(1/12) Blindsight

by Cook, Robin

  Lou decided it was time to change the subject. “What about Paul Cerino?” he asked.

  Jordan hesitated for a moment. He was surprised at the mention of Paul’s name. “Pardon me for asking,” he said, “but what does Mr. Cerino have to do with anything?”

  Lou was glad to see Jordan squirm. “I’d appreciate your telling me all you know about Mr. Cerino.”

  “Mr. Cerino is a patient,” Jordan said stiffly.

  “I already know that,” Lou said. “I’d like to hear how his treatment is coming along.”

  “I don’t talk about my patients,” Jordan said coldly.

  “Really?” Lou asked, raising his eyebrows. “That’s not what I’ve heard. In fact, I have it from a reliable source that you’ve been discussing Mr. Cerino’s case in detail.”

  Jordan’s lips narrowed some.

  “But we can leave that subject for the moment,” Lou said. “I also wanted to ask if you or any of your staff had been the subject of any extortion attempt.”

  “Absolutely not,” Jordan said. He laughed nervously. “Why would anyone threaten me?”

  “When you start involving yourself with people like Cerino, things like extortion have a way of happening. Could your secretary have been threatened in some way?”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know,” Lou said. “You tell me.”

  “Cerino wouldn’t want to extort me or any of my employees. I’m taking care of the man. I’m helping him.”

  “These organized-crime people think differently than normal people,” Lou said. “They consider themselves special and above the law: in fact above everything. If they don’t get exactly what they want, they kill you. If they do get what they want but decide they don’t like you or they owe you too much money, they kill you.”

  “Well, I’m certainly giving them what they want.”

  “Whatever you say, Doc. I’m just trying to explore all the angles. You’ve got one dead secretary and somebody whacked her rather brutally. And whoever did it didn’t want anyone finding out who she was anytime soon. I want to know why.”

  “Well, all I can tell you is I’m quite certain Marsha’s disappearance, or death, hasn’t anything to do with Mr. Cerino. Now if you’ll kindly excuse me, I have patients to attend to. If you have any additional questions, perhaps you should contact me through my attorney.”

  “Sure, Doc, sure,” Lou said. “I’ll be on my way. But a word to the wise: I’d be very careful where Paul Cerino is concerned. The Mafia may seem glamorous when you read about them or see them in the movies, but I think you’d develop a different point of view if you got a glimpse of what Mrs. Schulman looks like now. And one last piece of advice. I’d be careful about sending him a bill. Thank you for your time, Doctor.”

  Lou walked out of the building, embarrassed to an extent that he had come. It had been a worthless encounter that had only annoyed him. He couldn’t stand pompous silver-spoon-fed fools like Jordan Scheffield. If he got into trouble with Paul Cerino, it was his own fault. He was so full of his own self-importance that he couldn’t see the danger.

  Half an hour later Lou arrived at his office at police headquarters. For a moment he stood on the threshold, surveying the mess within. His digs were a far cry from Jordan Scheffield’s posh surroundings. The furniture was the usual gray metal, city issue with the burns from innumerable cigarettes left on the edges and with stains from spilled coffee. The floor was dried and cracked linoleum. The walls had been painted years previously in a pale green that had blistered from a water leak from the floor above. Papers and reports were stacked on every horizontal surface, since the file cabinets were full.

  Lou had never thought much about his office, but today it seemed oppressively dingy. It was irrational, he knew, but he got mad at the smug doctor all over again.

  Just then Harvey Lawson, another detective lieutenant on the force, interrupted Lou’s thoughts. “Hey, Lou,” Harvey called, “you know that broad you were talking about yesterday? The one from the medical examiner’s office?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I just heard she called Internal Affairs. Made some beef about two uniformed guys stealing from an overdose scene. What do you think of that?”

  Tony and Angelo were back in Angelo’s Town Car. They were parked across the street from the Greenblatt Pavilion of Manhattan General Hospital. The Greenblatt Pavilion was the fancy part of the hospital where pampered, wealthy patients could order from special menus that included amenities such as wine, provided their doctors permitted such treats as part of their diet.

  It was 2:48 in the afternoon and Tony and Angelo were exhausted. They’d hoped to sleep after their busy night, but Paul Cerino had other plans for them.

  “What time did Doc Travino say we should pull this off?” Tony asked.

  “Three o’clock,” Angelo said. “Supposedly that’s the time there’s most confusion in the hospital. That’s when the day shift of nurses are getting ready to leave and the evening shift is just coming on.”

  “If that’s what the doc says, it’s good enough for me.”

  “I don’t like it,” Angelo said. “I still think it’s too risky.” He surveyed the vicinity with wary eyes. There was a lot of activity and plenty of cops. In the ten minutes they’d been parked there, Angelo had spotted three squad cars cruising by.

  “Think of it as a challenge,” Tony suggested. “And think about all the money we’re getting.”

  “I like working at night better,” Angelo said. “And I don’t need any challenges at this point of my life. Besides, I should be sleeping right this minute. I shouldn’t be working when I’m so tired. I might make a mistake.”

  “Lighten up,” Tony said. “This should be fun.”

  But Angelo wouldn’t let it go. “I got a bad feeling about this job,” he said. “Maybe we should just go home and sleep. We got another big night ahead of us tonight.”

  “Why don’t you wait here and I’ll go in by myself. I’ll still split the money with you.”

  Angelo bit his lip. It was tempting to send the kid into the hospital alone, but if anything went wrong he knew Cerino would be furious. And even under the best circumstances, if Tony went in by himself, there was a good chance things would go awry. Reluctantly, Angelo came to the conclusion that he really didn’t have a choice.

  “Thanks for the offer,” Angelo said, scanning the neighborhood once more, “but I think we should do this together.” It was then that Angelo turned to Tony and saw, to his horror, that Tony had his gun out. He was checking the magazine.

  “For Chrissake!” Angelo shouted. “Put your goddamn gun away. What if someone was to walk by the car and see you monkeying around with that thing? There’s cops all over this place.”

  “All right already,” Tony exclaimed. He clicked the magazine back into his gun and slipped the gun into its holster. “You are in one hell of a bad mood. I looked around before I took my piece out. What do you think I am, a moron? There’s nobody anywhere near this car.”

  Angelo closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. His headache was getting worse. His nerves were frayed. He hated being so tired.

  “It’s getting close to three,” Tony said.

  “All right,” Angelo said. “You remember the plan of what we’re going to do when we get inside the hospital?”

  “I remember what we’re supposed to do,” Tony repeated. “No problem.”

  “All right,” Angelo said again. “Let’s do it.”

  They got out of the car. Angelo gave one more glance around the immediate area. Satisfied, he led Tony across the street and into the lobby of bustling Manhattan General Hospital.

  Their first stop was the hospitality shop, where Angelo purchased two bunches of cut flowers. Handing one to Tony, Angelo carried the other. Taking the flowers back to the entrance area, they waited in line for information.

  “Mary O’Connor,” Angelo said politely once it was his turn.

  “Five zero seven,�
�� the desk attendant told him after consulting her computer screen.

  Joining the crowd at the elevators, Tony leaned toward Angelo and whispered: “So far so good.”

  Angelo glowered at Tony again, but said nothing. Nurses just coming on duty had them surrounded. It was no time for a reprimand. At the fifth floor Angelo and Tony got off the elevator along with three nurses.

  Angelo waited to see which way the nurses went, then chose the opposite direction. He immediately saw that room 507 was the other way, but he walked until the nurses had reached the busy nurses’ station before retracing his steps.

  Angelo behaved as if he knew exactly where he was going. He sauntered past the nurses’ station without so much as a glance in its direction.

  Once beyond the nurses’ station, it was easy to find 507. Slowing down, Angelo glanced inside. Satisfied that no staff was in the room, he stepped over the threshold and looked at the woman in the bed. She was watching a TV mounted on a mechanical arm attached to the bed frame.

  The woman had an eyepatch over one eye. Her unprotected eye switched its attention from the TV to Angelo. She gave him a questioning look.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. O’Connor,” Angelo said affably. “You have a visitor.”

  Angelo waved for Tony to come into the room.

  “Who are you?” Mrs. O’Connor asked.

  Tony came smiling into the room with his bouquet of flowers out in front of him. Mrs. O’Connor’s eyes went from Angelo to Tony. She smiled.

  “I think you must have the wrong room,” she said. “Maybe the wrong O’Connor.”

  “Oh?” Angelo questioned. “Aren’t you the O’Connor who’s scheduled for surgery later today?”

  “Yes,” Mrs. O’Connor said, “but I don’t know either of you. Do I?”

  “I can’t imagine you do,” Angelo said. He stepped back to the door and looked up and down the hall. The nurses’ station was still a flurry of activity. No one was coming the other way. “I think it’s time for Mrs. O’Connor’s treatment.”

  Tony’s smile broadened. He laid his flowers on the night table.

  “What treatment?” Mrs. O’Connor asked.

  “Relaxation therapy,” Tony said. “Let me take your pillow.”

  “Did Dr. Scheffield order this?” Although she was suspicious, Mrs. O’Connor did not resist as Tony pulled the pillow from beneath her head. She wasn’t accustomed to second-guessing her physicians.

  “Not exactly,” Tony said.

  The confession emboldened Mrs. O’Connor. “I’d like to speak with Nurse Lang,” she began to say. But she didn’t get a chance to finish. Tony crammed the pillow down over her face, then sat on her chest.

  A few muffled sounds followed, but Mrs. O’Connor didn’t struggle for long. She kicked several times, but the move seemed less defensive than an uncontrollable reaction to being deprived of air.

  Angelo acted as lookout throughout. He kept his eyes on the nurses’ station. No problem there. The nurses were engrossed in conversation. Angelo looked down the hall in the other direction. His heart missed a beat when he spotted a middle-aged woman approaching 507 pushing a cartful of water pitchers. She was only fifteen feet away.

  Stepping back into the room, Angelo closed the door. Tony hadn’t quite finished dispensing his “treatment.” He was still sitting on top of Mrs. O’Connor.

  “Someone’s coming!” Angelo warned him. He pulled his gun from his pocket and fumbled with the silencer.

  Tony kept pressure on the pillow. There was a knock at the door.

  Angelo motioned toward the bathroom. “Come on,” he urged in a whisper when Tony failed to follow him in. After another ten seconds there was a second knock. Tony reluctantly lifted the pillow. Mary O’Connor was blue and motionless. Her unpatched eye stared blankly at the ceiling.

  Frantically Angelo motioned for Tony to join him in the bathroom as a third knock sounded. Then, as the door to the hall opened, Tony pushed off the bed and crowded into the bathroom, forcing Angelo to straddle the toilet. Tony pulled the bathroom door partially closed as the woman with the cart of water pitchers entered the room.

  Angelo had his gun ready. The silencer was in place. He did not like the idea of using it, but he was afraid he didn’t have any choice. With the bathroom door open a fraction of an inch, he was able to watch as the woman switched O’Connor’s water pitcher for a fresh one. He held his breath. The woman was only a few feet away. His plan was to wait for her to spot Mrs. O’Connor before he made his move. To his surprise, the woman disappeared from view without so much as a glance in Mrs. O’Connor’s direction.

  After waiting for a full minute, Angelo told Tony to take a careful peek.

  Slowly Tony opened the bathroom door enough so that he could get his head around the door.

  “She’s gone,” Tony said.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Angelo said.

  Exiting the bathroom, Tony paused at the bedside. “You think she’s dead?” he questioned.

  “You can’t be that blue and still be alive,” Angelo said. “Come on. Grab your flowers. I want to be long gone before they find her.”

  They made it to the car without incident. Angelo was thinking it was a good thing he’d gone in. Trigger-happy Tony would have left a trail of bodies in his wake.

  Angelo was just pulling away from the curb when Tony confided in him. “Smothering wasn’t bad. But I still like shooting them better. It’s surer, quicker, and definitely more satisfying.”

  Lou took out a cigarette and lit up. He didn’t even feel like smoking particularly. He was just interested in killing time. The meeting was to have started half an hour earlier but officers were still drifting in. The subject was the three gangland-style executions that had occurred in Queens overnight. Lou had thought the cases would have inspired a sense of urgency in the department, but three detectives were missing.

  “Screw them,” Lou said finally, referring to the missing officers. He motioned to Norman Carver, a detective sergeant, to start. Norman was nominally in charge of the investigation, although in point of fact the three units covering the cases were acting independently.

  “I’m afraid we don’t have much,” Norman said. “The only link we’ve established between the three cases, other than the manner of murder, is that each of the men was involved in the restaurant business in one way or another, either as an owner, partner, or supplier.”

  “That’s not much of an association,” Lou commented. “Let’s review each case.”

  “The first one was the Goldburgs in Kew Gardens,” Norman said. “Both Harry and Martha Goldburg were shot dead in their sleep. The preliminary report suggests two guns were involved.”

  “And Harry’s occupation?” Lou asked.

  “Owned a successful restaurant here in Manhattan,” Norman said. “Place is called La Dolce Vita. East side. Fifty-fourth. He was partners with an Anthony DeBartollo. So far we’ve come up with no problems, financial or personal, involving the partnership or the restaurant.”

  “Next,” Lou said.

  “Steven Vivonetto of Forest Hills,” Norman said. “Owned a chain of fast-food joints all over Nassau County called Pasta Pronto. Again no financial problems that we’ve come across, but these are all just preliminaries.”

  “And finally.”

  “Janice Singleton, also of Forest Hills,” Norman said. “Married to Chester Singleton. He has a restaurant-purveyor business and was recently picked up by the Vivonetto chain as a supplier. Again, no financial problems. In fact things had been looking up with the Pasta Pronto account.”

  “Who’d been supplying the Pasta Pronto before Singleton?” Lou asked.

  “Don’t know that yet,” Norman said.

  “I think we should find that out,” Lou said. “Did the Singletons and the Vivonettos know each other personally?”

  “We haven’t established that yet,” Norman said. “But we will.”

  “What about any organized-crime associations?” Lo
u asked. “The way these people were killed certainly suggests as much.”

  “That’s what we thought when we started,” Norman said. He glanced around at the five other men in the room. They all nodded. “But we’ve found almost nothing. A couple of the restaurants that Singleton supplied have some loose association, but nothing major.”

  Lou sighed. “There’s got to be some connection linking the three.”

  “I agree,” Norman said. “The slugs we got from the medical examiners suggest that Harry Goldburg, Steven Vivonetto, and Janice Singleton were shot with the same gun, Martha Goldburg from another. But that’s not the ballistics report. It’s just from preliminary examination. But they were all the same caliber. So we have a strong suspicion the same people were behind all three murders.”

  “What about burglary?” Lou asked.

  “Relatives of the Goldburgs say that Harry had a big gold Rolex. We haven’t found it. Also his wallet could not be located. But at the other scenes, nothing seems to have been taken.”

  “Seems that the answer has to be in the restaurant connection,” Lou said. “Get detailed financial statements on all the operations. Also try to find out if these guys had been subjected to extortion or other threats. And do it sooner rather than later. The commissioner is on my back.”

  “We’ve got people working around the clock,” Norman said.

  Lou nodded.

  Norman handed a typewritten sheet to Lou. “Here’s a summary of what I just told you. Sorry for the typos.”

  Lou read it over quickly. He took a thoughtful drag on his cigarette. Something big and bad was going on in Queens. There was no doubt about it. He wondered if these murders could have had anything to do with Paul Cerino. It seemed unlikely. But then Lou thought of Marsha Schulman. He wondered if any of the deceased were acquainted with her husband, Danny. It was a long shot, but there was a chance he was the connecting thread.