Forever Haunt

by Adam Carpenter

  He considered going for a cup of coffee. Surely there was a Starbucks nearby.

  Except his patience was suddenly rewarded with the arrival of a police cruiser turning the corner. Jimmy knew the familiar blue and white coloring, the CPR lettering stenciled on the side of the car. Courtesy. Professionalism. Respect. His priorities shifted. The cold air he could deal with as he watched whatever was developing here. The cruiser pulled up outside the Frisano home, parking beneath a skeletal tree. Maybe during the warm months leafy branches offered more protection from detection, but today whoever was in the car was exposed. He could see three men, a driver and two men in the backseat. From across the street, Jimmy stopped walking, pretending to play with his iPhone while he secretly watched the unfolding events.

  The driver remained inside the car while the other two men got out, both of whom Jimmy recognized. Salvatore Frisano was one of them, and to Jimmy’s surprise, the other was Detective Roscoe Barone of the 10th Precinct. He worked under Sal’s son, Frank, whose partner was none other than Larry Dean, son to the newly retiring Lawrence Dean. There was such a thing as a small world, but this was growing tiny. One other interesting fact here was that both men were in their dress blues, formal attire. It even looked like Barone had trimmed that handlebar mustache of his.

  “What the hell?” Jimmy said, unable to not verbalize his thoughts.

  The two men exchanged handshakes. “Thanks for going out of your way and riding all the way back to Brooklyn. Officer Lopez will take you wherever you want.”

  “It was good to spend some extra time with you, so I didn’t mind the drive.”

  “Gotta get inside, my little Sunday dinner gathering, you know?”

  “Yes, good luck with that. He’s a persistent one.”

  Jimmy realized they were talking about him. He tried to hide himself more behind the thick tree trunk he’d luckily found. Was that all this meeting was? Sal Frisano trying to gain information about Jimmy by asking one of the detectives with whom he’d worked cases—albeit from different angles—his opinion. Why the dress blues? NYPD detectives wore plain clothes. Whatever else was going on, it was clearly important. Like a balance of power had shifted.

  “Don’t you worry about McSwain, Barone. He’ll be on my turf.”

  The two men shook hands again before Barone went to get back into the cruiser, this time in the front seat.

  “Thanks, again, Lew.”

  “No problem. And again, to you, congratulations. Well-earned.”

  Barone slid into the car, and it pulled away from the curb. Sal Frisano stood for a moment before heading up the pathway to his house. His turf, as he’d called it. Jimmy considered his next move, realizing the clock was ticking ever-closer to his scheduled arrival time. During his stakeout, which wasn’t looking so foolish now, he’d seen Mama Frisano return, and now Papa. What Jimmy wanted to know was where was Frank? No way was he ringing that doorbell before his safety net appeared.

  But what he shouldn’t do was continue to linger across the street. Sal might be the type to peek through curtains. Cops were naturally suspicious. Jimmy made a fast turnaround on the sidewalk, walking in the opposite direction. He took out his phone and typed out a quick text.

  YOU ON YOUR WAY?

  A fast reply, thankfully. JUST GOT OFF SUBWAY. 5 MINS.

  The time was one-thirty exactly when Jimmy saw Frisano turn the corner onto 80th Street. Only then did it occur to wonder about the dress code, but he noticed his lover was dressed casually in a pair of jeans. Just like Jimmy, good. First impressions were often lasting ones. Meeting up on the sidewalk, Frisano planted a fast kiss on his lips and then stole a quick look around.

  “You really think people care?”

  “These are my mother’s neighbors. They live to gossip. Come on, let’s get inside. You’re cold. Tell me you haven’t been waiting outside for me to arrive.”

  Jimmy wasn’t about to reveal he’d been here for nearly two hours. “I wasn’t going inside without you.”

  “Chicken,” Frisano said.

  Jimmy had faced down many criminals in his day, most recently Mr. Wu-Tin. No big deal. He’d survived. Sunday dinner with the parents of the man he was dating, that was fear of a different kind. Mama Frisano carried a wooden spoon.

  They came to the two-story brick structure, one with a small cupola on the roof jutting out from the slanted roof. Like a small extra room. Frisano opened the front door and Jimmy followed, feeling apprehension gather in his stomach.

  “Hey Ma, we’re here,” Frisano called out.

  From the kitchen at the back of house emerged that same woman Jimmy had seen on the street a short while ago, now able to get a better look at her. She was easily five seven, surprisingly slim and stylish. Why he’d pictured a plump stereotype he wasn’t sure. Her dark hair had a thin streak of gray at the front. Dressed in a simple print dress, she was striking, more so than when she smiled. First she kissed her son’s cheek, then turned to Jimmy. Without waiting for a formal introduction, she kissed Jimmy’s cheek, too.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jimmy,” she said. “Welcome. Be comfortable.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Frisano,” Jimmy said. “It’s an honor.”

  “Frankie’s never brought anyone home before. He thinks we don’t approve.” She gave her son a sidelong glance before focusing on Jimmy again. “And please call me Beverly. No reason to be so formal in this house.”

  Jimmy blushed. “Yeah, I’ll try.”

  She laughed. “He’s adorable, Frankie. You two are a handsome couple.”

  “Oh geez, Ma…”

  “Enough chatter. Get Jimmy a glass of wine or something. Dinner’s not for another half-hour. The lasagna needs a bit more time. Your father’s in the shower. He had an appointment this morning.” Beverly paused and touched Jimmy’s arm, her bracelet sliding of the edge of her wrist. Jimmy blinked once, wanting to get a better look at it. It looked familiar. But Beverly distracted him. “I’d tell you not to marry a cop, but now that wouldn’t be the best advice considering where you are.”

  As she returned to the kitchen, Jimmy was left unsettled, liking her, worried about what he’d just seen. He said, “Uh, she’s funny.”

  “A sense of humor is a good defense mechanism in this house. Growing up with my father required it.”

  “Yeah, him I remember. So, is it just going to be the four of us? Not your sister?”

  Frisano looked to the dining room table just off the living room, saw only four settings. “Looks that way. Probably a good thing. Becca’s got three kids under the age of ten; kinda noisy. Even for our household.”

  “I’ll meet her sometime, then, Uncle Frankie.”

  Frisano playfully slapped Jimmy’s ass. “Shut up. I’ll get you some wine.”

  “Relieve the nerves.”

  “Ha, I’ll bring the bottle.”

  Frisano disappeared into the kitchen, the sound of murmured voices drifting back. The time alone gave him a chance to assess his surroundings. The home decor was what he expected, typical furniture, nothing too fancy. Framed pictures all around, on tables, on the staircase leading to the second floor. Seeing the home where someone grew up provided a lot of insight into the person you were dating. He leaned close to a series of family portraits taken over the years, almost like a progression of time. Frisano must have been five in the first one, maybe eighteen in the last, sporting a Magnum P.I.-type mustache.

  “I was sixteen in that picture.”

  Jimmy turned around to see Frisano holding out a glass of red wine.

  “Sixteen and you had that bush above your lip?”

  “I was an early bloomer,” Frisano said. “My mother used to take a photo every year. Becca has a birthday the day after mine, so she always thought that was a good time to chart our growth. Becca always hated posing for them. She either had braces or was dressed in some horrible dress. She’s grown into a beauty, though.”

  “She certainly has. Prettiest thing this side o
f Nassau County.”

  This family had a habit of speaking before announcing their presence, Jimmy thought. Now it wasn’t Beverly but Salvatore Frisano himself, somehow having come downstairs without having made a sound. Jimmy spun around at the sound of the deep baritone, saw the imposing figure of a man who had stymied a couple of Jimmy’s investigations. Notably the Assan case of last summer. It had been his first encounter with the man, not his last.

  Jimmy reminded himself that while this dinner might appear social, he doubted Sal Frisano invited his son’s boyfriends over very often. He braced himself, first for a hearty handshake, and then perhaps an interrogation. But what would the topic be? His son’s love life, career? Or was this NYPD business? He thought back to Barone’s presence earlier and wondered if the younger Frisano was aware of that meeting. Quick thoughts, too many of them. He refocused.

  “Lieutenant Frisano, a pleasure to see you again, sir.”

  Sal grabbed his hand, squeezed hard as he smiled. His eyes never leaving Jimmy’s.

  “I see you made it to Brooklyn, no problem?”

  “Business often takes me to the outer boroughs. A good friend, Ralphie Henderson, he lives in the Heights.”

  “Ah, Ralphie. A good detective. Hope he’s well in his retirement.”

  “Uh, surviving,” Jimmy said, not really wanting to discuss Ralphie’s failing health. Not as a conversation starter.

  “Pops, can I get you some wine?”

  “Nah, gotta keep my wits about me. You never know if I’ll be needed.”

  “Oh hush, you, you’re not going away again. Enough you skipped church with me.”

  Again, a voice out of nowhere. Each family member had done it, reminding Jimmy to keep watching his back, and everywhere else. “Bev, I’d have gone to mass if the criminals had, too.”

  “Doubt that. You don’t deal with the crooks. You deal with paperwork. Jimmy, my Sal is always looking for an excuse to get out of church.”

  “Duty calls,” he said.

  “For an Italian, you’re awfully full of blarney,” Beverly said. “Enough. Let’s eat. Jimmy, I hope you’re hungry.”

  “Smells great,” he said.

  The Frisanos walked into the dining room, Jimmy trailing behind him. He felt like a lamb being led to slaughter. Especially when he was placed to the right of Sal, the man’s presence larger than life at the rectangular table. He smelled of aftershave and intimidation.

  As the meal was served, Jimmy’s eyes returned to the bracelet on her wrist. He got a better look, and his face paled. He knew it, because he’d seen it only last week. Taken a picture of it. The stolen diamond bracelet once worn by Dahlia Luke, rumored to been sold to Decca. Now on the wrist of the wife of the Lieutenant in charge of the case. Distracted, Jimmy didn’t hear the questions being directed at him.

  “I’m sorry, I was busy admiring your bracelet.”

  “Oh, a belated anniversary gift from Sal. He may be gruff around the edges, but my Sal is a romantic at heart. Anything for his family.”

  “It’s real nice, Ma,” Frisano said.

  Beverly turned back to Jimmy and said, “What I was saying…I understand you come from a family of policemen, too. Frankie tells me your father was a decorated hero with the NYPD. I’m very sorry for all you’ve had to go through. He sounds like he was a wonderful father.”

  Jimmy knew she was only being polite. But he shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with the topic. “He taught me a lot.”

  “Yeah, like to not become a cop,” Sal said.

  “Pops, leave it alone,” Frisano said.

  But Jimmy decided to test the seasoned cop. “I did go through the academy, per his wishes. But found I preferred working independently. Private investigations can take you to such interesting locations. You never know when you might need to exercise your skills.”

  “That sounds exciting,” Beverly said. “What’s your favorite part? Surely not the danger.”

  “There is an adrenaline rush to that aspect. But no, the most rewarding part is when I solve the case,” Jimmy said, staring directly at Sal. “No matter how long it takes.”

  As they ate, his eyes kept returning to the bracelet. The question ringing in his mind. What was Sal Frisano doing with a hot item that might have been the reason a young cop got killed?

  § § § §

  “Oh, darn it!”

  As the three men sat around the dining room table, their plates empty, their stomachs full, Beverly had gotten up to get dessert when she cried out.

  “What’s the matter, Bev?”

  She poked her head around from the kitchen. “I forgot the whipped cream. Oh, I’ll tell you those gossipy ladies at St. Mary’s could make a woman forget her wedding day. I meant to stop at Almonte’s and pick some up. Can’t have strawberry shortcake without it. You boys sit tight…”

  “Nonsense, Bev. You’ve done enough already. Frankie can run out and get it.”

  Jimmy’s ears perked up, just as Frisano’s eyes did. “Um, uh, sure. Jimmy and I can go…”

  “Jimmy can stay right here,” Sal said. “You won’t be long. And we won’t bite.”

  “I think only one of those isn’t true,” Frisano said.

  Still, if there was any way out of this situation, nobody was offering one. Sal Frisano spoke, his family obeyed. Frank wiped his face with his napkin, set it down on the table. Jimmy could see he wasn’t pleased. Which only reinforced Jimmy’s suspicion that this dinner wasn’t all pasta and friendly chatter. They had reached the crux of the occasion. No doubt leaving Beverly banished to the kitchen to clean up while Frisano was temporarily disposed of. He grabbed his coat and told Jimmy he wouldn’t be long. The door closed with a loud thud.

  “No matter how old they get, they’re still children, insolent when they don’t get their way.”

  “And how about you, sir?” Jimmy asked.

  He grinned. “I always get my way. Come Jimmy, let’s you and I have a chat.”

  Sal rose from the table, and Jimmy did the same. “About what, sir?”

  He said nothing as he approached the stairs leading up to the second floor. Jimmy knew he should follow him but he hesitated, wondering just what part of the house they were going to. Wherever it was, it was going to be out of earshot. As it turned out, they walked up a third flight, emerging into a small study; they were in the part of the house Jimmy had noticed when doing his surveillance. The cupola. Two square windows looked out over the street. In addition to a desk, chair and computer, Jimmy observed that the walls were covered with framed documents, letters of merit, shiny medals, commendations. All in the name of Salvatore Frisano.

  “My wife set this room up for me a couple years ago. It’s a place where I like to come and reflect. Or if I need some privacy.”

  “I’m guessing privacy is what you’re seeking now.”

  “Your invite to dinner was no accident, Jimmy. But it was done two-fold.”

  “How so, sir?”

  “You want a seat? This might take a few minutes.”

  Jimmy crossed his arms. “I think I’m fine. Been sitting for a while.”

  “I thought you’d be gone by now,” he said.

  It was an odd turn of phrase, off-putting, a non sequitur. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir. It’s rude to leave before dessert. Even if said dessert was intentionally delayed. You got your wife to come up with that phony story of not having the whipped cream. You could have just called me, had me come to One Police Plaza. Done our business there.”

  “While I’ll give your powers of deduction credit, like I said, I wanted you here.”

  “Why?”

  “See, when I said I thought you’d be gone by now, I meant from my son’s life. He’s done this before, had these little affairs. On the sly, because otherwise he’d never have made it to captain in any precinct. It’s not unintentional he got the 10. He can have his flings in his own neighborhood and keep it all, shall we say, compartmentalized.” Sal paused, leaning against the
edge of the desk. “You met him almost a year ago. You’re still around.”

  “We’ve had our ups and downs. It hasn’t been constant.”

  “But you always kiss and make up, isn’t that right?”

  Jimmy wasn’t going to rise to the bait. “As you said, I’m still here. Which I thought you were fine with. We once spoke about it. You told me to keep it private. I have. Frank has. So now what’s changed? Surely, this ambush isn’t about my dating your son. We’ve had some run-ins on a professional level, too. You thwarted a case of mine last summer. But you also came clean about it later. We seemed to have reached an amicable, shall we say, détente?”

  “Until you started investigating me.”

  Jimmy was surprised by those words, not sure if they were said to get a rise out of him, or if the man believed them. “I’ve done no such…”

  “Officer Denson Luke. Did you not visit his widow?”

  “I did…”

  “Bobby Decca. Did you not scope out his pawn shop two days after his murder?”

  “That was a follow-up…”

  “You’re good at your job, Jimmy. Neither of my officers on duty saw you. But I did. In the shadows across the street.”

  “Both men, Lieutenant Frisano, were murdered in the same way. They were executed.”

  “Coincidence.”

  “Now I know you don’t believe that,” Jimmy said, starting to stand up for his actions. “You claim I’m investigating you, and yet you bring up two recent cases that you were directly involved with. Even Commissioner Delaware said so, in both press conferences. So no, I’m not looking into you. But our interests have overlapped when it comes to those two cases. Tell me, sir, are you part of the Mickey Dean murder investigation, too? Or did you leave that one to your counterpart, who also happens to be the victim’s father?”

  “What are you getting at, McSwain?”

  “What I’m suggesting, and I’m sure you’ve already deduced this, is that all three cases are related. You had to put on a strong facade to the public when a young cop was gunned down. You promised to solve his case. You did. You blamed it on Decca, a convenient—and very dead—scapegoat. As for Mickey, nobody seems to care who offed him—which includes me, perhaps the last person to see him alive. He was scum when I knew him growing up. He only became more dangerous, and I think reckless. Mickey Dean was silenced, and as for Luke and Decca, they were eliminated. Part of the clean-up.” Now Jimmy paused. “So, how am I doing?”