Let it melt, I thought. When you come back to your desk it’ll be a melted puddle of goo and you won’t … Ah, who am I kidding? What’s better than melted ice cream? “What’ve you got, hot shot?” Lido and I had returned to the station to do some background checks before returning to Glatt Pita for Eli Danziger’s list of possible interviewees—hence the impromptu Shake Shack carry-out dinner.
“We scored on one of the security cameras.”
“I thought there weren’t any.”
“Nothing close to the crime scene, but I pulled the tapes from the subway station near Koufax’s apartment in Brooklyn.”
“Nicely done. Way to go, rookie.” I grabbed my thousand-calorie cup of goodness and followed Lido to the media room, where the scene frozen on the computer monitor depicted the interior of a subway station. The time read 5:33. There was no need for the a.m., p.m. designation as the security cameras run on a twenty-four-hour cycle or military time. Had it been 5:33 in the evening, the time would’ve been displayed as 17:33. The date stamp indicated 11/16, today’s date, Monday.
“Koufax was supposed to report to work at 7:00 a.m.” Lido got comfortable in his chair and cued the tape. “I figured he had to hit the train station somewhere between 5:30 and 6:15 in order to get to work on time.” He tapped the screen in the upper right-hand corner. “This is the entrance. In three, two, one …”
I watched as a man who could’ve been Koufax entered the station and walked toward the ticket machine. “Our boy’s an early riser. He shouldn’t need more than forty-five minutes from that station to midtown. Why’s he leaving so early?”
“One miracle at a time,” Lido quipped. “I’m still learning the ropes.”
I smiled and continued to watch the camera footage. “Who in their right mind wouldn’t want to sleep as late as possible on a frigid February morning? I wouldn’t have hit the subway for another forty-five minutes.”
“Maybe he likes to be punctual,” Lido jibed sarcastically.
I wrinkled my nose and flipped Lido the bird. It was a playful bird, a blue jay or perhaps a sparrow. I watched as the subject pulled the subway ticket from the machine and slid his wallet into his back pocket. He turned and was now facing the camera as he approached the turnstile. I had a clear view of his face as he went through. “Looks like our man all right.”
Lido paused the tape. “Ready for my second miracle?” He pumped his eyebrows à la Groucho Marx.
“Settling into the job, are we? Don’t keep a girl waiting, JC. If you’re going to turn water into wine, you’d better do it before you lose your audience.”
“Fair enough.”
We both turned our attention back to the screen. “Wait for it. Here it comes,” Lido said, focusing me on the exact moment of his planned surprise. Once past the turnstile, Koufax hustled to catch up with another man, who looked back when he was tapped on the shoulder. The second man was holding a large Jamba Juice cup.
“Son of a bitch!”
“How’d I do?” Lido asked.
“Real good, rookie. Real good. Grab your jacket and let’s find out why Mr. Helpful withheld information.” The second man on the screen was Ira Bascom.
Chapter Nine
Ira Bascom opened the door as far as the security chain would permit and peeked out. “Ah shit,” he grumbled unhappily. He looked normal in every respect except that he was wearing an avocado facial mask and looked very much like a leprechaun. “Can you come back in a little while? I’m waiting for my—”
“We prefer to wait,” Lido said.
Resigned to the fact that we were not going away, Bascom unlatched the security chain and let us in. “Give me a minute,” he said as he walked off.
Left to our own devices, I made a silly face and Lido reciprocated with one of his own, a real doozy. He was making splendid progress as a detective.
Bascom’s apartment was like a curio shop. It was filled with knickknacks and bric-a-bracs, which to be on point are probably the same thing. His apartment was a mini museum specializing in erotic statuettes. I whispered to Lido, “Get a load of these.”
He rolled his eyes. “I like this one.” He pointed to a small marble statuette of two rotund men intertwined in rapture.
“I didn’t have you pegged as a chubby chaser.”
We both had to wipe the sophomoric grins from our faces when Bascom reentered the room. “How can I help you, Detectives? Have the DNA tests come back yet?”
“Not yet,” Lido replied. “Figure another twenty-four hours.”
“Then what’s up?” He sounded mildly unhappy. I suppose the interruption had prevented his beauty mask from curing.
I pulled a photo out of a large envelope and showed it to him. It was a screenshot of the subway station video, depicting him next to Koufax, holding the large smoothie cup. “You were with Leonard Koufax at five thirty this morning. Care to explain?”
He studied the photo and handed it back to me. “There’s nothing to explain.” He plopped into a side chair. “We commute together. We’ve been doing it for over a year now. It’s nice to have company on a train filled with haters.”
“Haters?” Lido asked.
Bascom elaborated. “Gay haters. We’re a persecuted minority, and bring Jewish on top of it … I’d get fewer insults if I were a straight man with Ebola.”
Not touching that one. “The difference being that your traveling companion might have been murdered today. Don’t you think you should’ve mentioned that to us?”
“I don’t see why. It had nothing to do with the explosion.”
“Where do you work, Mr. Bascom, and when did you and Mr. Koufax part company?”
“Henry’s on Broadway, the breakfast shift just like Lenny. I need the money to pay the bills when I don’t have an acting gig.”
We’d gotten to Koufax’s apartment sometime between twelve thirty and one in the afternoon. “You’re usually home by one?”
“Most days.”
“You and Mr. Koufax don’t travel home together?” Lido asked.
“No. Lenny finishes earlier. He cleans up after breakfast and leaves. I have to set up for lunch before I leave. He’s usually home before me.”
“Still,” I persisted. “You should’ve told us. You’ll have to account for your whereabouts so that we can rule you out as a person of interest.”
“This is ridiculous,” he said hotly. “You’re not even sure that it was Lenny who died this morning, yet you’re happy to harangue me and accuse me of being a suspect.”
“Let’s take a deep breath, Mr. Bascom. I’m sure you want to see justice served.”
“Then go find the bomber. Do I look like Ted Kaczynski to you?”
Why you obstinate little …
“We’ll need to verify the time you got to work this morning, and confirm that you were there until past the time of the bombing,” Lido said flatly.
“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Whatever.” He provided the name of his supervisor and the phone number at work. “Is there anything else?”
Bascom was pissing me off and I wanted to stay longer just to bust his chops, but it was already after eight and I wanted to get back to Eli Danziger before he left for the evening. Lido said goodbye, but I walked to the door and exited in silence. Was I being passive-aggressive? Perhaps, but the man just rubbed me the wrong way.
Chapter 10
“Does Lido know?” Tay asked, the tone of her voice excited as it traveled over the phone line.
“Know what?”
“That you want to jump his bones.”
“Yeah, of course. It was the first thing we covered. It’s in the detective’s manual on crime scene investigations and properly servicing your senior partner: Chapter One.”
“Don’t waste time, Stephanie. Lido’s handsome, available, and geographically desirable. Besides, you haven’t had a real relationship since Noah built the ark. Aren’t you dying to get some?”
I was working on the computer at home, checking background o
n the list of acquaintances Eli Danziger had provided, when Tay hit me right between the eyes with brutal truth. It was hard to rebut her, especially since she was dead on point. I hadn’t been on more than a couple of dates in the fifteen months since my dad had passed away, and there was no doubt that I was long overdue for a little somethin’-somethin’.
“Does he even know that you spotted him in Florida?”
“Allegedly spotted him in Florida.”
“Oh! Excuse me, Mrs. Lady Cop. A-ledge-ed-lee. Shoot, girl, you know it was him. You saw him three times—on the airplane going down, getting into the elevator, and getting into a cab.”
“I saw him from the back each time. I never saw his face.”
“Shoot, girl, you’re not sharp enough to make a positive buttocks identification? A booty check is as reliable as a retina scan in my book.”
Tay and I had been down in Florida for a little R and R. In between charging into a murder conspiracy like a bull in a china shop, I had perused a suave gentleman on a few occasions, who I suspected might be Gus Lido. I’d met him briefly before the vacation but hadn’t spent any significant time with him until I returned and he became my partner. “I wouldn’t even know how to ask him.”
“Seriously? You’re a fully-grown woman. You don’t know how to ask a man if he spent a week in Florida? That’s just downright pitiful.”
“I know, I know, but it all seems so contrived.”
“Lamebrain, just bat your pretty eyelashes at the man and ask him where he got the great suntan.”
“I suppose that would work, but then what? I tell him that I thought I saw him in Florida and bought a vibrator and had his name etched on it?”
“Lord almighty, shoot me. Shoot me now. You are hopeless, girl. It’s not like you have to present him with your trousseau or anything. Just talk to the man, that’s all.”
“I talk to him all day long.”
“Yeah, about murder and blood and guts and whatnot. How romantic—I’m surprised he doesn’t hit your ass right then and there at the crime scene. I know that I get all hot and bothered when a man whispers the words blood spatter in my ear. Dear Lord,” she lamented. “Let me say a prayer for this helpless child. I went down to Miami Beach with you for some sun, fun, and love, and what did you do?”
“But—”
“But nothing. What did you do? What did you do? You almost got the two of us killed. I had to cut my vacation short because you went up against the Jamaican mafia. Are you crazy or something? You think this is God’s plan for you?”
“Easy, would you. I’m just a flesh and blood mortal.”
“Easy, my ass. You’re working next to that Adonis of a man and all you can think about is bullets and forensics bullshit. Wear a skirt tomorrow. Show that boy some leg.”
“It was twenty degrees today.”
“Man up, biatch,” she howled. “Tough it out and show Gus some skin. He’s a detective. He’ll figure it out. Ask him to check your hooha for fingerprints.”
“Ha!” I snorted. “Rookie detective,” I reminded her.
“Ain’t nothing rookie about that man. Yum, yum. If you don’t make a move on that boy, I’ll go and get me some of that.”
“Okay, I get it. It’s a thong and a peekaboo blouse tomorrow.”
“Ha! Just mind the girls in that peekaboo blouse. Supposed to be even colder tomorrow. You don’t want to be putting the man’s eye out.”
“He knew there’d be risks when he took the job.”
“You’re being funny, but mind my words—that boy won’t stay available forever. You’d better get motivated before some hot-blooded seductress casts a spell on him.”
“Okay. Goodnight, Tay,” I said sweetly. “I have work to do.”
“Work to do,” she muttered just before hanging up. “Hopeless.”
Chapter 11
Okay, so the peekaboo blouse was out of the question, but I did wear a tight sweater, a Lana Turner sweater-girl sweater, one that left practically nothing to the imagination. It was tight and clingy, so tight in fact that I was afraid to take off my blazer in the station house.
Damn you, Tay! I couldn’t get her and her fevered diatribe out of my head. It distracted me as I pored through the files of perspective interviewees, and I was acutely aware of the chemistry between Lido and Lorna, the office admin, when they bumped into each other at the coffee bar. She was a civilian and dressed like young women do in a casual work environment. She was wearing leggings and a long fisherman knit sweater. It covered her young Macintosh apple derriere but not her long legs. It killed me when Lido watched her walk off.
I could hear Tay in my ear. “This is war, girl. Whip off the blazer and come out with the big guns blazing.”
Lido brought a cup of coffee back for me and the gesture kind of extinguished my ire. “So look, I’m thinking that our John Doe was murdered at the temple. Perhaps not where the body was found but maybe somewhere else in the building. If the murder took place off site, it would’ve been difficult to smuggle the corpse into the building unseen.”
“You think we might find the murder weapon in the building?”
“I think there’s a good chance. It would’ve taken something heavy to bash in the victim’s face the way it was, a sledgehammer or maybe a bat.”
Sonellio approached with his hands folded behind his back. He looked bored, aching to be silly. “Lido, Chalice, you’ve got a visitor,” he grumbled.
“Thanks, boss. Who?”
“The Bride of Frankenstein, for Pete’s sake. When did I become the receptionist?”
“Really?” I asked with a puerile grin. “Elsa Lanchester is here?”
“Yes, Detective Ball Breaker. Here.” He shoved a business card at me. It read Henry “Hank” Green, News Correspondent, The Jewish Press. “Fourth estate, kiddo. Speak softly and carry a big stick.” Translation: Keep your mouth shut and stay out of trouble.
“Yes, President Roosevelt.”
“Wiseass,” the Rough Rider groused before walking off.
“You want to do this with me?” I asked Lido. “I know you haven’t worked with the press yet.”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Okay, but listen and keep your lips sealed.” Those full rich red lips, the ones I—“Reporters have a nasty habit of twisting around everything you say.”
“Taking shit out of context?”
“Exactly.”
“I’ll behave.”
Do you have to? Can’t you just like, peel off your shirt? God, listen to me. I really am a desperate hot mess. “Great. Let’s see what this guy wants.”
I grabbed Green and escorted him into the interview room where Lido was waiting. Green was tall and stocky. His head was shaved and he wore a yarmulke. He was in a suit and tie, which was atypical garb for a modern-era reporter.
I introduced the men before addressing Green in a serious tone. “How can we help you?”
His response was unexpected. “You have to ask?”
“Yes. That’s the way we do things around here. Questions are asked and then they’re answered. If I had psychic powers, I wouldn’t be chasing murderers for a living.” I took a moment to consider what I’d just said. “Check that. This is exactly what I’d be doing.”
“The bombing at the chabad. You found the son of a gun who did it?”
“It’s an open investigation, Mr. Green, and barely twenty-four hours old at that.”
“Who are you looking at?”
“Everyone and anyone,” Lido replied, contributing intentionally useless information.
“It’s a hate crime, no?”
“Is it? Do you know something that we don’t?”
“Apparently I do. You don’t know how popular anti-Semitism is these days. My nephew attends public school here because my cousin married a shiksa. The non-Jewish children treat him like he has a disease, and the Moslems … I can’t tell you how cruel they are to him. Such moxie these little ones have. They’re upset because the scho
ols close for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. What do they want him to do, be marked absent because he worships the high holidays? I have to tell you, I don’t know what America stands for anymore.”
“I think we’re getting off the subject, Mr. Green. I sympathize with you, but this is a homicide investigation. That’s all we’re here to discuss.”
“You mean to tell me that a Jewish house of worship was bombed and you won’t even consider the possibility that this was a work of anti-Semitism?”
“I never said we wouldn’t consider it, but to date there’s been no evidence to suggest that it’s true. The bomb was located upstairs in the kitchen, far away from where congregants worship, and the explosion took place early in the morning when the temple was practically empty. I can tell you that of the two victims we’ve positively identified as kitchen help, only one was Jewish.”
“Hmm, I see.”
Are we done here? I appreciated the reporter’s concern for his people, but I wasn’t getting paid to patronize him. I was getting paid to apprehend the guilty.
“You know that they’re trying to build a mosque on the corner, down the block from the temple, don’t you?”
“No, I wasn’t aware of that.”
“Sure. They purchased a brownstone and have filed permits to convert it. I don’t have to tell you what that will do for local tensions if it comes to pass.”
Green’s agenda and mine were widely discrepant. I just couldn’t waste any more time with him. I was about to end the meeting when his cell phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket and began reading a text. “Oy!”
One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three—“You know there’s a new app for people who inconsiderately read texts instead of paying attention to the people they’re speaking to. It’s called Respect.”
Third Victim Page 4