by Walter Marks
Jericho edges toward Ramos. “Give me the baby.”
The drug dealer backs away.
“Come on, Luis. It’s for the best.”
“Stay away from me.”
Jericho takes a step closer.
“Don’t do that,” Ramos shouts and retreats in panic. He backs into a low windowsill and topples backward; in an instant he and the baby are gone.
“Rosario,” the mother screams. “Ay, mi niña, no ...”
The two detectives dash down the three flights of stairs and out into the street. A crowd is gathering. Ramos is a crumpled mess on the pavement, dead in a pool of blood. The baby girl is impaled on an iron fence in front of the building. Her body is face-up with a spike protruding from her navel. Her arms and legs move slowly for a while, then stop.
Jericho hears the child’s mother whimpering, then she lets out a long agonized wail of grief.
And it hits him — Oh, Jesus. That little girl would still be alive if I hadn’t taken one step too many!
Jericho cried out in his sleep — “One step too many!
One step...”
He awoke and sat up.
Susannah spoke groggily. “Jericho, what is it? You all right?”
“...Yeah. Just a bad dream.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Sometimes it’s good to talk about bad stuff.”
He wanted to. When it happened it was too painful. He never brought it up with his wife. Even he and his partner didn’t discuss it — it was an unspoken thing; let sleeping dogs lie. In their reports they called it an accident. Rosario’s mother was interviewed but she was incoherent.
“I’m sorry, Susannah,” Jericho said. “I — it was nothing, just a dream. Go back to sleep.”
He waited till he heard Susannah’s even breathing. Then, careful not to disturb her, he got up.
When the first daylight filtered into the bedroom, Susannah woke and saw Jericho wasn’t there. She put on her robe and went to find him.
Jericho was lying in a lounger out on the deck, watching the sunrise over the Atlantic. He had his clothes on, though his feet were bare.
“Good morning,” she said, caressing his head.
“Hi, beautiful.”
“Couldn’t sleep?”
“Too much excitement, I guess.”
She sat down beside him. For a while they watched the sunrise in silence.
There were dense clouds on the horizon, obscuring the sun. But its rays were gradually lightening the sky, imparting a pink glow to the feathery clouds that floated high above the sea.
“Susannah,” Jericho said, “last night — ”
“Yes?”
“You were a wonder.”
“Takes one to know one.”
He took her hand. “Maybe next time you’ll let me go all the way.”
“What kind of a girl do you think I am?”
“The best.”
He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
“Susannah — I won’t be able to see you for a while,” he said.
She looked at him questioningly.
“See, when a cop shoots someone it sets in motion a whole bunch of procedures. Technically, I’m now a suspect in a homicide. Internal Affairs will investigate the shooting, and so will the DA. Then the case’ll be presented to a grand jury, and they’ll decide whether it was justifiable homicide.”
“But you were saving my life,” she said. “And the guy you shot was a notorious assassin. What could be more justifiable than that?”
“If this happened in my old precinct, it would be cleared up in no time,” Jericho said. “Sadly, police shootings are so common in East Harlem they’re just not as rigid about it. But East Hampton is a different deal. The Chief made it clear to me — the big money residents of Georgica and Further Lane came out here for peace and quiet. They don’t like the idea of police violence of any kind. And they can raise quite a stink. So we have to go by the letter of the law.”
“That’s so unfair. You’re a hero.”
“It’ll be fine,” Jericho said. “You’re the only eyewitness, and I’m sure you told Chief Manos exactly what happened.”
“I did.”
“But until the matter is adjudicated, I’m assigned ‘no contact’ status, which means I’ve gotta stay in the station house.”
“Can you still work on the case?”
“Yeah. But only from my desk. I should be returned to active duty in a week or so. In the meantime, any contact with you would compromise your status as a credible witness. Internal Affairs will interview me today, and after that they could be nosing around anywhere, any time.”
“I understand.”
“I’m sorry, Susannah. I should’ve told you all this last night, before I — ”
“I wouldn’t have cared,” she said, reaching for his hand.
They were silent for a few moments.
The Susannah spoke. “Can I ask you something...about the, uh, investigation?”
“You’re not supposed to, but...okay.”
“Healey’s signature on the will,” Susannah said. “Is it a problem that it’s a fax, not the original?”.
“Not for our purposes,” Jericho explained. ”We just want to establish high probability.”
“Then you can arrest Healey?”
“No, no. Even if the signatures match, that wouldn’t be enough. If that’s our only evidence, the DA would say forget it. Even if he got an indictment, no jury would convict if all we’ve got is two signatures.”
“But he had a motive. Remember — if I’m dead, he’s the sole heir of my husband’s estate, which is quite a lot of money.”
Jericho looked thoughtful for a moment.
“That’s a solid motive,” he said. “But I’m afraid it’s still not a strong case. Murder-for-hire cases are difficult. For one thing, the person doing the hiring always has an alibi for when the killing goes down. We’ll have to establish Healey’s contact with the hitman, maybe find an eyewitness, check phone records, e-mails.”
Oh, God. Not e-mails, she thought. ‘Anonymail cooperates with law enforcement’.
“But a pro like Mort covers his tracks,” Jericho went on. “Like I said, I’m surprised that phone number was in his pocket.”
“Okay,” she said. “But, what if you brought Healey into the station house, y’know, for questioning? How would he explain it?”
“I doubt he’d come in.”
“But doesn’t he have to?”
“Susannah, that’s a common misconception. You can’t bring an unwilling person in for questioning. And if you go to their house to interview them, they can slam the door in your face. Or hang up on you when you try to phone. Fact is, the police can’t force someone to answer questions under any circumstances. If you arrest them, they have their Miranda right to remain silent. And if you take them to trial, they have the Constitutional right not to testify. Healey is an attorney. He of all people would know that.”
“Jericho, I’m scared,” Susannah said. “What if Healey tries to have me killed again?”
“That’s not likely.”
“But it’s possible.”
“Well, remember, at this point we don’t have proof that he did hire Mort. But assuming he did, we can prevent him from trying it again.”
“How?”
“I’ll make sure he knows about the business card. That’ll certainly deter him.”
“How can you do that?”
“We’ll be sending men into the city to interview him, probably today.”
“But you said he could refuse to talk.”
“He’d refuse to come out here to the station house,” Jericho said. “But if we send our men to his office to speak with him, he’ll probably act real cooperative, like he has nothing to hide. He’ll answer a few questions, and establish an alibi. Then they’ll show him a photocopy of his business card and ask why it was found on the hitman’s b
ody. He’ll say ‘I have no idea’ and then refer us to a lawyer.”
“What if he won’t look at the card?”
“I’ll e-mail him a JPG of it and request an explanation.”
“That sounds good, but still...”
“Susannah,” Jericho said with intensity, “Once Healey knows he’s under suspicion, he won’t dare to harm you. I promise — I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“When you say it, I believe it,” she said. “Now it would be good if you kissed me.”
He grabbed her and did an excellent job of it. Then he stood up.
“Well,” he said, “I better get home. I need a shower before work.”
“You can shower here.”
“I’d like to change clothes too.”
“Want some coffee before you leave?”
“No, that’s okay. What’ve you got on for today?”
“Nothing much. I’m teaching at noon.”
“Kiss Katie for me. I’ll try to call you later — in an unofficial capacity.”
She nodded.
“You’ve got my card, don’t you?” Jericho asked.
“Yes.”
“My cell’s always on, so you can reach me any time.”
“Thanks,” she said. ”Can I give you something to make sure you remember last night?”
“Sure.”
Susannah reached in her robe pocket and pulled out Jericho’s damp sweat socks. Jericho laughed and stuffed them in his pocket.
Outside on the porch, Susannah watched as Jericho put on his still rain-soaked sneakers. Then he grabbed his umbrella and started walking toward his car. His Topsiders squished with every step.
Susannah giggled at the sound. Then she had a distressing thought — I won’t be seeing him for a week or so. I miss him already.
Jericho stopped, looked up at the sandy hill in front of the house and saw Mort’s wooden easel. It was on its side, having been toppled over in the night’s rainstorm.
That idiot Karlin screwed up again, he thought. He was supposed to bring in that stuff.
Irritated, Jericho climbed the hill, intending to do it himself. When he got to the top, he realized he couldn’t because he wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place. Well, he could leave them be — the easel and stool were listed on the evidence manifest, and Montrose, the property clerk, would notice those items were missing and send somebody to get them.
He crossed over to the easel, curious to look at the painting. The rain had washed the paper on the watercolor block clean, except for some streaks of pale green and blue.
As Jericho descended the hill, he noticed a flash of color under a clump of beach grass. He went over and kneeled down. It was a piece of red, orange, and blue cellophane wrapper with a picture of a duck wearing a chef’s hat. There was printing on it — the letters R-I-N-G.
Drake’s Ring Dings, he thought. Like the snacks we found in Jessie Russell’s Hyundai.
WTF?
He carefully wrapped the cake wrapper in his handkerchief to preserve fingerprints, and put it in his pocket.
CHAPTER 41
Jericho’s afternoon meeting with the Internal Affairs officer went well. Harburg had no problem with Jericho’s action; Mrs. Cascadden’s statement made it clear he’d had no choice but to shoot to kill. Harburg even congratulated Jericho, calling him Dead-eye for outdrawing a famous hitman.
Later, Jericho attended a meeting in the Chief’s office with Officers Grenci and Thompson.
“Gentlemen,” Chief Manos said, “Detective Jericho here will be heading up the hitman investigation. He’s on desk duty for a while, so keep him informed at all times. Now, this is a pretty big case for a small department like ours, but I know if we all put our pedal to the metal we’re gonna make East Hampton proud of us. Right?”
Everybody grunted in assent.
“All right, Grenci,” the Chief said to his eager-beaver subordinate, “today you and Thompson will go into the city and interview Healey at his office. Don’t tell him he’s a suspect — you just want to know if he has any idea who’d want to kill Mrs. Cascadden. Chances are you’ll get nothing from him, but probe, probe, ya never know. And while you’re there, get his fingerprints so we can check ‘em against whatever’s on the business card.”
“How are we supposed get his prints?” Grenci asked. “I mean — till we get a warrant, we can’t take anything from his office. Right?”
“Just hand Healey your ID wallet,” Manos said, winking at Jericho. “Make sure he grabs it by the plastic photo window. Plastic retains a good sample.”
“Cool,” Grenci said.
Waste of time, Chief, thought Jericho. We already have matching signatures. By tomorrow you’ll have a search warrant from Judge Rakoff. You’ll be confiscating his computers, which will have his prints all over them, so why bother with the wallet bit?
Jericho kept his mouth shut.
“Jericho,” Manos said. “since you’re grounded, why don’t you check the phone companies and get hold of Healey’s telephone records?”
Jericho hated that he couldn’t interview Healey himself, but there was nothing he could do about it.
Oh, and Chief, he thought, if I’m in charge of this investigation, how come you’re giving all the orders? I’m sorry to tell you this, Dominick — but you’re in way over your head.
Jericho went to his office. To protect Susannah, he had to make sure Healey knew he was under suspicion. On his computer, Jericho accessed NY State Unified Court System. In Attorney Search he entered H. Quinn Healey. This yielded Healey’s contact information, including his fax number and e-mail address.
He scanned Healey’s business card, saved it as a JPG and e-mailed it to the lawyer, along with a request for an explanation from Detective Jericho, East Hampton Town Police.
Then, just to be extra sure, he sent the same thing to Healey by fax.
As he finished at the fax machine, Officer Karlin passed by. Jericho grabbed him by the arm.
“You fucked up, Karlin. Sergeant Montrose called me from the evidence room this morning. He says the hitman’s easel and stool are missing. You were supposed to bring them in yesterday.
“Oh, Jeez,” Karlin said. “I’ll go back and get them right now. Jericho, I sincerely apologize. I know I messed up. And listen, if there’s anything I can do to help you, just say the word. I really admire your detective work, and I know I could learn a lot from you.”
“Karlin, working with you is a real adventure.”
Karlin left, thinking — Detective Jericho digs me. We could be, like, a team.
Jericho returned to the pile of paperwork on his desk. But he couldn’t concentrate; his mind was on overload. And the incompetence around him made things worse.
He took the Ring Ding wrapper out of his pocket.
What does this mean? he asked himself. Unless the hitman also ate Ring Dings, this wrapper places Jessie Russell up on Susannah’s hill at some point. Maybe he was spying on her, trying to get some nude pictures.
But Russell’s MO was to take photos from a plane. Why would he have changed it? If he did get pictures of Susannah, had he tried to blackmail her? Why would she pay? Hold on, there were no nude pictures or negatives of Susannah at Jessie’s place, so blackmail is unlikely.
Why am I worried about the Jessie Russell case? That’s the responsibility of the State Police. But if it involves Susannah, I’m damn well making it my responsibility!
Jesus, I’m running around in circles, getting nowhere.
Jericho closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.
He thought of his old partner, Mickey “Mouse” Davis. Miss you, dude, he thought. I could sure use a little feedback.
When they were stymied on a case, Mouse used to say, “Let’s erase our minds like a blackboard, then look at the clean slate. And remember — what’s unlikely is still possible.”
Okay, he reasoned, let’s look at Jessie Russell. I’m assuming he’s dead, but what if he’s
not? What if he faked his death? Maybe he found out the Shinnecocks were going to kill him for revenge, or they came after him and he got away. Then, so he’d be free of them, he faked his drowning death at the Montauk beach. He left his car on the beach and then walked the six miles to town and caught an early train into the city. It’s complicated, but it’s possible.
“What else?” Mouse would have asked, “Have we checked out every lead?”
No. Not the Ring Ding wrapper, Jericho thought. It suggests some connection between Jessie Russell and Susannah. What could it be? I don’t know, but I need to ask her about it. I can’t go out to her house. She’ll have to come in to the precinct house.
He felt uncomfortable about calling Susannah, so he asked the Chief’s secretary to do it.
“Oh, and Ada,” Jericho said. “please bring me the Jessie Russell file.”
CHAPTER 42
Susannah came to Jericho’s office late that afternoon.
“Please sit down, Susannah,” he said with formality when she entered. She was wearing her usual men’s shirt over jeans, but her hair was tied up in a chignon. He’d never seen it like that. She always looks so damn beautiful.
“It’s... really nice to see you,” he said, after clearing his throat.
“This is weird.”
“I know.”
There was an awkward pause.
“Sorry it has to be in an official capacity,” Jericho said. “But there’s something I have to ask you.”
“What?”
“Well, I’ve been investigating another drowning death that happened three days after your husband died. The victim’s name was Jessie Russell. Does that name mean anything to you?”
“No, should it?” she responded.
As she spoke, Susannah reached up and touched the side of her nose. Jericho recognized the classic “Pinocchio Tell”, a sign that a person is lying. He also knew it was far from foolproof.
“Well, there’s some indication that he knew you,” he said. “Or at least had an interest in you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We have physical evidence suggesting he was up on the hill next to your house, the same hill where the hitman set up his easel.”
