“Hey, I didn’t sign on to babysit. You want homicide you gotta work for it.”
The senator’s voice popped into Parker’s head. “See what happens when you get involved in someone else’s shit?”
Maybe he was right this time. She bit her lip. She wanted homicide so bad she could taste it.
The maitre d’ at Buonasola seemed to know Corelli and ushered them to an isolated table on the deck. Corelli sat with her back to the water. Parker opted for distance and pulled out the chair facing her, but then thought better of sitting with her back to the door and moved to one of the other chairs facing the door.
Corelli ordered. “Iced coffee, linguine with white clam sauce, and an arugula salad, dressing on the side.”
“Mushroom ragout with polenta, a mixed green salad, and an unsweetened ice tea.”
“Good choice.” Corelli sat back and focused on Parker. “So who did it, Ms. ADA?”
Parker glanced away. The rage that had been building percolated through her. “Why don’t you tell me who did it, oh, high and mighty homicide detective? After all, I’m just a know-nothing trainee. They all sound guilty to me. She was a nasty bitch and she deserved to be murdered.”
“Whoa, don’t go all prickly on me. I was joking. It sounds like you’re ready for lesson two of Homicide 101: not even nasty people deserve to be murdered. It’s our job to figure out who did it but it’s still early. Relax, we’ll think it through together. Don’t get so stressed.”
“Stressed? How am I supposed to feel with you badgering me? Even if I could tolerate you, the people you ratted out will make sure we fail.”
“Jeez, calm down, Parker. You have nothing to worry about. The failure will be mine, not yours. You’re my bodyguard and I guess you lose if they kill me on your watch. For obvious reasons, I hope that won’t happen. But you lose more if you don’t relax and try to learn as we go through the investigation.”
Relax with you breathing down my neck, hectoring and pushing? I’d love to learn but how can I if I’m tense and on edge waiting for your next attack? Your career is screwed already but mine is on the line now. Not that you give a flying fuck. “If you fail, so do I, and that doesn’t wash off, no matter what you say. This may be my only chance. I’ve worked hard to get to homicide. If I hadn’t saved that family, I never would have made detective. Why? Not because I’m not a really good cop, but because I’m better educated, smarter, and more ambitious than most—and the senator is the number one critic of the department. So I get promoted and they dump this assignment on me.”
Parker took a breath, desperately fighting for control. She repeated her mantra. Keep your feelings to yourself. Project confidence. Stay calm. Be assertive. Never lose control. I’m losing it. But I can’t stop. “Maybe you’re naturally self-destructive and condescending and bitchy, but, you know what? I don’t care. Why would I want to work with an isolated, crazy woman who hasn’t a friend in the world but takes pleasure in inflicting wounds on the one person who’s stepped out on the limb with her? Sounds sick to me.”
Red-faced, Corelli stood. “That’s enough, Detective Parker. I suggest you go for a walk and cool off before you say something you’ll really be sorry for. We’ll discuss this when you get back. I expect to see you a lot calmer in ten minutes.”
Parker jumped up and shoved her chair back roughly. She reached out to keep the chair upright but pulled her hand back as if it burned when she encountered Corelli’s hand attempting to do the same. She dashed from the deck, almost colliding with a slender, light brown skinned man, dressed all in black, who she hadn’t noticed standing inside the dining room, near the door to the deck.
Corelli rubbed her forehead. And why would she want to work with a detective whose daddy would attack and try to destroy whatever little reputation she still had at the first sign of a problem? She sipped her coffee. Parker is smart and perceptive. She has good instincts. But maybe she can’t handle the pressure of an investigation, the need to move fast to find the killer, the grueling interviews with witnesses that tell lies, the long hours, the missed meals. True, almost everybody they’d talked to had a motive, but they’d just started. We only have the Winter case now, but that won’t last long. How will Parker deal with the pressures of juggling multiple cases?
Or was the problem hers? She’d told herself she was teasing, but was she dumping on Parker, taking her anger out on her? It wasn’t like her to ridicule, but if she was honest with herself, that’s what she’d been doing, ridiculing another woman, a new detective trying to make it in what was still a good old boys’ game. According to Parker Corelli was sick, a crazy woman. Was she right? Did the nightmares, the lack of sleep, and the flashbacks—in Winter’s office that morning and on the street this afternoon—mean she was crazy? Or could all that be from the stress of coming out of Afghanistan, of coming out of undercover, of getting back on the job, of being ostracized?
Whether it was stress or hormones or something else, she was way out of control. Her reaction to Brett Cummings had thrown her off-kilter and left her feeling vulnerable. Had she been dealing fairly with Parker? No. Clearly, Parker had her own issues and needed a lot of stroking. But she hadn’t signed on to be Parker’s babysitter. On the other hand, she needed Parker. So she should try to be more attentive and rein in her anger or at least not take it out on Parker.
She stared at the river, considering the best way to defuse the situation and keep Parker on board. She shifted her gaze to the door, checking for Parker’s return. Instead she saw the shadow of a man standing inside the doorway watching her. Shit. She went for her gun but the jolt of pain that ran up her arm reminded her that her right hand was useless. Her left crossed her body and tugged her holster open.
He sauntered onto the deck. “Hey, boss. How are you?”
The tension drained away. Her face brightened. “Watkins, I wasn’t expecting you so soon.” She kissed him on the cheek. “You have medical approval to come back?”
“I’ve been bugging the doctor for weeks, and this afternoon she gave me the go-ahead. When I showed up at the precinct, they sent me to the chief. So now we’re both working out of the oh-eight. Dietz told me where to find you.”
“You don’t mind working with me?”
“Are you kidding? You’re my hero. Thanks for requesting me. I’m on restricted duty, but the chief said you could use a friendly face and the support of an experienced detective.”
Bless you, Harry, for sending someone I know I can trust.
“We really could use the help. Parker, my trainee, lost it a few minutes ago, from the stress, I think.”
“I heard. It sounds like maybe you’re a little stressed too.”
She shrugged. “Could be.”
The waiter brought their food and took Watkins’s order. Parker barreled in as the waiter was walking away from the table. Focused on what she wanted to say and dodging the waiter, she didn’t notice the man seated at the table until she joined them.
“Detective P.J. Parker meet Detective Ron Watkins.”
He leaned over with his hand outstretched. “Parker. Glad to meet you and happy to be joining the team.”
She shook his hand. “Nice to meet you too,” she said, swallowing the lump in her throat. Joining the team? Where did this guy come from and how come he’s available all of a sudden?
Corelli twirled some pasta on her fork. “Let’s eat. Watkins can catch up when his food arrives. We’ll brief him when we’re finished.”
Parker sipped her iced tea but didn’t touch her polenta or salad.
Corelli swallowed then lifted her chin toward Parker’s dinner. “Better chow down. Ya never know when you’ll get another chance.”
When Watkins’s food arrived, Corelli moved her almost full plate aside and turned to Parker. “Surprised to see Watkins?”
Damn right. “Um,” Parker said, her mouth full. I can’t even have the dignity of being the one to walk away. Corelli is dumping me first.
“Watk
ins came off sick leave today. He caught a bullet in the shoulder in a shootout and was supposed to be out for at least another month, but he convinced his doctor to let him come back on restricted duty.”
Restricted duty; not my replacement. I’m still in. If I want to be. Better make up my mind.
She forced herself to listen as Corelli reviewed the case for Watkins. Her presentation was organized, clear and logical. Had she studied the law? Now, with her anger and anxiety under control, Parker got that it was still early and they were doing what needed to be done. She watched Watkins. His soft, hazel eyes focused on Corelli’s face as she talked, giving her his full attention, as if they were the only two people in the world. Occasionally he asked a question and made notes in a small, black leather notebook. No wedding ring. She’d felt calluses on the tips of his long, graceful fingers when they shook hands. Probably plays the guitar. Good looking. A sharp dresser—black pants, black silk shirt, black jacket, black shoes. Everything expensive. About 6’1” or 6’2” and very laid-back. His voice was mellow and educated. She gathered he’d worked with Corelli before and was happy to work with her again. Am I doing something to cause Corelli to attack me? She’d see how things went the rest of the night and then decide about getting out.
Corelli finished the review. “When we’re done here, Parker and I are going to interview the Wall Street bartender and the night porter at Winter’s building. Do either of you have a problem meeting every morning at seven, starting tomorrow?” Hearing no objection, she continued. “We’ll meet at the oh-eight. And to be sure they don’t doctor our coffee, I’ll bring it and my extra coffeemaker. Bring your own breakfast, and milk if you need it. One other thing,” Corelli said, fingering the scabs on the side of her face. “I’m told that my old friend Detective Jimmy McGivens announced that my being dead would make him very happy. Righteous Partners, the group of dirty cops, has tried to kill me twice, so they may come after you. Stay alert.”
Watkins touched his shoulder holster as if to confirm it was still there. “I noticed you went for your gun but didn’t draw when I surprised you. And I see your hand is pretty swollen. You need someone to ride with you, boss?”
“I have someone. Let’s all watch our backs, okay?”
Someone? Me? A replacement?
When they settled the check and rose to leave, Parker saw she was right about Watkins’s height, but the gracefulness of his movements surprised her. Detective Smoothie seemed to glide.
Outside, Watkins clicked his remote. “See you tomorrow,” he said as he slid into a BMW parked in front of their standard issue.
Parker shivered despite the heat. She got into the car expecting Corelli to tear her to shreds over her tantrum.
Chapter Fourteen
Corelli tapped on Parker’s window and waited for her to lower it. “Wall Street is only a few blocks from here. Let’s walk. I’m stiff from my fall and being cooped up all day hasn’t helped.”
Here it comes. She doesn’t want me driving when she lets me have it. Will she dump me? You were going to dump her, weren’t you? Yes, but with good reason. At least she’d still be a detective. But forget homicide.
“Sure, I could use a stretch myself.” She slid out of the car effortlessly. Except for the crushing fear constricting her chest, she felt light and free without the encumbrance of the heavy police paraphernalia she had worn for seven years. She really wanted homicide and would even put up with Corelli’s shit to stay.
They walked in silence. The evening was warm but not as humid as the day, with a soft breeze and the smell of the East River unexpectedly pleasant. Even limping, Corelli set a good pace, arms swinging, taking deep breaths. Parker kept up but couldn’t find the pleasure in it. The tension was excruciating. She felt as if she couldn’t get enough air, as if she had been running for a long time.
Corelli interrupted her thoughts. “Let’s start with the bartender. You question him.”
“Sure.” Wasn’t Corelli going to say anything about her meltdown or tell her about the new someone?
And then it was there in front of them, The Wall Street Oasis. Inside it was quiet, only the bartender and four women sitting at a round table with popcorn and drinks in front of them. The women checked them out but weren’t interested. The bartender, on the other hand, put his book down and watched as they crossed the room to where he stood behind the bar. He was young, probably about twenty-five, with brown hair that flopped on both sides of his face to his jaw where it ran into a droopy brown mustache.
He glanced at their shields then stared at Corelli. “I know you. You’re that cop who got a conscience and turned in her friends, right?”
“Can it.” Corelli’s voice was hard and she looked ready to punch him.
He put his hands up as if to ward off an attack. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything.”
Not wanting this to escalate, Parker took control. “Chip around?”
His head swiveled to her and his hand went to his mustache. “That’s me. What’s up?”
Parker had expected a bartender to be older. “Do you know Rino Martucci?”
“Martucci? No.”
“Chauffeur? Works for Connie Winter. He says he comes in here sometimes.”
“Oh, you mean Rino?”
Parker put her hands on the bar and leaned in. “Don’t fool with me when I’m talking to you.” Her voice sounded harsh even to her. “Or we’ll take this conversation to the station.”
“Sorry, sorry. Yeah, I know Rino.”
“Was he here Friday night?”
“Is this about his boss, Miss Winter?”
Parker slipped onto the barstool. “What do you know about that?”
“Everybody was talking about it when I came in tonight.” He pulled on his mustache and chewed his top lip for a minute. “Fridays are slow in the summer. Most people leave before three to beat the weekend traffic, so I was alone when Rino came in about nine o’clock, all wet and wrinkled. He was in a foul mood, cursing Connie, he called her, for treating him like shit. He ordered a double Johnny Walker Black straight up and sucked it down in one gulp before ordering another. Then Mihailo, the night guy over at 63 Wall, came in for his usual—”
“The night porter was here?” Parker said.
“Yeah. He comes in every night between nine and nine thirty. He sat next to Rino and the two of them began commiserating about Ms. Winter. Mihailo hates her because she’s trying to get him fired for drinking on the job, and Rino bitches about the way she treats him. Anyway they were making a racket cursing her, and after one of them said something about wringing her neck, a guy that had just come in stood in the doorway and gaped at them.”
“Someone you know?”
“Never saw him before. Kinda short, jowly face. After a minute or two he moved close to those two and at first I thought he knew Rino, but he just stood there listening. I tried to catch his eye but he never ordered anything.”
He picked up a rag and wiped the already-clean bar. Sensing he was struggling to decide what to say next, Parker remained silent. And hoped she wasn’t screwing up.
“Um, Rino called earlier. He didn’t want me to tell you this, but he left around nine thirty.”
“And the porter?”
“I hadn’t realized he was already loaded when he came in, so after the first round, I refused to serve him and he stumbled out a little after Rino.”
“What about the other guy?”
“Um, he left right after Rino too.”
“So Rino wasn’t here until closing?”
“He showed up again, about eleven, really flying. I served him another double, but then I realized how far gone he was, and I cut him off. He fell asleep at the bar. I couldn’t leave him here when I closed, so I found his keys and half carried him to the limo across the street, opened the windows a little, put the key in the ignition, and locked the doors.”
“What time?”
“Twelve thirty, quarter-to-one. Then I got on the subway to Brookly
n.”
“And—”
“Wait, I haven’t finished,” Chip said. He paused, clearly enjoying his moment in the spotlight. “When I got home I noticed a stain on my shirt, red, like blood. I think I got it from holding Rino.”
Chip thought the shirt was still in the laundry basket in his room, so they arranged for a police cruiser to drive him home and pick it up when he closed. That done, they crossed the street to find Mihailo Jovanovic, the porter at Winter’s building.
Chapter Fifteen
They rang the night bell. A few minutes later, a man Corelli assumed was Mihailo Jovanovic staggered out of the elevator and stumbled toward the glass door. When he opened it, the reek of alcohol confirmed he had already made his nightly visit to the Oasis.
“Whatchu girls want so late?”
Parker pulled the door closed as they moved into the lobby.
Corelli gagged and stepped back to escape his body odor. “Are you Mihailo Jovanovic?” She displayed her shield and Jovanovic recoiled like a vampire confronted with a cross. Parker must have caught a whiff of him, because she found a mop and pail to prop the door open, letting in the fresh night air.
He hitched his drooping pants over his protruding belly and attempted to tuck in his stained shirt, but he only managed to push his pants down again. “What you want? I don’t do nothing wrong.”
Winter had one thing right. This guy should be fired. “We’re here about Connie Winter.”
“That bitch? Is dead.” He wiped his nose on his sleeve.
Corelli glanced at Parker who had backed up closer to the door. “Yes. And where were you Friday night?”
He didn’t say anything.
She had to interview this smelly, drunken asshole, but she didn’t have to do it on his schedule. She moved into his space. “Mr. Jovanovic, we can interview you here or at the police station. It’s up to you. But decide fast, or we’ll bring you in.”
A Matter of Blood Page 9