by J. L. Abramo
“It’s not too bad,” she says as Murphy reaches them.
“Not too bad. The fuck got me in the elbow,” Samson moans. “It hurts like fucking hell.”
“I broke his fucking legs for you, Sam,” says Murphy.
“I thought I told you explicitly that you were not to come back here until tomorrow, Detective,” Samson says.
“I guess you’ll have to write me up, Lieutenant,” says Murphy.
A few hours later, Murphy and Rosen stand at Samson’s hospital bed. Alicia and Jimmy Samson are also there.
“Where’s Harris?” asks Samson.
“He’s in recovery. We’ve got two officers guarding the room. His right leg is broken and the left is mush. He’ll probably be screaming police brutality the minute he opens his eyes,” says Murphy. “They matched the gun with the bullets that killed Lou. Stump and Junior Jefferson will testify that Harris was gunning for you and Vota.”
“So, there shouldn’t be a problem getting a conviction for first-degree murder,” says Samson.
“Problem? Are you kidding,” says Murphy. “When we get that maniac into court he won’t have a leg to stand on.”
“Are you and Rosen leaving now?” asks Samson.
“What’s the rush?” asks Murphy.
“I’d like some time with my wife and son. I’m looking for a little sympathy, and you’re here making them laugh.”
“Goodnight,” says Rosen, grabbing Murphy’s arm.
“Tommy,” says Samson as they reach the door.
“Don’t worry, Sam,” says Murphy as they walk out of the room. “I’ve got you covered.”
Back at the 61st, the two detectives sit in silence.
“I think I’ll hit the road,” says Rosen. “I’ll come in to help cover tomorrow.”
“You may as well see about a transfer over here.”
“That depends.”
“Depends on what?” asks Murphy.
“Samson should come out okay,” says Rosen, changing the subject.
“He may not be able to pitch for the Precinct softball team this spring, but he’ll be fine.”
“How is your mother doing?”
“Jesus, I should call her. I told her that I was going home hours ago,” says Murphy. “My mother caught me crying in Michael’s room earlier today. I told her I was disturbed that Michael had been innocent of taking money from his job and no one had believed him. She told me I was wrong, that she had believed him and my father would have believed him. She said that Michael knew that. She told me that Michael loved me. My mother told me that what happened to Michael wasn’t my fault, and that if my father was alive, he would tell me the same.”
“Believe her, Tommy,” says Rosen.
“That it wasn’t my fault?”
“Yes, and that your brother loved you.”
“Would you like to go out sometime?” asks Murphy. “Like to a movie or something?”
“That depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“On whether or not I want to look into transferring over here,” she says, rising to leave. “Don’t forget to call your mom. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“It won’t be the same around here without Lou,” says Murphy.
“I know,” says Rosen.
THIRTY
Monday morning. Murphy oversleeps. He decides to skip the morning run.
He takes Ralph with him to his mother’s house. He sits watching the Today Show while his mother prepares breakfast. It is very quiet.
Without Michael, it will be quiet in the house from now on.
After breakfast, his mother hands him a package.
“This came in the mail for Michael on Saturday,” his mother says. “I couldn’t bring myself to open it until last night. I remember Michael telling me he had ordered it for you, for your birthday, and there being a problem getting it on time.”
Murphy opens the package.
He finds an eight-by-ten inch glossy photograph in a simple black frame.
It is a photograph of Mel Gibson, in a scene from Lethal Weapon. It is autographed by the actor.
Murphy looks at the photo and then up at his mother.
“Michael said that it was for your wall. At work,” his mother says.
Ripley and Kyle drop Mickey off at preschool and then drive on to the older boy’s school where the buses wait to take them to the New York City Aquarium.
“Do you think we should try to free the whales?” asks Kyle as they board the bus.
“Let’s play it by ear, son,” says his father.
Murphy leaves his mother’s house and picks up a radio call as soon as he climbs into his car.
A shooting homicide at Bedford Avenue and Glenwood Road.
The scene is nearby; Murphy decides to run over to check it out.
When he arrives, he finds that one of the uniformed officers who initially responded to the call has collared a suspect.
“What’s the story?” Murphy asks the young officer.
“I saw him standing at the edge of the crowd gathered around the body. I don’t know exactly what it was, but he looked wrong to me. I went toward him, as if I was going to question a lady standing next to him, and I saw him make a move. I tackled and cuffed him. The guy had the murder weapon right in his jacket.”
“Great instincts. How long have you been on the job?”
“Five months.”
“What’s your name, I’ll put in a good word for you with your captain.”
“Davis.”
“Michael Davis?”
The kid looked more frightened than he must have been taking down the shooter.
“Yes.”
“You were involved in the incident at the Midwood Suites?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Yes, Detective, sir,” says Davis. “I’ve wanted to look you up, but I couldn’t find the courage.”
“Well you found it today,” says Murphy. “I’ll put in a good word for you with your captain.”
Gabriel Caine places the gun into the cloth satchel. He places all of the cash that he has onto the table in the back room of the restaurant, with a note for Mitch.
Thank you for your hospitality. I hope this covers what I consumed and will also cover repairs to the back door. I’m sure the gun will be returned.
Gabriel also leaves another note, written in crayon.
Caine picks up the satchel and leaves through the back door. As he walks, Caine digs a bus token from his pocket. In the same pocket is a small plastic bottle, filled with holy water taken from Our Lady of Angels that morning. He heads toward the bus stop for the final trip to Gravesend.
A woman dropping garbage into a dumpster in the alley sees the stranger come out from the back of the restaurant. Knowing that Mitch Dunne is away on vacation, she returns to her apartment to call the police.
Sandra Rosen drives over to the 61st Precinct. She is thinking about her last encounter with Lou Vota. Rosen is trying to decide whether Lorraine DiMarco would be better off hearing or not hearing that Lou Vota had it in mind to ask Lorraine to marry him. Rosen tries to put herself in the other woman’s shoes in the hope that it might help her to settle the debate, but the shoes don’t fit.
Salvatore DiMarco has taken on the responsibility of arranging for Lou Vota’s wake and the church funeral service.
The burial service that follows will be in the hands of the Police Department and would incorporate all of the dignity, protocol and decoration that a detective sergeant killed in the line of duty merited.
Both services were scheduled for Tuesday morning and would draw a large audience; including appearances by the mayor and the commissioner of police.
Lorraine waits for Dr. Barnwell to return from his trip to Maryland, hoping for his consent to attend.
Rosen is admiring the latest addition to Murphy’s Wall of Fame when the phone rings.
“61st. Rosen speaking.”
“T
his is Chen, is Lieutenant Samson there?”
“He’s not, Detective. Can I help you?”
“I’m at Mitch’s Coffee Shop on 5th and 72nd,” says Chen. “It’s where Gabriel Caine has been hiding out. Caine left another note; it doesn’t look as if he’s coming back here.”
“Make sure nothing is disturbed, Detective,” Rosen says. “I’m on my way; I’ll call for an evidence team.”
Rosen quickly fills Murphy in.
“Let’s go to Bay Ridge,” says Murphy.
“Why don’t I go? You and Mel Gibson can hold the fort. Get a team of crime scene investigators down there,” Rosen says. “I’ll call you as soon as I see what’s doing.”
“Be careful,” says Murphy, picking up the phone as Rosen runs out.
Gabriel Caine gets off the bus at Stillwell Avenue and Kings Highway. He has some time before the white station wagon will deliver the boy to him.
Caine walks with his hands deep in his coat pockets, his right hand touching the grip of the gun, his left hand touching the bottle of holy water.
Gabriel spots the Del Rio Diner up ahead. He removes his right hand from the gun and glances at his wristwatch. Thirty minutes to go, enough time for a last cup of coffee.
“He’s been here,” says Rosen. “Would you believe that he left money to pay for what he ate and drank? It looks as if Caine is out there with a firearm, Tommy.”
“Great news. Did he happen to leave word of where he was headed?”
“No, just another note in crayon,” says Rosen. “Luke, 5:31–32. I don’t have a copy of the New Testament handy.”
“I’ve got one here, I’ll look it up,” says Murphy. “I doubt it will tell us anything. I suppose you should stick around there, on the outside chance Caine comes back.”
“I’ll stay,” says Rosen. “But by the look of how he left this place, I’m sure that Caine is never coming back. I think that Caine is on the way to join his little boy.”
Ripley sits with Kyle’s third-grade teacher and one of the other parents behind the children.
The kids sit bundled up like little Eskimos, watching in awe as the dolphins perform.
Ripley feels the cell phone vibrate against his chest.
“This had better be important, Stone,” Ripley says, after checking the caller ID.
“I just opened a letter written to Gabriel Caine and his wife, from their son’s pediatrician. He wrote that he had attempted to reach them by telephone a number of times, without success. The doctor went on to explain that he had another call that night, shortly after speaking to Caine’s wife. A three-year-old girl required emergency surgery at another hospital. When the doctor was finally able to make it over to Coney Island, he heard the news about the Caine boy. He wrote that he was very sorry to learn of the boy’s death,” Stone says. “Yesterday, the Sunday Tribune reported that Caine might have one last victim. This could be it.”
“Fax the letter to the 61st Precinct. Make sure that all of the information on the doctor is included,” says Ripley. “I’ll contact Lieutenant Samson.”
Ripley digs Samson’s business card from his wallet and calls the Precinct.
Murphy finds the passage in the Gospel of Saint Luke.
They that are whole need not a physician, but they that are sick.
I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.
So what.
The phone rings; the fax machine begins spitting out pages.
“I’ve got Agent Ripley of the FBI on the line for Samson,” says Kelly.
“Put him through,” says Murphy.
“Lieutenant?”
“The lieutenant is not in,” says Murphy. “What can I do for you?”
“My assistant, Agent Stone, believes that Caine may be targeting the boy’s physician.”
“Physician?” says Murphy, looking at the Bible.
“His son’s doctor. He was supposed to meet Caine and the boy at the hospital and didn’t show. The doctor apparently had good reason, but we don’t think that Gabriel Caine is aware of the circumstance.”
“You may have something there. Who was the doctor?”
“I don’t know. Stone is sending a fax over to you.”
“It just arrived,” says Murphy, walking over to the machine and taking up the top sheet. “Jesus, I know who this is. I’ll try to get hold of him.”
“Could you use help?”
“I can always use help. Where are you?”
“At the Aquarium, Coney Island,” says Ripley. “With a busload of third-graders.”
“I’d hate to drag you away.”
“It’s quite alright.”
“Can you see the roller coaster from where you are?”
“Which one?”
“The biggest one, it should be the nearest.”
“The Cyclone?”
“That’s it,” says Murphy. “Go to the entrance on Surf Avenue; I’ll have someone pick you up.”
“I’ll be there,” says Ripley.
Ripley explains to the teachers that he needs to leave on important business, and then he speaks to his son.
“I’ll call your Aunt Connie; she’ll pick you up when you get back to the school.”
“Okay, Dad.”
“You’re not upset that I have to go, are you son?”
“No. We’ll free the whales next time,” Kyle says.
Murphy telephones the physician’s residence. A woman answers identifying herself as the doctor’s mother.
“Charles is at the hospital—his wife has just given birth,” says the woman.
“Does he have other children?”
“The two girls are here. My husband should be leaving the store anytime now to pick up the boy from school.”
“Is the boy the oldest?”
“Yes, he is,” says the woman. “What is this about?”
“I don’t have time to explain,” he says. “I’m very sorry; I don’t mean to alarm you. Please remain in the house with the children. It will be alright. Could you give me the number at the store?”
“Detective Murphy,” the woman says, after giving him the phone number. “Promise me that you won’t let anything happen to my husband or my grandson.”
“I promise,” says Murphy.
Murphy ends the connection and calls the store.
“Mr. Campo, this is Detective Murphy.”
“This is Frank Sullivan. Joe left to pick up his grandson.”
“Is he dropping the boy off at home?”
“They usually stop here first—the boy walks home.”
“Frank, when they get back have Joe take the boy to his son’s house and wait there.”
“What’s wrong, Detective?”
“I’ll explain when I get there, just make sure that they go to the house and stay put,” Murphy says.
Murphy starts for the door as the phone rings.
“This is Ivanov; I’ve got Agent Ripley with me.”
“Get over to Avenue S and West 10th,” says Murphy.
“That’s where the first boy was found, on the roof.”
“It is,” says Murphy. “Get over to the grocery.”
Murphy hangs up and runs out of the squad room.
“So, Frankie,” asks Joe Campo, as he turns the white station wagon onto Highlawn Avenue at West 6th Street. “How do you feel about having a new baby brother?”
“I’m glad it’s a brother, Grandpa,” says the boy. “I have too many sisters already.”
“Too many?” says Joe.
“Well, just enough sisters,” says Frankie.
“Do you want me to drop you off at the house, with your grandmother and the girls?”
“Can I stay at the store for a while, Grandpa,” asks Frankie, “with you and Frank?”
“Sure,” says Joe Campo, smiling proudly. “You can hang out for a while with the guys.”
Ivanov and Ripley are in her car coming west on 86th Street from Shell Road. Ivanov turns right onto West 6
th, heading toward Avenue S.
Gabriel Caine stands on West 10th, on the east side of the street, halfway between the doctor’s home and the grocery at the corner of Avenue S. Caine sees the white station wagon turn onto 10th Street from Highlawn Avenue. Gabriel stands watching, waiting to see if the car will stop at the house or continue up to the avenue.
Murphy decides to drive past the doctor’s house first. He takes Avenue U to West 9th Street and then heads across 9th toward Highlawn.
When Caine sees that the station wagon is not slowing at the house, he lowers his head and starts moving toward Avenue S. The wagon parks at the corner, on the east side of the street, along the west wall of the grocery store.
Gabriel Caine rushes up to the driver’s side, pulling the gun from his pocket as Joe Campo opens the car door.
“Get out of the car, leave the keys,” Caine says.
“Sure, relax, I’ll do whatever you want,” says Campo. “Frankie, get out of the car and walk home, son.”
“You get out, sir. Leave the keys,” says Caine. “The boy stays in the car.”
“Joe, get the boy away from here.”
Caine turns to the voice behind him, Frank Sullivan is moving toward him very quickly. Campo starts the engine as the gun in Caine’s hand fires involuntarily and Joe tears away across the avenue as Sullivan hits the ground. Murphy hears the gunshot as he turns onto 10th Street and he races to the end of the block. Ivanov and Ripley hear the gunshot as they come over the hill on Avenue S between 7th and 8th. Ivanov speeds to the scene.
Caine stands frozen, looking down at Sully’s body.
Murphy reaches the corner and screeches to a stop. As Murphy jumps from his car, Gabriel bolts blindly across the avenue. Ivanov slams her brakes and swerves right to avoid running Caine down.
Joe Campo has come around the block. He sends the boy into the house and runs up to the avenue. Murphy is down on the ground with Sully, on the cell phone calling for an ambulance.