Gravesend

by J. L. Abramo

  “Forget waiting, I want you to go talk with the woman as soon as we’re done,” says Samson. “What about Ventura?”

  “His last fare that night was to 25th and Bath, around 3:00 a.m. Then he headed to the Belt Parkway service road to Ocean Parkway and home,” says Rosen.

  “He’d go right past the Bowers place,” says Samson.

  “Ventura remembers a man trying to flag him down, he said he was really tired and forgot to light his off-duty sign at the last drop,” says Rosen. “When he spotted the guy waving, he turned the sign on and drove by.”

  “Dear God,” says Samson.

  “The Olds is registered to a Gabriel Caine,” says Vota. “I’ve got an address and a Social Security number.”

  “Where’s Murphy?”

  “On his way.”

  Samson picks up a phone and rings the front desk.

  “What?”

  “Kelly, when Tommy gets in, hold him there and buzz me.”

  “He’s just walking through the door.”

  “Hold him there, I’m coming down,” says Samson.

  “Roger.”

  “Lou, I want you and Rosen to go see Hannah Bowers. Call me as soon as you speak with her,” says Samson, “and give me that address for Caine.”

  “What’s up, Sam?” Murphy asks when Samson gets down.

  “Follow me, Tommy, we’re taking a ride. Kelly, if Chen calls, give him my cell number.”

  Samson races out the door, Murphy close behind him.

  In the car with Vota on the way to 26th Avenue, Rosen’s cell phone rings. Officer Puglia from the 62nd Precinct.

  “I heard you were asking about the January 16th call to the Bower’s residence,” he says.

  “What can you tell me?”

  “My partner and I arrived at 3:22,” says Puglia, looking at his notes. “The Bowers woman would only speak to us through the door; she wouldn’t let us into the house.”

  “Didn’t you identify yourselves?”

  “We really couldn’t, except verbally. The woman said that she was blind, and alone, and afraid to open the door. She told us that a man had been there, shouting about a car accident and an injured child. She left him at the door and called it in.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  “Nothing. We cruised the area, looking for the cars or someone needing help.”

  “Cars?”

  “Bowers thought she heard the man say that another car hit him. If there were two cars involved, we couldn’t find either. I did check the log afterwards; there was never an accident report that night for that vicinity.”

  “And you didn’t check the parkway?”

  “We were told there was another patrol car covering the parkway,” says Puglia.

  “Okay. Thanks for your help,” says Rosen.

  “Here we are,” says Vota. “Well?”

  “There was never an accident report filed that night, and there may have been another car involved,” says Rosen. “Give me a minute. We may need to try getting a neighbor before we go up to the Bower’s house.”

  “How’s the family, Tommy,” asks Samson as they get out of the car.

  “Fine, and yours?”

  “Is there some family business you need to be dealing with instead of being here?”

  “No.”

  “Good. In that case, be here.”

  “I’m here, Sam.”

  “Good. Let’s look around for the Oldsmobile before we go to the house.”

  Rosen has enlisted the help of a woman from the house next door. Vota and Rosen wait at Hannah Bower’s door as the neighbor knocks.

  “Yes?”

  “Hannah, it’s Sadie. There are two police detectives here who need to talk with you.”

  They hear the door being unlocked from the inside.

  Murphy and Samson stand at the door. They couldn’t find an Oldsmobile on the street fitting the description. Samson rings the doorbell.

  A moment later, a man opens the door and steps out onto the front porch.

  “Can I help you?” he says.

  “Gabriel Caine?” asks Samson.

  “There’s no Gabriel Caine here.”

  “Would you mind showing us ID?” asks Murphy, showing the man his shield.

  “Not at all,” says the man, reaching for his wallet.

  “Thank you, Mr. Lowry,” says Murphy, after checking the ID and handing it back. “Sorry for the inconvenience. We had this address from an automobile registration and needed to check it out.”

  “Maybe he’s a former tenant, I’ve been here almost a year and I still haven’t gotten around to changing the address on some of the credit cards I never use,” says Lowry. “I can give you the phone number of the property managers; maybe they know where Caine moved to.”

  “That would be great,” says Samson. “Thank you.”

  “Very cooperative,” says Murphy as they walk away.

  “It happens occasionally,” says Samson.

  “Did the man say something, mention a name, anything that might help identify him?” asks Vota.

  “I can’t remember,” says Hannah Bowers. “I don’t think so.”

  “Anything that sounded like Gabriel or Caine?”

  “Gabriel Caine. We met a Gabriel Caine,” says Bowers. “Saturday. He told us that he was a salesman, sent to the wrong address. My husband was here, Robert let him in to use the telephone.”

  “When will your husband be home again?” asks Vota.

  “Tomorrow evening.”

  “Please have your husband call us as soon as he can. Here’s my number,” says Vota, placing a card into her hand and passing another one to the neighbor. “If you hear from Caine again, is there a way you could contact us?”

  “I’ll program your phone number into Hannah’s speed dial, Sergeant Vota,” says the neighbor, “and my number is programmed in also.”

  “Is Gabriel Caine dangerous?” asks Hannah Bowers. “He seemed like such a nice young man.”

  “I really don’t believe that he is a danger to you,” says Rosen, “but we’ll put a police car outside the house until we have a chance to talk with him.”

  Murphy phones the property management office as they drive back to the Precinct. The answering machine tells him that someone will be back at the office at nine in the morning.

  Chen calls Samson’s cell phone. A neighbor of the tow truck driver has told Chen that the family is out of town until Wednesday evening. Samson asks Chen to leave a business card with a note under the door and call it a day.

  Samson and Murphy arrive back at the Precinct shortly after Rosen and Vota arrive.

  The four sit in the squad room comparing notes and working out strategy for the next day.

  “I’ll have Chen making phone calls from his own desk at the 68th,” says Samson. “I want him to keep trying the tow truck driver until he gets an answer. Chen will also be trying to get a change of address from the post office.”

  “Why isn’t Detective Chen here now?” asks Vota. “We could have called it our Tuesday afternoon meeting and got it over with.”

  “The meeting tomorrow is still on. We need Ivanov to be with us, and she’s unavailable today,” says Samson. “Not to mention that Chief Trenton will probably join in.”

  “Sorry you mentioned it,” says Murphy.

  “Rosen, you’ll go to the property management office to find out if they have a forwarding address on Caine. Thank God this damn holiday will be over; maybe we can find someone in this city at work,” Samson continues. “Of course, he may have lived in more than one place since.”

  “Speaking of work,” says Rosen, “we have a Social Security number. We should at least be able to find out where Caine is employed.”

  “Good idea,” says Samson. “Remember one very important thing. Finding Gabriel Caine is not enough. We need real evidence. We need to get into his place of residence and into his car. We will need search warrants, and they are not easy to get. All we really ha
ve now is circumstantial. We have nothing to prove that he killed anyone.”

  “You’re not going to find an employer for this guy. And I think we can kill two birds with one stone,” says Murphy.

  “Which two birds are those?” asks Samson.

  “I think we can find the address and get enough for a search warrant. Landis and I were planning to check back at the unemployment office in the morning, to follow up on what Victor Sanders said about seeing the guy there. If we can ID Caine as the man who bought the drugs from Sanders, I think we’ll have what we need for a search. We’ll have to find that asshole Sanders again—he’s out on bail.”

  “I want you down there when they open the doors of that office in the morning, Tommy. Take Landis with you. We’ll put out another APB on Sanders.”

  “Do we have a picture of this guy?” asks Murphy.

  “A copy of his driver’s license just came in,” says Vota. “I have it on my desk.”

  “Everyone will do what they’re supposed to do, in case the unemployment office doesn’t pan out,” says Samson. “But if Caine is getting checks sent, finding a current address is looking good.”

  “What are you and I doing in the morning, while all of this is going on?” asks Vota.

  “I’ll be right here, coordinating,” says Samson. “Everyone will call in, regularly. As soon as we get an address, we’ll cover the place and cover Caine’s every movement until we can get a warrant.”

  “And me?” asks Vota.

  “We don’t know why Caine went off the road, but we can surmise, based on what Bowers thinks she heard and the rear damage to the Olds. Suppose he was hit by another vehicle, even though he didn’t report it, for whatever reason,” says Samson. “The Oldsmobile had a child carrier and a Baby on Board bumper sticker. The man who stopped at the Bower’s home said that there was an injured child. Addams thinks he saw the man on the highway carrying what may have been a child. And remember what Father Donovan said. If there was a child seriously hurt, or killed, someone has to know about it. Find that someone. Check all the hospitals, Lou, starting with those closest to the accident. Find out who brought a child in on the 16th of January.”

  “The 16th? That was the night of my birthday.”

  “Well that’s good to know, Tommy. Happy birthday,” says Samson. “You should have told us sooner. We could have had some cake or something.”

  Murphy understands Samson’s frustration and lets the comment pass.

  “Let me see that driver’s license photo, Lou.”

  Vota finds the photocopy and hands it to Murphy.

  “Jesus, I was there. I saw this guy. In the ER at Coney Island Hospital. I was there with Augie Sena, the night he broke his leg.”

  Murphy looks at the photo of Gabriel Caine.

  He can remember the man’s vacant eyes.

  “The guy was a total wreck. I stopped a doctor who I knew, asked what happened,” says Murphy. “The child died.”

  The silence in the room lasts a good thirty seconds, and then it was shattered by the ringing phone.

  Samson picks up.

  “That was the 62nd Precinct, Lou. They finally traced the gun that killed Johnny Colletti. It belonged to him. I think that’s good news for Lorraine’s client. You might want to give her a call. Murphy, can you get over to the hospital, see what you can find out about the child. They may have the address we need on the father.”

  “Sure, Sam.”

  “Mind if I ride along?” asks Rosen.

  “Not at all. Let’s go,” says Murphy.

  “Call me as soon as you have something,” says Samson as they head out. “I’ll be right here.”

  Vota gives Lorraine a call.

  Samson takes the opportunity to call home.

  “I’m going to be late,” Samson says to Alicia. “Don’t hold dinner.”

  “How late?”

  “I don’t know, I’ll call you before I leave.”

  “Okay, be careful.”

  “Did the kids enjoy the day off from school?”

  “For the most part. I’d better feed them. Call me.”

  After hearing from Vota, Lorraine calls Bobby Hoyle.

  “I’ll talk with the prosecutor in the morning,” she says. “Maybe they’ll drop the charges entirely.”

  “That’s great news, Lorraine. Can I buy you a drink to celebrate?”

  “Not tonight, Bobby, I have a lot of work.” And a whopper of a headache. “Have one for me.”

  “Mind if I take off, Sam?” asks Vota. “You can call if you need me again tonight.”

  “Going to see Lorraine?”

  “No, she’s busy. And I’m wasted.”

  “Sure, go ahead, get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be a killer.”

  “Call if you need me,” Vota says again before leaving.

  Gabriel Caine collects the five one-hundred-dollar bills from the kitchen floor. He takes a small suitcase from in front of the side door before walking out to his car.

  Samson is going stir crazy in the squad room.

  The telephone rings.

  “Sam, we got an address. 69th Street and Vista Place. It’s less than a block from the Graham house,” says Murphy. “We’re on our way over there.”

  “Okay. Call as soon as you get there. Look for the Oldsmobile, but don’t go near the house yet. I’ll send a few unmarked cars over to meet you.”

  “Are you sure you can’t have a drink with me, Ronnie? This bad dream may actually be over.”

  “I’d love to, Bobby, but I’m working the swing shift tonight,” Ron Hoyle reminds his brother. “I’ll take a rain check. Have one for me.”

  Gabriel Caine parks the Oldsmobile in the long term lot at LaGuardia Airport. He walks into the terminal and finds the ticketing counter.

  He purchases a round-trip ticket for Tampa, Florida. He pays cash.

  He has a few hours to wait for departure.

  Clutching the ticket and the Bible in his free hand, he walks toward the concourse.

  “No Olds. And the house looks empty,” says Murphy.

  “Did the other officers arrive?” asks Samson.

  “Yes, two cars. I put one on 6th Avenue, at the near end of the back alley, and the other across and down from the house on 69th.”

  “Okay, make sure they understand that they’re not to approach Caine. All they are to do is call us if they spot Caine coming in, follow and call if they spot him leaving.”

  “Caine has a wife and another kid,” says Murphy. “What if they’re inside—how will we know if they’re alright?”

  “Damn it. If we go in without a warrant, we could blow it entirely,” says Samson. “Check with the neighbors, see if anyone knows about the wife and kid.”

  Ten minutes later Murphy calls back.

  “Caine’s wife and daughter left town a few weeks ago,” says Murphy. “A neighbor says she went down to Florida to take a job with her father, a commercial realtor in Tampa.”

  “Thank God, that’s a relief.”

  “Do you think Caine went down there?”

  “It’s a thought.”

  “The neighbor didn’t have the father’s name. I called the information in to One Police Plaza and they’re going to try tracking her down. I gave them your home and cell phone numbers and both of mine. The two surveillance cars have the numbers also. I guess we wait.”

  “Thanks, Tommy,” says Samson. “I’m going to head home while I have the chance. Why don’t you do the same.”

  “Any luck finding Victor Sanders?”

  “Not yet. Kelly is still here if anything breaks.”

  “Maybe I’ll grab something to eat nearby, and check back with these guys before I head home,” says Murphy.

  “Whatever, just make sure you get some rest. There may not be many more opportunities,” says Samson.

  Bobby Hoyle comes out of his house starts to walk up West 12th Street, heading for the High Times Tavern over on Avenue U.

  “Bobby,” call
s a voice from behind him.

  Hoyle turns to find Frank Sullivan sitting on the front steps of the DiMarco house, two doors down.

  “Hey, Sully,” says Hoyle. “Care to join me for a drink up on Avenue U? I’m buying.”

  “No thanks, I’ve given it up,” says Frank, rising to his feet. “But I wouldn’t mind stretching my legs. I’ll walk up with you, just to the bar door.”

  In the car parked across the street, the man behind the wheel watches Bobby and Sully walk away.

  He decides that it would be best to wait until Hoyle returns.

  “Are you hungry?” asks Murphy.

  “Starving,” says Rosen.

  “How about I buy you dinner?”

  “I’ll have dinner with you. I’m not sure about you buying.”

  “There’s a joint up on 5th. The food isn’t half-bad.”

  “Sure, let’s go,” says Rosen. “We can order from the good half.”

  Stevie Territo stands in the shadows near the corner at Avenue T.

  He calls Tony Territo’s cell phone and finds his cousin at the funeral home, making final arrangements for Brenda’s wake.

  “He’s still here, just sitting in his car, Tony,” says Stevie.

  “Stay on him, Steve,” says Tony Territo. “I’m nearly done here.”

  “I wanted to apologize for all the telephone mishaps earlier today,” says Murphy.

  They are having coffee after dinner at the Ridge Diner on 5th Avenue.

  “You would do better not reminding me,” says Rosen.

  “Reminding you about what?”

  “So, are you the kind of guy who has birthdays that nobody remembers?” asks Rosen.

  “Not really. I work with the kind of guys who have more important things on their minds. Not to suggest that my mother doesn’t, but she remembered my birthday.”