Brooklyn Blue: A Madison Knox Mystery (Book 1)

by M. Z. Kelly

  “I think it’s the girl,” Amy said. “She’s fighting with him.”

  As she said the words, Dunning’s car smashed into the guardrail at a high rate of speed, flipped over several times, and went down an embankment.

  “I’m calling for an ambulance,” Max said, as Amy slammed on her brakes and turned the car, stopping traffic and blocking the highway.

  Moments later, we all scrambled down the small hill where the car had landed, upside down. The engine was smoking as we made our way over to the rear window.

  “Maria, are you okay?” I screamed.

  I realized the window was rolled up. I found a rock and smashed it, shattering it into pieces. I reached in and, with Amy’s help, managed to grab Maria by the arm. Her body was limp and she was covered with blood as we pulled her toward us. A bloody arm then came out of nowhere, grabbing ahold of my arm as I helped her. I realized it was the Professor.

  “Help me!” he screamed. “Pleeease!”

  I managed to break free of his grip. “Go to hell!” I yelled.

  “It’s gonna blow,” Max said from behind us as we managed to pull Maria through the broken window. No sooner than we had gotten her free from the car, the engine burst into flames. We heard screams as the fire spread toward the interior of the car.

  Max stood next to me as Amy tended to Maria, who was now moaning and regaining consciousness. “What do you suppose we should do?”

  I looked at her, then back at the Professor. In the distance we heard sirens as the emergency personnel responded. The trapped monster was screaming louder now, his body engulfed in flames. “I say we let justice take its natural course.”

  ***

  Max and I let Amy and Sam explain what happened to the responding officers while we slipped quietly away from the scene. Before we left, Maria Ramirez had regained consciousness and appeared to have suffered only minor injuries. Amy had called Maria’s mother, who was planning to meet her at the hospital.

  Professor Osgood Dunning hadn’t been so lucky. He’d burned alive in the wreckage; an ending that was, in my opinion, far too swift and less painful than the fate he deserved. I had no doubt that, once the investigators looked deeper into things, they’d probably realize that he’d abducted, tortured, and murdered dozens of children over the years.

  After Amy and Sam gave their statements to the police, Max and I met with them at Homer’s Bar, an establishment that Amy and I had frequented more times than we could count. The neighborhood bar was owned by Homer and Gladys Bucky, a couple in their late sixties who had opened the establishment shortly after Homer was discharged from the army after serving a tour in Vietnam.

  “Drinks are on the house,” Homer said, coming over to us after hearing about our success in saving Maria. Our bartender was bald and stout, with a Fu Manchu moustache. He had a tray of beers, wines, and a couple cocktails, knowing that Amy and I had eclectic tastes when it came to alcohol.

  “There’s more where that came from,” Gladys said, stopping by. Homer’s wife had been a beauty queen back in the ‘60s. She still had a slender figure, pretty features, and short silver hair. “A night like this only comes along once in a blue moon.”

  We accepted the drinks and secretly made plans to leave the couple a big tip. After processing the evening’s events, and everyone making a point of thanking Sam for helping out, the conversation eventually turned to Billy Cornelius. Since Sam had been instrumental in helping us save Maria, we saw no reason not to include him in our conversation.

  After giving him an update on everything, I said, “According to Dr. Cleo Cornelius, Billy’s brother, he and Suzanne Angelo are just friends. She apparently went to school with his wife.”

  “Friends with benefits, if you ask me,” Max said, after draining half of her second beer.

  “Their secret meetings did look awfully chummy,” Amy agreed. “The doctor’s a handsome man, and Bobby Angelo’s wife is a looker.”

  “What did Cornelius say about their meetings?” Sam asked.

  “According to Dr. C, Suzanne is concerned because her husband is getting deeper into some bad stuff, including being on the fringes of the sex trade, and some pretty heavy drug dealing. Billy and his cousin Asia were skimming proceeds from his numbers racket, and she ended up paying the price. Suzanne told him that Bobby knows Billy was also involved and has put a price on his head.”

  “If that’s the case, it means that either Billy’s dead or deep underground,” Sam said.

  “Bobby also knows about his wife’s secret meetings at their apartment. Dr. C said she’s been meeting different men there to meet her physical needs.”

  “You ask me, Dr. C is still the key to all this,” Amy said. “I don’t trust the guy.”

  Sam hoisted his beer, set the glass down. “I don’t know the players, but, based on what I’ve heard, I agree. Let me do a little snooping on the doctor. Maybe there’s a skeleton or two in his closet.” He tossed two twenties on the table, motioned to Homer and Gladys. “For the lovely couple. I’ve got to shove off.” His blue eyes met me. “I’ll be in touch.”

  After he was gone, Amy said to me, “I like your new boyfriend.”

  “He’s got game,” Max concurred.

  “We just met, and he’s not my boyfriend,” I said. “We haven’t even had a date.”

  They exchanged glances. Amy said, “I think God’s planning to send in a relief pitcher for you, and he’s warming up in the bullpen.”

  Max chuckled and agreed. “And I got a feeling Sam the Man’s got some nasty stuff.” She looked at me. “Lucky you.”

  FIFTY-TWO

  Max and I got to work a couple minutes late the next morning because of too much celebrating at Homer’s. We didn’t leave the place until after midnight because Amy insisted on challenging one of the patrons to something called “Shoot or Scoot”. The game was a last man standing version of Truth or Dare, to determine who could hold their liquor. Amy won, but had to be carried to our car and put to bed.

  As luck would have it, Lieutenant Dennert was also running late, so Max and I trudged into the breakroom, where we poured ourselves a cup of something that resembled coffee, and sagged into a couple chairs across from Lenny Stearns and Laverne Piper.

  “You two look like you were rode hard and put away wet,” Lenny said, laughing at our obvious distress.

  Laverne added her two cents. “I’d say they look more like they were run over and should be put in a box in that cemetery where they live.”

  Her comment brought a round of guffaws from Carmine O’Brien and Penny Kurtz, who were nearby.

  Max levelled her dark eyes on Lenny and Laverne. “Keep it up, and we’ll see who ends up in a box. You two look like a couple of zombies on parade on your best day.”

  “Hey, my friend doesn’t have to put up with your rude comments,” Penny said, coming over to the table. “I’m tired of you two acting you’re the Queen Bees around here.”

  I was in no mood for her nonsense. “Keep it up, and we’ll cancel your gym membership and break your sunlamp.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “They’re just jealous,” Carmine said, from the far end of the table. “These two are outclassed and they know it.”

  “You would be the world’s foremost expert on class distinctions,” Frank Woodson said to him, putting his paper down. He was leaning up against a nearby counter and added, “Since there’s never been a class of species lower than you on the evolutionary scale.”

  Carmine was immediately on his feet, challenging Woody to take their discussion outside.

  “Let’s wait until Saturday morning,” Woody said, with his customary poker face.

  “Why is that?” Carmine demanded.

  “The annual dwarf-tossing contest is scheduled for then, and I’ve got a lot of money riding on you.”

  As it turned out, Carmine was saved from being tossed through the air by the lieutenant, who poked his nose into the breakroom and told everyone t
he party was over. We spent the rest of the morning listening to a lecture on report writing, before we were told we would spend another afternoon at Rodman’s Neck doing tactical field exercises.

  After taking something for our hangovers, Max and I managed to make it through the afternoon exercises without being shot in the back by Carmine and his buddies. We were wrapping things up for the day when Woody stopped by.

  “Nice work with the Breakfast Club this morning,” Max said. “You ever decide to toss Carmine for real, I’m there.”

  “Emotional torment, especially when prolonged, is far worse than physical punishment,” Woody said, with a straight face. “But I’ll keep it in mind.”

  As he spoke, it occurred to me that Woody had a lot of street experience, maybe more than all of us combined. I decided to ask him what he knew about Bobby Angelo.

  “A common street thug going back a couple of decades,” Woody deadpanned. “He’s managed to make a small fortune through longevity and a diversified portfolio of illegal activities, but, like all good things, his days are numbered.”

  “Why is that?” Max asked.

  “Competition.”

  “You mean people are moving in, taking over his territory?”

  “They’ve already moved in. Now it’s just a matter of closing the deal.”

  I glanced at Max, my brows inching together, then looked back at him. “Can you explain what you mean?”

  “Bobby Angelo is living with a blonde boa constrictor. She’s thirty years younger than him and is squeezing what little life is left out of the rotten tomato.”

  “Are you talking about his wife?”

  “Suzanne Angelo is the serpent in Bobby Angelo’s garden.”

  FIFTY-THREE

  When Max and I got home, we found Amy still in per pajamas, in recovery mode from last night’s Shoot or Scoot drinking contest. She had a bag of ice on her head and moaned, “I’m never going to drink again. Why didn’t you guys stop me?”

  “In case you ain’t noticed, we ain’t your mamas,” Max said.

  “I did my best,” I added, “but you were having none of it.”

  “We got us some news ‘bout Suzanne Angelo and Dr. C, if you wanna hear it,” Max said.

  Amy moaned her way over to the kitchen table, where we all took seats. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  Max and I took some time, filling her in on what Woody had told us. I then said, “According to Woody, Suzanne is maneuvering to take over the business.”

  “That puts a new spin on what Dr. C told us,” Max said. “I think we need to have another conversation with him.”

  Amy massaged her brow, thinking about what we’d told her. “I think Dr. C is a big liar, but there’s somebody else we need to talk to.”

  “Who is that?” I asked.

  “The doctor’s wife.”

  ***

  After medicating Amy and getting her dressed, we all made our way to Midtown, where the two doctors lived in an upscale development called The Promenade. We learned from the doorman that Dr. Cornelius and his wife lived in a unit just below the penthouse suite.

  “Dr. Cornelius is working this evening,” the doorman, an elderly black man whose name was Ray, told us.

  “Is that the mister doctor or the missus?” Max asked.

  Ray smiled. “Might I ask what this is about?”

  Max showed him her badge. “You could, but I couldn’t tell you.”

  His brows went up, and he nodded. “I see. In answer to your question, it’s the mister doctor who is out.”

  “Perfect,” Amy said, massaging her forehead. “Call Mrs. C and tell her we need to see her for a couple minutes.”

  The doorman did as instructed.

  “What we gonna do if Christine won’t see us?” Max asked.

  We knew from the Internet that Cleo Cornelius was married to Christine Catherine Cornelius. She was the daughter of Harvard trained psychologists, and did her internship at the same university. She was an expert in the field of contraception and infertility.

  “That’s not an option,” Amy said, still working on her forehead. She looked at me. “Remind me to look the good doctor up if I ever lose my mind and wanna get preggers. Maybe she’s also got a cure for hangovers.”

  It took a couple tries, but Ray finally got Dr. Christine Cornelius to answer her intercom. Covering the mouthpiece on the phone, he said, “She wants to know what this is about.”

  “Tell her it’s about her brother-in-law,” I said.

  Ray relayed what I’d said and then told us, “She would like some more details.”

  I looked at my friends, back at the doorman. “Tell her Billy has been using drugs and might have gotten himself into some trouble for some debts he owes.”

  Ray repeated what I’d said, then ended the call. “I think you’ve made her curious. You can go on up.”

  Christine Cornelius was a tall woman, with a thin, serious face, and an aquiline nose. She was attractive, in a studious way, and seemed genuinely interested in what we had to say. The three of us took turns, going over my initial encounter with her husband, and him hiring Amy and me to find his brother.

  “We found out Billy was working with his cousin Asia,” I said. “From what we understand, she was skimming the proceeds from Bobby Angelo’s numbers running racket and paid the price. Your husband thinks Bobby could also have a contract out on his brother.”

  “He really told you that?” Christine said. Before I could answer, she added,

  “If you believe any of that nonsense, I’ve got some swamp land to sell you.”

  “Tell us what’s been going on,” Amy said, still massaging her brow.

  “My husband and Suzanne Angelo have been involved for the past year. If he’s trying to find his brother, it means Billy knows something, and he and Suzanne probably want him dead.”

  “Your husband said that you and Suzanne went to school together, and they’re just friends.”

  She laughed. “Well, half that’s true. Suzanne and I were roommates in college, before my best friend decided to hook up with my husband.”

  “That’s a familiar story,” Max said.

  “Any idea where your husband is tonight?” Amy asked.

  She shrugged. “Probably with Suzanne, planning how to get rid of both Bobby and Billy.”

  “Why do you think your husband would hire us to find his brother?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Probably because he and Suzanne were getting nowhere on their own and they’re afraid of what he knows.”

  “We’ve heard through the grapevine that Suzanne wants to take over Bobby’s drug empire,” Max said.

  Christine nodded. “Along with my husband. If you ask me, Asia, and maybe Billy, found out what was going on. When Asia threatened to tell Bobby, she became expendable.”

  We went on for a few minutes longer, discussing Christine’s husband and her former best friend’s involvement in several illegal schemes. I then mentioned Bobby Angelo’s ties to the sex trade. Her expression changed, becoming deadly serious. “If they’re involved in what you say, we’ve got to stop them. I don’t care what it costs me personally or professionally.”

  “What about Billy?” I said. “I think he’s the key to bringing them both down. Can you think of any place he might be hiding out?”

  She paced around the room for a couple minutes, throwing out possibilities, then dismissing them. When she finally turned back to us, her features brightened. “My family has a cottage that’s hardly ever used. It’s at the seashore, near Lattingtown. Billy went there with Cleo and me several years ago. It just might be the perfect place for him to hide out from the world.”

  We got the address and directions to the cabin. Before we left, Christine went over and got a stack of papers from a drawer. She handed them to me. “If you see Cleo, give him these.”

  “What are they?”

  “Divorce papers.”

  I put the paperwork in my purse. As we were leaving, A
my turned back to her. “I overindulged a bit last night. You have any cures for a hangover?”

  Christine smiled. “I do have a cure, but it’s a little unusual.”

  “I’m desperate. Let’s hear it.”

  “Take one cup of water, add some mustard and juniper berries, then toss a pickled herring in a blender. Drink it down in one gulp and you’re cured.”

  FIFTY-FOUR

  “I must be out of my ever-loving mind,” Amy moaned.

  My best friend had spent a half hour in the bathroom after trying Dr. Christine Cornelius’s hangover cure. Max and I had almost given up on her, deciding the cure might be permanent.

  “How you feeling?” Max asked.

  “Like I swallowed my intestines, then ate my ass for dessert” Amy said. “I’m never gonna be the same.”

  “But you look better,” I said, trying to sound encouraging.

  “Yeah,” she moaned. “I probably look like a disemboweled zombie.”

  We went on for a few minutes, sympathizing with her, before deciding on a course of action.

  “I think we should all take tomorrow off and head to Lattingtown, try and find Billy,” I said.

  Amy moaned. “Did you ever think that even if we do find Billy, his brother has been trying to kill him, and our payday is history?”

  “There’s still the matter of the drug dealing and sex trade,” I said. “This is about doing the right thing.”

  She moaned again. “You’re right. I’m not in my right mind. Let’s leave first thing in the morning.” She stood and wobbled. “If I’m still alive.”

  ***

  Amy survived her hangover cure—barely. We finally managed to get her out of bed around nine and made the one-hour drive to the village of Lattingtown in Nassau County. We found the cabin owned by Dr. Christine Cornelius’s family overlooking the bay.

  Max was driving and pulled to the shoulder, down the street from the small house. “There’s smoke coming from the chimney, so somebody’s home.”

  “It’s got to be Billy,” I said, glancing up and down the road. “The place looks deserted, otherwise.”