“About?”
“Detectives?” someone asked.
Both turned to look behind them at the shoreline. A young officer was flagging them down on the other side.
“The coroner’s here,” he called.
“Okay, boot,” Mitchell said. “Send ’em over.”
CHAPTER 4
Salvatore Batucci was the owner of Monchelli’s, the Italian restaurant located next to their crime scene. He now stood in front of the detectives, sweating and fidgeting with his feet. The restaurant was the next logical place to start, since it was so close to their crime scene.
Paul Mitchell watched as Batucci’s feet danced on the linoleum floor, tapping this way and that way, and wondered if it was just nerves or if he needed to go to the bathroom.
“We’re not keepin’ you from anything, are we, Mr. Batucci?” Mitchell asked the owner.
“No, not all,” Salvatore said.
“Ya sure you don’t need to go the bathroom? It’s no trouble, we can wait.”
The owner gave him a funny look then shrugged. “No, no. I’m okay. Just uh…nervous.”
Seemingly tired of the antics, Berlin jumped in just then and said, “So, your name isn’t Monchelli?”
Salvatore nodded as he wiped sweat from his forehead with a grungy cloth. “Yes, that’s correct.”
“Who the hell is Monchelli then?” Berlin continued.
Mitchell nudged Berlin in the arm as if to say, easy buddy.
“What?” Berlin said to Mitchell, disgruntled. “I think it’s an honest question. This place is called Monchelli’s, no? I don’t get it. Why call it Monchelli’s if there’s nobody named Monchelli here?”
Salvatore’s face turned beat red. “Officer, I bought this restaurant. I don’t—”
Berlin fixed him with a glare. “That’s Detective, Mr. Batucci.”
Jesus. What was Berlin getting so worked up about?
Salvatore raised his hands in protest. “Of course, I make mistake. Detectives, yes.”
Mitchell sighed, they were getting nowhere fast. “You were saying…”
Salvatore took a deep breath. “I bought restaurant back in ’99. I believe he was Monchelli. I forget now. I didn’t think to bother to change name. That’s all,” Salvatore said. “The restaurant was doing well. I wanted it to continue.”
Mitchell got the impression that his partner’s interest was waning. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his partner leave the group and begin to walk up the aisles.
The restaurant needed work. Desperately. The green carpet was in dire need of replacing. It had worn away to the almost dull gray color underneath the original fibers. Where there had been heavy foot traffic, it was even worse.
A creak in the floor sounded behind him and he turned to see a lovely brunette approach them. Mitchell studied her. She was average height, about five foot six, with a slim build and tan skin. Her dark brown hair shimmered underneath the glow of the pot lights in the ceiling. She wore a two-piece navy pantsuit, with a baby blue dress shirt underneath. The top three buttons were undone, exposing an exotic cleavage area.
“What’s going on here?” she asked, her eyes spelling determination.
Mitchell tried his best to keep the conversation upbeat. “Oh, hello, ma’a—”
“Don’t you hello ma’am, me,” she said. “Who the hell are you? What are you doing here?”
“Adriana,” Salvatore whispered to her, taking her gently by the arm.
Mitchell extended his hand to the woman. “How do you do?”
Adriana looked at the Detective’s hand, still waiting for her, then to Salvatore. “Father, what is this? Who are these men?”
Her father remained quiet, rubbing his nose absentmindedly. He looked like he was afraid. Mitchell wondered why he was so skittish.
“Ms. Batucci, is it?” She acknowledged that Mitchell was correct so he went on, “We’re with the Gardens Police Department. Homicide. I’m Detective Mitchell, and my partner over there is Detective Berlin.” He waited for her to show any kind of emotional response. If there was one, he certainly missed it. “I don’t know if you’re aware, Miss, but there’s an ongoing homicide investigation just outside your restaurant near the trail.”
“No, I wasn’t,” she said as she looked at her father. “Father, why didn’t you say anything?”
Salvatore swallowed loudly and looked down at his shoes. “I didn’t want to trouble you, Adriana. You’re busy with—”
“Father, please.” She shook her head and folded her arms across her chest. Finally, she looked up at Mitchell and flicked her fingers as if to say, go on.
Mitchell cleared his throat and said, “Right. The body was found under the bridge in the middle of the canal. We dropped by to ask your father a few questions. To see if he saw anything, heard anything, noticed any suspicious activity recently. That sorta thing.”
“I did not see anything, Detective,” Salvatore said.
“Have you noticed anybody, hanging around? Maybe out back? Have you seen any strange characters, lurking around your property lately?”
Salvatore thought on it for a moment and then said, “No, I’m sorry. I don’t see anything like that. Kids. They come by sometimes. Late at night. They spray paint and leave beer bottles. They break my windows in back. I file report.”
“A lot of good that did,” Adriana said.
“I can look into it,” Mitchell said. He turned back to his notebook and jotted down some quick notes.
Where’s Berlin?
Mitchell scanned the room and found him, standing in front of a large set of windows overlooking the canal. A deck area sat just outside with a wooden railing and red awning. What was he looking at? “How many employees would you say that you have, working here at Monchelli’s?”
Salvatore looked to the ceiling and began to think, probably counting them off in his head.
Growing frustrated, Adriana jumped at the chance to interject. “There are twelve employees, Detective. Thirteen, if you’d like to include me. But, at the moment, I haven’t been around much.”
“All right.”
“And why is that, Ms. Batucci?” Berlin asked from across the room, with a sudden and renewed interest in the group.
“I’m sorry?” she asked, turning to face him.
“You said that you haven’t been around much?” Berlin asked, joining the rest of the group. “Why is that?”
“I’ve been at college.”
“She study to be great chef!” Salvatore said, basking in admiration.
“Father.” She smiled for the first time. “Father wants me to take over the restaurant when he retires.”
“Good for you,” Berlin said. “Mr. Batucci, we’re going to require a complete list of your employees, including contact information for them. We’d also like a copy of your schedule for the last month.”
“Of course. Anything I can do to help, I will be happy.”
“One last thing. Do you have surveillance in this place? Or out back?”
Salvatore shook his head. “No, I’m sorry.”
“Too bad.”
***
They spent the last ten minutes, driving down Niagara Street in silence. They were on their way back to Headquarters, which lay in the downtown sector of the city. Berlin drove, while Mitchell teetered on the edge. His mind was racing with questions.
Should he confront him about what just happened back there? It hardly felt right. Hardly seemed proper, but it nagged at him. Finally he said, “You weren’t much help back there, ya know?”
“What’s that?” Berlin asked, without turning to look at him.
“Back at the restaurant. What was that?”
“I don’t follow.”
“We’re supposed to be a team, ya dig? That’s what 'partners’ means. I don’t know if they played the game differently over in Port or what, but I don’t like to play games.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, man.”
“For real? First you make me take lead when this is supposed to be your case, and then you bugger off somewhere, and I find you staring out those windows. What was that about? What were you lookin’ at?”
Berlin chewed on his bottom lip. “Nothing. I wasn’t looking at anything.”
“Was there someone out there?”
There was a slight pause where Berlin looked like he would tell him the truth. But then, “What do you mean?”
Mitchell shook his head. “I saw you. You were just gone. You disappeared into that head of yours.”
“You’re crazy.”
“I thought it was just my imagination on our last out, but I saw it. I heard all about you, man.”
“Yeah? What’d you hear?”
“I hear you’re seein’ a shrink, for one.”
Berlin remained quiet.
He knew that he should try to keep his cool, but there was a part of him that just wanted to get it over with. Like he said, he didn’t play games. No sense in drawing it out.
“Hey? You watchin’ the road?” Mitchell asked him.
Berlin snapped out of it. “What? Relax.”
Be cool. “Listen, I’m sorry that I snapped at you.”
Berlin was silent.
“I don’t—I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. Just…be straight with me, is all I ask.”
“That’s fair, but for the record, I didn’t think I did anything wrong.”
Mitchell chuckled quietly. “So the wife has been askin’ me to get you over for dinner some time. Is that…is that somethin’ you’d be down for?”
No response.
Mitchell stared out his passenger window, watching the pedestrians and streets pass them by. He noticed a tall scruffy gentleman, picking up cigarette butts off the side of the road. The man inspected each one with precision. He tossed a few aside, but kept most of them and put them in the pocket of his over-sized green coat. Mitchell couldn’t help but to think about the helplessness of it all.
He turned to look back at Berlin. “Look, I know you’re the loner type, but can you do me the fav? To at least get her off my back ‘bout it? She’s been at me for mo—”
“Fine.”
“Yeah? Thanks, man.”
Mitchell breathed a sigh of relief. “You really have no idea how happy you’ve just made her, man. She’s wanted to celebrate me gettin’ into Homicide for a while now. But with things, well, up in the air as of late, it didn’t seem like the right time. But we’re on now. We’re back. It feels good. I’m looking forward to learning the ropes from you.”
Berlin concentrated on the drive, making a right onto Church Street. They eventually came to a bend in the road where the street parted into two. They continued straight through onto Church.
“When do you want me?”
Mitchell snapped out of his daze. “What’s that?”
“You said that I should come over for dinner. But you never said when.”
“Uh, why not tonight? Would that be okay wit’ you?”
“All right.”
Berlin made a left onto Carlisle Street. On their left, their Headquarters stood over them. It sat atop a hill, perched higher than street level, which gave it an ominous presence. Built in the ‘60s, it wasn’t the prettiest of buildings. But it still served its purpose well. It featured a red brick exterior on the bottom half, with concrete slabs on the top. Large windows formed in vertical lines on its face. A large parking lot was at the rear of the building.
“You not goin’ in the lot?” Mitchell asked him, as the car slowed.
“Nah, we won’t be here long.”
Berlin pushed the wheel hard to his right, forcing the car into a sweeping motion to the curb. He then cocked the wheel hard left, forming an arc, as he turned the car the opposite way on the street.
“Jesus,” Mitchell gasped.
Drivers blared their horns.
Mitchell waved to the cars apologetically, frowning.
“Ya know, just ‘cuz we’re po-lice don’t mean we get to do what we want,” Mitchell said.
“Eh. I’m no different than the rest of the drivers ‘round here and you know it.”
They pulled into a spot next to the building and parked.
Berlin looked to Mitchell and said, “You track down the Narco guys and we’ll meet up later.”
What the? “What are you gonna do?”
Berlin stared out into the street. “Tim Scott had a wife. I saw the outline of the ring on his finger. Someone should probably go tell her.”
“Want me to tag along? I’ve never done a NOK before. I should—”
“No, I can do it. You find his squad. They’ll be able to tell us what he’s been up to.”
Mitchell frowned. “If you say so,” he said, opening the car door.
Mitchell hadn’t even shut the car door before Berlin had pulled away from the curb and had sped off down the street. Mitchell stood on the sidewalk, feeling like the last one picked at a little league game.
CHAPTER 5
Jack Howell parked his beat-up forest green ’95 Plymouth Neon curbside in front of the Acupuncture and Herbal Clinic then shifted his weight, fumbling to get out of the car.
It’s time to put this baby to rest, he told himself, referring to the car.
Yeah? You’re crazy. With what money?
A crowd had gathered just outside of the JobSearch building and they milled around on the street, looking baffled. Jack read the “Need a Job?” sign that hung outside the building and he gently pushed his way through the people until he reached the police barricade tape.
The ambulance was parked around the corner and Jack could see that the paramedics were still attending to the victim. From what Jack could tell, he appeared fine. The victim had a few scratches on his forehead, a couple more on his hands. Defensive wounds more than likely.
Jack circled back to the building and stole a look at who was present at the scene. He hoped to get a private audience. It’s what reporters do. If you stayed on the beat long enough like Jack, you got to know the detectives. You dug for gold, some nugget that no one else had. Anything to get that edge. Jack waved a hand to a detective that stood off to his left, writing in a notepad.
“Howlin’ Jack!” The detective said, noticing him.
Jack smiled. “How ya doin’, Dom?”
Dom made his way over to him.
Jack got to know Detective Marco Dominguez from Robbery over the last few years. Known to share a pint or two downtown at one of the many hot spots, Dominguez was a good cop. He wasn’t as hard as the rest of them. He had soft corners, whereas the Homicide dicks were all rough with jagged edges. Jack could understand. He empathized with Homicide. They saw the worst of it. He wondered how they slept at night, seeing what they saw. How they could come home and just leave behind what they saw earlier that day?
It must be madness.
Dominguez came over to the police tape and they followed one another farther down the line, sneaking away from the crowd. “I’m good, Jack. I can’t complain. I didn’t expect to see you down here.”
“Yeah. What can I say? Boss says go, I go.”
“Sorry to hear that. I guess it’s like that everywhere, though, am I right?”
Dominguez smoothed his blue striped tie and surveyed the crowd. He was a sharp dresser. Shorter than Jack and considerably smaller in stature, but he oozed confidence. Something that was now missing in Jack’s arsenal.
“So what can you tell me?” Jack asked him.
“On this?”
Jack nodded.
“Not a whole lot, man. Our victim, a Christopher Nagel, 37, found himself in an altercation with three individuals as he came out of the JobSearch building here. They took his money, cell phone, and a ring. Gave him a few licks for good measure while they were at it.”
“Did they get away?”
Dominguez nodded. “We’ll find ’em, though. We’ve got some good leads. A number of eyewitnesses. Lots of folks need w
ork nowadays, so it was a full house. Someone saw the whole thing.”
“Glad to hear it. Any suspects?”
“Not yet,” Dominguez said. “We’ll see. It won’t take long to put the word out.”
“Pretty brazen, doin’ it out in the open in the middle of the day, don’t ya think?”
“Yeah. I don’t know what this city’s comin’ to…”
Hell in a handbasket, that’s what, Jack thought. Things were gettin’ bad lately. It was a never-ending cycle of bad news everywhere that you went. “Got anything else for me?”
Dominguez licked his lips. “You know, I might have somethin’ for you.”
“Lay it on me.”
“You know a dick named Berlin?”
“Berlin, Berlin…” he said, running through names in his head. Jack had a thing for names. He might as well have been a personal Rolodex. “Yeah, worked down in Port, right? Lost a wife recently.”
“That’s the one. Tragic. Anyway, word is that most people aren’t too happy about this guy, Berlin. Sayin’ that he’s a loose cannon. They’ve got him meeting with some doctor, but I dunno, man. Sometimes once the fuse is lit, ya better stay outta the way.”
Jack thought about this new piece of information. Should they have really let him come back so soon? He knew that if he lost Maeve, he’d be a wreck. Even if they were having problems lately.
“Any idea how long they were together?” Jack asked.
“What’s that?”
“Him and the wife.”
“No idea, Jack.”
“Think they cut his leave too short?”
Dominguez thought on it for a moment. “I dunno. Things have been weird.”
“How do you mean?”
“I heard the chief called him in special this morning. They found a body. Nobody’s sayin’ who they found, though.”
“Special?”
“Yeah. I don’t get it. Why they call him in for it?” He shook his head. “Far as I know, that’s not how it would work. They musta found somethin’ pretty big.”
“That does sound strange. Any idea where they found the body?”
“The canal.”
Jack smiled. “Can you be a little more specific? It’s a pretty big canal, Dom.”
Eyes of the Dead: A Crime and Suspense Thriller (The Gardens Book 1) Page 3