by J. L. Abramo
“Me, Dad,” says Mickey, beaming. “There was no blue berries and you love those little olives.”
“That I do, son,” says Ripley. “Do you have a name for this inventive gourmet concoction?”
“What’s a gummy cockshun, Dad?” asks Mickey.
“We call them martini flapjacks, of course,” says Kyle with as straight a face as he can manage.
“I bet that the Pancake House would love to have this recipe. How about we clean up some and go down there to tell them about it?”
“And maybe while we’re there, we can see if they have any blueberries,” says Kyle.
“Good idea,” says Ripley, when the phone rings.
“Sorry to bother you on a Saturday,” says Agent Stone.
“And so nice and early, too. What’s up?”
“I have some mail from Caine’s house,” says Stone. “I was hoping you could get the okay to open it.”
“Not before Monday, so enjoy the weekend.”
“You do the same.”
“Oh, Win. I almost forgot,” says Ripley. “Kyle’s third-grade class is doing a field trip to the New York Aquarium at Coney Island on Monday and it’s my turn to be one of the tag-a-long parents. I won’t be in until Tuesday morning. I’ll try to get permission for you to open the mail before then.”
“Wow. The Aquarium. That sounds like fun.”
“Have you ever been on an excursion with twenty-five eight-year-olds?” asks Ripley.
“No.”
“Not fun. Have you had breakfast?”
“No.”
“I’m taking the boys to the Pancake House on Queens Boulevard and 73rd Avenue, if you would care to join us.”
“Does that sound like fun?” asks Stone.
“Let’s just say that it has more potential than two dozen kids crowded around a shark tank,” says Ripley. “Be there in thirty minutes if you feel like braving it.”
“Why not,” says Stone. “Columbus took a chance.”
Samson arrives at the Precinct at eight. He finds Murphy already there.
“I said that you could take the day off, Tommy,” says Samson. “Shouldn’t you be with your mother?”
“My mother is being well taken care of by my father’s brothers and her sisters. I needed a sane distraction, so I came to finish the paperwork on the Territo arrest.”
“How’s Tony doing?”
“Not too well. That lunatic Stump is in the adjoining cell, chewing Territo’s ear off.”
“Have you had breakfast?” asks Samson.
“I can’t remember, but I can always do breakfast.”
Kelly stops them on their way out to the New Times.
“Lieu, we got a situation on Fulton Street downtown. A Union rally at one of the department stores has turned ugly. I just got a call that they could use a few more cars down there. I was wondering if we could pull the car sitting over at Vota’s place.”
“Let me call Lou, see what he thinks.”
“I’m on my way to the hospital to see Lorraine,” says Vota when Samson calls. “I’ll send those guys in front over to Fulton Street on my way out. I’ll be in later.”
“Done, Kelly,” says Samson. “Let’s eat, Tommy.”
The film was The Strange Love of Martha Ivers and, although Lorraine preferred Bette Davis, she found herself getting wrapped up in it. She thought that her father and Lou would probably like this one. Her father was a big Kirk Douglas fan, and this was Douglas’ first film. And the crime element might appeal to Lou. She thought about calling them, but decided that her father had probably seen it a hundred times and Lou probably didn’t need another murder mystery on his hands. Just when Van Heflin arrived back in Iverstown, there was a knocking on the door of her hospital room.
“I’m guessing it’s open,” she calls.
“How are you feeling, Lorraine?”
“Not bad, Doctor. I don’t know what they have in this IV, but I haven’t felt like worrying for a few hours.”
“Good. I can give you our preliminary findings. It is looking very good,” says Barnwell. “Based on the shape of the tumor, and the sac that surrounded it, we’re almost certain that the cancer was not malignant. I’ll have the pathology report, based on microscopy in the laboratory, by Monday afternoon. I’ll go over the report with you when I return from Bethesda. I believe that we can avoid drug or radiation treatment entirely, unless symptoms recur.”
“Great.”
“We are giving you Dilantin, which is an antiseizure medication, with the recommendation that you remain on the drug for a few weeks. Surgery will often cause swelling of the brain, which can cause seizures,” says Barnwell. “We’ll also administer a drug to decrease any apparent swelling if necessary.”
“When can I get out of here?”
“I think I can let you go in a week, if everything continues to look good. I recommend that you rest for a few weeks, stay away from your office.”
“I can do that.”
“I’ll stop in to see you again a few times before I leave for Maryland,” says Barnwell. “And when I get back, we should know all we need to know. I’m very optimistic.”
“Thank you, Doctor. Can I call you Rowdy?”
“No,” says Barnwell. “By the way.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t usually like Barbara Stanwyck movies, but that’s a very good one,” Barnwell says before leaving the room.
Everyone’s a movie critic, she thought, running her hand across her head.
He was much better in Shane, Lorraine thinks when Van Heflin returns on screen.
“The lieutenant is out to breakfast,” says Kelly. “He should be back soon. I’ll tell him you called, but I doubt he’ll be interested.”
“Tell him that it is very important, that things have changed,” says Serena Huang. “Tell him that I received a phone call from a man who isn’t done with his crayons yet. The lieutenant will understand.”
“Give me your phone number,” says Kelly.
“That’s great news, Lorraine,” says Vota when she fills him in on the preliminary results.
“Yeah, not bad huh.”
“Close shave.”
“Are you making fun of my head again, Lou?” Lorraine asks.
“I love your head.”
“I’ll let that one pass. Is it swelling?”
“Is what swelling?”
“My head.”
“Not as much as it did when you won your last big court case.”
“Get out of here and go to work,” says Lorraine. “My breakfast should be arriving soon and I am not sharing my stewed plums.”
“I’ll lay off your plums. But I want to stay to see how the movie ends.”
“Heflin finds out that Martha Ivers killed her aunt,” says Lorraine. “Now go make the streets safe.”
“See you later,” says Vota.
“That reporter called, Lieu—something about crayons,” says Kelly when they walk in. “Here’s the phone number.”
Samson grabs the number and races up to his desk, with Murphy at his heels.
“I don’t know where he is, Lieutenant. He phoned.”
“Do you have caller ID?”
“He said that he was calling from a phone booth,” says Serena, “I do have the number.”
“Run this number right away, Tommy,” Samson says, and repeats it as Serena reads it to him. “What exactly did Caine say, Ms. Huang?”
“He said he wants to help me get the story straight,” says Serena. “He doesn’t believe everything that he reads in the newspapers.”
“I’m not surprised,” says Samson. “Where on earth did you get all of that nonsense about an abused childhood and dead animals?”
“Straight out of a textbook, Lieutenant, but have you seen some of other news stories lately? They’re saying he may be homosexual, because his victims were boys. That he may be eating the body parts. One writer had a wild idea that Caine was carving up his victim’s faces. The l
ess you tell the media, the more they feel that they have to dream something up. I don’t think getting the real facts out is such a bad idea,” says Serena.
“What does he want?” asks Samson.
“Caine wants people to understand that he is saving these children, sending them to heaven, protecting them from being damned by the sins of their fathers. He said he’s a soldier of God. He said that if I could help make his intentions clear, he would turn himself in.”
“And you scoop the big story,” says Samson.
“That’s the last thing on my mind, Lieutenant.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Lieutenant, Gabriel Caine said that he would turn himself in after he had saved the last child. I’ll do whatever you believe is best.”
Jesus.
“Lieutenant?”
“I’m still here. I’ll have to talk to Chief Trenton. I’ll get back to you.”
Samson puts down the receiver.
“It’s the booth at 5th and 69th, Sam,” says Murphy. “It’s just up the street from his house.”
Samson calls the 67th Precinct, trying to locate Chief Trenton.
“It may not be a bad idea, Sam,” says Trenton. “We have a panic growing that will only get worse the longer these news stories continue to become more irresponsible. We already have a flood of missing persons reports, a number of confessions, and one of the radio stations has offered a huge reward for information. It won’t be long before people start turning each other in. If the public hears that the victims were chosen for a reason, no matter how insane the reason, people may at least understand that not every child in the city is in danger.”
“So, we let her go with the story?”
“I think we have to, Sam. Make sure we see it before she turns it in and that we stay with her day and night in case Caine contacts her again,” says Trenton. “He told her that he was planning to kill another child?”
“Yes.”
“We can’t let that happen, Sam.”
“I am sending a Detective Marina Ivanov over to you,” says Samson. “She will read your story before you bring it to the Tribune, she will escort you to drop it off, and she will stay with you until Gabriel Caine is apprehended. Is that perfectly clear?”
“Yes, it is,” says Serena.
“I’ve got a car at the phone booth, Sam. Where the fuck do you think Caine is?”
“Close,” says Samson.
“Lou called; he’s on his way here from the hospital.”
“When Lou gets in I want you out of here, Tommy,” says Samson. “You have funeral arrangements to attend to and a mother you should be with. I have all the help I need. And Tommy.”
“Yes.”
“This was found in Michael’s room at the hotel,” says Samson, handing Murphy the note, feeling that he had been holding it from Murphy for far too long.
“Did you read this?” asks Murphy, after reading it himself.
“Yes.”
“Do you think that Mike went there to kill himself?”
“I don’t know, Tommy,” Samson answers. “I don’t know.”
Murphy runs home to see to Ralph’s needs. Feeding, walking and reassuring the animal. Murphy has some time before he needs to pick up his mother for the drive to the funeral home to make arrangements for the wake, so he decides to make a quick visit to the hospital to see Lorraine.
“I’m really sorry about your brother, Tommy. I don’t know what else to say.”
“What can you say? I’m glad the operation went well.”
“So.”
“So.”
“So, I heard you had to meet with Internal Affairs,” says Lorraine. “Were they surprised when you strolled in without counsel?”
“I told them that my lawyer was busy destroying more of her brain cells,” says Murphy. “I didn’t say how.”
“I’m sure they had some interesting theories.”
“Lorraine, I wanted to ask you about the suspect we’re trying to find, Gabriel Caine. Caine planned and executed the murder of three young people, but he seems to believe he was saving them somehow. How do we deal with judging someone that irrational?”
“From a moral standpoint or a legal one?”
“Either.”
“Do you think this man knows the difference between right and wrong?” asks Lorraine.
“Yes, I do. But I think that he has a very mixed-up conception about what’s right.”
“From a moral standpoint, if this man truly believes that he is doing right, doing good, he could be considered a moral person. But from a legal standpoint, premeditated murder is against the law and is therefore wrong, without ambiguity. If he truly believes otherwise, he might be considered unable to make the distinction. An argument could be made that Caine is legally insane.”
“Would you defend such a case?”
“Are you looking for a lawyer for him?”
“No. It’s just that I saw this guy, the night that his son died. I looked into the man’s eyes. What I saw was someone who was already dead, emotionally. And dead people are far beyond knowing right from wrong. Whatever is driving him is keeping him alive, at least physically. I believe that when Gabriel Caine is finished, he will be ready to die.”
“Suicide?”
“In some form.”
“What brought this on? Does it have something to do with what happened to Michael?”
“I don’t know, it seems that there are so many people out there that need help and don’t find any. I don’t know.”
Landis and Mendez have beaten the bushes for most of Saturday afternoon.
There is no sign of Andre Harris.
Mendez is fatigued. He is not fully recovered from his gunshot wound, having removed himself from the hospital prematurely.
They take one more swing past Vota’s house and make plans to pick up the search for Harris again after Michael Murphy’s funeral service at the church the next morning.
Mendez feels as if he could easily sleep until then. Landis picks up a Saturday newspaper to check the movie listings.
Rosen bumps into Vota as they both leave the Precinct.
“How is your friend Lorraine doing?” Rosen asks as they walk to the parking lot.
“It went very well. Funny, hearing you refer to Lorraine as my friend. I’ve been trying to ask Lorraine to marry me since Christmas, but I never seem to be able to get it out. Maybe I’ll just ask her tonight.”
“Lou.”
“Yes?”
“It’s none of my business, but I have no self-control so here goes,” says Rosen. “It may not be a good time to bring up marriage to Lorraine. She just had what could be considered a life-threatening experience. If Lorraine is dealing with her own mortality, thoughts about her future, marriage, family, whatever, may be difficult for her to address. At least for a while.”
“Conventional wisdom?”
“Woman’s intuition?”
“Thanks, I’ll take that into consideration.”
“I could be way off base,” says Rosen. “Here’s my car.”
“I appreciate you stepping up to the plate. Here comes the snow they’ve been predicting for the past few days,” he says as the flurries begin. “Drive safely, Sandra.”
“You be careful also, Lou,” says Rosen.
She watches Vota walk off as she climbs into her car.
Light snow falling, seeming not to touch him.
You’re a blabbermouth, Rosen, she thinks as she turns on the windshield wipers and slowly pulls away.
Andre Harris stands shivering in the claustrophobic entryway between the inner and outer doors of the house.
All of the warmth is beyond the bolted interior door, out of his reach.
When he peeks out from the small window pane in the exterior door, Harris can see that the mild flurries have evolved into a steady fall of heavy, wet flakes.
I hate fucking snow, he mumbles to himself.
Samson pulls into the driveway and rush
es into the house, shaking the snow from his coat at the door.
“Are the kids up?” he asks as Alicia takes the coat.
“The girls are up in their room, at the window,” says his wife. “They’re very excited. Lucy looks as if she’s expecting Santa Claus. Maybe we can take them sledding at Lily Pond Park tomorrow.”
“I’ll have to work for a while in the morning,” says Samson. “I’ll try to get home early.”
“Sit. Relax. The kids left some dinner for you.”
“I’ve been thinking about the man you’re looking for, Gabriel Caine,” says Lorraine.
“Murphy said he was here to visit earlier today. Did he bend your ear about Caine?” asks Vota.
“I think it was more about Murphy. Tommy’s feeling he could have done more to help his brother, should have done more.”
“It’s understandable. Michael was only twelve when his father died, it was a huge responsibility for Murphy,” says Vota. “We’ve talked about it, and I know that Tommy’s mother has spoken with him. I think he’ll work through it and realize that there was only so much he could do for his brother, only so much he was qualified to do.”
“I’m sure you’re right, but I think it goes beyond that. I got the impression that Murphy empathizes with Gabriel Caine. Tommy feels Caine needed help before the accident, at the time of the accident, and even more so since. And there was none to be found. And I believe Tommy feels that the man still needs help.”
“Caine may be past the point of accepting help,” says Vota.
“It’s very sad,” says Lorraine.
“Yes, it is,” says Vota.
“Tommy said that Caine may be planning to kill again.”
“It was something Caine said to the reporter.”
“Tommy also said that Gabriel Caine was taking the boy to the hospital when the accident occurred. What was wrong with the boy?”
“I really don’t know,” says Vota. “His wife told us that the boy was ill and they were on the way to meet the boy’s physician.”