.”
“You believe him?” Matthew asked.
“It adds to his admission that he was here that night,” Novak said. “If she corroborates what he said she said, then—”
“She didn’t say it,” Matthew interrupted.
“We still have to ask her.” She closed her notepad. “What I can’t understand is why Warrick would call you.”
“To taunt me,” Matthew said. “That’s how he gets off.”
“Or to put doubt in your mind in case you were called to testify,” Novak said.
“I have no doubts,” Matthew said. “But why would I ever be called? I wasn’t there, right?”
“If this PTSD thing is for real,” Novak said, “you could be called—”
“It is real,” Matthew interrupted. “And Dr. Penn would testify to that, not me.”
“You don’t want to help her?” Novak asked.
“Of course I do,” Matthew said. “I could talk about the phone call I just got from Warrick.”
Novak pocketed her notepad. “And you wouldn’t even have to do that. We record all inmate calls. All we have to do is play it in court. And if we find his blood or DNA anywhere, especially on those boots, we’ve got him.”
Or do we? Warrick had to know the call was being taped. I’ll bet Filardi told him to call me so he could establish the idea of a date. “His DNA or blood will only prove Angela busted his nose or that he prematurely ejaculated. It won’t prove he attacked her. And Filardi will make everything sound consensual. It’s ultimately Warrick’s word against Angela’s.”
“We have evidence from the other attacks,” Novak said. “We have eyewitnesses. We have a pattern.”
“But you have no evidence that Angela didn’t invite Warrick inside the shop and later changed her mind,” Matthew said.
“Whose side are you on, McConnell?” Novak asked.
“Yours and Angela’s, of course, but even a rookie public defender could po
ke holes in Angela’s story,” Matthew said.
“We might even have evidence outside waiting to be found right now.” She walked to the window. “The techs are in the alley now.”
“What could they find?” Matthew asked. “It’s been weeks since the blizzard.”
“Warrick chain-smokes,” Novak said. “Pall Malls exclusively. We might get lucky and find one of his cigarette butts.”
“And what will that prove?” Matthew asked. “That he’s a peeping Tom?”
Novak shrugged. “Juries don’t like peeping Tom’s, do they? Or stalkers. Let’s go talk to Angela again.”
Matthew blocked the doorway. “She had a rough night. Could you talk to her some other time?”
“I have other cases I’m working, McConnell,” Novak said. “How rough a night did she have?”
“She was cleaning the landing with bleach early this morning,” Matthew said. “It’s part of her routine. It keeps her sane. She says she can still see the blood.”
Novak frowned. “What is she trying to hide? I’m beginning to think that maybe something more happened on that back stairway than she’s telling us.”
“I believe what she told me.” I have to. That belief keeps me sane.
“McConnell, I’ve been doing this a long time,” Novak said. “Rape victims don’t always tell the whole truth, to protect their reputations. It’s still possible she was raped, and from what we know of these recent attacks, she might be the only woman Warrick ever raped. We need her testimony to be solid.”
I don’t want to think about it. “Angela says she wasn’t raped. That’s enough for me.”
“She’s obviously not one hundred percent sure what happened that night,” Novak said. “She was sure she threw out shoes but forgot she was wearing boots too big for her on one of the snowiest days in the history of New York City. If she forgot that key point, she may be blocking out—”
“Stop, just stop,” Matthew interrupted. “She’s the victim. Don’t forget that. Angela is the victim.”
“I know that,” Novak said. “But Filardi wouldn’t dream of letting her be the victim on the stand, would he?”
Matthew sighed. “No. He’d probably make her the aggressor.” He’d torture her.
“We have to ask her what she said to Warrick that night,” Novak said.
