“Winston Connors is singing now,” I said, “but is that in front of his lawyer and the judge at a trial? Maybe he’s playing nice because he wants them to set bail. After they do, he’ll clam up. It might be because Marie’s gone, but we don’t know that, not for sure. He’s got enough money to hire a prominent defense attorney, so I’d imagine the prosecutor’s going to need Mary’s files. I for one want to be at that trial. I want to see it all come out. I want my mother’s name cleared once and for all.” Despite myself, I felt my eyes water. “And I want to meet with Connors after we find Ralph.”
“But here’s the thing. We don’t know where Ralph is,” Denny said. “Could there be a chance that he knows his contract is finished?”
Jane shook her head.
“And another thing that puzzles me,” I said. “We still don’t know why Mary Ward Simon hired these handymen. Here’s a woman who’s an auditor, who thinks before she makes any move, who keeps a perfect house and perfect records. I put it to Barbara once that she’d recommended the handymen to her mother and she took a long time before she denied it. I sensed she was lying. I got the feeling that she’s the one who recommended them, but we don’t know that for sure. There could be someone else in the mix, someone who’s hiding Ralph.”
Jane shook her head. “I think it’s a sure bet Barbara gave her mother Arrowsmith’s name. He was the immediate link, and I’ll bet anything, it was Winston Connor’s idea, speaking to Barbara through his son.”
“Whatever,” I said. “With that recommendation, she killed her mother.”
“And another sure bet,” Jane said, “Ralph was in Dumbo last night and Dumbo’s right down the street from your house. He’s after you.”
My heart almost stopped. Willoughby was scooping up dip with the last of the chips and licking his fingers and Denny had just come back with a fresh beer when the doorbell rang.
I jumped. “Got to be Cookie, I’ll get it.”
“No you won’t,” Denny said and beat me to the door, but not by much.
Cookie stood before us, mirror to her face, checking her teeth. “Every squad car in the 84th precinct is parked on your block, plus a fire truck and ambulance. They must think you’re going to jump out a window.”
“Not us, but that’s where you come in.” I dragged her into the dining room and got her a soda and refilled the chip bowl, asking for fresh drink orders from everyone else.
“I need a break.” Willoughby turned to Denny. “Why don’t you give me a tour?”
“Not my study—it’s a mess. Let me clean it to a respectable level first.” Why do I do this to myself?
“Let’s go talk to some of the squads,” Denny suggested, “and I’ll show you the backyard.”
While Denny and Willoughby walked around outside, Jane and I sat in front of Cookie who looked at both of us, her pencil poised.
“He was really tall,” I said.
“Not really,” Jane said.
“Was he or wasn’t he?” Cookie asked.
“But it won’t make any difference, you’re just drawing a headshot, right?” I asked.
Cookie shrugged. “It might. Describe the shape of his head. Was it long, oval, round? How about his neck, was it powerful, long, thick?”
“I never saw his neck.”
“His hands?”
“Huge,” I said. “And his arms were rangy and like rubber bands. And his crotch area was too.”
“Now you’re getting carried away,” Jane said. “Why would you bother looking at his crotch area?”
“I always check that out. First thing. After that, I look at the face.”
“So we’re talking big guy,” Cookie said.
“Tell you what he looked like,” I said, “he looked like a young Bella Lugosi.”
We went on and on, finally agreeing on the fact that he was a six-foot-five Caucasian with longish straight, dark brown hair, a longish neck and nose, narrow-spaced eyes, high cheek bones, and on the gaunt side.
“What was he wearing?”
“A white T-shirt and khaki chinos. I didn’t see his shoes.”
“I did. They were boots, but you’re not going to draw those.”
“No,” Cookie admitted, “but the description of the whole man helps my fingers.”
She was drawing and we watched.
“Hair’s wrong in the front. He didn’t have bangs, but I think it was parted in the middle,” Jane said.
I agreed. “And he didn’t have hair over the ears.”
“Yes he did. His hair was shaggy except for in the front. He didn’t have a real haircut.”
Cookie hid the drawing with her left arm until she was finished.
When it was done, we both looked at it and nodded.
“How’d you do that? It’s perfect.”
I scanned it in and sent it to Jane who looked at it on her screen and sent it to her FBI guy telling him we were going to run this picture in the local papers based on the description from two eye witnesses. We’ll get their reaction. Send it to the Eagle first and five minutes later, do an all-points bulletin,” Jane said. “And make me about twenty copies. I’ll get Willoughby to walk it out to the surveillance team.”
“Did you tell your FBI guy about our encounter yesterday morning?”
Her face reddened. “I had to. Told the chief, too. He didn’t say anything, but I still feel terrible. I need to practice.”
Cookie was clueless. I remembered she wasn’t there and I told her about our encounter with Ralph.
“No wonder you’re so spooked,” she said.
Jane picked up her phone and nodded. “He says to run it.” She texted it to her contact at the Eagle, along with a physical description and called her. “Do me a solid and have a bunch of posters printed or Xeroxed or whatever. …”
The door slammed and Denny ran in. “We found prints in the back!”
Jane was on the phone to the lab. Five minutes later a skeleton crew of techs arrived and made impressions of the footprints.
“Made today, it looks like,” Jane’s lifter said.
My head started pounding and Denny put his arm around me.
Jane worried her lip. “Must have been snooping around earlier today. Let’s see, the night shift went off at seven and we didn’t put anyone back on until noon, so they must have been made sometime this morning.”
While he worked, the detective said, “Some kind of gym shoe, man’s size, large and wide. Looks like Nike, but I’ll know for sure once I get it back to the lab. While these harden, I’d like to look around the perimeter of the house.” We watched him as he walked around, got orange lights from the lab looking for footprints to lift off the walk, steps, and stoop. “Too many, I’m afraid,” he said.
“No cellar door?” We shook our heads.
I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up and my raccoon eye which had been quiet all day started throbbing again. “I feel him close by. He’s around here somewhere.”
“She knows something,” Cookie said. “She’s getting weird again.”
Jane went out to talk to the surveillance team.
In a few minutes she was back. “He couldn’t have gotten in the house, could he?” she asked Denny.
He shook his head. “Willoughby and I toured everywhere. Nothing was out of place and we’ve got Yale locks on the front and back doors. Good and solid.”
Denny hugged me and I burrowed my head into his shoulder and whispered, “I think I might be in—”
But we were interrupted.
“We’re close to catching him,” Jane said. “I’ve phone for unmarked cars to take over from the squads. They might have scared him off. Let my CSU guys lift what they can from the doorknobs, check lock integrity and check the first floor windows.”
Cookie and I looked at each other.
“I’d feel better if all of us did the tour again, but I’ll tell you what. I’m a little bit touchy about my study. It’s such a mess. While you guys start in the basement, Coo
kie and I’ll just run up and get rid of the pizza boxes and beer cans and do a little dusting. And Denny, don’t forget to check out the pantry in the kitchen. I haven’t been in there since forever.”
“We were in and out of the kitchen and the pantry this evening. It’s fine.”
“I don’t think we have to worry about the second and third floors,” Jane said, “but just to be thorough we’ll check them, so clean up your study if you must.”
Like A Meat Grinder
Ralph woke up, but he didn’t move. He heard a doorbell and voices in the hall. The house was too noisy. Laughter, pounding feet, slamming doors. More people than the man and woman. Too many. He listened hard, but didn’t know what they were saying and he had to pee again. He looked out the window at the bridge and the stars and looked down at the ground, spotting the wheelbarrow but not much else. Too dark. The woman better come into the room soon or the white container would overflow, but he sat and continued listening. He couldn’t hear everything they said—talking too fast and too many big words. He got used to the sounds and drifted off, but caught himself and stood up so he wouldn’t sleep. The woman might be coming in any minute.
Soon he heard voices getting closer. He thought they might be outside the room, so he put his ear to the door and listened hard but they were coming from outside the house. Then he heard doors slamming and feet running all over.
He went to the window and looked down and saw nothing at first but the wheelbarrow. Some men appeared in the yard. One was the man with two women and three or four others. They were bending over something that lay on the ground. Ralph wished the woman would come into the room so he could get his job over with. His stomach started to feel bad and he remembered how his sister used to calm him by singing. Ralph rubbed his forehead the way she used to do, but it didn’t help. He remembered the M&M’s and wished he had some. He heard feet running up the stairs. He stood behind the door and flexed his fingers and waited.
He heard feet getting close. More than one woman.
“Get the big duster from the closet, the one with the wooden handle so we can swish it around fast.”
He recognized the voice. It was the woman. He spread his fingers. His hands were ready.
“Which closet?”
He didn’t recognize the other voice.
“Tell you what. I’ll get it. Meet you in there.”
His stomach was like an meat grinder. He heard the door handle turn. He was ready.
A Gurgle
When I got to the door I heard a shuffling of feet and a gurgle. I turned the knob, but the door wasn’t opening. Something was wrong and I let Cookie go in there alone.
“Help!” I cried. “Up here!”
I ran at the door. It didn’t budge.
“Help!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. I felt rocks in my throat. I knew what had happened, knew it like I knew my name: Cookie was in there with Ralph. Somehow, he’d gotten into my study. Oh my God, not Cookie. Not Cookie. How could I do this to her?
I heard the distant rushing of feet, but they’d be here too late.
Using the handle of the duster, I ram the door, ram it hard. Back up and slam it with all my might. I have to get in.
The frame splinters. Duster splinters. I fly through the door.
Cookie’s in Ralph’s grip.
He’s behind her. He’s a giant. He faces me, his hands on her neck. She’s choking.
“Take me, not her!”
I spin around, come at him from behind. I chop to his lower middle.
He whirls, comes toward me, frees one hand.
She’s still in his grip. Cookie’s face is purple. She’s rasping.
I jump around and give him another kick to his groin area from the rear.
He spins, keeps coming, one hand outstretched, arms like tree trunks, hands like propellers.
What’s wrong with you?
I twirl for strength and kick him full force in the back, an uppercut.
My foot is like a feather.
He doesn’t stop squeezing Cookie’s neck.
“Help! He’s squeezing Cookie’s neck!”
Her face is dark purple, eyes wide about to pop.
The guy is huge, much bigger than I remember. His eyes are black holes.
I’m not strong enough to deal him a stopping blow.
Cookie’s going to die, what can I do? I must save her. Must.
I hear the sound of charging feet downstairs, the whine of sirens in the distance. Still too far away
Not enough time.
Ralph looks up, distracted.
I do a feint around to his rear. I crouch down, my feet flat, my legs bent at my knees. Holding the duster stick in my hand, I swing it, beat his calves with it. It does nothing.
I have no other choice, none. I’ve used up all my tricks. Except for one.
One more. Oh, no. Got to do it. I hold the duster, splintered end up.
I bounce up and down on my knees for leverage.
He’s looking for me, turning around, off balance because of the rushing feet up the stairs. He’s got both hands now on Cookie’s neck. She’s gurgling.
No choice.
I turn with him, keeping behind him. He turns, I turn.
Last chance, no other choice. Sweet Baby J, forgive me.
He turns with me, reaches down, his rear out, almost in my face. He grabs the crown of my head. The pain! My curls rip off. I cry.
I aim, I bounce, I thrust, I ram the stick up his ass as hard as I can.
He bellows. He whirls around like a mythic beast with a duster tail.
He lets go of Cookie.
She’s down, choking, burbling.
“Cookie, you okay?”
She nods, collapses.
In a few minutes, who knows how long, I hear steps.
Jane. Her gun steadies on Ralph. “Freeze!”
Ralph keeps on twirling with the duster up his ass.
Denny appears, his gun pointed.
Guns follow Ralph who’s spinning, moving, dodging.
“Out of the way,” Denny yells at me. His face is red, his jaw clamped, his eyes wild.
“Get Cookie,” I cry to Willoughby who’s coming through the door.
He scoops her up, runs down the stairs.
“Paramedics,” I say to his back.
Ralph’s screaming, stick still up his rear. Whirling, dodging, he heads to the window.
Jane fires but Ralph bends just as she fires, and the shot misses.
Ralph picks up my white canister. He tears off lid. Throws something at me and Denny. Liquid hits our faces, stings my eyes. It smells like urine. I gasp. I splutter. I wipe my face with a sleeve.
There’s a white light and a loud bang. Jane fires again.
Ralph falls backward onto the floor, shoving the duster farther up his anus. He clutches his shoulder. He yowls.
Denny hauls him up.
Blood and urine are all over my study. The smell is fierce.
Jane cuffed him.
“Pull it out!” Ralph wailed.
Jane said, “I’m arresting you for the murder of Mary Ward Simon, the murder of James Arrowsmith, the murder of Francine LaRue, the attempted murder of Cookie Scarpanella and Fina Fitzgibbons, and the abduction of Charlie Alvarez.”
“Not Charlie, no, I saved Charlie! Charlie’s mine. I want to see him. Where is he?”
Outside, lights flashed, sirens wailed, and broadcast vans jammed the street. As soon as I opened the front door, I had reporters in my face, their mics pointed and ready to pick up any sound bite.
“The lead investigator will be here soon with a statement,” I said.
I ran to the ambulance. Two paramedics leaned over Cookie. One turned to me and gave the thumbs up sign. I relaxed, feeling tears stinging my eyes.
Cookie had an oxygen mask over her mouth, and she was strapped to a gurney. Her face and neck were purple, one eyelid drooping.
“Hi Cookie,” I managed. “No dates for a while.”<
br />
She turned her head and lifted a hand.
And of course I lost it. I balled all over the place, I was so happy.
The paramedic looked at me and sniffed. “Lady, you need a Depends.”
“It wasn’t me.”
“That’s what they all say.” He winked. “We’re taking her to Brooklyn Hospital. Emergency Room. She’ll have to have X-Rays, MRI, CT Scan, the works.”
“We got another injury inside, the perp,” I told him.
The other paramedic told me another ambulance had already been dispatched. I could hear its siren in the distance. Across the street grew, the crowd stood still. A few minutes later the second ambulance appeared and Jane and Denny stood at the door steadying Ralph, a blanket around him to hide the duster. The paramedics rushed to him with a gurney. As they strapped him face down, Jane motioned to two officers to ride with the suspect.
While the emergency vehicles screamed away and the media were setting up their equipment in front of our stoop, I called Cookie’s mom and told her what had happened.
Before Jane had a chance to say anything, a reporter shouted, “Was that the strangler?”
Jane made a brief statement regarding the apprehension of a man who allegedly strangled Mrs. Mary Ward Simon and two other victims in New Jersey whose names were being withheld pending notification of next of kin. “He’s being held without bail. Nothing further at this time. Might as well all go home.”
Like an avalanche, the queries tumbled. Jane stood in front of the microphones, her head turning to take in the whole crowd as she was peppered with inquiries. She looked like a queen with a hearing disability.
“The bodies found in Cobble Hill last night, were they related?”
“No comment.”
She stopped to speak with some of her team, waved to the crowd, giving them the high sign. They clapped, and she walked back inside the house.
“You forgot to mirandize,” Willoughby said.
“I don’t need to mirandize, not until he’s questioned,” Jane said.
Too Quiet In Brooklyn (A Fina Fitzgibbons Brooklyn Mystery Book 1) Page 25