He fingered the bracelet. Was there a way to get it off without destroying it? The guy who fitted it warned if he cut it off, a digital alarm would be sent.
Cory popped a question into Google: How to take an ankle monitoring bracelet off. He couldn’t believe what came up. He scanned a set of four videos, clicking on one titled “Man Shows How to Remove a GPS Tracking Ankle Monitoring Device.”
He watched the three-minute video. The man showed step-by-step how to safely remove one without triggering an alarm. He rewatched it. Nothing magical was involved and only required a screwdriver and a butter knife.
Cory pulled up his pant leg and compared his device to the one in the video. They were close. It was risky, because if he damaged it, they’d know. Chances were he’d end up behind bars again.
He watched another video. This one took under three minutes to get free. It just seemed too easy. Didn’t law enforcement realize these instructions were out there?
Cory called Leonardo again, but it went to voice mail. He left another message and went into the kitchen. Opening the junk drawer, he fished around, pulling out a butter knife he’d used as a scraper and a screwdriver.
He checked the time. He had almost four hours until Linda came back from her part-time job. Cory took his laptop into the living room and sat on the floor. He played the video, imitating the way the man jammed the knife in between two parts of the device.
After wriggling it for half a minute, a cap popped off on the inside and slipped to the floor. The next part was more difficult. The now exposed inside of the bracelet had two screws that needed undoing.
Reaching the screws was hard. He pretzeled himself and worked both free. It took five minutes and strained his neck, but the device came off. He checked it. The red light was still on.
Cory grabbed his jacket. He looked out the window. The guard was parked in front of the entrance. Cory slipped out of the apartment. He made his way to the basement and up the cellar stairs.
Heart pounding, Cory hopped over the fence and headed to the subway station. He wondered whether he was on the way to ending his nightmare or setting himself up for jail.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Cory turned off Nineteenth Avenue and headed down Seventy-First Street. He checked the addresses and crossed the road. The house he was looking for was a brick-faced, two-story home. He walked up the driveway to the door. A man was singing opera. He rang the bell.
The door opened as far as a chain allowed. A white-haired man said, “The Buratos live upstairs.”
“Mr. Leonardo?”
“And you are?”
“Cory Lupinski. You don’t know me, but I need to talk to you.”
“I’m sorry, son, but with the senior scams, I don’t talk to strangers.”
“That’s smart but—”
“Goodbye.”
As the door started closing, Cory said, “Please, hold on a second.”
Leonardo peered out. Cory said, “Look, I’m going to be straight with you. Just being here could get me put back behind bars.”
Leonardo leaned back.
“Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to do anything. I just want to talk about Richard Sullivan.”
“Richard Sullivan?”
“Yes, he was one of your foster children, right?”
Leonardo wagged his head. “Yes, I’d never forget him. He hasn’t done anything, has he?”
“It’s very complicated, but he changed his name to Barney Tower.”
“Oh, right. I remember that.”
“Do you mind if we could talk inside?”
Leonardo eyed Cory. “I guess that would be all right.” He took the chain off. “Come in.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate this.”
Cory followed the old man into a room. A recliner was centered in front of a TV.
Cory said, “Ah, Pavarotti. Is this the PBS special?
“Yes. It’s one of my favorites.”
“What a voice, what a personality. Pavarotti was larger than life. I wish he was still around.”
Leonardo shut off the TV, saying, “Men like him only come around every hundred years or so.”
“I guess so.”
“Before him, it was Caruso.”
“He had a powerful voice, but I think Pavarotti could finesse the emotion.”
“I don’t disagree, but when Caruso was around, opera singers didn’t really act.”
“You’re right. I never thought of it that way.”
Leonardo flashed a smile. “Sit. You want some tea?”
“No, no. Look, thanks for talking to me. I know this came out of nowhere, but I need your help.”
Leonardo lowered himself into the recliner. “If I can help, I will. What’s this about Richard?”
“This is going to sound crazy, but someone is framing me for murder, and that person is Richard Sullivan, now known as Barney Tower.”
“Really? That’s serious.”
“I realize that. Let me tell you the whole story.” Cory told him everything that happened.
“That’s a lot to absorb. But I still don’t understand what you want from me.”
“I’m trying to understand what happened to Richard. It could explain a lot and maybe something will help. Tell me about his past. How did he come to live with you?”
“Well, Jenny, my wife, she passed eight years ago—”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. Anyway, we got married late and never had kids, so we decided to become foster parents. It was challenging, but we enjoyed it. But most of all, we helped a few kids along the way. One time, we had two very troubled kids. They were abused. I still have a hard time talking about it.”
“Was that Richard?”
“No. He came after. You see, it was good like I said, but it took a toll on us, and we decided it was time to stop taking kids in. A couple of years after we did, a social worker we knew at Child Protection came to us about Richard. I mean, we knew about what happened before she approached us.”
“What happened?”
“I’m not saying we were perfect foster parents, but we provided a stable, loving home for all the children, and the two troubled kids did especially well while they were with Jenny and me. It was why they asked us to help with Richard.”
“He was troubled?”
Leonardo nodded. “If losing his mother in a car crash when he was only five wasn’t traumatic enough, his father abused him.”
“Sexually?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“How’d it come out?”
“Richard had gotten really quiet and wouldn’t eat. He’d lost ten pounds and looked terrible. A mother of one of his playmates was concerned and pulled it out of him. She called Child Protection Services and reported the abuse, refusing to allow Richard to go home.”
“Good for her. Then what happened?”
“The agency screwed up, is what happened. They put Richard back with the father, and it got worse. The kid ran away and was found by a cop walking around Union Square, I think it was.”
“He could’ve been kidnapped.”
“I know. Then, CPS put him into a foster home with a first-timer.”
“The Rosen bastard?”
“Yep.”
“How the hell did that happen?”
“I’m not making excuses, but the system is frankly overwhelmed. There’s no way they should have placed Richard in a foster home with no experience.”
“When Richard stabbed the Rosen man to death, was it a mental thing where he confused Rosen for his father?”
Leonardo shook his head. “No. I didn’t see the medical files but was told an examination showed beyond doubt that he’d undergone recent abuse.”
“Bastard.”
“It’s heartbreaking.”
“Did he have to go to trial or anything?”
“No. Once he was examined, it was pretty much over. The kid was just trying to protect himself.”
&
nbsp; “What happened to the father?”
“After Richard ran away, they finally arrested the father for abuse, and he was beaten to death in jail.”
“Got what he deserved.”
“It was all very tragic.”
“How was Richard when you had him?”
“You know, the funny thing is, he was pretty much okay. He kept to himself and dived into his schoolwork. We took him to therapy. Twice a week in the beginning, then weekly for about three years.”
“No problems?”
“He’d have bad nightmares, but who wouldn’t?”
“You know, he became a super successful lawyer.”
“I’m not surprised, he was a smart young man.”
“What was he like?”
“Quiet and kind of a loner. And controlling, very controlling.”
“He didn’t trust anyone, I’d guess.”
“That’s true.”
“Tell me more about the controlling thing.”
“I don’t know if competitive is the right word, but Richard, he wanted to be in control, to run things.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“He was particular about the way he wanted things. I guess these days, they’d call him obsessive.”
Chapter Seventy-Four
Cory colored a rubber band with a black marker, using it to keep the bracelet around his ankle. He wanted to tell Linda what he’d done, but she’d be mad, not excited like he was.
He replayed the conversation with Leonardo. What he learned about Tower’s past was tragic, but was it enough to make the lawyer back off?
Worth wanted to go to the district attorney with what they knew about the man they believed planted the blood and Tower’s connection with one witness. Cory felt it wasn’t enough and worried Tower would find a way to turn it against him.
Cory considered telling Worth about Tower’s past, but it wouldn’t mean anything to the DA. Cory would keep the disturbing information to himself.
He couldn’t get the image of Tower as a kid being abused out of his head. He was about Tommy’s age. You couldn’t get more vulnerable. He was brave enough to say something, and instead of saving the kid, the child agency put him right back with his father, who was abusing him.
The father probably retaliated against Tower for saying something. Cory wondered about the ramped-up abuse. Tower couldn’t get back at his father, who was killed in jail, like he did the foster parent he stabbed to death.
But that didn’t stop Cory from speculating what the lawyer would have done. Considering revenge raised a question in his mind.
He tapped his cell. Leonardo’s number was still blocked, and the call went to voice mail. “Hi, this is Cory. I came to see you about Richard Sullivan. I wanted—”
“Hello. Sorry about that.”
“No problem. I was wondering about the social worker who put Richard back with his father and then with the Rosens. Was it the same person?”
“Well, there are a couple of people involved in every case, but Richard’s case manager was Lily Martinez.”
“Is there a way to get in touch with her?”
“I’m afraid not. She committed suicide, or at least that was what it was called.”
“Why do you say that?”
“They say she jumped off a building. But there were witnesses who saw her being led by a man into the building where it happened.”
“When was this?”
“Not long after Richard moved out.”
“Didn’t the police investigate?”
“Yes, and there was no doubt that Martinez was depressed. She felt responsible for what happened to Richard and left the agency right after he came to live with us.”
“Did Richard ever mention her?”
“He didn’t like her for obvious reasons. She tried several times to reach him, but he wanted no part of her.”
Cory finished the call and tried to make sense of what he was told. Had the social worker committed suicide, or had Tower somehow killed her?
He paced the apartment. Tower had killed his foster father in retaliation for being sexually abused. But planning and killing a social worker who’d made a mistake was a completely different matter. Was Tower someone who could premeditate the murder of a caseworker? Years later? Cory needed more on the social worker and was about to Google her when his phone rang. It was Worth.
“Mr. Worth.”
“Mr. Lupinski. I hope you’re well.”
“All is good. What’s up?”
“I’m following up regarding the information on Mr. Tower’s possible collusion.”
“What about it?”
“My recommendation is to go to the District Attorney. While the data is not legally compelling, I believe it’ll persuade them to delay the trial.”
“Okay, but give me a week, okay?”
“That’ll put us close into the period we need to prep for the trial.”
“But you said once you go to them, they’ll postpone it.”
“That’s my belief, but you can’t face a charge like this without proper preparation.”
“I understand, but that’s what I want to do.”
* * *
As soon as Linda left the apartment, Cory looked out the window. He watched his wife wave to the guard as she got into an Uber. As it drove away, he let go of the drapes.
Cory took the ankle device off and stuck it in his nightstand. He dug to the bottom of his underwear drawer and took an envelope out. He put his coat and a wool cap on and stepped into the hallway. It was empty. He scampered down the stairs into the basement.
Cory emerged from the Lexington Avenue subway station, keeping his head down as he walked. It was now or never, he thought, following a woman into Tower’s office building.
He waited for an empty elevator and took it. As the doors slid open, Cory heard voices in a panic. The reception area was empty, but down the hall two women were leaning over a man lying on the floor.
“Mr. Tower, Mr. Tower! Are you all right?”
“Maggie, call an ambulance.”
Cory ran down the corridor. “What’s going on?”
“He collapsed, just like that.”
“I told him to go to the doctor, he was complaining about pain in his chest.”
“It could be a heart attack.” Cory bent down. Tower was unconscious. “Is he breathing?”
“I don’t know.”
Cory put his hand by the lawyer’s nose. “I don’t feel anything! You know how to do CPR?”
The woman nodded. She pinched Tower’s nose as the other woman said, “An ambulance is on the way.”
Cory stepped back as they tried to revive Tower, saying, “Is it working? Is he breathing?”
“No.”
“Keep doing it. He can’t die. Come on, Tower, breathe. Breathe, damn it, breathe!”
As the sirens got louder, Cory pressed the elevator button. He had to leave. A ding sounded. Cory said, “Is he breathing yet?”
“No.”
Cory stepped into the elevator wondering if his luck could get any worse.
Chapter Seventy-Five
Cory said, “Do me a favor and read to Tommy tonight.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t tell me that. You didn’t say anything the whole time we ate. Ava said you kept making calls. She’s worried. She thinks something is going on with the trial.”
“I’ll tell her not to worry. I got everything under control.”
“It doesn’t feel like you do.”
“I’m just worried a little. It’s natural.”
“You sure?”
“Go read to Tommy. I gotta pick up my guitar and play to clear my head.”
As soon as he closed the door to the studio, he pulled his phone out and called the attorney’s office. Tower was in stable condition. Cory would go see the lawyer tomorrow.
* * *
“You’re not going to work?”
“My stomach is bothering me.”
“Didn’t you take anything?”
“Yeah, but it’s not working. I gotta go to the toilet, again.”
Linda trotted to the bathroom and Cory went to the bedroom. He unhooked the monitoring device and put on a jacket. He opened the underwear drawer, pulling an envelope out. He stuffed it inside his coat and peeked out the window. Confirming the guard was sitting in his car, he headed to the door.
Linda came out of the bathroom. “Where are you going?”
“To end this nightmare.”
As he put his hand on the doorknob, she said, “No! You can’t leave. They’ll know—”
Cory lifted his pants leg.
“You took it off? What, are you crazy?”
“Don’t worry—”
“Don’t worry? They’re going to put you back in jail. Is that what you want?”
“It’s going to be okay.”
“I swear, you go to jail, I’m not visiting, you hear?” Linda ran to the bathroom.
Cory slipped into the hallway and tiptoed down the stairs. He took the basement exit and hopped the rear fence.
* * *
Cornell Weill’s lobby was bustling. The reception line was long. Cory went into the coffee shop, poured a cup of java, and headed to the elevator bank. His phone rang. It was Linda. He swiped it away.
The cardiology unit was on the third floor. Tower was in 301W. It was several doors down from the nurses’ station. Cory smiled at a nurse sitting behind the counter as he walked by.
The door to the lawyer’s room was open. Cory paused before going in. The TV was on. Cory walked into the private room.
The lawyer was sleeping. He crept to his bedside.
Tower’s skin had a gray cast to it. A tube fed a supply of oxygen to his nose. It was the first time Cory had seen stubble on the attorney.
Cory looked at the man who had torn him from his family. The man who’d double-crossed him and was planning to send him to prison for the rest of his life.
Cory eyed the chair on the other side of the bed. A stack of pillows sat on it. Cory could use one to smother the evil lawyer. It would be easy. Tower wouldn’t put up much of a fight.
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