When I got home, Adele had a surprise for me. New York State corporations, even privately held corporations, are required to file documents identifying their officers. That information is public knowledge and can be accessed through a number of online services that maintain databases of public information. Adele had used the largest of these to retrieve Greenpoint Carton Supply’s filing. Three items stuck out. Greenpoint Carton had changed hands six months after the death of Clarence Spott. Anthony Szarek was the new president. Ellen Lodge was the new secretary-treasurer.
‘Ellen, you fool,’ I muttered.
‘You feeling sorry for the widow, Corbin?’
Adele’s question wasn’t only sarcastic, though there was sarcasm aplenty in her tone. The whole business of interrogation requires that your emotions be put to one side. Though your approach may vary from threatening to soothing to consoling, the focus is always on manipulation. The little wedges are driven in wherever there’s a chink in the armor; the emotions you project at any given moment are simply the right hammer applied to the right wedge. Later on, if you’re successful and your subject is particularly odious, you experience an intense satisfaction. But that’s for later on, when you’re in the bar, when you’ve had a couple, when the bad guy is resting quietly in a cell. The feast comes after the hunt.
After recounting my activities that morning (including my encounter with the rat, to which my partner barely reacted), I produced the photo I’d taken from Marissa and passed it to Adele.
‘What are you thinking, Corbin? That Ellen was in love with Russo?’
‘Ellen Lodge had to find her way to the party somehow,’ I finally replied. ‘Why not love?’
‘Are you going to ask that question when we visit her this afternoon?’
‘No. Tomorrow, maybe, after I soften her up.’ I looked at my watch. It was almost one and I had work to do. ‘I need to use the computer, Adele.’
She got up and brushed by me. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to make a record of everything we’ve accomplished so far and email it to Conrad Stehle. Just in case something happens to us.’
Adele nodded once. I’d mentioned Conrad many times in the course of the endless conversation that flows between partners. ‘I’ve destroyed all the files: Russo’s, Lodge’s, Szarek’s,’ she announced, ‘to protect my sources.’
‘Good. We couldn’t use them anyway.’
I turned to the computer, expecting Adele to go about her business, which in this case involved ordering lunch from a Chinese restaurant near Gramercy Park. But she lingered at the door long enough for me to look from the monitor into her eyes.
‘I’m not going back to Mel,’ she told me. ‘Never again. I can’t believe I’ve lived with him this long.’
‘You wanna hang out here until you get your head straight, it’s alright.’
She reached out to stroke my face with the fingertips of her right hand. ‘I was betting you wouldn’t come back, that you’d choose the job. I was wrong and I’m sorry.’
I suppose I should have taken her in my arms at that point. Even if the signals she was sending weren’t amorous, a comforting hug was certainly in order. But I lacked the courage to touch her, though I wanted her as badly as I’d ever wanted any woman, and I finally deflected the conversation with a pitiful attempt at humor.
‘Tell ’em to make that Hunan pork extra spicy. If you don’t mind.’
We got to Ellen Lodge’s home at four o’clock, but I didn’t approach the door immediately. First I loaded the four bags of garbage Ellen had left at the curb into my trunk while Adele remained in the Nissan. I was just closing the trunk when Ellen Lodge came through the door at a dead run.
‘What do you think you’re doing? I have neighbors, for Christ’s sake.’
I said nothing for a moment. We were in the first day of New York’s traditional January thaw. Though night had already fallen, the temperature was in the fifties, warm enough for me to brave the elements without an overcoat.
‘When you put out your trash, Ellen, it ceases to be your property.’
‘I’m not talkin’ about callin’ a lawyer. I’m talkin’ about my neighbors. I been livin’ here fifteen years.’
Adele chose that moment to emerge from the Nissan, making a spectacular entrance that brought Ellen Lodge’s hand to her mouth.
‘What happened to you?’ she naturally asked.
‘What happened to my partner,’ I said, ‘is that she got off lucky. Everybody else who crossed Dante Russo has ended up dead.’ I gave it a few beats, my heart bursting with gratitude. All along, I’d been figuring Ellen for a dupe and her shock at Adele’s appearance confirmed that suspicion. She wasn’t there when the attack was planned and nobody had told her about it afterwards. ‘Why don’t we go inside and have this conversation in private?’
After a quick look up and down the block, she led us into the interior of the house, then up the stairs to the small sitting room where I’d conducted the last interview. Again, I was struck by the plush upholstery and vivid colors. The roses and peonies embroidered on the fabric covering the couch and chair were open and voluptuous, in stark contrast to the very guarded woman who’d chosen the pattern and who now took a seat across from me.
‘My husband’s killer is dead,’ she declared, ‘so I don’t really see what you’re doin’ here stealin’ my garbage.’
‘There was a second man, Ellen, if you remember; a second assassin.’
‘And you’re lookin’ for him in my trash?’
‘I look for him everywhere, hoping to find him somewhere.’
‘Spare me, please.’ When I didn’t respond, Ellen crossed her legs and leaned away from me. ‘Fine, let’s get it over with. What do you want?’
‘We were wondering,’ I said, ‘if you’ve recovered any stray memories in the last week.’ I watched her light a cigarette with a disposable lighter. As she drew the smoke down into her lungs, her eyes closed and I got the distinct feeling that she didn’t want to open them. ‘Something Davy might have said when you visited, or wrote in his letters.’
‘As a matter of fact, I have. Davy told me that he worked in the prison shrink’s office. He told me the shrink was crazy, that he was completely unreliable.’
Credit where credit is due. When I’d asked her about Nagy in our last interview, she’d denied all knowledge of his existence. Now she’d covered her ass.
‘Was that something Davy said to you?’
‘It was in his letters.’
‘Anything else you can remember?’
The window behind Ellen was raised a few inches and a pair of red curtains fluttered in the draft, reaching to within a foot of her close-cropped hair. ‘Why do you keep asking me these questions about Davy? If I remember right, he was the victim.’
The fact that she didn’t claim victimhood for herself was encouraging. Not that I intended to respond to her questions. The subject never controls the interview.
‘Do you remember I asked you about Tony Szarek last time I was here? The man they called the Broom?’
‘Vaguely.’
‘Well, you told me that you recognized the name, but that you’d never met him. I wonder if you want to reconsider that statement, if maybe some new memory has surfaced.’
Ellen Lodge’s eyes flicked over to Adele. ‘This ain’t right,’ she said.
If Ellen was looking for help from Adele, she’d come to the wrong source. Adele’s gaze was absolutely ferocious, the gaze of someone who’s been hit in the face with a bat and holds the individual before her responsible.
‘I asked you a simple question, Ellen,’ I said. ‘You can always refuse to answer.’
‘Alright, I could’ve run into him once or twice at Christmas parties in the precinct. Or at some other party. But I didn’t actually know him.’
‘Have you been in contact with him since he retired?’
‘Do I need a lawyer here?’
‘What you need to do is
answer the very simple question I asked you.’
‘I think I need a lawyer.’
I shook my head. Legal representation was not a place to which we could return over and over again.
‘Face it, Ellen, this isn’t Law and Order and you’re not getting an attorney. And we’re not leaving, either, not until we get some answers.’ I kept my tone as non-confrontational as I could, allowing the words to speak for themselves. ‘You were married to David Lodge, so you already know how it works. We’re here to stay.
THIRTY
Ellen Lodge’s eyes dropped to her hands and her shoulders slumped. For a moment I thought she was going to cave in, right then and there. I looked over at Adele, who gave me a surreptitious thumb’s-up.
‘You haven’t even read me my rights,’ Ellen finally announced without raising her head. ‘Not even that.’
But I wasn’t biting. ‘Why don’t we back up, Ellen, and not waste our breath. I asked you a simple question. Have you been in contact with Tony Szarek since he retired?’
As Ellen Lodge might have walked off earlier, she might have chosen, at that moment, to keep her mouth shut. I certainly wasn’t prepared to force her to speak, despite my earlier refusal to leave, and I’m sure she knew it. But Ellen was a woefully inexperienced villain in a very tight spot. What did I know? What facts had I uncovered? How deep was the hole in which she now stood? She just had to find out.
‘Why don’t we skip the bullshit?’ she suggested, finally raising her head to meet my eyes. ‘Why don’t we get to the bottom line?’
‘Why won’t you answer the question I asked? Have you had any contact with Tony Szarek since he retired? It’s so simple. All you have to say is yes or no.’
‘Yes, then.’ Having made the initial admission, Ellen couldn’t slow her momentum, offering an explanation I hadn’t requested. ‘I just thought that it didn’t really matter. I mean, it’s not like we were friends. And Tony was dead, for God’s sake. He couldn’t have had anything to do with Davy’s…’ Though her lips continued to move, Ellen was unable to say the last word. Another good sign.
‘Then you knew Szarek was dead?’
‘Yeah, I knew.’
‘Did you also know that he was murdered?’
‘I still don’t know that he was murdered.’
‘Oh, he was murdered alright.’ I placed my finger against my temple. ‘When you shoot yourself from this position, two things happen. First, you get blood on your hand and wrist. This is called blowback. Second, the hand holding the gun becomes contaminated with the residue of the exploding primer and the gunpowder. Neither of these things happened to Szarek’s hand. That means he didn’t fire the gun himself.’
‘The medical examiner called it suicide,’ she insisted.
‘You’re clinging to a straw. The ME’s finding of probable suicide was preliminary. Now that the lab reports are in, the case has been officially reopened.’
I watched Ellen react to the lies, her right knee taking a series of little hops before she brought herself under control. Momentarily, I considered firing off the best shots in my arsenal. But it was still too early and I told her the story of DuWayne Spott instead, recounting the portrait drawn by my witnesses of a hapless addict clinging to the fringes of the criminal underworld. When I finished, I asked Ellen a series of questions.
‘How do you think DuWayne Spott found out when Davy was being released from prison? How do you think he found out where Davy was going to stay? How do you think he found out when Davy was going to leave your house that morning?’
Though I paused between each question, Ellen didn’t reply. Finally I asked, ‘Can you see how thin it is? I’m talking about the whole business, Ellen. It can’t hold up.’
‘Is there a question here?’
In fact, there was, but as it was purely rhetorical, I simply continued on. ‘That’s three murders, Ellen. Tony Szarek, DuWayne Spott, David Lodge. And then there’s that phone call you made just as Davy walked out the door. You said it went to a wrong number, that you were calling a friend. Who was the friend? What number did you intend to dial?’
‘I don’t even remember any more. That was weeks ago.’
‘Is that what you’re prepared to tell a jury? “I dialed the wrong number. I don’t remember the number I meant to dial”?’ I shook my head. ‘One thing you might want to consider. Any lie told to the police can be used against you. That you didn’t know Tony Szarek, for example. Or that you were kicked out of the great cop family. Strange, isn’t it, that you’re now sharing a financial bed with Justin Whitlock and Dante Russo? And how about your insistence that Davy told you that he’d been targeted by Clarence Spott’s crew, but somehow never spoke of his innocence? I’ve met the prison psychiatrist, by the way. I assure you that he’ll make an excellent witness when the time comes.’
But the time hadn’t come, a fact of life driven home when the doorbell rang downstairs. Ellen Lodge slid forward, preparing to rise. I reached out to stop her.
‘That’s my sister,’ she announced. ‘We’re havin’ dinner together.’
I’d been startled by the bell and was still a bit disoriented, even though I’d told myself, going in, that I wouldn’t get the hours I needed to break Ellen Lodge, not on the first go-round. Nevertheless, the timing was all wrong. I wanted Ellen utterly vulnerable, a prey animal exhausted by the chase, but I knew she was feeling almost giddy. The weight was off. She’d escaped. No matter that the points I’d raised still hung above her head, sharp as daggers. For now, for this minute, she’d triumphed.
‘Detective Bentibi,’ I said, ‘would you let Ellen’s sister know that Ellen will be momentarily delayed?’
The bell rang for a second time, a steady clang that reminded me of the fire bell at PS 34 where I’d spent six miserable years. Adele rose without a word and left the room, the sound of her steps quickly fading as she negotiated the stairs.
‘Am I under arrest?’ Ellen finally asked.
‘That’s a little too dramatic, don’t you think? I just have one more question, anyway. A question and a suggestion.’
‘And which comes first?’
‘The question.’
‘Fire away.’
‘How could you have been stupid enough to allow yourself to become an officer at Greenpoint Carton Supply? I mean, first you have Dante Russo, who was Davy’s partner when Clarence Spott was killed. Then you have Justin Whitlock, who gave Dante an alibi. Then you have Tony Szarek, who put Davy alone with the prisoner. All of them involved in Greenpoint Carton? It makes sense, in a way. But you? Ellen Lodge? What the fuck are you doing there?’
I wasn’t surprised when Ellen Lodge winced. Nor was I surprised when she recovered. Under ideal circumstances, she might have broken down at that point. By connecting her finances to the very people her husband blamed for his imprisonment, I’d saddled her with a motive for his murder.
‘And what’s the advice?’ she asked after a minute. ‘Make a full confession?’
‘My advice is to start looking out for yourself before it’s too late. In order to do that, you need to accept your vulnerability. I know Dante told you it was all over, that the case was closed. But that’s not what’s happening. No more than Tony Szarek’s death is going down as a suicide.’
‘That’s it?’
‘No, I want you to realize that you’re in danger, that another murder doesn’t mean anything at this point, that you’re the weakest link in the chain, that you can’t protect yourself.’
‘And the cops will protect me?’ She waved off my confirming nod. ‘Protect me in return for exactly what, detective? For a full confession? Well, excuse me if I point out that we’re goin’ around in circles.’
The breeze suddenly died out and the curtains dropped into place before the window. Ellen was running a finger over the raised edges of a small embroidered rose on the arm of her chair. Though she refused to look at me, I could feel the anger and resentment building again. I had maybe ten second
s before the dam burst.
‘It all depends on how it happened,’ I explained. ‘If you didn’t know Davy was gonna be clipped when you made that phone call, if maybe you thought he was just gonna be spoken to, then you’re a double victim. You lost your husband and you were set up to take the heat for his murder. Hell, you might even escape prosecution altogether.’
Ellen shot to her feet and pushed past me. I let her go, satisfied that I’d done the best I could under difficult circumstances. I was still congratulating myself when she marched back across the room, stopping two feet away from my chest. Ellen was a small woman and she had to crane her head back to glare up at me. She wasn’t intimidated, though. She was pissed.
‘Tell me something, detective. You know what Davy was like on the street. You’ve listened to all the stories. So, do you think David Lodge kept his hands to himself when he came home at night?’ She pointed at a small, crescent-shaped scar partially concealed by the hair covering her right temple. ‘I got scars from Davy. I got a shoulder that dislocates once a month. I got fractured ribs. And don’t tell me I should’ve walked out, not unless you know what the barrel of a gun tastes like.’ She grinned, a parting of her lips not far removed from a snarl. ‘Do you know what gun metal tastes like? Do you? It’s sour, detective, and it makes your fillings tingle.’
By this time, she was jabbing me with her finger. I didn’t protest. The interview was over and I knew the effort would cost her in the long run. Besides, I wasn’t the good guy here. By targeting Ellen Lodge, I was definitely putting her life at risk.
‘I was seventeen when I met Davy. He was twenty-three and already a cop. I felt so safe in his arms, like nothing bad could ever happen to me. Stupid, right? We weren’t even married a year before he started hitting the bottle and hitting me, too. Answer me this, detective, what’s the penalty for enslavement? What’s the penalty for taking someone’s whole life away from them? Wasn’t I entitled to the same dreams as anybody else?’
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