by John Misak
Like I said, the man knew a lot, and if not for the fact that I worked on this case, I would find all of his information useless. But, he did save me a lot of research with that diatribe. I looked over at Rick, who had been jotting all of this down, trying to keep up like a student trying to take notes in a fast-talking teacher’s class. I wondered if he was going to raise his hand and ask Jacob to repeat part, or all of what he said.
“Impressive,” Geiger said. “What do you know about Chapman?”
“Not too much. He really didn’t start taking an active interest in the business until after Sam Mullins died, and his father’s health started to deteriorate. He handles much of the corporate aspect of the company, though it has been reported that Mullins is even better at that part.”
“How do they get along, compared to how their fathers did?”
“Pretty well, from what I have read. I think they learned from watching their fathers argue all the time.”
“Makes sense,” I said.
“Where’s the partner?” Geiger asked.
“In Amsterdam. Expected home tomorrow.”
“Damn. I’m sure I’ll hear from his lawyers soon too. This is getting more and more difficult.”
I had nothing to say to that.
“What do you think?” Rick asked Geiger.
“About the tape?”
“About whether it came from a suicidal man, or not,” Geiger said.
“Tough one to call. Evidence points either way. On the surface, it sounds like a suicide note, but there seems to be something else lying underneath. It could be nothing.”
“How do you want us to investigate? Should we go in with the assumption that this was a suicide, and try and prove that, or should we look for another angle?”
“Don’t go in assuming anything. And keep your eyes open for all angles. Once you speak to the partner and the wife, some things should become a little clearer. Or, if our luck continues, everything will get even cloudier.” He looked to Jacob. “Make me two copies of that tape. I want to send one to the Captain, and keep the other for myself.”
“No problem.”
Geiger walked toward his office. “Don’t forget, I want a report from you two as soon as possible. And get over to Mrs. Mullins’ house. I want you to try to get something out of her, even if the lawyer is present. No one’s telling me how to run my department.” He meant Agnelli, I figured.
“Yes, sir,” Rick said.
I moved over toward Jacob. “Make me a copy too, okay?”
“Sure.” He pulled me closer. “This is no suicidal man. Trust me on that. I know what that sounds like.”
I didn’t ask how he knew. “Any way you can get more out of that tape? Ambient sounds that might lead to a better understanding of the accident?” I asked.
“I was just about to do that.”
I tapped my cell phone. “Call me as soon as you find out. And tell no one about it until you speak to me.”
He nodded.
Rick, still busy jotting things down into his trusty notepad, looked up. “What should we do first, the report or the visit to Mrs. Mullins?”
“Well, the report will have a lot more information in it after we speak to her, won’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Then we might as well get all the information we can.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
“And one thing,” I said as he pulled the keys from his jacket, “I’m driving.” I snatched the keys out of his hand.
“Jesus,” he said.
“He ain’t got nothing to do with it.”
Six
This drive was more tolerable than the others. I drove. I didn’t drive too often, mainly because I didn’t have a car. Didn’t need one. Most New Yorkers, city people I mean, will expound on the lack of a need for a car like they were talking about their kid. Sure, cars are really the most important status symbol in America. Forget houses, Rolex watches, Hugo Boss or Canali suits, the car is the epitome of status symbols. Judging from the automobile I drove, I was a nobody, but I borrowed a personality from time to time. A cop personality, but a personality nonetheless.
When I did get the chance to drive, I drove at insane speeds. I tailgated, wove in and out of traffic, and rarely, if ever stopped at stop signs or red lights. People may attribute this to my being a cop, and being able to get away with it. Not true. I drove like that before I became a cop, and putting on the badge didn’t change things, for better or worse. That’s how I drove. I couldn’t wait until I became an old man. No one likes an insane-driving old man. Well, no one likes old men at all, but I think my point is clear. If it isn’t, go into your toolbox, take out the hammer, and smash it just above your eyeball. That should clear things up a bit.
Sondra and the late Ron Mullins called Massapequa home. They had lived there when Ron made a puny amount of money and attended school for computer programming, or at least that’s what Jacob told me, just before we left. Because they had made their home there, and also because they didn’t want to make it look like the money changed them, they stayed when he hit it big. Jacob confirmed my suspicions that Ron was an unassuming man. He also told me that the wife had changed, and wanted to move. According to rumor mills, they neared divorce three years before, but had successfully smoothed things out. I didn’t know where Jacob got this information from, and wasn’t sure how true it was, but it sounded good, and I was surprised to hear Jacob talk that long. He usually never said more than a sentence or two. Part of the reason why I liked him.
“You know where you are going?” Rick asked.
“The Mullins’ live right near Joey Buttafuoco’s old house.”
“You know where he lived?”
“Yes,” I said. I’d thought I told him the story.
“How?”
“Long story.”
“We have time.”
We did. “I dated a girl whose father was buddy-buddy with him. I think I may have had sex with her on Joey’s boat, or was it the father’s? I can’t remember. I just know the father and Joey were close.”
“And you met him?” Rick asked. It amazed me how such a two-bit nobody parlayed sticking his dick in a teenager into pseudo-stardom. I love people, but our culture depresses me sometimes. Okay, maybe I don’t love people.
“Yeah,” I said. “I did.”
“During the whole thing?” Rick really seemed interested in all this. Could he have been star struck about a man who overstayed his fifteen minutes of fame by years?
“Yes, it was about four months after the shooting. I went over his house for a barbecue. Nice guy, and he cooks a mean steak.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“Wow.”
I began to pity Rick’s wife. The man was strange, no question. Sure, she had power over him, which is sort of satisfying, I guess. But he certainly wasn’t a conversationalist, and he could be nicely described as a simpleton. Not the sort of character that sets women into a sexual frenzy. She probably married him for his looks and wasn’t surprised that there wasn’t much else there to put in the win column. Actually, that sounded a lot like my dating profile. Scary.
“So, you remember where Buttafuoco lived?”
“Have I asked you to look at the map yet?” I asked.
“Okay, okay,” Rick said, holding his hand up.
We drove a few more minutes, but I sensed that it wasn’t going to be quiet. Rick was in a chatty mood.
“Let me ask you a question,” he said, uttering the six words I hate most. That never leads to a good conversation.
“I’ll let you.”
“You’ve been on the force what, ten years?” Rick asked.
“Nine,” I said. Couldn’t believe it, either. Time flies.
“And, did you ever have a serious relationship while on the job? Never dated anyone in the middle of all of this?” I didn’t know why Rick cared.
“That’s another question, you didn’t ask permission for
it.”
“Just answer,” Rick said, sighing. I told you, he did that a lot.
“Yes, two.”
“How did they handle the hours?” He asked. I knew where this was headed. People tend to look at others’ lives too much, try to generalize and make it fit in their world.
“They handled it fine. I didn’t give them much of a choice.”
“How did you manage to find women like that? All the guys I know on the force have the same problem I do with their women, They can’t stand the time away. They always think we are up to no good.”
“I didn’t find women like that, I made them.”
“Huh?” Rick asked. “That sounds a bit offensive.”
I really had to think about going into this. It’s tough when you try to educate people unable to be educated. The ‘whipped’ factor, in my opinion, is genetically encoded. There is little that can be done to counteract it. Still, though he was annoying as hell, I felt bad for Rick, and decided to bestow my knowledge upon him. Even if it wouldn’t do any good, as I suspected.
“It’s not offensive. You have to train a woman to get accustomed to your lifestyle, just like you have to condition any other relationship you have. And you have to do it early. Real early. Like a week or two into the relationship. You have to let the woman know what can be changed, what can’t, and what is absolutely not open for discussion.” I exaggerated, of course. Women aren’t dogs. Only fools believe everything they read. If I were a woman, I’d say the same thing needs to be done to men. It’s all perspective.
“You can’t do that. Women want to know everything, and they want to change you so you fit their perfect mold. Every woman I dated acted the same way. They all want control,” Rick said.
“Not true. You see, if a woman detects she has a man who is sure of himself, one who will not take any crap from anyone, they instantly respect him, and go into ‘follow’ mode, where they take the man’s lead. If they sense weakness, they go into what I call ‘manage’ mode, where they will try to create the perfect man for themselves, because they can’t find someone who satisfies them. It’s like working at a job that you don’t like. You really want to find one you like, but if your boss pays you more money, or offers you control, you will take it. That’s what women do. Not all of them, of course, but the good lot of them. Trust me on that.” Of course, I knew I generalized. But this might have been true for half of women. Half of men, too, I know. I just liked the way it sounded and I wanted to drive a stake through Rick’s heart.
Rick sat there, bewildered. I wondered if maybe I armed the wrong man with the wrong weapon. I didn’t suspect his wife was at the point where she would take any crap from him. Maybe I did it for this reason.
“That sounds like it makes sense, but I don’t know how I would apply that to my marriage,” he said, finally, not looking at me but out the window.
“Is your wife in ‘manage’ mode?”
He hesitated. Still looking out the window, he nodded.
“How long you been married?”
“Eight years.”
“Might be too late.” It certainly was, I figured.
“Don’t say that,” Rick said.
“It might be,” I said. I did enjoy messing with him.
“I don’t want to think that,” Rick said.
“It’s the truth.”
“The truth?”
“Yeah, the truth. So don’t feel bad. That’s the way it goes sometimes. You win some, you lose some. Nothing you can do about it now.”
“Easy for you to say,” Rick said, anger in his voice. He did get mad at me sometimes, but rarely. He didn’t do mad well. Like this time, it came off overdone. Fabricated. So much of our lives do.
“What?”
“You have it too good. You go out when you want, you sleep as late as you want on your day off, you don’t have to pay anyone else’s bills but your own, and you don’t have someone telling you what to do, and how to do it.”
I’d never seen this side of Rick. He always seemed to be in control of everything. I secretly envied him sometimes, because he had it all, the wife, the kids, the fast-rising career. Nothing is ever as it seems. I learned that a long time ago, but I had to constantly remind myself of it.
“Single life only seems appealing because you can’t live that life. Everything looks better from the other side.”
“I could.”
“You have kids.”
“They don’t appreciate me. She’s got them brainwashed too.”
“You shouldn’t think like that,” I said.
“I can’t help it. And I can’t take it anymore.” Man, he sounded depressed. I didn’t know what to say. The only depressed person I knew was myself, and all the talking to myself didn’t help me, let alone someone else. Plus, I was shocked to hear this from Rick. He was always chipper.
“You’ve got to try and relax. Look at life as a gift. How many people would kill to have what you have?”
“I’ve tried that. I’ve tried everything. I have to get out; it’s the only way. She won’t let me breathe,” I said.
“It may just seem that way.” Boy, did I reach there.
“It is that way. Trust me. It’s hell. She doesn’t let me do anything by myself.”
I had a thought. It was dangerous, but I had to try it. “Okay, let’s say you leave her, start over again.”
“Yeah,” Rick said.
“What makes you think that you wouldn’t make the same mistake again? What makes you think that you won’t let the next woman walk over you the way your wife does? You said every relationship had the same problem. You gotta look at the common denominator. You.”
Rick thought about that. “I don’t know. I am aware of the problem now though. If I go in knowing that, I’ll start off better than I did with my wife,” Rick said.
“What, because of a little advice I gave you? How can you be sure it would work for you?”
The car next to us almost lane-changed into the passenger side of the car, nearly eliminating me of my annoying problem. I wish I could say I was kidding.
“Douchebag,” Rick said as I swerved out of the way.
I laid on the horn. “Asshole.”
“Want me to shoot out his tires?” Rick asked, pretending to reach for his gun. I’d have loved to see him do it. Of course, that would make a lot of paperwork for us.
“Back to your marriage,” I said. “You really think you could make it work better with someone else. You’re sure?”
“How can I be?” Rick asked.
“Then maybe you should stick it out. Kids without a father living in the house are starting off with one strike against them. It might not hurt them, but it certainly isn’t helping them. You have to at least take that into consideration.”
Rick really looked defeated. It was hard to watch that. I sort of felt bad for him. Then again, he started on the topic. How the hell did I know he suffered so badly?
“I know,” he said. “It’s just so difficult. I don’t feel like a man. I feel like a kid. A damn, foolish kid, who needs his mother to tell him how to do everything. If it wasn’t for the job, I’d feel completely hopeless. Completely.”
I knew that feeling all too well. “I hear you.”
We drove the rest of the way in silence, thank God. It took almost an hour to get to Massapequa, which is about a third of the way to the end of the island. For people somewhat familiar with the island, Massapequa was on the south shore, with a lot of bay front property, and was right near the Nassau/Suffolk border.
There were several parts to the town, ranging from wealthy areas to downright decrepit ones. Massapequa was like a slice of Long Island, with all facets proportionately represented. I had gone there a few times when I was a teenager, mainly because of a burger place called All American Burger. It looked a lot like the sort of place you see in 50's movies, without the drive-in service. I never asked if they had girls serving you on roller skates wearing short shorts. They certainly di
dn’t have them when I went there. If they had, I would have moved to Massapequa a long time ago.
The Mullins house sat at the end of a dead end street, on the South Bay. Big iron gates prevented unwanted visitors from entering the property, which was, by Long Island standards, huge. A circular driveway which to the house, a large, almost Victorian building, with round columns in front. The Mullins family had a large pool visible from the front, and a tennis court. From where we pulled up, we could see two cars in the driveway, a Mercedes 500SL coupe, and a Lincoln Navigator, one of those huge SUVs that everyone important seemed to drive. The gates were closed, and and a call box sat right next to them. We pulled up to it.
“Be careful,” Rick said, “We scare her and we don’t get to talk to her.”
“Only thing gonna scare her is your femininity.”
“At least I don’t look like a mess all the time,” Rick said, obviously proud of how he carried himself. He had to take a jab at me. It was his only defense.
I rolled my eyes, opened my window, and hit the call button.
“Mullins residence,” a man with a thick voice said.
“New York Police Department calling, we would like to speak to Mrs. Mullins on official business.”
There was a pause, a long one.
“Please show me your badge, the camera is right above you.”
I looked and noticed a black camera halfway up the post. I took my badge out, and held it as close to the camera as I could reach.
The gates opened, and we drove up to the house.
The white gravel on the driveway crunched underneath the tires of the heavy Mercury. I pulled up next to the Navigator, a green one, and we got out. The weather had finally improved, and I could hear birds chirping in the large oak tree above us. How quaint.
“I can’t believe we got in,” Rick said.
“We haven’t passed the final test yet,” I said.