“Like I said, the feds have been after Ralevic for quite a while.”
“So you’re worried where Tim comes out in all this?” I said that, although I was well aware that Battaglia never actually worried that much where anyone else came out except himself. But Tim Spindlis was too connected to him not to expect fallout close to home.
Battaglia crushed the cigar in the ashtray, like he was stomping the life out of a venomous bug. “Someone is going to try to hurt Tim in all this. Maybe Leighton himself, maybe Ralevic, or maybe even a smart mouthpiece like Lem Howell.”
I was thankful that Mike had told me to keep my limo ride with Lem and Ethan to myself. I was trying to sort out all the players and their positions.
“You listen to me on this, Alex. There’ll be no letting Chapman off the leash during your investigation-none of his antics, no one going rogue on me here. You get a whisper of anyone trying to trash my name-or Tim’s-you’re on my doorstep before you blink your eyes.”
“I understand, Paul,” I said, ignoring the smirk on McKinney’s face. “Am I off-base asking why you think Tim’s at risk in all this maneuvering?”
“Rumors. Only that. No substance to them, but he’s apt to get bitten in the ass by an ugly rumor.”
“I’d like to be prepared. Don’t you think it makes sense to tell me what it’s about? I understand it’s just garbage.”
Battaglia got up from the table and walked to the window. The gargoyles that crested the building across Hogan Place stared back at him, some with fierce expressions of defiance, others mocking him with their tongues sticking out in derision.
“Tim was Eliot Spitzer’s supervisor when Eliot was a young prosecutor here. Both Harvard Law, both bright young men interested in public service. God knows Eliot couldn’t keep up with Tim’s drinking habits, but who the hell can figure what else they did together when they bonded here?” Battaglia said.
“Both were very loyal to you, Boss,” McKinney added, trying to get his pointy nose as close to the DA’s rear end as possible.
“I’d rather not be reminded of Eliot’s connection to me at all, Pat,” Battaglia said, turning around to look at me. “Client Number Nine, Alex. You know what I mean?”
When Governor Spitzer had been identified by the feds as one of the regular customers patronizing high-priced prostitutes, he’d been cited as Client 9 in the criminal complaint.
“There aren’t many of us who missed that, Paul.”
“Whatever it is those girls were giving away at five thousand bucks an hour,” Battaglia said, pounding his forefinger into a pile of briefs that sat on his desktop, “I didn’t need every reporter in town trying to make a name for himself asking whether Tim and I knew anything about Eliot’s-well, proclivities is the nicest word I can come up with.”
“Nobody believes Eliot was involved in that mess at the time he was working here. That all came much later.”
“You and I know that. But it won’t stop the media from noting their professional relationship when Tim’s name comes up for consideration.”
“What’s the rumor about Tim, Paul?” I asked again.
The district attorney knew that despite my disrespect for Spindlis, he’d have to trust me to be on the lookout to run interference for him in case things got ugly. Reluctantly, he repeated the malicious story.
“There’s someone out to get him. Someone who claims Tim’s the one who introduced Eliot to the Emperors Club, to all his high-priced whores.”
I caught my breath before assuring Battaglia that the story couldn’t possibly be true. It wasn’t that I thought better of Spindlis than that, I just knew he didn’t have the money to cavort with the former governor at five thousand dollars a shot.
“No one will believe that about Tim. Those rumors simply won’t fly.”
“Of course Tim wasn’t in that game, Alex. You understand that, don’t you? Of course none of it’s true.”
FOURTEEN
Laura left me alone in the conference room with Nan Toth and two hot cups of coffee. I had given her orders not to disturb us for anything until Mercer arrived.
“Have you heard any gossip about Tim?” I asked Nan.
“Not a peep. He’s on the way to the bench, isn’t he? A done deal?”
“Would you figure him for a sex scandal?”
“Socks or no socks?” Nan burst into a laugh. Eliot Spitzer was alleged to have kept his footwear on during all his sexual engagements. “It’s frightening to even think of Tim engaged in any kind of intimate act.”
“That’s the party line. Battaglia’s one hundred percent in his corner, so that’s my position too. Personally, I think it would humanize the stiff if he’d been right at Eliot’s side as Client Number Ten. But it’s only wishful thinking on my part.”
“Can you imagine anything worse?”
“Yeah. A ménage with him and McKinney.”
“You need to see a good doctor, Alex. That’s a sick thought.”
“Well, I’m betting Ellen Gunsher has been there,” I said. “Humor me, Nan. It’s been a withering twenty-four hours.”
“So Battaglia’s worried about the rumor?”
“Of course he is. But not about the substance behind it. He says he and McKinney have done their own internal investigation of Spindlis. The boss read him the riot act and said he’d be put out to pasture without his pension if there was any truth to it.”
“But the damage is it’s the kind of rumor that stays in the brain, right? Once people hear that Tim was Spitzer’s mentor in the office-”
“That’s the harm. It’s obviously making Battaglia crazy. He hates to spend his time proving the negative. And McKinney’s in there panting like a dog in heat, anxious to get Tim on his way so he can be promoted.”
“I know how the boss hates this kind of thing. He’s got you on such a tightrope.”
“Tell me something good might actually happen soon.”
“Okay. We’ve got our first couple of professional interpreters signed on. I’ve just spent twenty minutes with them and they’ll be easy to work with. They’ve been qualified before the grand jury on other cases. Did some good work with the robbery squad.”
“That’s a start.”
“I called Donovan to see when we can get going with the interviews.” Nan flipped the pages of her legal pad. She was a striking brunette, about my height, with dark good looks and a gift for cross-examination that made her a great case partner. “I think he’d turn the whole thing over to us if he could. He sounds completely overwhelmed.”
“So where are the girls and when do we get them?”
Nan had already sorted out which of the young women were at area hospitals, held overnight for observation or awaiting treatment, and which had been sent to detention camps. “You willing to start with two?”
“It worked for Noah.”
“I followed up on your idea. Put a call in to Safe Horizon to see what their shelter situation is in Manhattan.”
The nonprofit organization had been around for more than thirty years, and had done groundbreaking work in advocating for victims of violence in a criminal justice system that decades ago was hostile to many of their needs. Providing decent living conditions for women in battered relationships was one of the few means of offering them an alternative to life-threatening situations, and Safe Horizon had created havens in each borough of the city for just that purpose.
“Great. Baynes told me he wouldn’t allow it.”
“He’s rethinking everything today, Alex. Have you ever been to the Manhattan shelter?”
“Yes. It’s in Washington Heights. It’s called Parrish House. One of the generous board members donated a small fortune to create a very livable space,” I said.
Most animal shelters were in better shape than facilities for domestic survivor victims.
“Baynes wants to know the address. Is that a deal breaker?” Nan asked.
“It is for me.”
In order to protect its re
sidents from their offenders, Safe Horizon never released the location of its shelters. Victims were taken to the nearest police station house and waited there until staff was notified to pick them up to escort them to their new homes.
“Try and be flexible,” Nan said, tapping her pen on the table. “They can clear two beds for us at Parrish House for four months. That’s a clean, safe apartment with its own kitchen, some clothing, counseling on-site. It would be a wonderful way to transition these young women to a new life, and gain their trust at the same time.”
“You’re right. I have no issue with Donny, of course. I just don’t think we put the street address in any reports, okay? There are twenty-five families living there who need to be safe. I don’t want the feds, the mayor, and the media circulating the address. We can even take Donny there for a site visit if that satisfies him.”
“I’ll get moving on that. The first two that he’s willing to give us are nineteen and seventeen years old. Both checked out fine medically. A bit undernourished and terribly skittish, I’m told, but we can begin our interviews tomorrow. He insists on a fed sitting in on each meeting.”
“Will we have medical records by then?”
“Catherine’s dealing with that right now.”
“Do they have tattoos?”
“I realize you wanted this all solved yesterday, Alex. Just slow it down. No, we won’t know that until we meet the women or see the medical records later today, if they’re even that specific.”
“Does anyone have a handle on how many people were actually on board, and how many have been accounted for?”
Nan was twisting her engagement ring as she talked. “Baynes said there’s one guy-about thirty years old-who’s the most cooperative. He wasn’t part of the mutiny and he actually speaks some English. He’s got relatives who immigrated to Texas and all he wants to do is get there.”
“What’s he given them?” I asked.
“They’re going to set up with him today for the first time,” Nan said. “Close as he can tell there were three hundred and ten people on board, less than thirty of them women.”
“And three of the women are dead.”
“At least three. Six people are still missing, by this guy’s count.”
“So what’s next?” I asked. “Somebody out looking for snitches?”
Turning in a snakehead in a case of this magnitude would be a deep reservoir of insurance for someone in the criminal underground who was hoping to buy points with federal prosecutors.
“The task force is flooding the Ukrainian community looking for information, and Kelli’s going to be working that piece of it for us. Marisa’s got the lead on women from Eastern Europe who’ve been busted for prostitution in the five boroughs in the last few years.”
“We do have the best team, don’t you think? We get to add Sarah, who’ll be back from maternity leave in another three weeks,” I said, referring to the unit’s deputy. “She’ll keep all the daily perverts under control. Can’t wait for that.”
“What’s Chapman up to?”
“Back at the morgue for more autopsies. They’re starting with the third woman-the one who jumped in after her brother. They’re going to see if he can ID the two Jane Does from last night as well. It would be good to know who they are, be able to find their families back home.”
The heavy door creaked open as I was crumpling my second coffee cup. I threw it in the trash can before glancing over my shoulder.
“Oh, no. What is it they do to keep vampires away?” I said to Nan, groaning as I saw Lem Howell in the doorway.
“Time for me to get back to my office,” Nan said.
“Not yet.” I hoped she could see the desperation in my look. “Sit right down, please.”
I didn’t want to be alone with Lem.
“Good morning, ladies,” he said, slicking back his pomaded hair and unbuttoning his overcoat.
“I’m about to get all the blood I’ve got left sucked out of me, Nan. Mr. Triplicate doesn’t seem to understand that he is unwelcome, unwanted, and unwise to disturb us at this particular moment.”
“Would you mind very much stepping out for a few minutes, Nan? Ms. Cooper seems to have forgotten her manners in dealing with an old friend.”
“Nan’s not going anywhere, Lem. C’mon. You have something to say, let’s get it done.”
Lem walked over behind my chair and put his hands on my shoulders, kneading them gently. “You shouldn’t start the New Year all stressed out, Alexandra. I just need to chat with you for a few minutes.”
Nan stood her ground and kept her poker face.
“What have I told you, Nan?” I asked. “Talented, tactile, and, oh, so transparent. That’s what you are, Lem.”
I swept his hands off my shoulders and stood up, walking to the end of the table.
“Maybe I taught you too well.”
“Anything you want to say, you say in front of Nan. We’re working together on this.”
“And by this, which case do you mean, Alexandra? Is Nan helping you out on Karim Griffin?” He knew full well we weren’t holed up together working on a cold-case serial rapist this morning.
“Well, if Karim’s time is what you want to discuss, I’m happy to talk deal.”
Lem had one hand in the pocket of his coat and the other across his chest inside his jacket, Napoleonic style. The Griffin case had taken a back burner in both our professional priorities.
“Don’t you wish real life was like a television show? The big case comes along and everything else stands still for the detective and prosecutor? Yesterday’s perps are suspended in time, the victims stop calling to ask for updates and orders of protection, new crimes don’t happen every day, and the piles on your desk simply disappear?” I was talking to Nan, mocking Lem’s advice in light of our second encounter last evening. “She and I are partners on everything, Lem. Tell us what you want.”
He took a few steps in my direction, then pulled out a chair and sat down. He had put Nan out of range of his eye contact, isolating me at the end of the room.
“What have you done with Salma Zunega, Alexandra?”
“What have I done with her?
“Where is she?”
I didn’t answer.
“I told you yesterday that I was meeting with her this morning. Now, it would be just like you to have spirited her out of her home before I had that opportunity.”
“I don’t know where Salma is, Lem. Truly, I don’t.”
He was focused on me like a laser beam. “Nobody else knew about our appointment. I trusted you, Alex.”
“With good reason. I’m sure your client knew about it. And I’m sure his father knew you were meeting with her too.”
Lem leaned in at me with one elbow on the table. “You had no business interfering with Salma.”
“She kept calling the cops yesterday. I was worried about her. Worried for her life. That used to be a good reason, Lem, when you were breaking me in to be a compassionate prosecutor.”
“She didn’t make those calls to nine-one-one.”
“Now, how would you know that? Your client wasn’t supposed to be in contact with her.”
“Ethan wasn’t in contact with her. I was. She talked to me.”
“You’re the one who told me she was crazy, Lem. Now, why would you believe her story if the nine-one-one tapes show in a black-and-white printout that the calls were made from her telephone? You can’t have it both ways. Is Salma crazy or is she credible?”
“When she didn’t show up at my office at nine A.M., I sent my investigator to her building, Alexandra. The cops are crawling all over it. Now, why is that?”
I took a deep breath and glanced at Nan.
“Don’t be looking around for help. Where’s Salma?”
“One would have to think the congressman has more to gain by her disappearance than I do, Lem. He and some other guy who showed up last night claiming to be the father of her child. Ethan’s child, I thought she was.
So you tell me what you know about it. You tell me what you and Salma discussed.”
Lem chuckled. “I’ll give you points for trying. You move the baby for safekeeping too?”
“What time was it you had your conversation with Salma?” I asked.
“Why is that important?”
“I just assumed you knew that her sister picked up the baby.”
“You’re playing with fire, Ms. Cooper,” Lem said, wagging a finger at me as he stood up. “Scorching, red-hot, blistering-”
“Temper, temper, Mr. Howell. There’s no jury here. What’s your problem?”
“Not my problem, Alex. It’s yours. Salma Zunega doesn’t have a sister.”
FIFTEEN
Mercer had just arrived at my office as Nan and I were moving our papers back in after Lem stormed out of the conference room.
“You opened the grand jury investigation, right?” I asked Nan, double-checking what she had told me she would do when I left her earlier to go to Battaglia’s office.
“We’re legal.” It was the grand jury-not prosecutors-that had the power to issue subpoenas for the production of evidence.
“Laura’s getting records from the phone company for Salma’s landline and cell,” I said to Mercer. “Better add the number of that woman you spoke with who claimed to be her sister. Lem Howell just hit us with the bombshell that she doesn’t have one.”
Mercer didn’t rattle easily, but the thought that he had been misled about the possible endangerment of a child’s life clearly upset him.
He checked his cell for the number he called yesterday to confirm what Salma had told him, then directed Laura to ready another subpoena to the phone company. “I’ll get my man over there to expedite these records. You’re going to fax the requests to him right away, okay? We’ll have what we need before the end of the day.”
Then he dialed the number and waited through ten rings that went unanswered.
“It’s ringing dead. I’ll call the lieutenant and put him onto Scully, Alex. You’d better tell Battaglia. We’ll have to do an AMBER Alert on the kid. There’s no luxury of waiting for Crime Scene to finish the search of her apartment.”
Hell Gate Page 11
