by J. L. Abramo
Mike had called to say he’d made it home, Murphy reminded him to stay put. Michael said that he would.
Twenty minutes later, Vota calls to ask if Murphy would give up part of his day off and come down to the Precinct for a few hours.
“Samson is going to be in late, if at all,” says Vota, “and it was a busy Saturday night for the bad guys. I need a little help following some of it up.”
Although lucky was not how Murphy felt, it was a lucky break. He had spent the past hour wondering how the hell he was going to survive until the next morning not knowing whether his brother had actually killed someone.
Now, he could check the overnight crime reports without having to demonstrate conspicuous interest.
Stevie arrives at Victory Memorial and finds them all outside the ICU.
“Jesus, Tony,” says Stevie, taking his cousin’s hand in his own. “Is she going to be alright?”
“I don’t know,” Tony says.
Stevie moves to give Barbara a hug and then embraces his Uncle Vincent.
“I need a favor, Steve,” says Tony.
“Anything.”
“Let’s take a walk,” says Tony.
“Let me join you,” says Vincent.
“Please, Pop,” says Tony, with all of the insistence he can respectfully direct at his father. “Please stay here with Barbara and Anthony.”
“What can I do?” asks Stevie, when they are out on the street in front of the hospital.
“What kind of car does Sonny Colletti drive?” asks Tony.
“A silver Porsche.”
“I need you to find Sonny and stay on him constantly,” says Territo. “I want to know where he is at all times.”
Murphy stops at the front desk as soon as he comes into the Precinct. Sergeant Kelly is on duty.
“I thought you were off today,” says Murphy.
“I am off, just like you,” says Kelly.
“Let me see the overnights, Borough-wide.”
Murphy finds it quickly. On the very long list, which included five shootings, more than a dozen B-and-Es, nine armed robberies, fourteen muggings, two attempted rapes, three wife beatings, two hit-and-run accidents and eight stabbings was the one stabbing that Murphy guesses he is looking for.
Kenneth Wolfe, 58, found stabbed twice in an alley between U and V off Ocean Avenue, not very far from the Precinct. The victim was discovered by a taxi driver at 2:17 a.m. and rushed to Coney Island Hospital. Lots of blood lost, the victim was moved from the ER to intensive care at 5:03 a.m. The investigating officer, Jackman, had not yet been able to question Wolfe as of the time of the report. The time of report was listed at 6:45 a.m.
Murphy resists the strong urge to call the hospital to inquire about Wolfe’s status. It was now 11:00 a.m. Jackman would amend his report as soon as he could talk with the victim.
Murphy would have to wait.
“Are any of these people dead?” Murphy asks Kelly, referring to the list as he hands it back.
“Two.”
“Which ones?”
“One of the shootings. Twenty-year-old punk shot by a nineteen-year-old punk. We’ve already got the shooter in custody,” says Kelly. “One of the stabbings, Vota’s got it on his desk.”
Murphy walks anxiously up to the squad room.
“Hey, Lou. I heard we got a stabbing homicide last night.”
“Latin kid named Pacheco, drug thing; I’ve got Mendez out on it. He’ll call if he needs us. Meanwhile, we have a shitload of other overnights to follow up,” says Vota, handing Murphy half the stack. “Grab a seat.”
“Is Sam coming in?” asks Murphy.
“Don’t know yet. Something wrong Tommy? You look worried.”
Jesus, is it that fucking obvious.
“My mother is planning to feed cabbage to Ralph today. Last time she did, he almost blew out my car windows on the way home.”
Lieutenant Samson is feeling well enough, and guilty enough, to finally drag himself to Brooklyn, arriving at the Precinct before three.
“Which one of you guys would like to get out of here first?” asks Samson, coming into the squad room.
“Let Tommy loose, he needs to pick up Ralph and get to his mother’s,” says Vota. “Mrs. Murphy is preparing Ralph’s favorite dish.”
Murphy manages to choke out a thank you and heads out.
At 3:20, Officer Rey Mendez calls in with a lead in the lethal stabbing of José Pacheco.
Mendez had a tip from his informant, Stump.
The suspect in the Pacheco stabbing is Dwayne Harris, who was known to Mendez as a twice-convicted drug dealer and lives at the Marlboro Projects on 86th Street.
Vota leaves to meet Mendez at the apartment complex.
Samson remains to man the squad room.
At 3:30, Samson gets a call from Kelly.
“There’s a woman here to see you, Lieutenant,” Kelly says. “She claims she’s a newspaper reporter and that it has to do with the Ventura and Addams cases.”
“Send her up,” says Samson.
Fuck.
At 3:40, Mendez is rapping at a door of an apartment at the Marlboro Projects with Vota beside him. After more knocking and no answer Mendez tries: Police, open up.
The gun blast is quickly followed by a bullet that tears through the door and catches Mendez in his right side. Vota watches Mendez go down hard and thinks about kicking in the door. Instead he pulls out his cell phone and calls for backup and an ambulance.
At ten-to-four, Murphy and Ralph are greeted by his mother with news that Samson needs him to call right away.
“Tommy, sorry to blow your day entirely, but I’m in a jam. I have a situation here at the Precinct that I have to deal with. Lou is out with Mendez and I need you over at Coney Island Hospital. Ask for Officer Jackman.”
“Jackman?” says Murphy.
He is trying to sound as if he never heard the name.
“We’ve got a street stabbing that was just upgraded to a homicide.”
“I’m on my way,” says Murphy.
Fuck.
“Where’s Michael, Mom?”
“I don’t know, he left about an hour ago. He said he would be back by the time you got here.”
“Listen, Mom, I have to go. I’m sorry. Is it okay if I leave Ralph?”
“Sure. Somebody’s got to help me eat all of this food.”
“I’m sorry, Mom, really.”
“It’s okay son, be careful.”
“And Mom, when Mike gets back, keep him here if you have to sit on him to do it.”
“Can you tell me how you obtained your information, Ms. Huang?” asks Samson.
“I can only tell you that I have most of it firsthand,” Serena says. “I’ve seen both bodies.”
“And what exactly do you want from me?”
Here goes, thinks Serena.
And then she spells it out.
At 3:58 p.m., three squad cars are screaming up 86th Street. An ambulance siren is blaring a few blocks behind.
Vota is holding Mendez in his arms, after kicking in the door and finding the apartment empty.
Vota uses his jacket to slow the bleeding.
At five, as testimony to the veracity of the adage life goes on, Ralph is gorging himself on corned beef and cabbage.
Lorraine DiMarco is swallowing another three aspirin.
Susan Graham is playing indoor tennis with Daniel Levanthal.
The Ventura family is visiting the cemetery.
George Addams is staring at his telephone.
Officer Landis is purchasing a movie ticket.
Frank Sullivan is preparing lentil soup.
Bobby Hoyle is shopping for new shoes.
Stevie Territo is looking for Sonny Colletti.
Murphy is searching for his brother.
And five-year-old Lucy Samson is sneaking her hand into the cookie jar.
Brenda Territo died shortly after five.
A brief story was reported on New York
One, just after the 6:01 p.m. weather report.
Agent Winona Stone crosses from her television to the telephone and calls the 68th Precinct looking for details.
Lou Vota walks into the squad room, after riding to the hospital in the ambulance with Mendez.
“Rey will be okay,” he says, before Samson can ask.
“Thank God, how about Harris?”
“Went out the window,” says Vota. “What happened to you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Worse than that,” says Samson. “I’ve seen a reporter. Somehow she put the Ventura and Addams cases together.”
“Fuck.”
“Tell me about it.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I asked her to hold off for a few days. I had to throw her a few bones.”
“Did she agree to wait?”
“She said that she’ll give us until Wednesday.”
“Fuck,” says Vota.
“Tell me about it.”
Ripley watches his youngest boy attempting to open his mouth much wider than anatomy will allow. It calls to mind the age-old advice, never eat anything larger than your head.
“How about I cut those into smaller pieces for you, Mickey?” he asks.
“Okay.”
“Dad?”
“Yes, Kyle?”
“How do they get the cheese inside the raviolis?” asks his oldest.
What happened to the easy questions, like why is the sky blue, thinks Ripley, just as the telephone rings.
“I’ll be right back, son, and we’ll figure it out,” he says.
“Ripley, it’s Stone. I’m sorry to bother you at home on a Sunday.”
“I imagine you would be.”
“Tony Territo’s teenage daughter was assaulted in front of her house last night. The rest of the family was out of town. She died this afternoon.”
“That’s a terrible story, Stone, and I grieve for her family. Why exactly are you telling me this?”
“I spoke with the investigating detective, Andrew Chen from the 68th Precinct in Brooklyn. You can understand why the incident piqued my curiosity.”
“Sort of.”
“When Chen took the call, I introduced myself as FBI. Before I could say another word he says: If this is about the two boys who were killed last week, you’ll need to speak with Lieutenant Samson at the 61st.”
“What two boys who were killed?”
“I didn’t ask; I wanted to talk to you first,” says Stone. “I told him that we were already working with the lieutenant, and I stressed that it was very important to keep our involvement quiet.”
“Jesus, Stone, what made you say that?”
“I don’t know, instinct. Something in Detective Chen’s voice, something that told me he wasn’t surprised to be getting a call from the Bureau. I quickly changed the subject and asked about the Territo girl.”
“And just how did you explain the FBI interest in that particular incident?” asks Ripley.
“I asked if she had been sexually assaulted. I said that we were working on a case that might involve a serial rapist. And again, I swore him to silence.”
“You never cease to amaze me, Stone.”
“So, I got what details I could about the Territo girl. They have reason to believe that her attacker was waiting for her to arrive home. The front gate lock was tampered with, so she couldn’t get in.”
“Was she sexually assaulted?”
“No, but someone came along during the attack, so whatever her assailant had in mind was interrupted.”
“Any suspects?”
“None. Only a word or a name, sunny or Sonny. And a witness who saw a silver Porsche.”
“So, what are you thinking, Stone?”
“I’m thinking it’s intriguing that we’re looking into this guy Territo and then suddenly his daughter is attacked and killed.”
“Intriguing?”
“Coincidental, whatever. And I’m thinking there’s something else going on in Brooklyn that we may need to know more about.”
“Let’s pay a friendly visit to Lieutenant Samson on Tuesday morning and ask him about the two boys who were killed,” suggests Ripley. “Then we can decide whether or not it should concern us. We can talk about the Territo girl afterwards.”
“Why not tomorrow?”
“Because tomorrow is Presidents’ Day and you recall what I told you about working on a federal holiday. And I’d like to spend the day with my boys, who will be home from school tomorrow. And if the lieutenant has children of his own, he’ll likely want to do the same. I could probably come up with a few more reasons if pressed.”
“Those will suffice.”
“I’ll call the 61st on Tuesday morning, make sure that Samson is in,” says Ripley. “Then I will call you.”
“Roger that,” says Stone. “Over and out.”
“How are you guys doing?” asks Ripley, returning to the supper table.
Mickey is trying to figure out how to keep his straw from flopping around in his glass of milk.
“I got it,” says Kyle, proudly.
“Got what, son?”
“They make two pieces of ravioli and put the cheese in between and then stick the pieces together.”
“That’s exactly what they do,” says Ripley.
“Where’s the Scotch tape, Daddy?” asks Mickey, still trying to solve the straw problem.
“They don’t use Scotch tape on raviolis, silly,” says Kyle, “they use Elmer’s.”
Gabriel Caine writes the note in green crayon, on the blank side of a sheet of yellow construction paper that he finds on the floor of his son’s room.
On the other side of the sheet of paper is a crude drawing, something that a five-year-old scribbled. Something that an adult could never understand.
He places the sheet into a manila envelope.
He takes the plastic bag, which holds the girl’s star sapphire ring, and drops it into the envelope also.
The ring would have to do.
TWENTY TWO
Monday morning. Presidents’ Day.
Lorraine DiMarco wakes up with a terrible headache. Her operation is eight days away. She has to talk with Lou Vota.
Soon.
Murphy can’t locate his brother, and he isn’t too sure what he would do if and when he did. Kenneth Wolfe is deceased, and Michael is Murphy’s prime suspect.
Mendez is alive, but would be off his feet for at least a week. He is recovering after the removal of a .38 caliber slug from his right abdomen, which missed his stomach by less than an inch.
Vota is on the streets trying to hunt down Dwayne Harris, wanted for questioning in the lethal stabbing of José Pacheco and the shooting of Officer Mendez.
Landis along.
Samson has decided to go into Brooklyn on the holiday after all. Drop in to see his father at the nursing home, and then check in with Kelly at the Precinct.
Samson also plans to visit Officer Mendez at the hospital, and he wants to be close at hand if there is any word on the suspect, Dwayne Harris.
Samson is being massacred in a game of checkers when his cell phone rings.
“Addams is ready to talk, Lieutenant,” says Rosen.
“About what?”
“About not stopping to help someone in trouble.”
“Do me a favor, Rosen. Get hold of Detective Chen at the 68th and have him accompany you out to see Addams,” says Samson. “I have a few things to take care of. If I don’t hear from you first, I’ll call you at the Addams place.”
Vota and Landis are headed up to another apartment very similar to the one outside of which Mendez had been shot. They had been told that Dwayne Harris might be there, taking sanctuary with his girlfriend.
Samson leaves his father and heads to his car. He calls in to the Precinct as he walks. Kelly tells Samson where he can find Vota and Landis—Landis had called in their location before they entered the apartment building. They hadn’t asked for
backup, but Samson is tempted to check it out. Samson decides that he will wait until he reaches his car to choose whether to visit Mendez at the hospital or see about Vota and Landis.
When Vota and Landis come off the stairwell onto the fifth floor, a young woman is leaving the apartment where Harris is said to be hiding. Vota quickly approaches her. Before she knows what’s happening, Vota is behind her with his left arm across her chest and his right hand covering her mouth. The fear momentarily leaves her eyes when she finally notices Landis in his uniform, and instantaneously returns when she understands the new set of circumstances. Vota eases her out of the hallway and back into the stairwell; Landis remains against the wall to the right of the apartment door.
“Is Harris in the apartment?” Vota asks the woman. “Shake your head, yes or no.”
Nod. Yes.
“Where?” asks Vota. “Be specific and speak softly.”
“In back, in the bedroom.”
“Alone?”
Nod. Yes.
“Okay, I’m going to take your keys. We are going back to the door and I am going to let myself in. You will not have to go in, but if Harris responds to the door opening you will call to him that you forgot something. If you do anything to alert him, I cannot guarantee your safety and you will be guilty of aiding an alleged murderer.”
The woman’s eyes are the size of grapefruits.
“Do you understand?” Vota asks.
Nod, yes.
“Okay, I’m going to let you go now. Don’t be foolish.”
Vota releases her. He waits for her to hand him the keys, asking her to identify the one he needs. He asks her to try remaining calm as he ushers her back out into the hall and toward Landis at the apartment door, holding her elbow with his left hand and the key in his right. At the door, he transfers her elbow into Landis’ hand, transfers the key to his left hand and draws his service revolver with his right. Landis moves with the girl to the left of the door and Vota carefully pushes the key into the door lock. They all hear the TV come to life on the other side of the door before he turns the key.