Once In, Never Out

by Dan Mahoney

  “But you don’t drink,” Sheeran observed.

  “I will then. Special occasion and Irish whiskey for both of us, one time.”

  “When’s then gonna be?”

  “When there’s finally peace in Ireland and nobody cares about the filthy things people like you and I knew and did during their long, miserable, bloody, little war.”

  “That’s a deal,” Sheeran said, then both men got a shock when Brunette walked in, an extraordinary event. Cops, detectives, and bosses went to see the police commissioner, he never went to see them. The look on Brunette’s face screamed Bad News.

  Suddenly, McKenna received a horrible premonition. “Frieda?” he asked.

  “Yes, Frieda and Haarold Sigmarsson. He got them both,” Brunette said.

  “Where?”

  “The Harbor Lights Motel in Brooklyn. He did the night clerk, too.”

  “Is it bad?” McKenna asked, feeling foolish as soon as he asked the question.

  Brunette knew what he meant. “Horrible, I’m told. He had his way with her for a long time.”

  “Who’s there now?” Sheeran asked.

  “Brooklyn South Homicide and the ME. I told them to leave everything in place until you get there.”

  The thought of going to this particular homicide scene sickened McKenna and he searched for a way out. He stood there, speechless, as he ran questions and excuses through his mind. Prime among the questions was: How did Mulrooney find her? but the answer came to him quickly. The monster had read about her visit in the Icelandic press and had followed her from the church to the hotel. How much had Frieda told him? was another quick question, but that answer was also apparent. Under the kind of torture Mulrooney loved administering, she told him everything she knew—meaning he now knows that we’re on to him.

  The excuses McKenna came up with lacked the quality of the questions. He had to go to Brooklyn. He took a deep breath and turned to Sheeran. “Ready?”

  “Not for this, but let’s go.”

  Thirty-One

  McKenna thought he was prepared for the worst, but he wasn’t. The crime scene was more horrible and more bizarre than anything he had ever witnessed before. Frieda was naked on the bed, her wrists and ankles bound with strips of torn sheets, gagged with cloth torn from her flannel nightgown. Her ears, her fingers, and her nipples were gone, her vagina was spread open and slit to her navel, her teeth had been knocked out, and cigarette burns covered her face and body. Cut into her upper chest was a bloody message inscribed in small letters: “Thor, this is one tough woman you had. Thank you.”

  There were additional affronts to Frieda’s dignity perpetrated by Mulrooney. He had ripped out her tongue and inserted it in her rectum and he had positioned the bodies of Haarold Sigmarsson and the night clerk as silent spectators to Frieda’s torture and death. They were seated in chairs on either side of the bed, each with a Coke in one hand and a candy bar in the other, a smile fixed upon their faces.

  Sheeran had ordered all the many detectives, bosses, crime scene technicians, and ambulance attendants from the room when he and McKenna had arrived, so the two men were the only live people there. “How can I show Thor this?” McKenna asked.

  “It’s horrible and I’m glad I’m not in your shoes, but I’m going to break some rules to make it a little better,” Sheeran stated. He went to the door and called the Brooklyn South Homicide commander into the room. Lt. Ronnie Perugine was a tough guy, famed for his competence and respected for his press connections.

  “How did we find out about this?” Sheeran asked.

  Perugine explained, quickly and concisely. The desk clerk had last been seen alive at 4:10 A.M. when he had rented a room to a couple from Ohio. At 5:55 A.M. a 62nd Precinct unit responded to the motel on the complaint of another prospective guest. The cops took the note on the door at face value and advised the man to seek accommodations at another hotel. He did, but another 62nd Unit was back at 8:05 A.M., called by the relieving day clerk. According to him, Issac Markman was reliable, a long-time employee, a man who would never leave the motel unattended. He had called Markman’s wife and she had no knowledge of his whereabouts.

  The cops were perplexed but not overly concerned since Markman’s car was missing and all the night’s proceeds were still in the register. They conducted a cursory inspection of the premises, found nothing amiss, called Markman’s wife, and asked her to come to the station house to prepare a missing persons report.

  The bodies were discovered by one of the motel’s maids at 11:05 A.M. She had disregarded the DO NOT DISTURB sign, knocked on the door, received no answer, and fainted dead away after entering Room 137. No one else had been interviewed since all the motel’s other guests had already checked out by the time the detectives arrived. In short, Perugine was convinced he was facing a difficult investigation, made even worse because out of the blue, he had already received a call from the PC on the case, the press was straining for information on the sensational killings, and now the CO of the Major Case Squad was standing in front of him, asking him questions. “It looks like I’m in for a tough time on this one,” Perugine stated at the conclusion of his report.

  “Yes, you are, but not as tough as you think,” Sheeran said.

  “Pardon?”

  “It’s not your case, it’s a Major Case Squad investigation.”

  “Great, especially since you’ve already got half my men working for you. But why is this burden being lifted from me, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Because we know who did it and we’re going to get him. Now, how much does the press know?”

  “So far, just what they’ve got from our radio. They know we’ve got a very gruesome scene in here, two dead men and a horribly tortured woman.”

  “Then here’s what I want you to tell them. Nothing, except for the identities of the victims. Nothing about motive. Nothing about Haarold Sigmarsson being an Icelandic cop. Nothing about the message carved into her chest. Nothing. You got it?”

  McKenna could see that it was the toughest order Perugine had ever received. Nothing to his many pals in the press? How would he pull that off? McKenna wondered.

  So did Perugine, but he appeared to take it in stride. “Okay, but let me tell you a few things you may not realize. First of all, I didn’t know the guy was a cop until you told me. Second, I have no idea of motive or why you’re here taking my case. Third, you just ruined the rest of my life. Having reporters mad at you can be very damaging to a career.”

  “Then tell your pals in the press that it’s all my fault,” Sheeran suggested. “I’ve got one more thing for you. Do you know a good funeral director?”

  “Sure. Timmy Burns at Cooks. He’s the best and a retired cop besides.”

  “Good. Then he gets the woman as soon as we leave. She’s a cop’s wife. I want her cleaned up and presentable by tonight.”

  “She doesn’t go to the morgue?” Perugine asked, shocked at this breach in procedure.”

  “No, straight to Cooks is where she’s going. This is a special case and she was a special person. Can you do that?”

  “You tell me to do it, I do it. I take it this killer isn’t going to be arrested and this case isn’t going to court, is it?”

  “No.”

  “But you are going to get him?”

  Sheeran nodded to McKenna for the answer.

  “If it takes me the rest of my life,” McKenna stated simply, but both Perugine and Sheeran realized he had just taken a solemn oath. McKenna was going to slay the monster or die trying.

  Perugine would make the notification to Mrs. Markman, but the job of telling Thor about Frieda and Haarold fell to McKenna in an unexpected way. The phone rang in Room 137 just as Sheeran and McKenna were leaving, and McKenna picked it up. “Brian?” Thor asked, surprised to hear McKenna’s voice.

  “Hello, Thor,” McKenna said, a chill running up his spine.

  Thor caught something in McKenna’s voice. “Is Frieda there?” he asked, a
trace of alarm in his voice.

  “Yes, she is, but I’ve got some very bad news for you.”

  “Mulrooney got her?” Thor asked, guessing at the worst.

  There was only one possible answer and no way to soften the blow. “Yes.”

  “Did he make her suffer?”

  “Yes,” McKenna answered, his eyes fixed on Frieda’s tortured body.

  “Horribly?”

  “Yes.”

  “As bad as Meaghan?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Haarold?”

  “He got him, too, but Haarold didn’t suffer.”

  There was a long pause and McKenna couldn’t think of a thing to say to fill it. “Did Mulrooney make any mistakes, anything that will bring us closer to getting him?” Thor asked, all business.

  “None that I can see.”

  “I’m at Keflavík Airport now and my flight leaves in ten minutes, so I’ll have to ask Janus to notify Haarold’s wife for me. You still picking me up at JFK tonight?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Thank you. Keep working hard and stay focused. I’ll see you tonight,” Thor said, then hung up.

  “Well?” Sheeran asked.

  “That man is righteous ice, an avenging knight with a mission. I wouldn’t want to be Mulrooney right now,” McKenna said, then hung up the phone.

  As usual, court was crowded and it took McKenna forever to get in to see the judge and get his eavesdropping warrant for Brenda McDermott’s phone signed. Also as usual in this case, the wire was already in place well before the warrant was signed, so it really didn’t matter. But McKenna didn’t get a break and he had to rush to the airport to pick up Thor in time at nine o’clock. He made it and was parked in front of the terminal when Thor came out carrying two suitcases.

  McKenna didn’t know what to say to the man as he got out of the car and opened the trunk, but Thor removed the burden from him. “How you holding up?” Thor asked.

  “Not well. Yourself?”

  “I’m going to be fine until we get him. After that, I can’t say. Where is she?”

  “In a funeral home in Brooklyn.”

  “Not the morgue?”

  “No, not the morgue.”

  “Thank you,” Thor said. He placed his suitcases in the trunk and McKenna closed it.

  “Tell me everything, Brian. Please, leave nothing out. I can take it,” Thor said as soon as they got into the car. “Tell me what he did to my Frieda and then take me to the funeral home.”

  It was something McKenna had been dreading, but he did as Thor asked.

  Although the funeral home was closed by the time they got there, Timmy Burns was waiting for them in front of his place. He was solicitous and caring, the perfect professional funeral director. “I’m sorry to have put you to this trouble,” Thor said, surprising both Burns and McKenna.

  “I was happy to be of service,” Burns answered as soon as he recovered.

  “Please take me to Frieda and then I’d like to be alone with her for a while,” Thor said.

  McKenna waited outside while Burns took Thor into the funeral home. After a few minutes, Burns joined McKenna outside and they both waited for an uncomfortable half hour while Thor did whatever he was doing inside with Frieda. Under the circumstances, small talk seemed inappropriate, so both men kept their thoughts to themselves. When Thor finally emerged, McKenna thought he looked even bigger and stronger than usual. Thor was a very tough man.

  “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you for the kindness you’ve shown,” Thor said to Burns and offered his hand.

  Once again, Burns didn’t know what to say. He shook Thor’s hand without comment and looked relieved when McKenna and Thor got into the car.

  McKenna had many questions on his mind, but he didn’t voice them as he headed toward Manhattan. After an embarrassing ten-minute silence, Thor said, “You’re wondering how much Frieda knew about Mulrooney, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am. It’s something we have to talk about.”

  “She knew everything I know about Mulrooney, but I know my Frieda. She told him nothing. He tried his best to get it out of her, but he still doesn’t know that we know he’s Mike Mullen.”

  Anyone else who could have seen Frieda’s tortured body would have doubted Thor’s sanity upon hearing his opinion on Frieda’s ability to withstand pain, but not McKenna. He knew Thor, he knew Frieda, and he took Thor’s statement at face value; Mulrooney still doesn’t know the NYPD is on to him and listening in on his phone calls. It was the only news with the slightest hint of promise McKenna had received that day.

  McKenna drove to the Plaza Hotel on Fifth Avenue and Central Park South and parked across the street. There was a mounted cop on post there and McKenna gave him the car keys and asked him to keep an eye on the car. No problem.

  Thor checked in and then insisted McKenna join him for dinner in the Edwardian Room. McKenna was surprised that Thor could think of food after the day he had just been through, but he took it in stride since the Edwardian Room was the Plaza’s best restaurant and one of his favorite places to eat.

  McKenna thought he would be consoling his friend while they both enjoyed a fine dinner, but it wasn’t to be. Rollins called his cell phone just as their salads arrived.

  “You might have some trouble brewing on your end,” Rollins said. “Mulrooney called his father for what sounded to me like a final farewell. Said he might never see him again.”

  “How did his father take that?” McKenna asked.

  “He’s hard, almost like he expected it. Wished his son luck and told him to do his duty. Said he was proud of him, but warned him that traitors in the IRA were looking for him.”

  “What was Mulrooney’s reaction to that?”

  “Said he already knew about the traitors and he was being careful, but there’s more. The old man mentioned something that really interested Mulrooney, and I think you’ll find it quite interesting as well. Seems that there’s two men missing in Donegal, a boat captain named Learey and his first mate. This Learey had two fine boats and they’re also missing.”

  Have to play this one close, McKenna thought. “Would one of those boats have been a fifty-six-foot sport fisherman?” he asked.

  “I’m still trying to find out for sure, but I think that’s a safe assumption. What’s more important to you is that Mulrooney told his father that he didn’t believe in accidents. He said he smelled a rat.”

  McKenna was getting a call-waiting beep. “Thanks for the info, Inspector, but I have to go. Somebody else is waiting to tell me the same things you just did.”

  “Really? How?” Rollins asked.

  “I’ll explain it all later,” McKenna said, then switched to the waiting call.

  “We’ve got problems,” Brunette said.

  “I know. I got it from Rollins’s wire on the father in Belfast. It looks like Mulrooney’s getting suspicious.”

  “Worse than that. I think Frieda talked and he’s on to us.”

  “She didn’t.”

  “How can you be sure?” Brunette asked.

  “Thor’s sure she didn’t talk, so I’m sure.”

  “Well, that’s the only bright spot in a dismal picture, but listen to this. After Mulrooney called his father, he called Dennis Hunt. Said he wanted a meeting right away to give him more money for his kids. I haven’t heard the tapes yet, but either Hunt blew it or we did. Mulrooney never showed, but I have a feeling he was there, watching us set up to take him.”

  A lot’s been happening since I left the office, McKenna realized. Sheeran would have called me with any news as it happened, but he’s home sleeping. “When did Mulrooney call his father?” McKenna asked Brunette.

  “About two and a half hours ago. Eight-twelve.”

  “Did he use Winthrop’s phone?”

  “Yep. He was someplace in Fort Lee, New Jersey, when he called.”

  “And when did he call Hunt?”

  “Half hour later. E
ight-forty-six, again with Winthrop’s phone. By then he was in Yonkers. He told Hunt to meet him in a gas station at McLean Avenue and the Bronx River Parkway at nine-thirty.”

  McKenna knew the area. It was well lit, right on the NYC-Yonkers border, but was residential and not too busy at nine-thirty at night. “Did Hunt call you or did you just get it off the wire on his phone?”

  “I’m happy to say he called me at headquarters, but I was home. The duty chief gave him my home number and I authorized the operation after I spoke to Hunt. We had six teams in the Bronx and Mulrooney had given us enough time to set them all up in a hurry, so I told Hunt to go meet him. It was my call and my mistake.”

  “Where are you now?” McKenna asked.

  “McLean Avenue, but I’ll be on the way to the office in a minute. Where are you?”

  “The Edwardian Room. I was getting ready to have a late dinner with Thor, but we need a damage control meeting. I have to return my car to headquarters anyway, so we’ll meet you there as soon as I pay the check for the dinner we’re not having.”

  “No, finish dinner and meet me after. I want to listen to those tapes by myself, first. Then I think I’m gonna need a little while to get my story straight for you.”

  Now isn’t this a switch? McKenna thought. For the first time in the long history of the NYPD, the police commissioner is worried about getting his story straight for one of his detectives. “Don’t worry about it, Ray. If the chance to get Mulrooney tonight had come my way, I would have made the same decision you did. I’d have jumped at the chance and we’d be in the same shape.”

  “Nice of you to say so, but I don’t know,” Brunette said dejectedly. “Now I need a big favor from you.”

  “Anything.”

  “See if you can find a way to leave Thor at the hotel. He’s already seen enough of our dirty laundry and I don’t want him peeking into this mess I’ve made tonight in the mood he must be in.”

  McKenna looked across the table at Thor. The big man was eating his salad, appearing calm, content, and uninterested in McKenna’s phone conversation and the consternation it was causing him. He caught McKenna staring at him, gave him a wink, and resumed eating his salad.