“Your questions are not related to either murder investigation, so I’ll pass.”
“How do you feel about it, walking the gauntlet?” Baron was not giving up.
“No comment.”
Darla’s hand shot up. “Are you now responsible for the Nickerson case as well as the del Balzo?”
“At this moment, I am.” Damn, that little southern belle was really in tune with her.
Corelli pointed at Helen Duggin from Channel 29. “What are the similarities?”
“No comment.”
Unfazed, Duggin pressed for more detail. “Is it true that it was the cleaning woman who worked for both men who found them?”
“No comment.”
Winfry stepped forward. “Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen. We’ll keep you posted.” He flicked the mike off. “Corelli and Parker with me.”
He led them to his office. “Nicely done, Corelli. But what the hell happened in there? Are you sick?”
She glanced at Parker. “Just lightheaded, sir. I haven’t eaten much all day.” If Parker contradicted her, she’d be off the case. “And, thanks to you and Parker, I managed to stay on my feet.”
Winfry turned to Parker. “How did you know—”
“Corelli mentioned earlier that she was feeling off, and I was standing right behind her so I saw her start to sway.”
“Hmm.” He looked from one to the other. “Well, be sure you eat. It won’t do for you to get sick.”
Corelli asked Parker to hang out with her during the interview with The New York Daily World to provide another set of ears and eyes to make sure she didn’t give the reporter too much. They were relaxing on the sofa, Corelli with mint tea and Parker with a beer, waiting for the reporter, when Corelli cleared her throat. “Thanks for your support during the press conference, Parker. And with Winfry.”
Parker smiled and lifted her beer to acknowledge the acknowledgment. Then the bell rang and Corelli went to buzz the reporter up.
“Nice to see you, Sal,” Corelli said as she ushered Sal Cantrino into her apartment and over to the sofa. “Sal, this is Detective P.J. Parker, Parker this is Sal Cantrino, editor of The New York Daily World.”
“Have a seat.” She gestured to the sofa. “But don’t sit on the kittens. Something to drink?”
“Ah, the hero cats.” He rubbed their heads. “A beer would be nice.”
Corelli got him a beer and sat. “Since when does the editor do interviews?”
“I’ve decided we’ll do an article first so we can say what we want without you being involved. After that runs, I’ll send the reporter to interview you.”
Corelli breathed deeply and smiled. “That’s great, Sal. The last thing I feel like doing right now is giving an interview.”
“But you have to promise you’ll do an interview some other time.”
“You say when.” She stood and stretched. “I didn’t realize how tired I am.” She glanced at the clock. “Anybody want to watch the ten o’clock news?”
First up was the footage in front of Nickerson’s house. The two of them standing straight, heads held high, striding toward and through the gauntlet, Darla’s voice describing what was happening. Then an interview with some expert from John Jay College of Criminal Justice who explained the blue wall and why Corelli was being ostracized.
“You two look good,” Sal said. “I don’t know how you handle the pressure, Chi.”
Corelli shrugged. “All in a day’s work.” She flipped through the other news channels, checking out their coverage. Most flashed them walking through with a quick comment about the police ostracizing one of their own for turning against other cops. She turned back to WYNY and they watched the press conference.
“So what do you think, Sal?”
“Great. You came across as a professional trying to do a job. No defensiveness, even with that ass Metnick, no soft shoe avoiding questions. You were loud and clear.”
“Thanks. Let’s hope the mayor gets the message.”
Last thing up was the interview. Corelli stared at the composed, attractive, confident Darla North introducing her latest interview with Detective Chiara Corelli. Had she imagined the scared, shaking Darla she’d met at the media feeding frenzy? She leaned forward, anxious to see what Darla had that she thought would neutralize Carla del Balzo’s attack.
Darla introduced the program then interspersed the interview they had filmed earlier with interviews with witnesses and suspects from previous cases including several from the Winter case. Darla deftly brought each and every one of the former suspects to admit they were angry at the time that Detective Corelli hounded them, but she was justified because they were lying to her. No, the lies didn’t have anything to do with the murder, mostly they were personal things. And yes, Detective Corelli had solved the crime and brought the murderer to trial. In addition, Darla had managed to find several current and former NYPD detectives willing to speak positively about her, and all had given her rave reviews as a detective, as a colleague, and as a human being. Corelli was overwhelmed. And disappointed. She’d harbored a fantasy that Brett would rise to her defense. Maybe Brett hadn’t forgiven her after all.
How did Darla find these people? Corelli glanced at Parker, who was totally absorbed and didn’t look guilty. Tess? Maybe Watkins? She was sure Darla wouldn’t give up her source but whoever it was had done a great job. And, so had Darla and Bear. She turned the TV off.
Parker grinned at her. “Little southern belle sure came through tonight.”
Sal stood and stretched. “She’s southern?”
“Only in private.” Corelli laughed. “How did she find those people?”
“Don’t look at me,” said Parker. “I volunteered but she said I was too close to the del Balzo investigation.”
“That was great, Chi. I couldn’t have done better myself. Gives me an idea or two for our article. I’m going to take off.” He leaned over and kissed Corelli’s cheek. “Night, Parker. It’s always nice to meet the people featured on our front pages.” He pulled Corelli up. “C’mon, let me out.”
When Corelli joined Parker on the sofa, the kittens immediately jumped into her lap. “Have you decided on names?”
“I don’t want to name them if I’m not keeping them.”
“Uh-huh.” Parker looked skeptical. “So how did you get so friendly with the editor of the World”
“You playin’ gotcha, Parker?” Corelli laughed. “Too bad you didn’t ask when Sal was here so I could have done a number on him.” She rubbed the kittens’ heads. Their warmth and their weight in her lap had a strangely calming effect on her. “Sal’s older sister, Angie, was my best friend growing up. After school and in the summer Angie had to take care of him so he went everywhere with us. That meant I, too, took care of him. I love to tease him about changing his diaper and wiping his nose. He’s like family. Nothing nefarious. Call him later and confirm my story.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Sunday – 7 a.m.
One by one they dragged themselves into the meeting, some with caffeinated sodas, some with Starbucks or no-name coffee. Some sipped and stared into space, some nibbled and stared into space, and some nibbled and sipped and read the morning papers or stared into space. No conversation, no kidding around.
When most everyone was accounted for, Corelli’s everyday voice easily penetrated the eerie silence. “Morning.”
“Morning.” Dietz stood. “If I may, Corelli, we all attended the press conference yesterday so nothing new there, but I’d like to start the meeting by showing a tape of your interview on WNYN last night. It’s less than ten minutes. You okay with that?”
“Sure.” Maybe it would wake them up.
When it ended, the team cheered and energetic chatter filled the room. She tipped an invisible hat to Dietz. Not only was he a good detective and a tireless worker, but he was always tuned in to the needs of the group. It was a lucky break for he
r that they’d ended up in the same station again, especially at a time when she was short of friends.
“Thanks, guys. While we’re on the topic, Darla North has asked to talk to some of you. I suggested she cover one of our meetings and then talk to anyone who has something to say. We can’t talk about the investigation, but she’ll have some more general questions. If you’re not all okay with that, we don’t have to do it. It was just a suggestion. Think about it and let Dietz know if you object. I’m good either way.”
She let them discuss it amongst themselves for a minute, then called for quiet.
“Anybody have something? Anything that connects Del Balzo and Nickerson?”
Forlini cleared his throat. “Yeah, I caught del Balzo’s neighbors last night. At first the old man said he didn’t see anybody else when the mystery man entered the house, but when I had him try to visualize as he repeated the story he recalled a slender young man with dark, curly hair wearing a business suit getting out of a taxi. The guy watched Nardo embrace the mystery man, and then he abruptly turned east and walked away.”
“Sounds like Sigler told the truth, so maybe he’s off the hook. Anything else, Forlini?”
“Yeah. The old woman confessed she was anxious about Nardo inviting the stalker into his apartment and she stood at the window so she could see when the man left. He was only there about ten minutes. Then the door opened, and the guy was framed in the doorway with his back to the street. She’s not sure but she thought Nardo pushed him out and slammed the door in his face. The man stared at the door for a minute, then ran down the steps and went west toward Sixth Avenue.”
“Unless we find something to prove that one of them went back, Ginocchioni and Sigler seem to be in the clear. What about the bars? Anything?”
“Nothin’ we didn’t already know,” Dietz said. “The undercover guys hit the gay bars and turned up a rumor or two about gays getting phone calls and hang-ups. They’ll try again tonight.”
“Anybody got anything about Nickerson? Any witnesses, any enemies, anything?”
“We keeping Nickerson?” Watkins asked.
She was going to do her best but given the politics, they’d probably go with separate investigations. And given her intention to take a stand and go public, she’d probably be fired, suspended, or at least, be pulled off the del Balzo case. “Benson is putting pressure, but for now, he’s ours. So let’s get on it.”
“Um, the only thing we have,” said Watkins, “is a message on his machine about a picture being ready. The place that called was closed for the weekend so we’ll check it out tomorrow.”
“Anything else?” She gave it a minute before she filled them in on what she and Parker were pursuing. “Turns out Nardo was a friend of Speaker Burke at the City Council. Parker and I are meeting her at eight this morning. Hopefully, she’ll give us something, maybe a list of his friends. Or better yet, a list of his enemies. See everyone at seven tonight. Bring me something.”
“Ever been inside City Hall?” Corelli asked as she and Parker crossed Chambers Street. Corelli had always loved the nineteenth century building with its high ceilings, lovely rotunda, graceful sweeping staircase, and ornate decorations.
“Yes, when I was an ADA I had a number of meetings there with the mayor and council members and staff. Why?”
Corelli kept walking. Finally she commented. “I think it’s beautiful.”
Parker grinned. “Into old buildings, are you? I would have never guessed.”
“You don’t know anything about me, Parker. Architecture has been one of my favorite things since I was a kid and spent time in Sicily. You can learn a lot about a culture by studying their buildings.”
“I totally agree on both counts. Since you’ve kept me at arm’s length, I don’t know the real you, but I’ve had a glimpse or two behind the curtain. And, without a doubt, architecture is important to understanding a culture.”
They showed their ID, walked around the barricades, and climbed the outside steps. They were expected so they were escorted right to the office of Kate Burke, first woman and first openly lesbian Speaker of the New York City Council.
Burke had run to a quick meeting and would be back shortly. Her assistant ushered them into Burke’s office and instructed them to make themselves comfortable. They turned down the coffee or tea she offered.
Too wired to sit, Corelli prowled the office scanning the framed pictures of Kate Burke with various celebrities and politicians on the walls. Damn Burke for keeping them waiting. What could be more important than solving two murders? Trying to distract herself she moved to examining the pictures on the credenza. These looked more personal, more like jubilant family and friends on the steps of City Hall, probably the day she became speaker. The last picture jolted her. The shock of recognition felt like a punch in the gut. Her gasp brought Parker to her side.
“What is it?” Parker gazed at the picture, then turned to Corelli. “It’s—”
The door burst opened and an energetic pixie in a tailored pantsuit whooshed in, trailed by a not-so-energetic entourage of two men and a woman. The pixie stopped short at the sight of Parker and Corelli and came close to being the bottom in a pileup of the minions at her heels. She didn’t seem to notice the balancing act behind her, or maybe she conserved her energy for the important things.
“Detective Corelli, Detective Parker. Thank you for coming.” She turned to the huddled group behind her. “All right folks, I need to spend a little time with the detectives. Let’s get back together in about forty-five minutes. And unless you have a burning desire to spend another night at another political dinner, you all have the night off. Jamie will go to the Waldorf with me tonight.”
As the door closed, Burke’s smile faded. She walked over to the two detectives and looked at the picture in Corelli’s hand. “That was taken on the steps outside the day I was sworn in six weeks ago. Seems like years. We were all so happy. Little did we know a few weeks later Nardo would be dead.” She choked up. She ran her finger over the photograph. “These are my closest friends, my gay and lesbian family.”
“Who took the picture?”
“The photographer from the Daily World. It was on their front page the next day and Sal Cantrino, the editor, had it framed and sent it over as a gift. Why?”
“Did the story include names?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“And what are their names?”
She took the picture from Corelli. “Nardo,” she said, pointing, then moved her finger, naming them. “Nelson Choi, Gary Turner, Ellen Delgiorno, Meg Lerner, my partner Abigail Woo, Spencer Nickerson, and,” she looked at Corelli, “you’ve met Brett Cummings.”
The minute she’d spotted her in the picture, Corelli had been gripped by fear for Brett’s safety. So much for a passing infatuation. “Are you in touch with everyone in the picture?” Please God let Brett be safe. And the others too, of course.
“Not on a daily basis. Abigail, my partner, is in Washington discussing a commission to design a building, but I called her about Nardo.” Her face crumbled. “Sorry, it’s so unreal and things have been so hectic around here that I haven’t had a chance to mourn.” She took a tissue from the box on the credenza and dabbed her eyes. “Anyway, I called Nelson about Nardo. He’s been in Chicago but he came back last night and went out to South Hampton to spend a couple of days with his partner. Gary lives in Toronto and was just here for the day. Ellen is on a four-week Nordic cruise but I emailed her about Nardo. Spencer and I spoke Friday about four. He was devastated too. He’s in the city, probably at home stuck in front of a computer. Brett’s been in Tokyo on business for a few days, but she’s on a late flight back tomorrow night. I didn’t want to tell her while she’s so far away. I’ll go to her place to tell her tomorrow.” She sighed. “The only other one I haven’t told about Nardo is Meg because I haven’t been able to reach her. But that’s not unusual. She disappears into her painting and hardly eats or drinks or comes up for air until
one of us remembers to drag her out.” She shook her head. “She’s hopeless. She starts a painting, forgets what day it is, and ignores the phone and the door. I have her key. I’ll go over tonight when I leave the dinner at the Waldorf.”
Burke’s schedule is as bad as ours. How to tell her? “Let’s sit.” Corelli led her to the sofa.
“Have you seen the morning papers?”
“Not yet. They’re probably on my desk, but I’ve been in meetings since six this morning trying to head off a disaster of a building project in Queens. Why? Is there another disgusting article about you and the del Balzos?”
Corelli cleared her throat. “There’s no good way to say this, Speaker Burke. I’m so sorry. Spencer Nickerson was found dead yesterday, murdered.”
She pitched forward and would have fallen, but Corelli grabbed her and held her while she tried to catch her breath. Over Burke’s shoulder, Corelli watched Parker take her notebook from her bag and flip through the pages.
“What’s going on? Is it just a coincidence? Or is somebody targeting gay men?”
“No coincidence. The MO was exactly the same.” And Lerner is unaccounted for.
“Give me Meg Lerner’s phone number and address and I’ll send a patrol car to check on her.”
Parker wrote down the information and moved to Burke’s desk to call the precinct.
“Was there anything about Nardo and Spencer that would cause them to be targeted?”
Burke frowned. “You mean like S&M, or drugs, or picking up unsavory characters or…” Her voice trailed off. “No. They were ordinary guys, special but ordinary. You know what I mean?”
Parker stood. “Sorry to interrupt. Can I talk to you, Detective Corelli?” She walked to the door.
Corelli excused herself and walked over. They stepped out of the office. “What’s up?”
Parker closed the door. “I called Meg Lerner’s number and a Detective Wachinski answered. Lerner is dead. Shot in the back of the head, laid out with a rosary in her hands, incense burning, and church music playing, probably Gregorian chants but he didn’t know what it was.”
The Blood Runs Cold Page 19