Four Walls

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

Lowering his head and smiling sheepishly, Marty said, "Yeah, I got into it with a Great Dane. I'm a tech at Feldstein's across the street." He jerked a thumb behind him, indicating the door-and the veterinarian beyond it.

  Stella glanced back, though she already knew where he worked. Deciding to go for broke, she pulled her shield out of her back pocket. "I'm Detective Bonasera, with the New York Crime Lab. Mind if I ask you a few questions?"

  "Yeah, I do mind. I just came in here for some cookies and coffee, okay?"

  "It's just that I'm looking into Maria Campagna's death, and I was wondering-"

  "That has nothing to do with me, okay?" He took the bag with the cookies and the small coffee cup from Jeanie, then threw a five down on the counter. "Keep it." To Stella, he all but snarled, "See you later, Detective."

  Jeanie was giving Stella an odd look. "You don't think he had anything to do with Maria, do you?" she asked in another low whisper.

  Leaning over the counter to minimize eavesdropping, Stella asked, "What do you know about him?"

  "Who, Marty? He works across the street. He and Maria went to the same high school, so they talked about that a lot. But that was it, really."

  When the other woman came by, Stella said, "I'll take that to go."

  Once she paid for the coffee, she left the cafй and went across the street to Feldstein's.

  It might well be a dead end-but so was Jack Morgenstern at this point, and Marty's bruise and knowledge of the COD were enough to make him worth pursuing. Probably wasn't enough for a warrant just yet, but it was enough for her to question the other people at Feldstein's.

  She pulled open the glass door to find a large reception desk in front of a big waiting area that included several long wooden benches along the walls and an open center floor, which provided plenty of room for dogs to gad about. At present, only two people were in the waiting area, both with cat carriers. One cat was lying quietly in its carrier, but the other was yowling in protest.

  There were two women behind the desk, one of whom was on the phone. The other, a short, round woman with spiky white hair, asked, "Can I help you?"

  Again, Stella flashed her shield. "I'm Detective Bonasera, with the New York Crime Lab. I'm investigating the death of Maria Campagna, and I was wondering if you could answer a few questions."

  Even as she spoke, she couldn't help but notice that behind the desk was an HP laser-jet printer-the exact same model that was used to print the anonymous love letters to Maria.

  The woman behind the desk formed an O with her mouth. "Oh, you mean the girl across the street? Yeah, I heard about that-it's awful."

  "Did you know her?"

  "Yeah, I saw her when I went for tea and pastries a couple of times." She leaned forward and said in an almost conspiratorial tone, "They have the best cannoli."

  Stella smiled. "I know, believe me." Then she grew serious and took out a notepad and pen. "What's your name?"

  "Oh, I'm Jaya-Jaya Nissen."

  "Who else from here goes to Belluso's regularly?"

  "God, everybody. I don't think Dr. Feldstein does, but he usually just brings food from home. He keeps kosher-I know that they say their food is all kosher, too, but I don't think Dr. Feldstein trusts that. But most of the rest of us do, yeah."

  "How late were you open the night before last?"

  "Until ten. That was our late night, to accommodate people who work late, you know?"

  "I understand." Stella wrote that all down, then asked, "Does anybody stay later than that?"

  Jaya nodded. "We board a lot of animals here, and someone always stays until about eleven or so to make sure they've got enough food and water and, for the cats, enough litter. Plus, some of the animals have medical needs, and the dogs have to be walked."

  "Who was it who stayed late two nights ago?"

  Blinking, Jaya said, "I don't remember." Her companion, who had long red hair that was tied back in a ponytail, was just getting off the phone, and Nissen turned to her. "Moira, do you remember who had the late shift two nights ago?"

  "Sure. It was Marty," the woman said.

  Stella managed to hide a smile. "What's Marty's full name?"

  "Marty Johannsen," Moira said. "I remember because he came in yesterday with this big-ass bruise. He said Rex did it."

  "And Rex is?" Stella asked.

  "A Great Dane we got boarded-again." She rolled her eyes. "I swear, those people are on vacation more than they're home. Don't know why they even keep the dog, he spends more time here than there. And they got a yard, too. Don't know why they can't just leave him home and have someone come in to walk and feed him-I even told Mr. Franklin that, but he doesn't listen."

  Trying to get the conversation back on track, Stella asked, "So Marty was here alone until eleven?"

  "Yeah," Moira said. "Oh, wait-Chris was here for a while, too. Not sure if he stayed the whole time, though."

  "Chris is?"

  Jaya took this one. "Chris Schanke. He's our head tech-he orders all the food and meds and stuff."

  Stella noted his name, grateful that she now had two people to ask about. Her money was still on Marty, but it eased the blow if you asked to talk about two people to the police. Ask about one person and he's a suspect-ask about two, and you're just collecting data. "Can either of you recall what both Chris and Marty were wearing? We want to be able to eliminate them as suspects." That second sentence was only half true.

  "Chris was wearing scrubs all day," Moira said. "He always does. I don't think I've ever seen him in civvies, except at the Christmas party."

  "Marty was wearing a black sweatshirt that said SAN DIEGO on it," Jaya said. "I remember 'cause Dr. Feldstein wanted to know if he'd ever been there. Dr. Feldstein's son was in the Navy and was stationed there."

  Not that she cared, but Stella asked anyhow: "Had he?"

  Jaya shook her head. "Nah, it was a present from his parents when they went on vacation there. Kind of a 'My parents went to San Diego and all I got was this lousy sweatshirt' thing."

  Stella continued taking notes, but now she was sure she had enough for a warrant.

  * * *

  "You don't have enough for a warrant."

  Stella sat with Angell in the chambers of Judge Lou Montagnino. This judge was always a risk. On the one hand, he had a thing about murdered girls. Before being elevated to the bench in 1972, Montagnino had been in the district attorney's office in Queens and prosecuted a man who'd killed four teenage girls. He was usually willing to give a certain amount of leeway for such cases.

  The flip side, though, was that Montagnino was also a chauvinist pig who had very little time for detectives of the female persuasion. "Secretaries with guns," he called them once in Stella's hearing, and it had taken all of her willpower (and Mac's iron grip on her arm) to keep from kneeing him in the balls when she'd heard it.

  Stella leaned forward in her chair. "Our PC is solid, Judge."

  "What solid?" Montagnino peered at Stella over his thin spectacles and aquiline nose. "All I see is vague nonsense. Did Taylor sign off on this?"

  After a brief hesitation, Stella said, "No." She'd been tempted to lie, but Mac was still on Staten Island when she got back to the lab. Angell had typed up the warrant request, and they'd both gone to Montagnino's chambers. It was another long shot, but Stella had been doing well with long shots today.

  "Judge," Angell said, "he knew the COD. We didn't tell anyone that."

  "Over thirty people walked into that bakery," Stella added, "and everyone was just talking about the girl who died. Then in comes this one guy with a bruise of the right size, and he happens to know that the victim was strangled. I think that's sufficient cause to search, especially since he was so belligerent."

  "Define belligerent, if you don't mind," Montagnino said witheringly.

  "He wouldn't let me question him or take pictures of his bruise or take a DNA reference sample." Of course, she'd never gotten as far as asking for pictures or a DNA sample; he walked out bef
ore Stella could even ask. But Montagnino didn't need to know that.

  "And if I walked into a bakery to get some dessert, I wouldn't want to spit on a Q-tip for some lady detective, either." He shook his head. "I thought you had a suspect in this case already."

  "We thought we did," Angell said, "but we don't have any evidence to support it, and he's got a very good lawyer."

  "Ah, I see, you're afraid of this guy's lawyer, so you go after someone else? And you want me to sign off on it? You're making me laugh, Detectives. Who's this lawyer, anyhow?"

  "Courtney Bracey," Stella said. "Why?"

  Montagnino removed his glasses. "Bracey? Christ on a stick, that bitch? Swear to God, I lost all respect for the New York Bar Association when they let her in." He actually made the sign of the cross. "I wouldn't wish her on my worst enemy, much less you two."

  "Gee, thanks," Angell muttered.

  He put his glasses back on and read over the warrant request again. "You say he knew the young lady was strangled?"

  Stella pressed the point. "He couldn't possibly have known that unless he was the killer, Judge."

  Angell shot Stella a look, which Stella hoped Montagnino didn't notice. Stella was bluffing big-time now, but she just knew that Marty Johannsen was their guy, and the longer it was before they could investigate properly, the less of a chance they had of finding any evidence to nail him.

  "This girl who died," Montagnino said. "How old was she?"

  "Nineteen."

  "And you really think this Johannsen jamoke did it?"

  Amazed that anyone still used the word jamoke in this day and age-though if anyone did, it'd be Montagnino-Stella said, "I have enough reason to think so that I want to investigate further."

  Montagnino smiled at that, though on his wrinkled face and with his too-shiny dentures, it looked more like a rictus. "Good answer, Bonasera. If you just said yes, I would've said no, because that's not a real cop's answer. But you gave me a real cop's answer, so you get the warrant." He reached for a pen, then stopped. "I still think it's nuts to give you eggheads badges and guns, but nobody asked me."

  Angell said, "I'm not an egghead, Judge, and I think that this guy's worth taking a look at. A nineteen-year-old girl's dead-shouldn't we do everything we can to find her killer?"

  Grabbing the pen and wagging it at Angell, Montagnino said, "Don't try to play me for a sap, little girl. I was signing warrants when you were in diapers." He pronounced the word "die-uh-pers," which Stella found amusing for some odd reason. Then he pushed the button atop the pen to release the point. "You've got your warrant, ladies. Make the best of it."

  20

  WHEN MAC ARRIVED WITH Flack at RHCF, the latter's first response to checking his weapon was resistance. Russell and Ursitti were there to meet them again, and Flack was not pleased by his way to the entrance was blocked until he checked his Glock at the arsenal.

  "Look," Flack said, "I'm here to arrest a guy. I do that without a weapon, I feel kinda naked."

  "I can live with that, Detective," Russell said.

  "What I mean is, I'm exposed. I don't-"

  Russell shook his head. "I know what you meant, Detective, and it doesn't matter. We got rules, we got regulations, and if you violate them, you get put in here for real. Now please check your weapon in the arsenal."

  Flack looked at Mac, who just shrugged. He had already checked his weapon. He understood Flack's objection-it was never wise to arrest a suspect unarmed, just on general principles. The weapon provided security, even if it was holstered with the safety on. Even then, it didn't always help, as Mac had learned the hard way.

  "Rules are rules, Don," Mac said.

  The snarl on Flack's face indicated that he didn't buy that particular line of reasoning. However, he went ahead and checked his weapon. Then they went through the rest of the rigamarole required to enter the prison.

  Once that was completed, Mac left a grumbling Flack to the logistics of processing Mulroney so that he could be placed under arrest for Vance Barker's murder. Ursitti accompanied Mac to the interview room. As they walked, Ursitti asked, "What is it you need to do here, Detective?"

  "I need to talk to all the COs who supervised the distribution of medication in C Block for the past week."

  "You wanna know who stood over Washburne getting his pills?" Ursitti asked.

  Mac nodded.

  Ursitti got on the radio and asked someone to go to his office and fetch the Charlie Block duty roster for him.

  Several minutes after Mac and Ursitti arrived at the interview room, a CO came by with the roster in question. Ursitti flipped through it and found the right page, showing it to Mac. Mac sat down in the chair that Flack had taken in previous interrogations and stared at the page.

  Since he really only needed the past week or so to establish the pattern he thought he'd find, he started with the person on duty a week ago. At the sight of the name, he winced, but he still said, "Can you bring Officer Ciccone in here?"

  "Sure, but don't expect much. He's pretty pissed off."

  "Well, the feeling's mutual."

  After Ursitti summoned Ciccone on his radio, Mac asked, "What about the nurses?"

  "None of them are in now. Captain Russell can give you contact info if you wanna call them."

  "The COs should be sufficient, but I'll get those names and addresses when we're finished."

  Ursitti shrugged. "Fine, whatever."

  Ciccone entered, then stopped halfway over the threshold as soon as he saw Mac. "Hey, I told you, I ain't talking to you without my lawyer."

  Ursitti rolled his eyes. "Come the hell off it, Ciccone."

  "I ain't coming off nothing, Lieutenant. I've been harassed by this guy once already; it ain't happening again. Barker's murder ain't my fault, and nothin' you guys can say is gonna make it my fault. I ain't saying a word until my mouthpiece gets here."

  "This isn't about the Barker murder, Officer," Mac said. "It's about Washburne."

  That brought Ciccone up short. "Washburne?"

  "Yes."

  Ciccone rubbed his stubble-covered chin. "Okay, as long as we're just talking Washburne, I'm all right with that."

  "Thank you," Mac said, trying and probably failing to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

  As Ciccone took his seat, Mac asked, "A week ago today, you supervised the distribution of medication in C Block, is that correct?"

  Shrugging, Ciccone said, "Sounds right, yeah."

  "Was medication administered to Malik Washburne?"

  Ciccone nodded and started fidgeting with his hands.

  "Do you remember what the medication was?"

  "Honestly, I don't remember what he takes. I'd have to check the roster. I know he only had one pill though."

  "And he took it?"

  "Sure, like always." Ciccone shrugged, still fidgeting.

  "Describe the process, please."

  Rolling his eyes, Ciccone said, "Went like usual. The nurse gave him the meds, then gave him a glass of water. He put the pill in his mouth, he took the glass, he swallowed the water."

  "You're sure?"

  "Course I'm sure, I do this at least once a week, sometimes more."

  "And Washburne took his meds?"

  "Absolutely."

  Mac made a few notes in his notepad and then said, "All right, Officer, that's all I needed to know. Thank you."

  Getting up, Ciccone said, "No problem, Detective. Always happy to waste my time with you. Sure you don't wanna ask me anything else? I got a great story about how the cons brushed their teeth two weeks ago."

  Smirking, Mac said, "No, Officer, that'll be all."

  As Ciccone left, Mac looked up at Ursitti. "Next I need to talk to Officer Bolton."

  Bolton was summoned and took his seat. "What can I do for you, Detective?"

  "According to the roster, you supervised the administration of medication for C Block six days ago."

  "Sounds right, yeah."

  "Did you administer Klono
pin to Malik Washburne?"

  Leaning back in his chair, Bolton looked up at the ceiling. "Honestly, Detective, I don't remember if it was Klonopin or not. I can't keep track. I'm pretty sure he got what he was supposed to get, though."

  "And he took the meds?"

  "Sure." Bolton shrugged.

  "He didn't try any of the usual tricks?"

  Bolton laughed at that, glancing at Ursitti. "Nah, he wasn't that stupid. It's usually the new guys and the really dumb ones that try the bullshit."

  "So Washburne took his meds six days ago?"

  "Far as I remember, yeah."

  "Thank you, Officer."

  Next up was Flack's friend Sullivan. A smile broke out on his baby face as soon as he came in and recognized Mac. "Hey, Detective Taylor. How's the investigation going?"

  "Well, half of it's going fine. Detective Flack is arresting Jack Mulroney for Vance Barker's murder."

  "Ain't gonna be sorry to see that asshole go." Sullivan took his seat, then leaned forward, his shaggy blond hair flopping into his face, and talked in a whisper. "Hey, listen, Detective, you're a friend of Donnie's, right?"

  Realizing Sullivan wanted to keep this conversation between the two of them, he leaned forward and said, "Yes."

  "I've known the guy since we were kids, but-" He hesitated. "Look, the guy's not takin' his meds. The man was in a bomb explosion a year ago, and he's actin' like nothin' happened. That ain't healthy."

  Mac was hardly in a position to lecture other people about how they dealt with post-traumatic stress disorder. That was for the department therapist. Then again, Mac knew Flack's opinion of department therapists.

  The embarrassing part was that Mac hadn't noticed that Flack wasn't taking his Percocet, and it made him wonder what else he'd been missing lately.

  Mac leaned back and spoke in a normal tone. "I'll see what I can do about that personal problem of yours, Officer," he said for Ursitti's benefit, "but it's actually the inmates' taking of medication that I'd like to talk to you about now."

  "Shoot." Sullivan slapped the table with his palms and then let them rest on his lap.

  "Five days ago, you supervised Malik Washburne receiving his meds."