“What kind of question is that?” She stood up, hugging her cat and pacing. She must have squeezed him too tightly because Blue jumped out of her arms and disappeared. Sitting back down, she blew her nose and fixed her eyes on her shoes, playing with one of the straps, and when she finally looked up, her face was incandescent. “Stephen was my best friend, my soul mate. I’ve lost him; I’ve lost everything.” More tears.
And I was worse than a worm.
Just then the locks tumbled, the door scraped open, and Ina O’Neill steamed into the room, curls flopping over a richly colored head scarf banded tightly around her head, her long skirt flowing over the oriental carpets. She held a load of sample books.
“Darling, we should start thinking about wall treatment,” she said before her eyes caught mine. Flustered. “I didn’t know we had company.” Recovering. “It’s about time you paid us a visit. Tell us what you’ve learned about Stephen’s death.” She smiled and looked at her watch. “But now is so terribly inconvenient. Would you excuse us? We’re expecting company. Lake, you should be in the kitchen, basting the roast. And don’t forget the potatoes. You need to turn them in the pan or they’ll burn on one side. Where is your head?”
Voice Like Honey
As I drove home, my phone started buzzing. Jane.
I pulled over to take the call. Her voice was like honey. “Good work today, Fina. Thanks to your two-pronged attack, we’re making progress.”
The royal we, as if she had anything to do with progress in the Stephen Cojok case. I reminded her that she was providing little help. To be fair, I knew there had been cuts, that crime was on the uptick, that this wasn’t her only homicide investigation. I waited for her to bark out some objection, but for some reason, Jane was listening, not snapping. I reminded her we were pursuing four lines of inquiry—finding and monitoring Stephen Cojok’s mother, following Lake’s landlord, investigating one gallery in Manhattan and another in Rhinebeck; and as soon as I heard from Brandy and Cookie, I assured her there would be more information to pass on. She asked how I’d found Karen Cojok, so I told her once more about interviewing Hilda Natchon, the tenant in Lake’s building who led me to Benny Stanhope.
“Who?”
“Are you sure you haven’t heard all of this?”
When she replied in the affirmative, I let her have it, and began a physical description of Benny.
“Not that detailed.”
“Whatever. Benny Stanhope seems to have been Stephen Cojok’s only friend. They used to meet in the park, and he learned more about Stephen and his quest for finding his mother than Lake seemed to know.”
“Hard to believe.”
It was Jane’s only demur, too soft to be considered an objection let alone her normal rant, and it was delivered in silky tones.
Ready for a shoe to drop, I continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “For instance, he knows Stephen’s mother lived in Bay Ridge, knows she worked in a coffee shop near where Stephen used to deliver goods for the big boss. And of course, he knows drugs played a large part in Stephen’s life, either as a user, a pusher, or, late in life, as a delivery boy.”
“Is this Benny Stanhope character involved, too?”
“I don’t think so. He was a benign-sounding post. Uninvolved.” I told her about the Thai restaurant and gave her the address. Jane said she’d make sure OCDE became involved and thought they might be already.
And then I said something foolish. “I know time is passing, but we’re on it. We’re close to discovering who killed Stephen Cojok.”
To my surprise, Jane seemed happy and repeated her delight with our progress.
Was it the same Jane Templeton I’d always known? Then I discovered why she was being so sweet to me.
The Meeting
“Can you swing by my office? I’ve got a call in to Lorraine. I need to talk to both of you.”
An unusual request from the blonde detective, especially after I’d made such an excellent progress report. “You have information for us?”
“You might say that.”
Twenty minutes later I was sitting in her office along with the local union rep, a burly-looking man stuffed into a uniform, and Denny’s partner, a petite blonde with an exuberant nose and a lisp whom everyone called by her last name, Sparta. Denny once told me her looks deceived most of their suspects, probably because she was a black belt with a quick eye and a magic foot. With her eyes, she took a swipe at my stomach.
“Your first?” Sparta asked. “Denny didn’t tell me. Looks like you’re ready to pop, and I should know—I’ve been there four times mythelf.”
I was stunned. “How do you manage with four kids?”
“I have a husband and a mother-in-law. Otherwise, forget about it.”
When I told her I was in the first trimester, her eyes rounded.
Just then the door opened and Lorraine swept in. “Sorry I’m late. Last minute shopping.” Handshakes and intros.
The union rep, a balding cop with two strands of wet hair draped across his pate, sat back in his chair, tilting it against the wall like it was a Barcalounger, then righting it with a thud. Over and over. His black eyes, like two raisins in dough, narrowed on Jane. “What is this all about? Highly unusual.”
She fixed him with a cold stare. “This is informal, you understand, and confidential, but I’ve been asked to meet with you today about Denny’s recent behavior on the job.”
Startled, I shot a look at Lorraine, who frowned and opened her mouth, but before she could say a word, Jane assured us Denny was one of the best patrolmen on the force. “It’s just that his performance has been spotty since his father’s death. And there’s no sign of healing: that’s the key.”
No one said a word for a few minutes. The union rep wiped sweat from his brow. I held my breath and watched Lorraine put a hand to her heart.
“This is all my fault,” she said. “I’m sure I—”
“He hasn’t been the same since his father’s death,” I said. I told them about his mood swings at home and watched Sparta nodding. She told us about finding him in the canteen lost in thought, “a man of constant sorrow.” Her words.
Jane shook her head, looking at her feet for a few seconds before turning back to Sparta. “Do you have anything else to add, I mean, about on the job?”
Denny’s partner bit her lip. “I know how close Denny was to his father; I was at Mr. McDuffy’s wake and funeral, and I watched as Denny sank into himself.”
“I hope he was given a month’s compassionate leave,” the rep said.
Sparta nodded. “When he returned, he seemed to be over the worst after about six months.”
“And did his grief ever compromise the operation?” the rep asked.
She shook her head.
“That’s why the discussion is informal,” Jane said.
Sparta went on, squirming to the edge of her chair. “But lately, his mood swings—how can I put it, I’m not a shrink—but one moment he’s the old Denny and the next, so distant, like, totally different. He stares at me like I’m a stranger. Last couple of weeks, I can’t seem to reach him at all, and in the last two months, he’s been late for our shift, I mean, really late, several times. When I called, he seemed so removed; he claimed he’d gotten his schedule messed up.”
“And that could be, that could be,” the union rep said. “We’re making a mountain here out of nothing. This is a disservice to a medal of honor winner and a grave disservice to all patrolmen.” He fixed his beady eyes on Sparta. “Was the operation ever compromised?”
Sparta shook her head. “Worst case, he was a couple hours late, and luckily a standby covered, and there were no major incidents other than pulling in a few truants.”
“There, you see? This is so unnecessary.”
The room was stuffy, and I was having trouble breathing.
Lorraine’s voice was like steel. “I appreciate your telling us about my son’s difficulty. It is an immense help. I knew, of course, he
was having problems, but I didn’t know their extent.”
“Not at all, Mrs. McDuffy,” the rep said. “You heard the patrolman: he would never compromise the operation.”
Lorraine ignored him and thanked Jane again. “Give me two or three weeks.” She turned to Sparta, holding out her card. “Please. Feel free to call me anytime, day or night.”
We stood. Sparta shook my hand, taking in my stomach again. “Do you think your calendar might be off?”
Halfway out the door, Lorraine asked Jane if there was any news about the dead woman in front of Augustus Gallery.
“Too early for that, other than she was killed by a wide-bladed knife. One stab, directly into the heart.”
“Like Stephen Cojok.”
A curt nod from Jane. “By the way, the CSU called and asked me to give you a message. She said Frank’s hunch was a good one—they found blood in the garage, traces in the alley, some on the sidewalk and around the car. They’ll have to send it to the lab, of course, but they’re sure it’ll be a match. And the police are questioning the gallery assistant.”
“Not the owner?” I asked.
Jane shrugged. “They’re trying to locate him.”
I offered to drive Lorraine home, who, it turned out, had taken an Uber, having refused Frank’s offer of a lift. As we walked to the car, we avoided talking about Denny. Instead, we spoke about the two deaths, both by a knife-wielding killer, both victims stabbed in the heart. “There could be more than one killer, but I doubt it.”
We were silent as we neared Court Street. “Both victims connected, but how?”
“Through the gallery, of course,” she said, holding onto the dash as I made a sudden stop, “so we need to find the owner.”
I was beginning to feel overwhelmed. No word yet from Cookie; I had more to learn from Karen Cojok and the Lai Tai restaurant; and I wanted to interview the woman at the Augustus Gallery myself. And of course, there was Denny. Four balls in the air. The traffic was heavy, and we stopped and started, my stomach churning and Lorraine’s face grim.
“So what’s your plan?” I asked as we turned onto Henry Street.
Lorraine shrugged. “Beats me, but I’ll think of something. I have to. You understand we’re way out of our element here.”
She meant helping Denny, I was sure.
“One thing I know, whatever I can accomplish will be a Band-Aid: Denny needs professional help. Still, without Jane’s help, I’d be clueless. Well, not clueless. A part of me knew something was wrong, but you know how you do.”
I could see tears pooling in her eyes.
“Head in the sand?”
She didn’t answer, and I drove on, barely stopping in time to avoid running a red light. I told myself to pay more attention as early evening pedestrians rushed out of subways and buildings, newspapers tucked underneath arms, briefcases swinging.
We turned into Third Place and I double-parked in front of her building.
Lorraine had a faraway look. In a few moments, her face softened. “If only I can get him to see he needs help.”
“Will he ever get over his father? They were so close.”
Lorraine looked at me. “There’s more going on with Denny than just his father’s death.”
“Do you know any shrinks you can call?”
“Clinical psychologists, you mean? Plenty.”
“Personally?”
She nodded. “How do you think I made it all those years with Robbie? But I’m not the one who needs to make the call. Denny needs to see he needs help.”
Robert McDuffy. No secret how I thought about the man—at best, a flat character convinced of a black-and-white world, steeped in the belief that men were superior to women, although he’d never admit to it.
“One more question,” Lorraine said. “When is your first ultrasound?”
I told her it should have been this week, but I’d postponed my doctor’s appointment. She asked me to reconsider, and I promised her I would.
There was a lot to Lorraine, I thought, as I drove away. A lot she hadn’t told me. No problem, I didn’t need to know. Matter of fact, a glimpse into her secrets made her all the more fascinating. I thought of how lucky she was to have stayed married to a man whom I would call pretty much one-noted. How lucky her son was, and how unlucky Karen Cojok had been—if you could summarize the actions of a lifetime as lucky or not so, but that was as far as I could fathom. After all, I was a one-note thinker. For all I knew, Karen Cojok’s life had been determined by one rotten move on her part. It must have been a hot affair, I mused, wondering who could have enticed her into abandoning her child. I thought of how that move cost her husband years of agony and her son his happy childhood, and how, perhaps somehow, although I was really stretching it here, her leaving was connected to his death. What made us do the things we do? Why did we long for what was just outside our grasp? And why was it some people were lucky and others, not so? Or did we make our own happiness? I thought of all the years, all the people who had touched my life, and the myriad connections all of us had. I pictured humanity as a vast field of marbles and realized how connected we all were, one way or another. Despite all the boundaries, arbitrary and unreal, despite the best-built walls, we were all dependent, fluid, moveable like a field of marbles. Roll one and it hits another, which in turn hits others. Were the moves random? Some things about Lorraine I didn’t want to know; but I needed to find out more about Karen Cojok, and what she didn’t think she knew. I’d see her tomorrow if I could break through the implacable wall of Stella the landlady.
Lorraine Rules
I found Denny sitting at the dining room table in front of his laptop, the checkbook in his hand. He looked up and smiled.
“Lorraine’s asked us to dinner,” I said. I told him about finding Stephen Cojok’s mother, what I knew about Lorraine’s trip to the gallery, leaving out any mention of Frank or the meeting with Jane.
He didn’t raise his eyes from the screen and said nothing for a couple of seconds until he muttered, “Utilities have gone up.”
“Don’t forget, last month was colder than usual,” I said.
He grunted.
“Did you hear me about going to Lorraine’s for dinner?”
“That would be twice this week. Too much. Besides, I’m not going if that man will be there.”
I didn’t want to get in to it with him. “I’ve been so busy I had to cancel my doctor’s appointment. Two more weeks won’t harm the baby, but since your mom asked me to, I rescheduled the appointment for tomorrow.”
His jaw worked. Still, he didn’t look at me. “Visa balance is high, too. I thought we’d gotten over Christmas.” He made a few clicks and began studying the posted activity. “What’s this item from Baby Now? Close to seven hundred dollars?”
“A crib. I thought we better start buying items for the baby so we’re not hit all at once. Want to see the picture?”
“No. Just wondered.” He peered at the screen, adding up deposits, debits, writing down the balance.
“Denny, look at me. Aren’t you happy about the baby?”
He pushed himself away from the table and ranged around the room, his fists deep in his pockets. “Of course I am. How could you think otherwise?” He thumped back down and leaned his chair against the wall. I thought of the fat union rep. “It’s just that …”
He didn’t finish the sentence but stared right through me at something on the far wall, his body tense. I held him then, and one thing led to another and we were in bed. The best medicine for him. Me, too.
As we lay side by side afterward, his cell rang. Fumbling for it, he sat up and answered. Cupping a hand over the phone, he mouthed Mom and began nodding and listening to Lorraine, whom I heard doing a rapid-speak mode and laughing. He assured her we were on the way, that we’d got caught up in bank business. After ending the call, he kissed me and gave me one of his Denny smiles. A charge coursed through me, and I could have started all over again. I’d missed him so much
.
“Mom’s cooking chicken. I’m starved.”
On the drive down to Carroll Gardens, I wondered whether I should tell him about our meeting with Jane. The thought made me hyperventilate. I was totally out of my element. No big deal: I’d leave it to Lorraine.
Inside, the smell was scrumptious as we walked toward the kitchen, me following Denny, who’d hung up my coat, his thumbs hooked into his jeans as we entered the dining room. Running a hand over the tablecloth, he turned back to me with a grin. “Only three places.”
“White wine, I think, don’t you?” Lorraine asked, her glasses fogged from oven steam, kissing us both and handing me the platter of one of her specialties, chicken fried to perfection. “There’s a Chablis in the fridge.”
Denny opened the wine and poured while she carried the mashed potatoes and gravy. I brought in the asparagus, salad, and rolls, taking too much and almost dropping the platters but managing to shove them onto the table without losing any of the food.
When we were seated, Lorraine raised her glass. “Here’s to mothers and sons.”
“Mothers and sons,” we said, me holding up my glass of cranberry juice.
“And grandmothers.” She smiled.
We ate in silence for a while, me hoping I wasn’t stuffing myself too much. Lorraine had outdone herself, and I crunched into another piece of white meat, feeling the juice running down my chin. I gulped some water and sat silent as a stone while Lorraine told Denny about our meeting with Jane.
He slammed down his fork. “Let me get this straight. She went behind my back—”
But Lorraine wasn’t having it. Wagging her finger, she said, “I’m not finished talking, and you will listen, really listen to what I have to say.” She told him how much she’d missed her son, that on the last visits he’d been there and not there.
Denny rose, color flooding his face.
“Sit down, Denny.”
And to my surprise he did, listening while Lorraine told him who was present and summarizing the meeting point by point.
Death and Disappearance (A Fina Fitzgibbons Brooklyn Mystery Book 5) Page 18
