by Tim O'Mara
‘I don’t know. People sometimes think I know more than I do, I guess.’
She turned off the TV and leaned back with her eyes closed. ‘I wonder,’ she said, ‘where they get that idea from.’
I guessed she was feeling a little better.
Neither of us slept well that night. When that happens to me, I tend to toss and turn, hoping I’ll drop off sometime soon. Allison’s a pacer; I think most writers are. At around two in the morning, she got up to pace. I joined her half an hour later as she was staring out the kitchen windows.
‘What’re you thinking?’ I asked.
‘About MoJo and Harlan. What the hell was MoJo doing, Ray? Sneaking around for the FBI and now McLain asking questions?’ I had no answer for that. ‘And I haven’t heard from Harlan in a while. I’m worried something happened to him. He was calling me almost every day.’
I put my arms around her. ‘He’s more than just a story to you, I know.’
‘You figured that out, huh?’ More staring. ‘And what was that fucking arrow about? Is someone threatening me because of my pieces on MoJo or the series on Harlan?’ She turned around. ‘I am not you, Raymond. I’m not used to this shit.’
I pulled her into a hug. ‘You don’t get used to it, Allie. And it sucks that it happens when all you want to do is help people.’
‘That is all I want to do. That’s what journalism is supposed to do. Inform and help where we can. My mentor at MU drilled that into us.’
‘Cops, teachers, and reporters,’ I said. ‘For every one on our side, there seems to be one on the other side.’
She squeezed me. ‘Sucks is a good word for that.’ She broke the hug and said, ‘I’m not going to get any sleep tonight, Ray. Let’s just sit on the couch.’
I took her by the hand and led her to the futon. ‘I can do that.’
It turns out we did get a little sleep, maybe three hours. I was about to call in sick to work when I realized it was Saturday. We dozed in and out of consciousness for a few hours and by eleven were ready to get up. Allison had to get the car up to a colleague in Harlem, so we had a quick breakfast and I walked her to the car.
‘You want me to go with you?’ I asked.
‘I’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘Be back in a few hours.’
I went down the block and found Officer Paulson sipping a cup of coffee behind the wheel of her light blue four-door. We exchanged pleasantries and I asked if she wouldn’t mind following Allison up to Harlem and then taking her home. After all, she had been instructed by my uncle to keep an eye on her. She said she would, and I jogged back to Allison to tell her the news.
‘Oh, good. Now I’ve got an escort.’ She got in the car. ‘I don’t like this.’
‘Me, neither.’ I stuck my head into the car and kissed her. ‘Call me. I may be down by the river.’
I never made it to the river, because when I got upstairs, my phone rang. It was RV and he sounded more nervous than the last time I’d seen him.
‘Can you meet me at Lisa Joseph’s?’ he asked. ‘I have something I need to tell the two of you.’ He paused and breathed heavily. ‘About MoJo.’
‘Should I call Detective Royce?’ I asked.
Another pause. ‘Maybe after I tell you, then you can decide?’
‘OK. Give me ten minutes. You know where she lives?’
‘I have GPS. I’ll see you soon. I’ll be outside.’
I went to the car service on the corner and the guy had me in front of Lisa’s in just over five minutes. I got out and looked around for RV. I didn’t see him, but I did see Dennis McLain. I walked over to him and he saw the look on my face.
He took me by the elbow. ‘I figured you’d get here quicker if I had RV call you.’
‘What’s this about?’ I asked.
He steered my attention across the street and said, ‘See that man in the SUV?’
I looked across the street and noticed a bald man in shades sitting behind the wheel of a huge vehicle that had no reason to be parked on this street. ‘I see him,’ I said. And I recognized him: he was the bald guy standing with Al Biancotto outside the computer shop the other day.
‘Good,’ McLain said. ‘Now he’ll stay there if you do what I say.’
‘What the fuck are you talking about?’
He squeezed my elbow harder. ‘Come with me and Charles stays where he is. Don’t, and Charles pays a visit to Lisa Joseph.’
‘Where’s RV?’ I asked.
He laughed. ‘Probably up at Newer Leaves. He works today.’
I looked across the street again and didn’t like the way Charles was staring at Lisa Joseph’s apartment. ‘What do you want me to do?’ I asked.
‘First, give me your phone.’ When he had it, he turned it off and tossed it into the street. ‘Now, let’s go for a drive.’
‘What about Charles?’ I asked.
‘He’ll stay there until I tell him different. Let’s go, Raymond.’
TWENTY-EIGHT
Traffic was moving pretty well for a Saturday; we made it through the Bronx into Westchester in about a half-hour. Now that we were out of the city and around more trees, McLain got talkative. It may have also helped that he had me handcuff my wrists between my legs. He drove with his right hand on the steering wheel and his left hand holding a gun.
‘I have to tell you,’ he said, ‘I have looked at this situation from every angle, Raymond, and I kept coming up with the same answer. You. You are the only person connected to the FBI, the NYPD, the media, and Newer Leaves.’ He paused. ‘And, of course, MoJo.’
‘Did you kill Maurice?’
He kept his eyes ahead of him as we rode through the EZ Pass lane. ‘Archery,’ he said, ‘is all in the mind, Raymond. The only one you are really competing against is yourself. Do the best you can, stay mindful of the process and your technique, and you’ll come out ahead more times than not.’
‘I’ll take that as a yes.’
‘If you’re expecting a Scooby Doo moment, Raymond, I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed. We’re not on this trip for an explanation. I’m just solving another problem. This one happens to be you.’
Less than an hour out of the city, we took an exit, made a series of complicated turns, and found ourselves on a ranch that looked like it hadn’t been used in years.
‘It may be a piece of shit real estate,’ McLain said as we pulled up to an old barn, ‘but it’s mine. Technically, my dad’s, but mine soon enough. Last time I saw the old guy he wasn’t looking too good. All those years killing himself on the farm, and for what? No pension, no retirement, just Social Security and other taxpayer-supported entitlements.’
He leaned over and unlocked the handcuffs, leaving them dangling from my left wrist. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, and we got out of the car. With his gun still on me, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and called someone. ‘You can go,’ he said. ‘We’re here.’ He put the phone back and said, ‘Your friend Lisa will be undisturbed.’
He unlocked the wooden door to the barn and motioned with the gun for me to go inside. He shut the door behind us and I realized he was right: the inside of the barn made it look even more worthless. A bunch of birds flew up into the rafters as we walked farther inside. Old farm tools were on the floor, a tractor from the deep past sat by itself in the corner, and sunlight came in through the openings in the walls and roof. It looked as if a strong wind might blow the whole thing over.
‘But, as soon as we get some of those archaic zoning laws changed,’ he went on, ‘the price on these acres is going to skyrocket.’
‘So much for being a man of the people, huh?’ I said.
‘All depends on which people you’re talking about, Raymond. I happen to prefer the white ones with lots of money. And when I split this historic piece of Americana up into forty units, they’ll be lining up with their trophy wives, private school kids, and checkbooks.’
‘Making America White Again,’ I said.
He laughed. ‘So
mething like that.’
‘So, I’m guessing MoJo figured out what you were doing at Newer Leaves. The rumors you and Price were so concerned about. The drugs.’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘That’s the thing about most junkies: they can’t keep their fucking mouths shut. Eddie Price asked Maurice to talk to the guys, chat them up, see what they had to say. One of them trusted him too much and someone shot his mouth off. Even gave MoJo some of the merchandise he was supposed to sell for me. I figured I could trust these guys to sell some product and keep their mouths shut. Especially since I’m the facility’s lawyer and I’m telling them I’m trying to keep the place open. I figured wrong and had to find a solution.’
‘Killing MoJo and two other innocent people is a hell of a solution.’
‘There’re very few innocents out there, Raymond. You should know that better than most. All you’ve seen on the streets and in the school system. Innocent is just another word for not getting caught. As for me, I’m like most politicians. I’m just giving the people what they want. These people happen to want heroin.’
‘And if a few die because of that?’
‘You know the old expression: You can’t legislate common sense. Besides, you don’t think my opponent takes money from Big Pharma? Damn straight he does. I just get it in a different way. I’ve never taken a dollar from those companies.’
‘No, you just reap the benefits of those who are addicted to their products.’
‘That’s very liberal talk, Raymond. You’d never get elected up here.’
‘What was with the Roman numerals?’ I asked.
‘Trick I learned as a lawyer to use when things are going against you. Throw some diversions and distractions at the other side; it makes them waste energy trying to figure it out. The numerals were nothing but a way to connect all three killings. I wasn’t sure the Native American aspect would be enough for the NYPD, so why not?’
‘And the other two victims?’
‘One homeless guy who picked the wrong place to sleep that night and one drunk who couldn’t remember where he parked. Nothing like a good serial killer to keep cops off-balance.’
Fuck this guy. ‘Eddie Price?’
McLain laughed. ‘A bureaucrat. He knows his numbers and budgets and keeping his beds filled. And no imagination. He wouldn’t dream someone from Newer Leaves was dealing. He’s clueless.’
Before I could answer that, the door to the barn opened again. It was RV.
Judging by the look on McLain’s face, I wasn’t the only one surprised to see RV. He stepped into the barn and gently closed the door as if afraid to let it slam behind him.
‘RV,’ McLain said, putting the gun behind his back, ‘I didn’t call for you. You’ve done what I asked you to do. I told you I’d be driving myself today.’ He sounded like a master speaking to his servant.
RV nodded. ‘I, uh, know … that,’ he barely got out.
‘Then why are you here?’
RV looked at me. ‘Why … is he here, Mr McLain? I thought you were meeting him at Lisa’s apartment.’
McLain kept the gun behind his back as he took a step toward RV. ‘That’s really not your concern, RV. I don’t need you today, so why don’t you just go back to—’
‘I’m, uh,’ RV began. ‘I’m not too sure about that, Mr McLain. Thing is, I’m not really sure about a lot of things lately.’ He looked at his feet. ‘And … I think you probably know something about that.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, but we can discuss it some other time.’
RV shook his head. ‘No, I think I need to talk about it now.’ He was sweating more than he should have been, like he was coming down from a high. ‘I’m having weird dreams about stuff. Bad stuff.’
‘That’s a good thing to speak with your counselor about, RV. Why don’t you do that, and I will touch base later?’
‘What kind of bad dreams, RV?’ I asked, desperate that he not leave.
‘Mr Donne,’ McLain said, ‘I just told RV what to do.’
I looked at RV. ‘Is that what Mr McLain does, RV? Tell you to do stuff?’
RV gave us a pained face. He was thinking hard on something. ‘Sometimes,’ he said, ‘I think … I think that’s what the dreams are about.’ He looked at me. ‘You know, before I came to Newer Leaves, I used to have these real bad blackouts from drinking and drugging. I’d do stuff I couldn’t remember the next day.’ He started tapping his head with his fingertips. ‘Once I got into a fight outside a bar and they said I hurt some people real bad. That’s what got me sent to jail and then the program.’
‘And that’s why you’re doing so well now, RV,’ McLain said.
I turned to McLain. ‘He doesn’t look like he’s doing so well.’ Back to RV. ‘How are you feeling, RV?’
‘Mr Donne,’ McLain said, ‘right now, this is between you and me.’ He glanced behind himself at his gun. ‘I don’t think you want to bring RV into it.’
‘Stop thinking for me!’ RV shouted. ‘Everybody does that. Thinking for me. Telling me what to do.’ He tapped his head harder. ‘I can think for myself.’
‘Sure, you can,’ McLain said. ‘I just need to finish up with Mr Donne, then—’
‘You gave me drugs!’ RV shouted and pointed at McLain. ‘Why did you give me drugs, Mr McLain? You were supposed to be … to be helping me.’
‘I was helping you, RV. Helping you forget.’
‘Forget what?’ I asked, making McLain turn to me. He forgot about hiding his gun now and it came out from behind him.
‘Helping me forget what?’ RV asked.
McLain was getting flustered, not knowing which one of us to look at. He chose me and that turned out to be a mistake because as he did, RV took his own pistol out from behind him and pointed it at McLain.
‘Forget what, Mr McLain?’
Then McLain made his second mistake and turned his body and his gun toward RV. RV fired six times at McLain. McLain never got a shot off before he collapsed. I rushed over and removed his gun from his hand.
‘Bad things!’ RV screamed again. ‘Bad things!’
I threw McLain’s gun into the corner of the barn and stepped over to RV. He had emptied his gun firing at McLain, so I didn’t think I was in much danger. I held out my hand, RV gave me his gun, and fell to the floor of the barn. He crawled up into a fetal position and kept repeating those two words over and over.
‘Bad things. Bad things.’
TWENTY-NINE
When the state cops were through with me, they released me to my Uncle Ray – who just happened to know the CO at the trooper barracks – who took me home. Not home exactly: the Nine-Oh. Allison and Edgar were on their way. Detective Royce brought my uncle and me into an interview room where the three of us sat at a cold metal table. Royce was holding a legal pad and computer printouts. ‘Some good news, at least.’
‘What’s that?’ I asked.
He held up a sheet of paper. ‘The ME says that the drugs found in Mr Joseph’s system more than likely came from the arrow that killed him.’
I leaned forward. ‘Excuse me?’
‘It was the proverbial poisoned arrow,’ Royce said. ‘Doc thinks Joseph maybe lived another five minutes after being shot, which means—’
‘His heart was beating for another five minutes,’ I said.
‘Allowing the heroin and fentanyl time to enter his blood stream. They tested the arrow. It had the drugs on it. You were right. He was clean when he died.’
Some comfort for Lisa. ‘McLain,’ I said. ‘He figured if MoJo had told anyone about what he had found out at Newer Leaves, it would be discounted as coming from the mixed-up mind of a relapsed addict.’
‘Crazy like a motherfucking fox, McLain,’ Royce said. ‘But smart.’
‘What about RV?’
‘State’s not sure yet. Best guess, based on what he said and his behavior, McLain gave him drugs, and drove him down here to do the other two murders.’
‘Knowin
g RV’s history and that he would not remember committing violent acts during a blackout.’
Royce nodded. ‘We’ll have a blood test, maybe an interview in a few days, if he’s up to it. But that’s where the smart money is.’
‘McLain had a guy with him,’ I said. ‘Outside Lisa’s place. I saw the same guy the other day out in Canarsie with a known heroin dealer.’
My uncle grunted. ‘What the fuck were you doing out in …’ My uncle held his hands up. ‘Never mind. I don’t wanna know.’
‘You think the guy might be McLain’s supplier?’ Royce asked.
‘Smart money,’ I repeated, and he wrote down what I knew about Al Biancotto and the bald guy named Charles. When I was finished, he asked, ‘Anything else you care to share with me before you go?’
I thought about that. ‘No. I think I’m good.’
The three of us left the interview room together, but I was the only one who got hugs from a beautiful lady and a stressed-out Edgar.
‘Can we go home now?’ Allison asked.
‘Yeah,’ Edgar said. ‘Can we go home?’
I said goodbye to Royce, hugged my uncle and thanked him for coming to get me upstate. Allison, Edgar, and I went home.
Edgar took us from the precinct to the small market on the avenue. I told him we’d see him tomorrow at The LineUp. Allison and I went into the market and did something we rarely do: picked up a pre-cooked chicken, prepared mashed potatoes, and one of those ready-to-eat salads. We would pop the bird and the potatoes into the oven, put dressing on the salad, compliment each other on our cooking skills, and go to bed.
Allison had the good idea to hit the liquor store and pick up a couple of bottles of wine. I went upstairs to set up the dinner. That took about ten minutes and Allison hadn’t returned yet. I figured she was talking with the owner of the liquor store about some new Chardonnay or something. He had a habit of getting her involved in long conversations about wine. When another ten minutes passed, I called her cell from my landline and it went straight to voicemail. That was unusual.
I was hungry and went downstairs to rescue her from another long conversation. When I got outside the apartment, I noticed a cell phone on the sidewalk by our front door.