A Black Sail
Page 23
After much discussion, Novak and Taylor agreed Taylor would do a story on the Collucci murders that adhered to the FBI’s rules. Novak alternated between worrying about even going that far and fury at what the FBI was doing. He apologized to Taylor, who said it was all right. Trading the City News Bureau for the complete story wasn’t a deal Taylor could do. Sometimes the facts cost too much.
Taylor wrote the story, and Cramly sent it out. As far as readers and listeners were concerned, Nick Lucco, a lieutenant in the Fronti crime family, murdered Carl and Bridget Collucci. Taylor did his best to tell about Carl and Bridget’s attempt to build a normal, happy life in Dobbs Ferry. He left a big hole in the story. Motive. He couldn’t say why Lucco killed them because he couldn’t report the FBI’s surveillance.
Did it matter? Sure as shit it did. He didn’t write the whole story when he knew the whole story. One of Taylor’s laws broken. Nonetheless, he beat all the papers with the arrest of the murderer. Charges were announced later that afternoon. Any other day, it would have been enough. To Taylor, his story seemed small and shabby because of what was missing.
He also wrote a separate report on the China White heroin being sold on New York’s streets. He put in nothing about a war between the Leung tong and the Fronti family. That wasn’t the FBI’s fault. He hadn’t dug up the facts he needed. Nothing solid.
Two days later, Sidney Greene called to tip Taylor to one last death. Lucco. He died in federal custody. Greene couldn’t say what the cause was—whether natural, Lucco’s own people, or something Gilly made happen.
As of this sunny Sunday, Mary Singer’s murder had no suspects whatsoever.
The whole story had far more unexplained deaths than Taylor was used to. It brought him low.
He turned Mason around, and they walked back along the broad pavement. The water was spread before them. The sparse, everyday harbor traffic of modern New York moved along regular routes. A cruise ship. The Staten Island Ferry. A tug behind barges. The Circle Line.
He stood at the rail.
Samantha took the leash from him. Mason wagged, thinking this meant more walking.
Taylor pointed, counted, and settled on the gap between the two piers. “That’s where Lucco dumped Bridget. Dead and dressed to distract the narcotics cops.”
Samantha was kind enough not to say he pointed the place out every time they went on this walk. And they went on this walk a lot.
“The FBI sent her to her death, and they’re going to get away with it. Before the fact or after the fact. They knew. They should have acted. Gilly was protecting his damn operation.”
“The FBI’s up to a lot of shit. Not even the Times or Washington Post has been able to get the whole story there.”
“What I can say? I’ve got high standards.” He laughed darkly. He kissed her. “What I want is to work somewhere that can stand up to the FBI.”
“Send out those résumés then.”
“Probably. Maybe. I don’t know. I’m bad at sitting around.”
She laughed. “Is that right?”
“I’ll keep working for Novak while I look. This is the city. We need both our salaries.”
“Hey if we—”
“Yeah, I know. You’ll sacrifice. I can’t. Gotta chase a story every day. More than a few days without a byline … I’ll go nuts. Waiting. Bad at it, remember?”
She nodded, was yanked by Mason and came back laughing. “So’s Mason.”
“I’ll wait on one person. Special Agent Gilly. He’s going in the file. Guy like him lives like he’s safe. What goes around comes around. I’m going to be his coming round.”
He’d done the best he could for the Colluccis. Gilly hadn’t. Not by a long shot. Neither had the NYPD. Only Dove up in Dobbs Ferry had tried. Thousands of crimes didn’t get covered at all. Hundreds went unsolved. Taylor had beaten most of the odds on this one. Maybe he needed to put that in the file. Maybe tape it to the front of his notebook where he could see it every day. Samantha was right. In a town riddled with crime, there was only so much he could do.
Mason pulled hard to say hi to a collie friend. Samantha followed. Taylor went after her.
* * *
Photo by Domenica Comfort
Rich Zahradnik was born in Poughkeepsie, New York, and received his B.A. in journalism and political science from George Washington University. He lives with his wife Sheri and son Patrick in Pelham, New York, where he teaches kids how to publish online and print newspapers.
A Black Sail is the third book in the Coleridge Taylor Mystery series, which began with Last Words and continued with Drop Dead Punk.
For more information, go to www.richzahradnik.com.