by S. W. Frank
He worked it through. The enemies he knew of were street punks and cowards. They’d do a drive-by then hide. No, they weren’t homicidal maniacs. Whoever this Freddie guy worked for, whatever he was doing now was strictly for sport. He was angered, letting Alfonzo know their fight wasn’t over until one or both were dead!
Alfonzo frowned. Selange could not stay here. She had become his responsibility. There was a crazed killer on the loose and unless he was caught he was certain to kill again. “Detective Johnson is going to do everything to find Shanda.” He reassured her. He thought, and so will I.
Sirens stopped.
They embraced.
Strobe lights collected at the driveway sending colorful lights dancing in the night.
They walked together to the door to allow the police entry.
Cops streamed in.
Questions.
Alfonzo pointed toward the kitchen.
More officers began canvassing the house.
Yet, another crime scene.
FBI agents interrogated Alfonzo concerning organized crime and a Luzo Palazzo.
NYPD Detectives questioned Selange about a man named Freddie.
More questions.
No answers.
More interrogation.
No answers.
The stern faces held little empathy for the young couple and endless questions…questions…questions. Alfonzo told them all to back-off when they’re questions became repetitive. The memories flooded back. He saw Uncle Al’s bloody face and blinked the image away. He turned to the young woman at his side who held her head high, faced him and whispered, “I’m thankful you came home with me.”
He sensed her newfound strength. Together they were strong. This time they had each other.
CHAPTER TWENTY—FOUR
Seven a.m. roll call was underway when Carey entered the stationhouse.
She marched straight to the Lieutenant’s office. He looked up then waved her to an empty chair.
“Sir, we followed the Serano brothers to Sloan-Kettering Hospital.”
“They’re getting medical treatment?”
She rolled her eyes at the corny attempt at a joke. “Luzo Palazzo the billionaire developer was admitted a week ago for cancer treatment.”
“And?”
“And after some research I learned Maria Diaz once worked for Luzo.”
He removed his reading glasses and placed them carefully on the desk, “I’m listening.”
“Maria Diaz had a son seven months after returning from Palermo.”
“And?”
Carey leaned forward toward the desk, “The birth certificate lists the father as unknown.”
The Lieutenant rubbed his eyes, “I have work to do Winoski, get to the point.”
“The point is, Alfonzo Diaz has his uncle’s name. It’s possible the mob wanted the younger Diaz dead but screwed!”
“What proof do you have?” He sighed, “So far you only got a theory, nothing concrete.”
“Let’s bug the Diaz home, that’ll give us something.”
“Good-bye Winoski.” He waved with his hand then returned the eyeglasses to his face.
“Sir, we need to get a court order. If the Serano brothers return to the house maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“Judges aren’t interested in unsubstantiated theories.” He folded his hands patiently, “Here’s your play-by-play, Winoski. You go to a judge and tell him you want to place a recording device in a woman’s home who has no criminal background. The reason you want this is due to an alleged connection to a man suspected of having mob affiliations. You believe the woman whose house you want surveilled had a baby by a mobster, who by the way hasn’t been convicted of any crimes and because she was visited by hitmen, who by the way have never been convicted of any crimes. Winoski, do you hear how circumstantial it’s beginning to sound?”
“Yeah, but come on. It’s worth a try.”
He sighed, “The judge’ll toss your ass out!”
Carey stood, “Thanks for nothing!”
“Anytime Winoski, anytime.”
Carey slammed the door. Hanlon was a sarcastic asshole, in this instance, he was right. She needed evidence!
Her cell rang, “Winoski.”
“Did you get my message last night?” Marchese asked.
“No.”
“Check your damn text messages.” He said then hung-up.
Carey checked her messages. Sure enough Marchese left a text message that read: Confimed AD is son of LP.
She clapped, “I knew it.”
Another text message: DT Johnson’s daughter is missing. Boyfriend dead. A.D. discovered body in LI.
“What?” She exclaimed then phoned Marchese, her theory was a fact.
***
Detective Marchese sped east on the Long Island Expressway in the Charger once he received a call from his buddy, Detective Johnson early this morning. Apparently his daughter may have been kidnapped and her boyfriend murdered. He headed out to Nassau County to assist in the investigation. He and Carl Johnson went through the Police Academy together and worked out of the same precinct until Marchese transferred out of the Seven-five to Harlem.
They were both workaholics in those days but when Carl married and settled down with his family they saw less of each other speaking occasionally on the phone or whenever their cases brought them to the other’s borough. Marchese learned about the double homicides in Brooklyn through Carl. One of the victims lived in the vicinity of his precinct and he got L.T. to allow him and his partner to assist in the case. They had a load of unsolved homicides and L.T. wasn’t thrilled about using manpower to help solve a Brooklyn homicide until Marchese notified him one of the detectives on the case knew the victim personally. One thing about the men and women in blue is they ban together. L.T. relented and warned, “Don’t forget those other cases and keep me updated. If it gets cold, I want you and Winoski to give it back to the Seven-five.”
Well, the case and leads were far from cold. In fact, Winoski somehow got an informant to add a name to the mysterious perp and a location. Freddie and he lived uptown. Another big development he had an identifiable tattoo. They checked out the elusive Freddie’s place. It was cleaned out except for what they were able to salvage from the trash. Found in the garbage were shredded, soiled documents which they were able to piece together. Darlene’s address along with initial’s E.G.
A series of random numbers scribbled on a paper were also found. He shared this information with Carl, but omitted Carey’s theory about a mob hit. They just didn’t have proof. Their only link was Alfonzo Diaz. He was related to one of the victim’s in the Brooklyn murders and had the same name as the deceased. Not too long ago he was attacked and left for dead. Winoski’s theory was beginning to sound more plausible. These were no coincidences; all the murders had one thing in common, Alfonzo.
Nassau County police vehicles were visible when Marchese arrived.
The wealthy community consisted of homes hidden off the main road, surrounded by landscaped gardens and expansive homes. Marchese would never be able to afford such extravagance on his modest salary.
He flashed a NYPD badge at the officer on post and entered the house. Detective Johnson stood in the living room talking to three men in suits.
Carl turned when Marchese approached, “Thanks for coming Anthony…I need you to look over the scene, you have a knack for interpreting things.”
“No problem Carl.”
Detective Johnson introduced the men. “This is Lieutenant Garret from the Nassau County Police, FBI agents Mark Townsend and Tyler Sinesi.”
The men shook hands politely as they sized-up each other. The FBI usually handled kidnappings but Marchese had a gut feeling they were here for more covert reasons. Detective Johnson excused himself and motioned for Marchese to follow. He showed him the corpse. The crime scene was still fresh and forensic specialists were looking around the house.
“Where’s the kid?” Marches
e asked.
“He’s in the dining room.”
They were in the wide garage, with the car door open. A sheet covered a body on the backseat and Marchese enviously checked out the sleek Mercedes. It was a decadently expensive car and he wondered who owned it? “What’s the story so far?” He asked Detective Johnson as he slid away the sheet to inspect the victim. He stared at a male black in his early twenties with a possible gunshot wound to the back of the head. No, a definite gunshot wound to the occipital. High velocity weapons often left severe damage on point of impact or exit. Other factors to consider were distance, size of the weapon and whether the target was stationary or transitory.
“Do me a favor and hand me some gloves, Carl.”
Detective Johnson removed a pair of gloves from the box in the kitchen and returned. “Here you go.”
Marchese lifted the victim’s head. The forehead was slightly mangled and covered in blood. Upon further inspection he found the entrance of what of the bullet. “Any casings found?”
“No.” Too bad Marchese thought. It might have settled whether this was the same killer from the Brooklyn homicides. He lay the victim’s head gently in the same position and swiveled his head from floor to ceiling searching for bullet holes. Nothing. More than likely the victim was shot elsewhere in the house. He walked around the car and followed the blood droppings only to retrace his steps back to the kitchen.
Detective Johnson stayed a safe distance. “You find something?” He asked finally.
Marchese examined the garbage before stopping at the kitchen sink.
He listened. Straining to hear above the sound of police radios and voices. Drip…drip…drip! He opened the cabinet beneath the sink. Water leaked from the drain pipe into a bucket. A house like this wouldn’t have a leak and the owner not get it fixed immediately. He stood again, removed the rubber mat covering the drain and peered in the sink. Either the spectacular home experienced plumbing problems or there were two punctures in the pipes. Marchese went under the sink again and examined the pipe, a puncture hole as suspected. He spun his head around in the cramped space calculating the trajectory. Bingo!
Something to give ballistics, tangible evidence. The victim was killed here. He dug his fingers down the splintered wood base of the enclosure and touched a spent shell. Holding it carefully he rose to his feet and showed Carl. “Forty-four.”
“Fucking A.” Carl growled, “The victims in Brooklyn were shot with a forty-four.” He slipped it in an evidence bag.
“There’s another hole, if we’re lucky there’s another bullet to take back to the borough. These Nassau guys, they get shit and don’t share, you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, go check before they start getting territorial.”
Marchese bent down again and unhooked the J-trap. Goddamn, he was right a second bullet. He extracted it from the wet pipe and shoved it in his pocket then reconnected the ring.
Carl smirked when Marchese nodded confirmation of the second find then shouted to the Nassau team, “You guys better dust the sink for fingerprints.” Up until Marchese’s arrival they’d uncovered a dead body and no other evidence. Atleast, now they had something tangible to go on.
They walked away from the sink when the Nassau team descended and strolled to the living room. Carl stated with arms folded, “Why kill this kid and take my daughter?” If Winoski’s theory proved accurate then Shanda was merely a pawn.
“I’d like to interview the kid, anybody else in the house?”
“My daughter lived here with her friend Selange. You remember I told you?”
“The one whose mom was killed in Brooklyn, right?”
“Same one.”
Detective Marchese found the news interesting. Pieces of a puzzle starting to fit. He pulled Carl to the side, “ You got a picture of your daughter handy?”
Carl removed a picture from his wallet, “I carry this always.”
Shanda smiled at him beneath a graduation cap. Eyes lively and full of promise. Marchese tucked the picture away, “I’ll return it as soon as I can, meanwhile I need to speak to those kids.”
“So do we!” The FBI agent Mark Townsend interjected from the doorway.
Marchese wondered how long he’d been eavesdropping. “Hey, who’s stopping you?” Marchese wise-cracked.
Detective Johnson calmed the tension, “ Look if they have anything to add we’ll tell you, right now I need to talk with my daughter’s friend.”
“No problem, but we want to interview them when you’re done.” Mark responded.
The young couple sat at the table engrossed in conversation. Their conversation ended abruptly when the detectives arrived. Marchese watched the Diaz kid closely. The soft blue eyes hid a dark side. His face was stone. Winoski said this kid was the piece in this puzzle. The young man was physically fit, taut, muscular with a smooth sun-tanned complexion. Overly handsome by all standards and angry. Sitting across from the young man, up close and personal he noted the confident erect posture, the square obstinate jawline and the eyes…an aquatic blue with speckles of silver light. It was as if her were staring at an archive picture of Luzo Palazzo. The resemblance was uncanny; the only difference was this youth looked more lethal.
He waited for Detective Johnson to speak first, “Selange this is Detective Marchese he wants to ask you a few questions.”
Marchese took out a pad, “ Describe what Shanda was wearing.”
Selange looked puzzled, “I’ve already given that information to the detectives.”
Alfonzo leaned casually back in his seat, cold eyes trained on the detective. He’d seen Detective outside his mom’s house last night. The cops had something but what?
“Just formality, please tell me again.”
Bullshit, he’s lying. What do you know? Alfonzo thought. The FBI mentioned someone named Luzo Palazzo. Was this man the person who hired this Freddie, if so why?
Selange described in detail what Shanda wore then pointed to her hair.
“Oh and she changed her hairstyle, she wore it loose, like mine.”
Alfonzo saw a glimmer in the detective’s eyes. Why did the mention of Shanda’s hairdo cause them to sparkle? Alfonzo inhaled, he understood. Connected the dots. The person who killed Jay abducted Shanda, however it was Selange he was after.
Marchese stopped writing and stroked the pen’s apex, “Anything unusual happen yesterday?”
“No.”
Marchese rose, “Well, thanks.”
He looked at the Diaz kid, “What about you, notice anything unusual?”
Alfonzo’s face remained stone, “Yeah, two cops outside my house.”
Marchese smirked, “We usually check on crime victims to ensure they’re alright especially when we haven’t apprehended a suspect.”
Carl seemed surprised.
“Well it’s nice to know you’re concerned about me.” Alfonzo quipped.
The detectives walked away and Carl said quietly to his buddy, “You going to tell me what that was about Anthony because we both know surveillance of a crime victim isn’t standard procedure, the kid know it, too.”
“I’ll fill you in later, right now I gotta’ do something.”
Carl moved aside, “We’ll talk soon.”
Outside the home Marchese called Carey as he hurried to is car, Hey, guess what?”
“You’re in Long Island, abduction and murder involving who else but the Diaz kid.”
“Are you clairvoyant? No, don’t answer that, I told you already but get this the girl Shanda; she changed her hairstyle. I’m thinking the killer believes he has Alfonzo’s girl.” He heard police radios and men talking, “You’re with Hanlon aren’t you?”
“Yep.”
“The feds are there, too, aren’t they?”
“Yep.”
“Can you meet me in one hour at Ray’s Deli?”
“That depends on whether you’re buying or not.”
Marchese chuckled, “My treat, anything else?”
She frowned at the Bureau Chief eyeing her breasts. Pig!
CHAPTER TWENTY—FIVE
Two days passed since Jay’s murder. The police and FBI were looking at every piece of evidence. So far no DNA match and the fingerprints found on the sink belonged to one person, Jay. The killer must have worn gloves. A professional killer usually did.
Meanwhile, Alfonzo did not allow Selange out of his sight. He surmised from Detective Marchese Selange may have been the intended victim. This disturbed him. Selange was safe at his crib. His place had a state-of the art alarm system by Triden Security. The place was practically impenetrable by an intruder. For precaution he upgraded his mom’s security and carried his registered 9mm.
Domingo visited and they went outside to talk. Domingo lit a joint unfazed by the undercover cops watching. “What’s poppin’, they find that girl yet?” Domingo asked between a drag.
“Nada,” Alfonzo lifted his chin in the air, “check-out the rent-a-cops!”
Domingo chuckled, “Yo, they protecting you.”
Alfonzo scowled, “Protecting who?” He turned toward Domingo, “On your way to the spot pay Antonia a visit.”
Domingo looked amused, “Why? What happened? She fuckin’ up your game?”
“I gave her thirty days to move.” He rolled his head like a fighter limbering-up, “she’s stressing me right now…I don‘t need the bullshit!”
Domingo flicked the clip toward the curb. “Yo, what you need me to do?”
“Take her ten G’s and tell her it’s now only 28 days.”
Domingo nodded, ‘Alfonzo the playa’. Antonia was only one of many females he discarded when a new woman came into his life. Lately, Alfonzo’s attention was focused on Selange and not business. Domingo saw Alfonzo cared about Selange, more than the others but kept this to himself.
A pretty chicana walking a Terrier approached. Domingo strained to check out her attributes as she passed, “Yo babe with the nice ass, what’s-up?”
She smiled, “Hola, Alfonzo.” She said ignoring Domingo.