Blind Retribution

by K. T. Roberts

  “I think we talk to the diners first to find out what they heard, then we go talk to him. I’ll call in the warrant, then we’ll go see Audrey, our ADA, to pick it up.” Sitting on the passenger’s side, Max was disappointed there were hardly any leaves left on the trees. She curled her lip. “Damn, I’ve always loved seeing Central Park with the colorful leaves, but it looks like that cold snap and the rain we had the other night did a number on them. I think snow is right around the corner.” She crinkled her nose. “I absolutely hate having to trudge around in slush.”

  Riley groaned. “Yep, I agree. I think the leaves I raked up last weekend that the kids jumped in and flattened are the last of the season. Man, I was exhausted by the time I was done, but honestly, they did have fun.”

  She laughed. “That’s what they’re supposed to do. How many kids do you have?”

  “Three rambunctious boys, ten, eight, and five.”

  Max smiled, but pangs of jealousy punched her stomach from wishing she had a family of her own. Still, she always wondered whether she was parent material given the tumultuous and painful childhood she’d had. She loved her nieces, got along well with them, but would that translate into good parenting skills? She didn’t know and wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.

  “And your wife? Does she work?”

  “Leslie has a decorating business that she runs out of our home. My in-laws live next door, so when she has a job, the boys can just go right over there and the grandparents will watch them.”

  “How convenient. Lucky you.”

  “So how about you?” Riley asked. “Do you have a family?”

  “No. I’m married to my job.”

  “There’s nothing like having a family, Max.”

  “I’m sure, but that’s a subject for another day.”

  Riley pulled into the precinct garage, shut the engine down, and together they walked to the elevator and waited for the doors to open.

  “Boy, I sure hope the disc from the Hilary Gardens is here. I’m anxious to see if Hughes was telling the truth,” Max said.

  “Do you really think he would have suggested we check the surveillance if he wasn’t telling the truth?”

  Max laughed. “I suppose not, but . . .”

  “He’d be a damn fool to lie.”

  Heading to the A/V room, Max was the first to talk to Brian, the technician. “Did one of the uniforms drop off a disc from Hilary Gardens for me?”

  Max turned when she heard the lieutenant calling out to her. He was holding the disc in the air. “Santini just dropped it off.”

  “Awesome, Lieutenant. Thank you. Want to stay and watch it with us?” she asked.

  “I think I will.”

  “Let it roll, Brian,” Max said. She handed the disc to him and eased down into a chair next to the lieutenant.

  For the better part of the footage, there was nothing to see except the stillness of the hallways. “Geez, this is a pretty boring place,” Riley said.

  “So far, but for some reason, I think the show is just about to begin,” Max said, and then she saw him. “Well, Riley, will you look at what this damned fool did?”

  “Boy, I’ll say.” Leaning closer to the screen, Riley commented again, “He’s leaving the building”—he squinted at the screen—“and he’s exiting through the stairwell?” they said in unison.

  “That’s thirty-one flights down. I guess our so-called wounded lover didn’t stay home after all. Brian, can you back that up again?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Brian said.

  She smiled at him. He was a nice kid, in his twenties and fairly new to the department. Coming from a corporate background, he’d witnessed firsthand how the NYPD worked their magic when his boss was caught setting up cameras in the vice president’s suite to tape his after-hours extracurricular activities on his office sofa. That was what made him decide he wanted to be part of the police force.

  “So Hughes said he was home all night alone?” the lieutenant asked.

  “Yep, that’s exactly what he told Howie and me on that first visit.”

  “The time stamp says ten o’clock,” Riley said, jotting down the number. “Okay, so let’s watch to see where this bugger goes, but also keep in mind that the Barretts’ surveillance has Jack’s car driving past the house at eleven o’clock that night.”

  “Yeah, but do you know for a fact that he was the one driving the car?” Wallace asked, lines wrinkling around his eyes from his frown.

  “Probably, unless someone hijacked him on the way and stole his car. But, just to be sure, I’ll check the database to see if he reported it missing to the auto theft unit.” Riley stepped away and walked outside into the hallway, shutting the door behind him.”

  “How’s he’s doing?” Wallace asked Max when he heard the door close.

  “Great. He’s quick to notice things that even I’ve missed. I think he’s going to work out just fine.” She stopped talking when Riley reentered with a file in his hand.

  “No reports.” Riley handed the file folder to Max. “Also, Bensonhurst just returned with La Fontaine’s list of diners from the afternoon Jack and Helen Barrett quarreled.”

  “Excellent. Let’s divide the list and make the calls,” Max said. Turning toward her boss, she frowned. “That new rookie,” she said, “what’s his name?”

  “Sanchez. You want some help calling these customers?”

  “That would be a big help. The sooner we can get this liar behind bars, the better off we’ll be.”

  “I’ll send him over to your desk.”

  “Thanks, Lieutenant.”

  “All right, Riley, how about you start off by calling Hilary Gardens to see if the elevators were down. Let’s give Hughes the benefit of the doubt to see if he walked down those thirty-one flights for a legitimate reason.”

  Riley sat down at his desk and keyed in the number while Max noticed Sanchez on his way over to her desk. “Thanks for helping out,” she said when he stopped next to her. She handed him one of the lists. “I’d like you to take this list and go back to your desk and call each person. What I want to know is if they heard an argument between two people on the afternoon of October eighteenth at La Fontaine and, if so, what specifically they heard. I wouldn’t say anything about expecting them to testify because they may clam up. If we find their information useful, we’ll subpoena them anyway.”

  “Okay. Sounds pretty clear-cut to me.”

  “Excellent. This has to be done today, so if anyone else tries to give you some work, ask them to talk to the lieutenant.”

  “Got it.”

  Riley disconnected his call. “The manager of the maintenance department over at Hilary said the last time they had difficulty with the elevators was the month of July.” He humphed. “No one walks down thirty-one flights. I’ll bet he thought that by taking the stairs, he’d bypass the surveillance cameras.”

  “I love it!” she chuckled. “Listen, I just gave Sanchez half the list of restaurant clients. Let’s you and me divide what’s left in half and talk to these people to see what they know. It looks like Simone gave us the complete list of reservations for the day, but I’d still like to talk to all of them regardless of what time they were scheduled. The customer could have changed the time, and Simone may have gotten sidetracked and forgotten to correct it on the log.” They each sat down and started calling.

  Max keyed in the number for the name on the top of her list. “I’d like to speak to Mrs. Warner.”

  “This is she. Who is this?”

  “Hello, Mrs. Warner, I’m Detective Max Turner from the 51st Precinct, Homicide Division of the NYPD, and I’d like to ask you a few questions about having lunch at La Fontaine.”

  “Oh dear,” the woman said. “I didn’t see anyone get killed, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Max couldn’t help but smile at her comment. “We’re investigating a homicide that may involve two guests who had lunch at La Fontaine on the eighteenth of October. I saw your name o
n the list and wondered if you did in fact have lunch there that day?”

  “Yes. My friend, Trudy, and I did. I remember the date specifically because we were celebrating her birthday. Are you going to ask me about that evil man who started a ruckus in the dining room?”

  “What man are you referring to?”

  “There was a handsome couple who sat at a table closest to the bar. Trudy, that’s my friend, she and I sat a few tables away from them. Funny, I kept glancing over at him because I honestly thought he was Jeff Foxworthy, but obviously, I was wrong. I just love that man.”

  “Did you hear any part of the argument?”

  “It was obvious they were angry about something. At first the conversation was low. The woman was trying to calm him, but it wasn’t working. We tried to ignore it, but then all of a sudden, the man’s voice escalated and he was so angry, his words were all jumbled, but we did hear him say something about wanting to kill her. That had Trudy and me shaking in our boots. We almost left for that very reason, but the hostess came over and asked him to leave.” She blew out a breath. “And thank God for that. There are some pretty weird people out there, Detective. Who knows what he would have done.”

  “Is that specifically what he said? That he wanted to kill her?”

  “Hmm . . . give me a minute.” She paused. “No, maybe not. The only words that I heard with clarity were ‘kill you.’ And after the hostess booted him out . . . well, not literally, but he stormed out of the place with clenched fists.”

  “And what about the woman? Did she also leave?”

  “Not at that point. The poor thing was absolutely mortified. I could see her face was flushed, but she sat there for a while, I suspect trying to calm herself down. She waited about a half hour, then the hostess came over to the table and walked her out of the restaurant, you know, standing on the side of her that blocked our view.” She sighed. “I’ve never seen anything so upsetting. It just ruined Trudy’s birthday celebration. Did he kill her?”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t answer that question. Would you mind giving me Trudy’s telephone number so I can call and ask her what she heard?”

  “Certainly.” She recited the number.

  “Thank you very much, Mrs. Warner. You’ve been extremely helpful.”

  “Well, I hope that man gets what he deserves. If he killed her, you can put a checkmark next to my name, because I’ll testify to what I saw and heard.”

  “Thank you. We appreciate your assistance. I’d like to give you my phone number just in case you remember anything else that you think might be pertinent to the case.”

  Two hours later, Max rolled her chair away from her desk and covered a yawn with her hand. “How are you making out with the list?” she asked Riley.

  “Out of ten customers, six dined later, two were dining at the time it occurred and recognized there was an argument going on but ignored it, and two claim they heard Jack say the words kill her.”

  “I found only two on my list who are willing to testify if needed.” She checked her notes. “A Mrs. Warner and her lunch companion,” Max said, picking up her phone. “Let’s see how Sanchez is doing on his list.”

  By the time Sanchez was finished with his calls, Max and Riley had their warrant for Jack’s arrest and were headed to his apartment building.

  Max gave a forceful knock on Hughes’s apartment door. He angrily pulled it open and groaned when he saw her.

  “You couldn’t call first to let me know you were coming? You had to surprise me?” He left the door open and walked in the opposite direction.

  “That’s far enough, Mr. Hughes,” Riley said. Hughes stopped short and turned, a baffled expression on his face.

  “Have a seat, because we have more questions,” Max said.

  “About what?” he snapped.

  “Let’s start with your lunch at La Fontaine the day before Helen Barrett died. Your last meal together. We have witnesses who will testify in a court of law that you threatened to kill her.” Max’s brow arched, almost daring him to lie again. Given Jack’s quick temper, she and Riley were prepared to restrain him, if necessary.

  “What? They’re nuts. I did not.” His face reddened with anger. “Yes, we had an argument, and yes, I was asked to leave, but I never said I wanted to kill her.” His voice rose progressively higher as he spoke.

  “Then tell us about that argument,” Riley said.

  “I was trying to win her back. She was making a mistake by staying with Jeffrey, and I told her that. But I wasn’t shouting.”

  “These witnesses, all diners at the restaurant at the same time you were there, said you threatened her.”

  “My God”—he covered his face with his hands—“I loved her. I was beside myself and yes, I was very upset, but that’s not something I would have said to her. Maybe I did shout . . . and didn’t realize it. You have to understand, we had big plans for a beautiful future together.”

  “Then what did you say?” Max asked.

  He rubbed his forehead. “I’m struggling to remember.” He stared off into the distance for a while, then suddenly held up his hand. “I do remember.” He nodded his head up and down. “I remember exactly what I said. I told her if she went back to Jeffrey he was going to kill her.” He blew out a breath from his air-filled cheeks. “I swear, that’s exactly what I said.”

  “I wish we could believe you, Mr. Hughes, but with so many lies, an already spotted record, and your anger-management issues, why should we believe you now?”

  “I didn’t lie to you.”

  “No?” Max replied. “Then why didn’t you tell us you’d left your apartment Saturday evening? You even got annoyed at me for asking, and adamantly insisted you were alone,” Max said, “so if you didn’t leave, then why do we have you on video walking through the exit door on this floor and walking down thirty-one flights of stairs, getting into your car, and driving away from the building? How do you explain that?”

  “I guess I forgot to tell you.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Hughes, I’m not buying it,” Max said as he glared at her. “This is your last chance to explain yourself.”

  “Okay, so I had cabin fever and decided to go for a walk in the park. Nothing sinister about it, Detective. I needed to get out of the apartment. If you recall, ma’am, I was the one to suggest you view the surveillance. Do you think if I had done anything wrong, I would have suggested it?”

  “So why didn’t you tell us about your walk?”

  “Because I was afraid you’d think I did something to hurt Helen. I swear to you, I did nothing. Not telling you was poor judgment on my part, but . . .”

  “I’m afraid it’s too late for any ‘buts,’ Mr. Hughes. We’re charging you with the murder of Helen Barrett. Please turn around.” Riley walked behind him, removed the cuffs from his belt clip, and slipped them around Jack’s wrists, locking them into place.

  “You can’t be serious?” His face flushed with anger.

  “I am. And by the way, we do have surveillance that has you driving past the Barrett residence late on the evening that they renewed their vows. Plus, we’ve checked with your commanding officer in the military, who informed us you were awarded the highest medal of honor for your expertise in explosives by the United States Department of Defense. They even revealed that you were so good at what you did, they put you in a senior supervisory role and referred to you as the master.”

  Max read Hughes his rights.

  “You are dead wrong about this, lady,” he mumbled, his face emotionless.

  “Yeah, and so is Helen Barrett.”

  Late Tuesday evening, Cory Rossini walked into the Manhattan Detention Complex, which was nicknamed The Tombs. “I’m here to see Jack Hughes,” he said to Darnell Richards, one of the guards. Cory knew Darnell from his frequent visits to the complex to see clients he’d represented in the past. He’d always liked Darnell, but the inmates had nothing nice to say about the man. As a matter of fact, the man Cory thought was a g
entle soul had been described by his clients as a teddy bear with the soul of a lion. Cory noted Darnell’s middle had expanded over the last several months, and his balding hairline had now become impossible to disguise. Darnell’s ego, which had always been considerable, was probably wounded.

  “Hey, Cory. Long time no see. Are you Hughes’s attorney?”

  “No. I’m doing private investigative work for a while. I needed a break.”

  “Yeah, I hear you. I feel that way sometimes myself, but this is all I know.” He nodded toward the hall. “You know where Interview Room 8 is located. I’ll get him for you.”

  Cory walked into the room and sat down on one of the chairs. Not much had changed since the last time he was there to visit with a client. The Tombs had remained in its usual state of disrepair. As Cory walked down the hall, prisoners reached their arms through the bars and begged for cigarettes while declaring their innocence. Cory noticed the same old chipped tables, the same old chairs, the seats torn with stuffing poking out, the same old dreary wall color in dire need of paint, and dented lockers around the perimeter. A strong scent of Pine-Sol masked the stench of urine deeply saturated into the cement.

  Cory felt sick to his stomach knowing his friend was housed in this kind of environment.

  Best friends since childhood, Jack was like a second brother to him, and his family had welcomed Cory with open arms, taking him on weeklong vacations and trips to the beach while his own parents worked. There was little doubt in his mind that Jack was no killer, and he was going to do whatever he could to prove it.

  The sound of the door opening caught Cory’s attention, and he stood when Jack walked inside wearing the customary orange jumpsuit. Cory watched as Darnell removed Jack’s cuffs. He wanted to pull Jack into his arms for a guy hug to let him know he had his back, but he knew none of that was allowed.

  “I didn’t do this, Cory. I swear to you.”

  “You don’t need to tell me that, buddy. How you holding up?”

  “Right now, I’m just shocked over Helen’s death. I don’t even care what happens to me.”