While Everyone Was Sleeping

by Donald Collins

  “That’s exactly what my partner and I were thinking,” McQuade said.

  “We still don’t know who he is, but there’s a way to find him.”

  “Go on.”

  “In addition to fingerprinting the customers, the pawn shops take their pictures, and it looks like you caught a break.”

  “How’s that?” McQuade asked.

  “As far as we can tell this guy only used two men to do his dirty work. I’ll fax their photos to you and you can go search the soup-kitchens and check the homeless shelters. When you find them, they might be able to point you in the right direction.”

  Two days later McQuade and Rider located one of the facilitators they were after. He told them the guy who sent him into the pawn shops is named Matthew. He didn’t have a last name, but he said the guy drove a white van and he remembered the plate number.

  When McQuade ran the plate, he learned that Danski had put out a BOLO on it. McQuade called Danski and set up a meeting. The following morning Danski and Litchfield went to the Fourth Division office and compared notes with McQuade and Rider.

  “We know exactly who we’re after,” Danski said. “His name’s Matthew Adams.” Danski provided a description and a last known address. “You’re not gonna find him there, though. He knows we’re after him so he’s not gonna sit around the house and wait for us to knock on his door.”

  “We missed him by seconds the other night over in Hillsdale Hospital in Flushing,” Litchfield said “But we didn’t come away empty-handed. We arrested his wife as an accomplice to the kidnap. She’s being held at Rikers.”

  “That’s all well and good as far as your case is concerned,” McQuade said. “But Jeff and I have a lot of time invested in the burglary side of the case, so when we catch up with him, he’s ours.”

  Danski shook his head. “Kidnap and attempted murder trumps a dozen burglaries any day of the week. When we arrest Adams, you’ll be the first to know about it. You’ll still be able to clear your cases. I assume that’s what you’re interested in - your clearance rate.”

  “Yeah, sure, that’s important,” McQuade said. “But we’re not gonna roll over and play dead here while you guys walk off with the collar. Don’t expect us to step aside and turn our case over to the Cold Case detectives and walk away.”

  Danski stared down McQuade. We’re only here as a courtesy. When we bring this guy in, I’ll give you a call and let you know.”

  Danski bunched his papers together and stood.

  “Hold on, hold on,” Litchfield said. “There’s no reason for anybody to step aside. We can all work on this together. All the events went on during the same time frame more or less, but they’re not related, so we can both arrest him.”

  “The district attorney might say differently when we get to Central Booking,” McQuade said. “He may want to lump the charges together.”

  “And which do you think will be the lead charge?” Danski sneered.

  “Kidnap and attempted murder, of course,” McQuade said. “See what I mean?”

  “Wait a minute,” Danski said. “The D.A. can’t lump them together and expect me and Greg to testify on the burglary charges. That’s your area.”

  “That’s what I’m saying,” McQuade said.

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Litchfield said. “We’ve all put a lot of time and effort our investigations and built strong cases against Adams. We’ll adjust our plans if we have to, but I don’t think it will come to that.” He took in McQuade and Rider’s faces. “Agreed?”

  “Yeah, agreed,” McQuade sulked.

  All four banged fists and then gathered their papers.

  “We’ve still got to catch him,” Danski said.

  “You’re right,” McQuade said. “But we’re a hell of a lot closer to nabbing him now than we were yesterday.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The majority of the roughly ten thousand inmates held at Rikers Island on a daily basis are pre-trial detainees and have not yet been convicted of a crime. The rest have been convicted and are serving short sentences. Roughly ninety-three percent of the inmate population is male, African-American or Latino from low-income neighborhoods of New York. As a forty-three-year-old white female from a middle-class Queens neighborhood, Audrey Adams is an exception to the rule. Forty percent of the inmates have been diagnosed with some type of mental issue. Following an intake interview and analysis, Audrey was found to fit into that category. She was diagnosed as being mildly delusional, but not considered a threat to herself or others. After being briefed, Danski made arrangements to go to Rikers to question her with her attorney present. When he and Litchfield got there, they were told that Audrey had been ROR’d, or released on her own reconnaissance. Learning this, Danski called ADA Roberts who informed him that due to her condition, the DA’s office was declining prosecution of Audrey and concentrating solely on Matthew. He considered Audrey an unwitting accomplice. “She agreed to testify against Matthew,” Roberts said.

  ***

  “There’s no doorbell,” Danski said as they climbed the steps to Audrey’s front door.

  “There’s a knocker,” Litchfield said.

  “A lot of good that does us,” Danski said after tugging on the door handle and finding it locked. “Ya can’t get to it.”

  He banged his fist on the door and then stepped back. They had their gold shields and photo ID ready when Audrey opened the door.

  “I remember both of you very well,” Audrey said with an angry stare when she opened the door. “What can I do for you?”

  “We went to Rikers to speak with you, but you had already been released,” Danski said.

  “That’s such a horrible place,” Audrey said. She rolled her eyes and then sighed loudly. “I’m so glad to be out of there. It’s very depressing there. I just got home a few minutes ago.”

  “We need to ask you a few questions,” Danski responded. “May we come in?”

  Audrey nodded grudgingly and then led them through her living room and into her kitchen flipping light switches as she walked. She seemed as surprised as the detectives to see the note Matthew left on the table. Danski turned the paper in his direction. Without picking it up he read it quickly and then pushed it to Audrey’s side of the table. She read it slowly and then held her hands to her cheeks. She pulled out a chair and sat.

  “It wasn’t too long ago that my life seemed so simples. Boring, actually,” she said with a sardonic laugh in her voice despite the tears. “I was the proverbial soccer mom. And now my son is in critical condition at Hillsdale Hospital, and I’ve been told he isn’t really my son anyway. I’ve seen the inside of a notorious prison, and I’ve learned that my husband is a mastermind burglar and kidnapper.”

  She held up the note and then slid it across the table back to Danski. “I guess I didn’t know my husband as well as I thought I did.”

  Danski grimaced and shook his head. “It’s apparent that you’re innocent of the charges that were brought against you and you knew nothing about Matthew’s crimes. We’ve discussed the facts of the case with the district attorney and we’re in agreement.”

  “Then why did you arrest me?”

  “We didn’t know that at the time,” Danski replied. “Since you took Jake in and treated him as your son, we had to assume that you were as guilty as Matthew was.”

  Audrey chewed her lower lip. “It’s been very difficult for me to get it through my head that the boy I’ve loved and nurtured all these years is not my son at all, that Jason really did die five years ago. I want to go back to Hillsdale Hospital to be with him, but in my heart I know it’s not my place. I’m not sure they would allow me in there under the circumstances. I suppose I’ve been terribly naïve.”

  Danski was certain that Audrey suffered a nervous breakdown following Jason’s death. But there must have come a time when she realized the truth and chose to ignore it. He might be wrong, but he felt that at some point, she must have suspected that Jak
e was not the son that was taken from them, but desperately wanted to believe the lie Matthew told her. In her grief she might have gone along with the charade Matthew perpetrated and asked no questions.

  “We’d like to have your permission to search your house, starting with the panel in the closet that Matthew mentioned here,” Danski said and tapped his finger against the note.

  “I want no part of whatever is in there,” Audrey said as she stood and distanced herself from the note, then led the way to her bedroom.

  Danski pulled the closet door open and pushed some things aside. He then squatted and removed the panel. Behind it he found the five thousand dollars in ten bundles and also a box of rings, bracelets and earrings. He assumed it was the proceeds from past burglaries Matthew committed. It appeared to be merchandise he could fence easily on the street and not need to bring to pawn shops.

  “Have you ever seen any of this before, the jewelry or the money?” he asked over his shoulder and then turned to see Audrey staring back wide-eyed and holding her hands against her chest. Tears rushed down her cheeks as she shook her head and then sat on her bed.

  “Never,” Audrey answered. “Please get all of that out of my house. Please!”

  When their search was completed Danski asked Audrey for permission to search the garage.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” she answered, “Go right ahead. Do whatever you need to do. I’ll stay here. I never go to the garage. I’m afraid to see what you might find out there.”

  “I guess we can call off the BOLO,” Litchfield said after opening the garage door and seeing the F150.

  The false panel in his closet told them that Matthew was good at hiding things. They kept that in mind as they began their search of the van. They started with in the front seats. Danski found nothing under the driver’s seat and dashboard, and the upholstery did not appear to be torn or compromised. The door panels were intact and the center console held only loose change, a package of gum and a pair of sunglasses.

  “I’ve got something interesting over here,” Litchfield said from the passenger side. He held up a notebook he found in the glove compartment. “We need to let McQuade and Rider know about this,” he said after glancing over a few pages.

  Chapter Forty

  Cold Case Squad Office

  “Let’s use the conference room, we’ll have more room in there,” Danski told the Burglary Squad detectives when they joined him and Gregory at eight-thirty the following morning. He pointed to a glass enclosure next to Quinn’s office.

  “You can grab some coffee on the way,” Litchfield said. He chin-nodded to the credenza that was filled with coffee pods and a box of Dunkin Donuts that Danski brought in earlier and set around a Kurek coffee maker. Styrofoam cups were stacked in the center.

  Quinn saw the activity and joined them after pouring a mug of coffee for himself. Although he had no information to contribute to the meeting, he took a seat at the head of the table while the detectives spread their notebooks and case folders in front of them.

  Danski hadn’t expected the captain to sit in on the meeting, but thought Quinn probably wanted to be well versed in the investigation for his next Comstat meeting. He only hoped that Quinn wouldn’t ask for another update because he was getting tired of having to start with day-one every time Quinn asked for one.

  “The boss wants to join us, if that’s all right with everyone,” he said and then quickly introduced Quinn.

  “I realize that this is a very involved and difficult case,” Quinn said, directing his comments to McQuade and Rider. “It’s like peeling back an onion - we discover another layer every day. Our side of the case goes back five years to July of 2013 when a four-year-old boy was kidnapped from his bed in an Upper East Side apartment. I’m sure Steve and Gregory have gone over that with you.”

  McQuade and Rider nodded. “Yes,” McQuade said we’re familiar with the kidnapping and how Matthew Adams became a suspect.”

  Quinn gestured to Danski to start the ball rolling. Danski began with Detective Latimer’s initial work on the case and worked forward, recapping his and Litchfield’s investigation quickly. When he was done, he looked to McQuade, who took his cue and summarized his and Rider’s investigation. He called Adams the worst kind of crook out there. He’s the kind of guy who goes into someone’s apartment and rummages through their belongings while they’re sleeping a few feet away. You can be sure he’s ready to hurt or kill that person if he or she wakes up. Although we weren’t aware of his name until very recently, Jeff and I have been tracking this man for three years and we’re extremely pleased that he’s been identified.”

  McQuade told how he and Rider learned the brazen cat-burglar’s identity by lifting prints from merchandise that he had intermediaries bring to pawn shops.

  “It was tedious work by detectives with the Pawn Shop Detail and the Crime Scene Unit. Adams was so sure he wouldn’t get caught that he didn’t bother wiping his prints from the jewelry before it was brought to the pawn shops.”

  Quinn nodded. “Brazen. We’ve got thirty-five thousand cops out there and he thought he was gonna outsmart all of them.”

  McQuade continued saying he and Rider caught a break when they located one of the intermediaries who provided Adams’ plate number. “What are the chances the guy would remember the plate number? When he ran the plate we learned that Steve had put out a BOLO on it.”

  Quinn sat back and pressed his weight against the back of the chair and steepled his fingers on his stomach. He sensed the competition the two cases brought out. Danski and McQuade were both Alpha dogs. Neither of them was going to give an inch if he didn’t have to, but, they had apparently fought that battle and settled on a common ground.

  “Excellent work on all parts, gentlemen. I find it very interesting how two separate squads working separate investigations came up with the same name.”

  “I agree,” McQuade said somberly. “Now all we have to do is catch him.”

  “We went to his house in Far Rockaway,” Danski said. “His wife gave us permission to search the place. Adams left a note on the kitchen table directing her to a false panel in his clothes closet where we found five thousand dollars. In addition to that, we found a cardboard box containing an assortment of jewelry that I’m sure you’ll find on your list of property that was stolen over the past three years.”

  Danski excused himself and left the room. He returned with a cardboard box that he dropped on the table.

  “This is the box we recovered from the closet.” He spread the flaps apart and then pushed the box across the table in McQuade’s direction. McQuade inspected the items and nodded. “Yeah, this is all on our list.”

  “We found a notebook in the glove compartment of his van,” Danski said. “It provides a chronicle of his customers’ names and addresses as well as the dates he did work at their residence. It also has the dates he planned to return there to rip them off.”

  “Excellent,” Rider said. “But if you have his book, how is he going to remember which apartments he was supposed to return to and when.”

  “We thought of that, too,” Danski said and then pushed a few sheets of paper across the table toward McQuade and Rider. “We made a copy of his notebook and then we went back to his house and put the book back where we found it. I have no doubt he’s gonna make a bee-line to the van when he realizes he forgot to take it when he took his wife’s car and split the night we arrested Audrey. He’ll come back for it when he thinks nobody is watching his house.”

  “He might have come back for it already,” Litchfield said. “We’ll check on that later.”

  Danski ran his finger down the list of customers and the dates Adams indicated he intended to come back to their apartments. “According to this, Mrs. Shulman is next on his list.”

  “Yes, I see,” Rider said as he perused the list. “Mae Shulman lives at 1572 East 81st Street. Adams has her scheduled for September fourteenth. That’s next Friday.”

  “It’
s only a week away,” Litchfield said,

  Rider clapped his hands and smiled. “I can’t wait.”

  “It sounds like you guy s have everything under control,” Quinn said. “Does anyone have anything else?”

  “The detectives shook their heads. “We’ve gone over everything,” Danski replied. “We all know what we have to do.”

  “In that case I’ll leave you guys alone,” Quinn said. “I’m sure you can work out any loose ends without me.”

  McQuade regarded Quinn with a curious glance, the look of a man who believed all commanders loved to ride on the coattails of their underlings and were quick to shed the blame if things went wrong. “Ten-four, Captain.”

  “Gregory and I will stop by Shulman’s building and talk with the super and see what he can tell us about her,” Danski said.

  “If you do that, you’ll have to tell him that we’re planning to catch a burglar up there on Friday night,” Rider said.

  “It’s a chance we’ll have to take,” Danski said. “Otherwise we’ll be going in there blind.”

  “Deputize the man,” McQuade said. “Swear him to secrecy.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Danski and Litchfield drove to Far Rockaway when the meeting broke up. They expected Matthew to break into Mae Shulman’s apartment in five days and they needed to know if he came back to his garage for his notebook. They turned the corner when they reached Beach 49th Street, in time to see Audrey walking back to her front door after retrieving her morning mail. She turned when the brown cruiser pulled into the driveway.

  “Good morning,” Litchfield said when he got out.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked, appearing startled.