by Con Lehane
“It must be very important.” A chilly edge to her voice caught Ambler by surprise.
“It is important.” She waited for him to say more, heightening his concern. He didn’t want to tell her over the phone. “Something has come to light about your brother.”
“I see.” Her tone grew frostier.
“This is something from his past you may or may not know about.”
“I’m not sure I want to speak with you about my brother.”
Ambler waited, with a sinking feeling, for her to say more. When she didn’t, he said, “May I ask why?”
“Simon said you were trying to prove he killed Sandi. You never told me that. He said your bartender friend raped Sandi and held her against her will. He said you were an experienced crime investigator and you weren’t telling me the truth.”
“And you believed him?”
“I don’t know who to believe, so I’m being careful around both of you.” Her voice shook.
Ambler had no choice. He told her he had a private investigator’s report on Simon that she needed to see.
“Does it say my brother killed Sandi?” It was an accusation not a question.
“It doesn’t.” Ambler was losing her. He’d underestimated Simon again. “The private investigator was the man murdered in Sandra’s hotel room in New York. His name was Ted Doyle.”
Andrea silence lasted a long time. “God. I don’t know what to think. How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”
“I’ll come there and show you the report and something Jayne Galloway wrote in her journal.” He paused not sure if he should go on. But he did. “I’m afraid for Carolyn.”
“So am I,” Andrea said in a small voice after a long pause. “I guess I’m afraid for Simon, too … what I might find out about him.”
Ambler fought back the urge to press her.
“Can you bring me those things tonight? Carolyn’s with Simon at my mother’s farm in Kent. They’ll be back tomorrow morning. My husband is traveling. He’ll be back tomorrow also. I’d like to do this as soon as possible.”
Ambler gave his spare apartment key to Adele so she could wait for Johnny and was on the next train to Greenwich.
Chapter 34
Mike Cosgrove was making another drive to the suburbs. He felt like a commuter and wondered what his life would have been like if he’d gotten a normal job, raised a family, and really did commute to the city each morning from the suburbs. His digestion would be better for one thing, and his blood pressure.
What he didn’t like was the chance he was taking. A third interview with a suspect, under the guise of clearing up something, would put the suspect on guard. On the one hand, sometimes it was good to let a suspect know you were on to him. It increased his panic and the likelihood of making a mistake. Other times, it blew up in your face. That raising suspicions this time might put a child at risk gave Cosgrove pause. He could let Dean know he’d rip his heart out with his bare hands if he did anything to the kid. For a moment, he let himself think that Dean wouldn’t follow through on the threat, yet he’d seen too much incomprehensible evil in his years on the job to buy that.
For a few more miles, he thought about hunches. He didn’t like them unless something substantial led to the hunch. Simon Dean hated McNulty the bartender, saw him as the ruination of his wife. What slipped out the last time was that Dean hated his wife, too, hated her and the bartender separately and jointly.
Cosgrove hadn’t taken notes at the last interview; the observation came to him when he wrote his notes later and from something McNulty said later on. He wasn’t sure Dean recognized he’d given away that he hated her. Dean might not even know he hated his wife. Most times when Cosgrove caught a suspect’s slipup, it was while questioning him. Usually, the suspect caught it, too, either from Cosgrove’s reaction or from hearing what he said out loud.
Simon Dean was a calculating guy. Some people are like that, careful thinkers, pick their words, say as little as possible. Someone with something to hide is always careful, aware when talking to a cop that they could give something away. The last time he questioned Dean, Dean’s anger got the best of his caution when he talked about McNulty and his wife Sandra having a past together. It was more than anger. Simon Dean’s long-simmering anger had festered into hatred. It snuck up on him when Dean pictured his wife and McNulty together.
Dean’s other slip, if it was a slip, was that he didn’t mention the phone calls with his wife shortly before she was murdered until Cosgrove brought them up. He said he’d forgotten. Questionable that he wouldn’t remember the last time he spoke with his wife before she was murdered. A possibility Cosgrove kept in mind was that Dean’s lies—if they were lies—were calculated to implicate the bartender. He wanted the murder rap hung on McNulty and would manufacture evidence to make sure the bartender didn’t walk. This could be because Dean had convinced himself McNulty was guilty. It would also be the case if Dean knew McNulty didn’t kill his wife and wanted to set him up for the rap.
The lieutenant Cosgrove met with when he got to Greenwich whose name was Murphy, had followed Sandra Dean’s murder. He knew of Simon Dean because they attended the same church, where Dean was a lector. Cosgrove, a Catholic himself, didn’t remember what a lector was. He might if he went to Mass more than once or twice a year. He didn’t want to show his ignorance, so he sort of lowered his brow to look knowledgeable. The lieutenant remembered the murder in the hotel room in the city also, Cosgrove’s case.
“When his wife was murdered, we got notice from Stamford. I went to notify Simon myself. That’s about it. I saw him at Mass the following Sunday with his daughter. I told him I was sorry for his loss. I don’t think he knew who I was.”
Cosgrove told Murphy about Ted Doyle’s murder and that he’d come back to clear up some things with Dean. The lieutenant didn’t press him but his expression changed enough—furrowed brow, a hardness in his eyes that wasn’t there before—to suggest he understood that Cosgrove considered Dean a suspect. Cosgrove would have told him more if he’d asked but didn’t want to throw accusations around if he didn’t have to. He also told Murphy about the private detective’s report, and that Ted Doyle had done the investigation and written the report. The lieutenant wasn’t aware of any allegations against Simon Dean.
“Anything bother you about Dean’s reactions when you told him of his wife’s death?” Cosgrove asked. Good cops paid attention to how people, especially spouses, reacted to news of a murder.
Murphy took a moment to answer. “I was thinking about that, well, not directly thinking it. You know how you let ideas run through your head sometimes without making a judgment about them? We don’t have a lot of homicides here. Some years none. My last one was four years ago. The year before that I had two.”
Cosgrove didn’t know where he was going with this but could wait to find out.
“Dr. Dean called the police on her husband once a couple of years ago.” Murphy glanced behind him and behind Cosgrove. “This is off the record. We’re a small town, a small police force. Everybody knows everybody’s business, even if officially we don’t know it. She and Mr. Dean had disagreed about disciplining their daughter. She inquired about a law, CGS 53-21, felony risk of injury to a minor.
“It was pretty smart of her to know about the law. It has to do with physical or mental abuse of a child, including spanking, if it’s excessive, by a parent. The officer explained the law, and she passed the explanation along to her husband while she was still on the phone with the officer, and then hung up.
“I knew Simon Dean from seeing him at church. I was raised to go to Mass on Sunday. My folks live in town and go to church every Sunday. It’s old fashioned; still, I go most Sundays with my wife and kids. After the phone call, I’d watch him. He was old fashioned, too, in a different way, that hellfire and brimstone way you see in the movies, the stern preacher who keeps his wife in sackcloth and ashes. Stiff. Suit and tie. No emotion in his readings. No emotion wi
th his wife and daughter. A cold and joyless family. I didn’t like him.
“When I notified him of his wife’s death, he took the news the same way, cold, no emotion. He might be a stiff upper lip guy. He might not show emotion to a stranger. But when I told him about his wife, I’d swear he didn’t care.
“So something bothered me about him at the time, too.… In fact, every time I saw him, he bothered me. He thought he was better than everyone else, disapproved of everyone. When I worked juvenile, I saw too many kids with that kind of superior-acting, holier-than-thou, super-strict father get themselves into terrible messes. That doesn’t prove anything. If you want me in on the interview, I’d do it. You want me to question neighbors, her friends, his friends, people around town, see what I come up with, I can do that, too.”
Cosgrove met Murphy’s gaze. He believed he saw an honest man and not for the first time in his life was glad he’d found an ally when he needed one. He told Murphy the rest of the story, including his hunch about the things that didn’t add up and Dean’s threat against his daughter.
“If there’s going to be an arrest,” Cosgrove said, “I’ll get a warrant and you can do it. I’m hoping we’re not dealing with a homicidal maniac. I also might be wrong. He may be a broken-hearted, widowed guy with a daughter to raise, and I’m adding to his misery.
“One more thing,” Cosgrove said as he was getting ready to leave. They’d decided Cosgrove would do the interview alone so as not to spook Dean. Murphy would follow Cosgrove into the Greenwich backcountry and arrange for backup if needed. The final thing Cosgrove told him was Ambler and Adele’s plan for Andrea Eagan to take Carolyn for the afternoon.
Murphy didn’t understand the role Ambler and Adele played in the operation. He asked a second time after Cosgrove’s halfhearted attempt to explain. After the second failed explanation, Murphy let it go.
“I’m hoping they don’t show up here in town, that they call Andrea and make up some reason she needs to take Carolyn,” Cosgrove said. “But you never know.”
“Friends of the suspect?” Murphy tried again.
“It’s more than that. They’re tangled up with the family. The mother donated her papers to the library.” He paused. “She might have been murdered, too.… Believe me, you don’t want me to try to explain all that to you now. At least the bartender’s in jail or he’d be here mucking up the works, too.”
“The accused?”
“They became part of my life a while back. I can’t get rid of them. It’s a curse.” Cosgrove sighed heavily.
His cell phone rang.
“Andrea called me this morning.” It was Ambler and his voice was ragged. “Simon got home and discovered Sandra’s laptop was missing—”
“Slow down,” Cosgrove cut him off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ray explained he’d gone to Greenwich last night after all to show Ted Doyle’s report on Dean to Andrea. She’d finally believed Ray and the private eye report and Ray persuaded her to get Sandra Dean’s laptop from her brother’s house while he was away—one questionable move compounded with another questionable move Cosgrove could have told them.
“Andrea told him she borrowed the laptop to get some photos. He didn’t believe her. He knows he’s being investigated. He asked her to bring the laptop back. Now, she’s at his house. Before he found out about the laptop, she’d arranged to pick up Carolyn for the day. When she got there, she told him she forgot the laptop. He wouldn’t let Carolyn leave with her. Andrea’s afraid to leave without the child. She said she knows Simon has guns in the house.”
“Where are you?”
“Adele and I are on a train leaving Grand Central. We’re bringing the laptop to Dean to try to trade it to get Andrea and Carolyn out of there.”
Cosgrove suppressed a groan. “You can’t—”
“Wait,” Ray said. “There’s more. Adele and I found an email exchange between Sandra and her mother about Ted Doyle. They arranged for Doyle to meet Sandra in the city. Sandra told her mother she would be registered at the Commodore as Shannon Darling.” Ray’s voice rose for emphasis. “Simon could have seen those emails. That’s why he wants the laptop—”
Cosgrove interrupted again. “If he knew the emails were there, he would have erased them.”
Ray was silent a long moment.
“This is important.” Cosgrove held the floor. “When you get to Greenwich, go to a coffee shop or someplace and wait for me to call you. If it makes sense to string Dean along with the laptop, I’ll call you. Don’t go to Dean’s house. I’m with the Greenwich police. I’ll have them stop you if you try.”
“Okay. Okay. What do I tell Andrea? Should she and Carolyn try to get out?”
“I understand. It’s hard on you. It’s hard on her.” He softened his voice. “She needs to sit tight. We have a couple of things to try, and we have people who handle hostage situations. They know what to do better than I do … and better than you do.”
“A hostage situation?” Ray’s voice shook.
When Cosgrove ended the call with Ray, he briefed Lieutenant Murphy and then called his homicide chief. He told him where he was and what had happened and asked him to send a team to the hotel where Ted Doyle was murdered with a photo of Simon Dean. He also asked that someone check the crime scene report from the Doyle murder for unmatched fingerprints and DNA samples. He asked Murphy to ask the Stamford police to do the same thing on their end for the crime scene report from Sandra Dean’s murder.
Murphy activated the department’s special response unit and called in the hostage negotiating team.
“If we can place Simon Dean at either of the murder locations, we’ll get a warrant,” Cosgrove said.
“Do we take over now or wait for the warrant?” Murphy was ready to go.
Cosgrove said he wanted to follow the plan they’d talked about. “It’s remotely possible he’s not a murderer.” Cosgrove planned to visit Dean and tell him he had some things he wanted to clear up. Simon might believe him. He was arrogant enough to think he could outsmart a dumb cop.
“Then there’d be a good guy with a gun inside the house, not just the daughter and her aunt.”
“Suppose he doesn’t let you in?”
“We’d be where we are now.”
“Should I go with you?”
Cosgrove shook his head. “I’d like that. Believe me I would. But it wouldn’t look like I was clearing something up. It would look like something else.”
Murphy held out his hand. “You’re not serving a warrant, not making an arrest. You’re entitled to visit one of our citizens even if you are a New York City cop. Nice of you to let me know.”
Cosgrove shook his hand. “I wish it was easier sometimes.”
Chapter 35
A half hour later, Cosgrove approached Simon Dean’s stately home with dread. He’d spoken confidently to Murphy and to Ray and Adele when he told them what he was going to do. It was a confidence he didn’t feel. He’d done this kind of thing before. Sometimes it didn’t work out. The suspect went bonkers. All hell broke loose. Someone died. His hope was Simon would continue to act the part of the solid citizen, crime victim that Cosgrove would treat him as until he dropped the report from Ted Doyle on him. Despite what Ray said, Simon had no reason to think of himself as a suspect; except perhaps the tiny voice inside his head, guilt, whispering to him.
No little girl opened the door this time. He tried not to think about the kid. Over Simon’s shoulder when he opened the door, Cosgrove caught a quick glimpse of the woman who must be Simon’s sister in a room that might be a den at the back of the house. She met his gaze and closed the door to the room. The expression in her eyes was fright but not entreaty. He didn’t know what she saw in his eyes. He tried to suggest reassurance, let her know he was there to help. Probably his eyes didn’t suggest anything. He could be the Fuller Brush man for all she knew.
The Greenwich cops set up a perimeter and a command post, brought in the
department’s special response unit and a hostage negotiator. As always, you hoped for a peaceful end to a confrontation. Hope for the best. Prepare for the worst.
Dean might have thought he’d put on a calm facade. To Cosgrove, Dean looked like he was barely under control. Cosgrove waited a moment appraising him. A small softball bat leaned against the wall leading to the living room, reminding Cosgrove of his last visit when Carolyn in her baseball uniform opened the door.
“I’m really busy,” Dean said. “You should have told me you were coming.” He tried to keep his tone pleasant, but there was an edge to it. “I don’t have a moment to spare right now.” He glanced over his shoulder and back at Cosgrove. “We’ll have to reschedule.”
The response threw Cosgrove off course for a moment. You think you know what to expect but you seldom do. “I should have called. I know, and I’m sorry for not doing that.” He shook his head as a rebuke to himself. “To tell the truth”—didn’t he always say that when he was about to twist the truth—“I didn’t plan to talk to you today at all. I was here to talk to the Greenwich police.” He’d let Dean wonder about that for a moment.
Dean’s response was immediate and blunt. “Was it about me?”
Cosgrove nodded. “Yes and no. I wanted to know if you’d reported your wife missing.”
Dean’s face tightened. The words were clipped. “I didn’t know she was missing. I thought she was at a medical conference.” He paused one beat. “I said I don’t have time for this.” He swung the door he was holding back and forth, as if he might close it.
Cosgrove spoke sternly. “You’re going to have to talk to me. New information has come up that differs with what you told me the last time we spoke.” He relaxed his stance. “I’m sure you can explain and get everything straight.” He regarded Dean the way a kindly uncle might. “So let’s get this taken care of now before someone else gets involved and things get worse.”
