by David Wind
“Me,” said Chris.
I buzzed him up, opened the front door and went back to the kitchen.
“Morning,” he said when he stepped into the kitchen, dressed for work in a lightweight black suit, white shirt and blue tie, Chris carried an attaché case in his left hand.
I handed him a cup of coffee. “I thought you were off for the weekend.”
“Me too, but the call I got yesterday… it’s turned into something that got dumped in my lap. There’s been a string of rapes in Queens. The last one was yesterday. The vic was killed this time. Forensics is certain it was the same perp. The Chief and the Commissioner are dodging a lot of heat and I’ve been told to get it done.”
I knew Chris would, but it didn’t explain his visit. “And?”
“I’m going to be up to my ass in this case. Late nights and early mornings mean I won’t be able to back you up on this for a while.”
“Back me up? Telling me it was a robbery is backing me up?”
“I know what I told you. And you knew what I meant. Like I said yesterday, stop talking and do what needs to get done.”
“You’re giving me permission now?”
He ignored my sarcasm. “You’ve never needed my permission. Gabe, if anyone can find out what happened, you can. I have some things for you.”
Setting down the coffee, he put his attaché case on the counter, opened the snaps, and withdrew a stack of papers. “These are the print outs for the Looker’s Club, for Santucchi, and everything we have on the pimp you tangled with. I also dug up Scotty’s telephone logs for his home and cell phones for the last six weeks.”
“Thanks. Why the information on the pimp?”
“After what you said yesterday when you came back, I thought you’d want it. Gabe, something doesn’t smell good about any of this.”
“I know.”
“Know what?” Gina asked, padding into the kitchen barefooted. She wore a pair of loose fitting sweats and one of my shirts. She stepped up to Chris, and gave him a peck. “Morning, Captain.”
He smiled at her, his eyes dancing as he looked from her to me. “Twice in two days. That’s a new record. Are we breaking more records?”
She gave a quick raise of her eyebrows and a slow shrug. “Maybe.”
“That’s cool. I’ve got to go.”
After Chris left and with Gina next to me, her coffee steaming and the bagel and lox ready to be eaten, I pulled the papers close and told her what they were.
“Can I read through this stuff with you?”
“Who am I to argue with the FBI?” I asked, aloud this time.
She kicked my shin. I was glad she was barefoot.
A half hour later, after we had finished breakfast and had skimmed Chris’s printouts, Gina sat back on the stool and gave me a studied look. “What?”
“What are your plans for today?”
“I was considering going to Scotty’s and looking through the files again, why?”
“You’ve thought on what we talked about last night?”
“I’m not convinced those files have anything to do with his murder, but I can’t overlook them either.”
“Thank you. If you don’t mind, I’d like to go with you. After, I want to go to my office and see if we can dig anything up from the files.”
“They’re not fond of me there,” I reminded her—the Bureau and I had a history over the last few years—not a good one.
“I’ll handle it.”
I knew she would.
Chapter 29
We spent two hours going over Chris’s papers. They weren’t much help. The records for the Looker’s Club were straightforward: Copies of business licenses, insurance papers, and the names of the corporate shareholders, which was one—Santucchi.
It was all standard fare: His rap sheets, the Organized Crime Squad’s overview and a chart showing his position within the ‘Family’. He was middle management—if you could use such a term—and successful in what he did, which was to run a score of lap dance joints as a legitimate operation, of course if you looked at his suppliers, employees and vendors you’d get a whole different picture of the meaning of legitimate.
The other side of Santucchi showed his real face: Arrested fourteen times for strong-arm stuff, but never convicted, he moved into loan sharking and prostitution, both of which he still worked. There had been three lawsuits filed against the Looker’s Club, Inc. All had settled out of court—no surprise there.
As usual with someone like Santucchi, he was well layered and NYPD had never been able to pin him with anything strong enough to make a solid case. While he handled the strippers and the prostitutes there was nothing in the records to show he dealt with minors.
The information on Streeter, culled from police records, was thorough. He had half dozen aliases, but the Sammy Warez name was the one with history. Busted twice in New York, he served a one to three on assault for beating a hooker half to death: she ended up in the hospital for five weeks and had lost the use of one arm. Nice guy…. The hooker had refused to testify, but three witnesses hadn’t been as reluctant, including one off duty cop. He’d made parole after fourteen months. His second bust was for facilitating prostitution and had earned him four months on Rikers Island.
There wasn’t much else. He had been born thirty-one years before in Miami, to Wilma and Benito Juarez. The sheet from Florida had him in and out of juvi a dozen times before he was sixteen with one count of rape and a bunch of B & Es. The rape case went away when the girl refused to testify and, as a juvenile, he’d walked on the other stuff. Then he’d disappeared, as far as any records went, for eight years before showing up in New York seven years ago and calling himself Sammy Warez instead of Juarez.
There were several case notes from the vice boys about Warez and his habits of beating his girls—one in particular about Warez having minors working the streets, which they were never able to prove.
Chris had included Sonny Marks’ interview reports of the cast, crew and investors of the play. Most had alibis, except for Tarz and two of the crewmembers. Albright and Lia Thornton’s stories seemed solid. Albright and his wife had caught a show, then returned home and went to bed. His wife said she was a light sleeper and Albright had not gone out. Lia Thornton had gone to her West Hampton home on Saturday night and returned on Monday.
As we worked, Gina used a yellow highlighter to mark what she wanted to check on. When we finished with Santucchi and Streeter, and I slid the phone logs over and started with the first page, Gina went to the counter and put on another pot of coffee.
A couple of minutes later she asked about Scotty’s journal.
“You want a look-see?”
At her nod, I retrieved the silver apple and its power cords and placed it on the counter while Gina, lost in thought, watched the coffee filtering down into the pot.
It felt right, her being here. The computer’s beep interrupted my observations of Gina and I pulled up the directory for the journal and set it up for her.
She padded back to the counter, set down the two cups and leaned over the computer. I picked up my coffee and went back to the phone logs.
After an hour of reading and rereading the phone logs, we found a couple of dozen unrecognized numbers. I would have Femalé find out which of the numbers belonged to whom.
The most prominent numbers were the rehearsal theatre, Scotty’s attorney, Paul Gottlieb, Chris and Amanda’s, mine and Lia Thornton. There were eight calls to Thomas Albright, and several dozen to Save Them.
My eyes were burning, and my butt was cramping. I pushed back from the counter and stood. “How ya doin?” I asked in my best Ed Koch imitation.
“Almost done,” Gina said without looking at me.
She was two entries away from finishing so I went into the bedroom and slipped on a pair of jeans and a loose fitting pullover golf shirt, which did a good job of concealing the Sig.
“Hey, Big Boy.”
I smiled and returned to the kitchen. “You call
ed?”
She looked me over from head to toe and back again. “Too bad, I had thoughts….”
“They come off as fast as they go on.”
She winked. “Don’t I know.” Then her face changed and her voice matched it. “You know who the woman in Scotty’s journal is?”
“So do you, by now.”
“Lia Thornton,” Gina said with a sharp nod. “What did you make out of the section where he needs to tell her something but is afraid it will damage her?”
I closed my eyes for a second. “‘What kind of damage will I do? I need to speak to Amanda. She’ll know how I should handle this.’ That piece right?”
Gina moved her head from side to side. “Do you know how scary it is when you close your eyes and recall something verbatim? And yes.”
“Why scary?”
“Well, maybe not so much scary as annoying. You should be on the other end when you toss back something the exact way it was said a week or a month before… and its worse in the middle of a fight.”
“We shouldn’t fight then. And I’m not sure what he meant. I asked Amanda if he’d spoken to her—he hadn’t. But there’s definitely something about her that got to Scotty.”
Gina turned her head to the side and a sweep of wavy brown hair brushed against her shoulder. “It’s hard to pinpoint because it’s…weird for him. His writing is always so perfect—He may have been complicated, and sometimes he was overtly clever or calculating in his plotting, but he was never cryptic like those journal entries.”
“Like he was afraid to write down what he was thinking, right?”
Gina’s eyes widened. “That’s it. He was afraid to put down what was on his mind.”
“I ran over all the possible scenarios as I read the entries: He didn’t want to be involved with an investor, or he wanted to have hot and heavy sex but not go any further and he was afraid she’d want more–”
“–Not Scotty.”
I smiled. “I know, Scotty wasn’t built that way, but I thought it out anyway. When I read the last entry, everything had changed. There was something he found out, something….”
Gina made a sound like a mew. “Dangerous…. Damage her…. But what was it?”
“And how does it fit in with Scotty’s murder?”
“Just one way to find out,” Gina said, her eyes locked hard on mine.
“I’m working on her.”
“Just remember what side of the sheets to work on it.”
With that, the heaviness of the mood shifted. “Yes, special Agent Torrelli. You’re going out like that?”
“Five minutes.”
<><><>
It was more like ten minutes rather than five, but it worked. The day was too nice for a cab, so we walked to Scotty’s apartment. I didn’t pick up a scent from tails, and neither did Gina. Maybe they were taking the day off after yesterday.
Inside Scotty’s apartment, and in his office, we went to work on the files. I pulled the three without paperwork and handed Gina Elizabeth Granger’s file. She stared at Scotty’s sister’s photograph for a long time.
“She’s beautiful. Her eyes, they’re just like Scotty’s. I… don’t want to think about what happened to her.” Gina’s head whipped toward me. “It’s been what, twenty-six years? Do you think she’s still alive?”
“It’s possible. You would know better. What are the bureau stats on this?”
The clouds stayed deep in her eyes. “You know as well as I do. Most are dead within twenty-four hours.”
“The body was never found.”
“Damn it Gabe, do you know how many children disappear every year? Do you know how few are found, alive or dead?”
She was trembling. I’d never seen her react this way. I drew her to me and held her, my lips pressed to the top of her head, my arms protecting her from whatever demon had infiltrated her head.
It took her a minute to gain control. When she did, I eased up and let her step back, but kept my hands anchored on her. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Sorry. Seeing all these files and knowing what happens to them got to me. Jesus, Gabe, they’re children. Why do we kill our children?”
I didn’t have an answer for her; I just waited until she was ready. Gina is tough, and she was able to off whatever ghosts had dipped into her heart.
“Let’s look at them.” She pointed to the three files containing photos. Each was a young girl, and each had similarities.
“Do you think Scotty took the papers out of the files?”
“Who else would it be?”
“What if it was the files the killer had come for?”
“Why tear the place apart? Why take the papers and leave the files?” It was part of what didn’t make sense… unless.
I stepped away from Scotty’s desk and left the office. I retraced my path through the apartment, the path I’d taken when I’d come back to look things over on the day he’d been killed. I went from the living room to the bedroom and then to the bathroom, following my exact footsteps. While everything was now packed up, I was able to see it as it had been.
I stared at the vanity, remembering the toothbrush holder, and the package of toothbrushes I’d found under the sink with three missing slots. Then I went back into the office and looked at the filing cabinet, remembering how each drawer had pulled out. I closed my eyes and stared behind my lids. The file drawer had not been pulled out as far as the others.
It meant one of two things to my way of thinking: Either the killer had started at the top and pushed the upper files drawers in to go after the ones beneath it; or, he’d gone to that one last, found what he’d come for and then replaced the files he’d gotten the papers from and pushed the drawer in.
I opened my eyes to find an expectant Gina staring at me. “Well?”
“I don’t know. It’s possible,” and explained my thought process. “But like you said, why leave the files?”
“It’s a puzzle,” she agreed.
“You know this throws what I’ve been working on out the window, if his murder was because of the missing kids.”
“And you hate to be wrong.”
She was right, of course. But this made things more convoluted. It would be much easier if one of the backers was the killer, say Thomas Albright. I took out my cell phone and dialed Femalé’s number. She answered on the fourth ring.
“The flight was okay?”
“It was fine.” The soft and low tone of her voice had a smooth lilt to it.
“Where are you staying?”
“The hotel attached to Harrah’s. They rebuilt it and it’s very nice.”
“Don’t get too comfortable. I need you back here as soon as possible. Make sure you find out everything regarding Lia Thornton, and Femalé, I mean everything.”
“What’s up?” she asked, her voice stronger as she sensed my urgency.
“I’m not sure yet, but we have a new avenue to go down. Look under every rock.”
“You got it, boss. I’m booked on the late night out of here tomorrow. I’ll see you Tuesday morning. Want to give me a hint?”
“I’m still working it out.”
“I’ll see you at the office. I’ll call if there’s anything important.”
Hanging up, I turned to Gina, who was staring at me through narrowed eyes. “You sent her to check up on Thornton?”
“No, she took it on herself after seeing the gap in the sheet you sent over. Smart girl, my Femalé is.”
“She is and you were lucky to get her. Is she checking because you think Thornton’s the shooter?”
I shook my head. “No, I want to know what the ‘damage’ is Scotty wrote about.”
“Okay, what now?”
“Find out if these are duplicates from Save Them. If they are, then….”
“Somehow I doubt it. Why keep duplicates?” she offered. “I’m going to my office. See if I can dig up anything. Are you certain you don’t want me to go with you?
I scooped up t
he files. “No. I’ll take Save Them and check on Rabbit. See how he’s doing and try to jog his memory. Maybe he’ll come up with something.”
“Keep me posted.”
“See you later?”
She favored me with a long soft look. “I can’t. I need to be fresh for the morning. I have a couple of meetings with the brass. I’ll talk to you later.”
I leaned in and kissed her. The kiss lasted a long time, but not long enough.
Chapter 30
The Sunday afternoon streets were hot and thick with tourists, which made it tough for us poor natives. But cooler days were coming and so was the relief from the trotting masses. Between the groups stopping to take photographs of themselves and those who would pause in mid-stride to gawk at a building or at the more bizarre characters frequenting the Times Square area, it was like trying to drive from Long Island at the end of a holiday weekend.
I zigzagged through the forest of people and reached the door of Save Them, wondering if I’d find the ever-present Samantha Collins working or if she took a day off.
I stepped into the air conditioning and looked around. Before my eyes made half a pass of the room, my name was called out and a small ball of flying hair jumped up at me. I caught Anna Bolt in midair, but dropped the three file folders in the process.
“Hey, Uncle Gabe!”
“Hey, Anna. What a big surprise!”
She giggled a “yeah!” and kissed my cheek. I lowered her to the floor, where she knelt and scooped up the files and offered them to me.
“What brings you here?”
“Mommy, silly. Daddy’s working and we went to the Zoo, and then came down here so Mommy could help out.”
“And you’re helping too?”
“You bet!” She smiled and went back to the desk she had appropriated.
While my smile was fixed firmly, it bothered me to see her surrounded by pictures of lost children. When she climbed into the chair and picked up a marker, I turned to look for Amanda and saw the rear office door was ajar.
I found her seated at Samantha Collins’ desk. “Hey, Gorgeous.”
Amanda looked up and the frown tugging her lips reversed into a smile. “This is unexpected.”
