“I’d never lie to you, Rosa.”
“Okay, thanks. I really appreciate it.”
“If you ever need to talk, call me. No matter what time it is.”
“Okay. Thanks again.”
***
I was up early, reading the paper when Rosa came down the stairs. She was whistling. She put coffee on and started cooking eggs. “You want toast, Dad?”
“What did you decide?”
“About what?”
“About what? You busted my ass about wanting to know my past, and I told you to think about it.”
“I decided I don’t want to know.” Rosa leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “Love you, Dad.”
“What about the kids at school? And the things they say?”
“I can handle them. I’m a Fusco.”
I could have died right then. That’s how proud she made me. I held back tears that wanted to come, and then got up and hugged her. “Yes, you are a Fusco. And I’m proud of you.”
Rosa left for school. The door hadn’t even closed yet when Angie came over. “That might have satisfied Rosa, but not me. I need to know what’s going on.”
“Nothing. I swear.”
“Nothing? Like when all of those people got killed last year when you happened to be ‘working’ Frankie’s case. Or nothing like when all those people in New York got killed?”
I breathed slowly, making sure my voice was steady. I could lie to the cops. Hell, I could lie to the pope, but I hated lying to Angie. “Nothing—plain and simple. Nothing.”
She stared at me for what must have been ten seconds. “All right. But I won’t go through this again. I won’t lose you now that we have a family.”
I hugged her. “You’ll never lose me, Angie. I promise.”
CHAPTER 17
Memories
Brooklyn, New York
The killer waited outside Debbie’s building. He knew what time she got off and he knew her routine. He followed her to the cleaners, watched her pick up her clothes. Then he followed her to the grocery store, keeping out of sight while she filled her cart with fruits and a few veggies. She went home afterward.
He stopped a block from her house. Sipping coffee, he walked down the street, careful to stay out of sight. Debbie waited for her lover, and when he arrived, they went up to her apartment. The doorman saw them. Maybe some neighbors, assuming they were attentive. The killer went to a diner and took his time eating, watching. When the lights went off in her apartment, he paid his tab and left the diner.
He circled the block, headed north and circled the next block, ending up on the back side of her building. The window on the bottom floor was still unlocked. He slid it open, climbed onto the sill, used a cloth to wipe his shoes, then slipped inside, careful not to disturb anything. Once inside, he made his way to the front door. He listened carefully, heard nothing, and let the door creak open. Then he moved quickly down the hall and into the stairwell. The elevator would be too risky.
The killer exited the stairwell on Debbie’s floor, moved quietly to her door, and listened. After thirty seconds of no sound he opened the door. As suspected, they were in the bedroom. A nylon stocking covered his head and face. Latex gloves on his hands. He tiptoed down the hall, stopped five feet short of the room, and listened to them make love.
Debbie moaned. The killer risked a peek. The guy’s head was between her legs. She was holding him there, her legs spread. Feelings stirred in his pants, a desire to join them, partake of the forbidden fruit…but he’d leave that for another time. Tonight was for a different purpose. He rubbed himself through his pants, not wanting to risk leaving evidence. He didn’t have long to wait. Soon she was moaning again.
Now.
The killer stepped quietly into the room. Mr. Lover was buried in her cunt. She was writhing. A shot to the back of the head took care of Mr. Lover. She opened her eyes and screamed. A shot to the head took care of her too. The killer wasted no time. He shot her once in the vagina, positioned Lover’s head back where it had been, shot him in the ass, then looked around.
After a moment of reflection, he began the tedious process of cleaning up, paying special attention to the bedroom. As messy as her apartment was, it took a long time. The bathroom was worse than filthy, and her toothbrush looked as if she scrubbed the toilet with it. When the killer finished, he checked the hallway, left the apartment, and exited the same way he entered. The police would have a lot to think about with this one.
CHAPTER 18
No Answer
Bruce called Debbie’s cell phone three times but got no answer. He called work and her assistant picked up. “Cindy, is Debbie in? This is Bruce.”
“I was getting ready to call you. She never showed. I’m concerned because she had a meeting, and she never misses meetings.”
“I already tried her cell.”
“I did too. And her home phone. No answer.”
“I’m going over there now,” Bruce said. “I’ll let you know.”
“All right. Be sure to call me.”
Bruce arrived at her apartment in twenty minutes. The doorman was outside, a smile on his round face.
“Jack, have you seen Debbie this morning?”
Jack seemed to give the question thought then shook his head. “Not this morning, Mr. Stewart. Have you called her?”
“Three times. Something must be wrong.” Bruce looked at his watch, then a few seconds later he looked again. “I’m going up,” he said. “She never misses work.”
Jack looked around, nervous. “I’m supposed to stay here. I…”
“No need for you to come up. I’ve got keys.”
Jack asked one of the tenants exiting the building. “Can you watch the door for a few minutes? I have to check on something.”
After the man agreed, Jack grabbed Bruce’s arm. “All right, let’s go.”
They exited the elevator and walked quickly to her apartment. Bruce knocked hard on Debbie’s door. Several times. “I’m opening it,” he said, and took out his key. He turned the bottom lock, twisted the handle, and went in. “Odd. She didn’t have the deadbolt on.”
As soon as he stepped inside he stopped. “Something’s wrong.” He headed toward the bedroom. “Debbie, are you here?”
Jack followed.
When Bruce reached the bedroom he pushed the door open and froze. “Jesus Christ! Oh my God.” He started for the bed, but Jack shouted.
“Don’t, Mr. Stewart! Wait for the police.”
Bruce stopped, staring at the two bodies. He put his hands to his face and cried.
Jack took him by the arm and led him out. Bruce plopped on the floor, leaning against the wall. “Call the police. I’ll wait here for them.”
“Don’t go back in there, Mr. Stewart. I’ll get a relief and come back.”
***
Frankie grabbed his favorite pair of Moreschi shoes, his favorite Zegna pants and a shirt to match. He wanted to look good for Alex; besides, he figured he better enjoy the nice clothes while it lasted. With Alex around, he wouldn’t be able to afford the good stuff much longer. Damn shame about that. Of course he could always start taking bribes.
“Hey, Ace, you almost ready?”
“Been ready, FD. Just waitin’ on you.”
Frankie came out a minute later. “Let’s go.”
“You look like you’re going on a date.”
“I’m taking my best buddy to school. What’s more important?”
“This the school we looked at the other day?”
Frankie heard the hesitation in his voice. “St. Edwards, yeah. You okay with that?”
Alex shrugged. “Sure. Guess so.”
Frankie knelt next to him. “How about telling me what ‘guess so’ is all about. What’s bothering you?”
Alex looked at Frankie as if he were from Mars. “New school, FD. That’s what’s bothering me. The new kid gets his ass kicked, gets made fun of, everything.”
“I know it’s tou
gh. I can’t even imagine how tough it is nowadays, but you’re tough too. You can make it. And you’ve always got me to call.”
“You gonna come arrest them when they mess with me?”
“Damn straight. Cuff ’em too. Right in the hall.”
Alex laughed. “Okay, let’s go. I’m all right.”
Frankie tousled his hair. “You’re better than all right. And don’t forget about your name.”
“I know—it’s Alex Donovan.”
“Just like we practiced. You hear somebody say ‘Hey, Greene’ ignore them. Hard as it might be, you have to forget. Your name is Donovan now.”
“So when somebody asks me what nationality I am, I can say Irish?”
Frankie laughed. “Damn straight. Irish it is. Black Irish.”
It took almost half an hour to get to school. Frankie would have to do something about the transportation if it took this long every day. Fifteen minutes after they got there, he had introduced Alex to Father Murphy. As they talked, Frankie’s phone rang.
“Donovan.”
“We’ve got more bodies.”
“Same guy?”
“Same guy,” Lou said.
“Where?”
Lou gave him the address.
“I’ll meet you there. I’m over at St. Edwards.”
Father Murphy was still talking with Alex.
“I know new schools are tough, but don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to a fellow Irishman.”
“You got a body, FD?”
“Two of them.”
“Better go catch them bad guys,” Alex said, then gave Frankie a big hug. “Thanks. And don’t worry. I’ll be okay.”
“I know you will. See you tonight.”
***
Frankie jumped in the car and headed toward the scene. Lou and Sherri were already there when he entered the apartment. The first thing that struck him was the cleanliness. And the smell of bleach. Frankie hated chemical smells.
Lou walked over. “Yeah, I see the look on your face. Clean, right? A little too clean. I’d say the killer spent hours in here.”
Frankie noticed a guy sitting on the sofa, staring at the wall. He cocked his head in that direction.
Lou pulled Frankie aside. “Debbie Parnell and a Mr. Robert Elliott are dead in the bedroom. This is her place.” Lou gestured to the guy on the couch. “Bruce Stewart is her fiancé. He found the bodies.”
“He do it?”
“I don’t think so. The doorman was with him when he found the bodies, but we haven’t asked much of either of them.”
“Where’s the doorman?”
“Went to the can. He’ll be right back.”
“Let’s get the fiancé over with. I don’t want him here when Kate comes. Besides, I want to experience it just like he did.”
Frankie walked over to the couch, pulled a chair from the kitchen table and sat. He handed the man a card. “Mr. Stewart, I’m Detective Frankie Donovan. I understand you’ve met Detectives Mazzetti and Miller.”
He nodded.
“I know this is a difficult time, Mr. Stewart, but if you could walk us through what happened, it might help.”
“I called her this morning but didn’t get an answer. I called several more times and then I called Cindy. Cindy is her assistant at work. When she told me that Debbie hadn’t called in and had missed a meeting I knew something was wrong. That’s when I came here.”
“Why were you calling her?”
“I call her every morning. To say hello, see if she needs a ride to work, that kind of thing.”
“Where do you work, Mr. Stewart?”
“Fortunately, Detective, I don’t have to work. When I do, it’s usually from home. Sometimes I volunteer helping young companies get going, or with charitable organizations.”
“I see. And so you came here after calling her work…”
“Yes. Jack…” Bruce gestured toward the doorman who had returned, “Jack was outside, and I asked him to come up with me. When Debbie didn’t answer, we went in.”
Frankie was writing. “Hold on. You said you went in…”
“I have a key.”
Bruce started to go on, but stopped. “It was odd, Detective, but the deadbolt wasn’t locked. I remember thinking that strange at the time.”
“Debbie was a cautious person?”
Bruce shook his head. “On the contrary, she was neglectful about most things, but she did lock her door. She got into a habit of that after an incident a few years ago when she was mugged.”
He stood. “I need some water.”
“I’ll get it,” Sherri said.
“Was Debbie always this meticulous about her apartment?”
“Good Lord, no. Far from it. She liked things clean but she never kept them this clean. I mean, when she came to my house she would complain if it was dirty, but her place was no prize. Nothing like what you see here.”
“How clean did she keep it?”
“Like I said, clean enough. But Debbie wasn’t averse to sweeping a little dirt under the carpet if you know what I mean.”
Frankie watched Bruce’s expressions, looking for any sign of something out of place. “I don’t. Explain.”
Bruce raised his head staring at the ceiling fan. “One time a friend was coming for a visit. Debbie asked me to help her get the apartment ready. She did dishes while I vacuumed. She told me not to move the furniture, just go around it. And she didn’t dust inside the lampshades, or do the blades on the ceiling fan. She never cleaned the tile in the shower. A good spray was all it ever got.” Bruce sipped on a bottled water. “Not that I’m one to talk. She accused me of being a neat freak, and I’ll admit, I’m a little compulsive about things being in order, but nothing like what you have here.”
Bruce leaned forward, hands on his knees. “You know, there was something else. Her keys were missing. She came back from a business trip last week and said she couldn’t find her keys. I told her to ask Jack to have the locks changed.”
Frankie looked to the doorman.
Jack lowered his head. “I called, but…they haven’t done it yet.”
Lou walked over to Jack. “So she told you about the missing keys and you didn’t get the locks changed?”
“I’m sorry.” He looked to Bruce. “Mr. Stewart, I am really sorry. I called them but didn’t think it was an emergency.” When no one said anything, Jack continued. “People lose their keys all the time.”
“You couldn’t have known,” Bruce said, then looked at Frankie. “Another thing. She said there was spyware on her computer.”
“Spyware?”
“Yes. She discovered it while she was out of town. But it was her personal computer. If someone got in, they could have gotten her passwords, anything.
“And she said someone from work was bothering her.”
“Bothering her how?”
“Some guy was always trying to hit on her. When I suggested she report him she laughed. She said everyone tried hitting on her.” Bruce buried his head in his hands and cried. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”
Frankie waited a while before going on. “Mr. Stewart, did you know she was seeing another man?”
Bruce closed his eyes and shook his head. “No, Detective. I didn’t. But even if I had, I wouldn’t have killed her, if that’s what you’re thinking. I loved Debbie.”
“Were you two having troubles?”
“Apparently we were, but I didn’t know it. She was the kind of woman who loved attention from men. She enjoyed flirting.” He stopped for a moment. “I guess part of me liked that. Another part of me was jealous. Most of the girls I went out with before Debbie had to be plied with martinis before you could kiss them. Debbie…she was different. Quite different.”
Frankie leaned back, gave him space. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stewart, but I have to ask this. Where were you last night?”
“Home. By myself. I wanted to come over, but she…she said she was tired, and that she had to prepare f
or a meeting.” A few more tears came. “I didn’t even call because I didn’t want to disturb her.”
“Mr. Stewart, would you mind giving us a DNA sample?”
“On principle I object, but if you’re telling me it will help catch the guy who did this, I’ll do it.”
“I don’t know yet,” Frankie said. “Tell you what. Let’s wait. If we need it, I’ll let you know.”
“You’ve got my number. Just call.”
Frankie heard Dave Shu’s voice in the hall. Dave worked for Kate at the ME’s office. Good. Maybe she’s not coming. I don’t need her and Sherri here together.
“Okay, Mr. Stewart, I think we have all we need for now. We may have more questions for you later. And you have my card. If you think of anything, call me.”
Bruce got up. “I will. Thank you.”
After Bruce left, Frankie turned to the doorman. “Jack, right?”
“Jack Corrigan.”
“Jack, tell me about this morning, and last night.”
“Mr. Stewart told it straight, sir. As far as last night, Ms. Parnell came home with a…different gentleman than Mr. Stewart. I think it’s the guy in the bedroom, but I didn’t stay to get a good look.”
“And you came into the room with Mr. Stewart? He was her fiancé?”
Jack looked to the side then down. “He thought so.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said it for a reason. This is a murder investigation, remember.”
“I just mean that she often came home with other men.”
“And Bruce didn’t know about it?”
The doorman shook his head again. “As I said, he was a nice guy. I never told him. I doubt he knew.”
“Anything else unusual?”
Jack shook his head. “Not that I can say, except…”
“Except?”
“Last night I thought I saw one of Ms. Parnell’s other…friends driving by.”
“What time?”
“After dark. I don’t remember exactly.”
“Do you know him?”
“Not by name, but he’s been here with her before.”
“And it wasn’t Mr. Stewart?”
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