Bob thumbed through the sheet again. “Stewart. Let’s see…” He craned his neck, searching the room. “Hey, Monson. Take Donovan to see the nut who attacked Benning.”
Monson was four inches short of six feet, but he had to weigh in at about 220. He walked up and punched Frankie on the arm, like he always did. “Donovan, where you been? I thought you died.”
“I did,” Frankie said. “Just came back today.”
“Now I remember why I was happy you left.”
Frankie caught up on old times as they walked. Nothing had changed. “What are you holding Stewart on?”
“Nothing right now. The other guy didn’t press charges, at least not yet. He didn’t hit any of us. Ran into the cops holding Benning but didn’t hit them. We can keep him if you want.”
“Were you there?” Frankie asked.
“I was outside catching a smoke.”
“What happened?”
“Guy comes out of nowhere and slams into the guys holding Benning. Then he starts mauling the guy, scratching his face, yanking out his hair, kicking him, even tried biting him. And the whole time he’s screaming, ‘You killed her, you bitch. You killed her.’”
“That it?”
“Yeah. Nothing serious. It only lasted about ten seconds.”
“He resist when you guys stopped him?”
Monson shook his head. “Never.”
Frankie nodded. “See if I can take him with me. The guy lost his fiancée yesterday, and as far as we know, Benning is the one who did it. On top of that, Stewart found out she was with another guy.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t have a gun.”
“Yeah. I think I would, but Stewart’s not like that. Seems pretty straight.”
“I’ll clear it with the sarge while you chat.”
Frankie found a quiet spot and sat to talk with Bruce. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I don’t know. I just…I wanted to kill him.” He said it with teeth and fists clenched. “I’ve never felt like that before, but when I saw him…if I had a gun…”
“Good thing you didn’t.”
Bruce lowered his head. “What will happen to me?”
“For right now, I’m getting you out of here.”
“You can do that? For real?”
“Don’t get too excited. I can get you out now, but if Benning presses charges, you’ll have to answer for them.”
“He wouldn’t dare.”
“Don’t put it past him. He would, and his lawyer may encourage it. If he thinks it will make Benning look more sympathetic, he definitely will.”
Bruce nodded.
“How did you find out he was going to be here?”
“Cindy told me you took him away from the office. So I found out where he would be brought for processing and came here to wait.”
Frankie let him sit for a moment. “Why did you do it?”
“I can’t stop thinking about Debbie. It’s been haunting me. I can’t sleep. Can’t eat.” Bruce held out his hands. “Look at me, Detective. I can’t hold still. I couldn’t even drive down here. I had to take the subway.”
Monson walked by and gave Frankie a thumbs-up.
“I’ll tell you what, Stewart, how about I take you home and we talk?”
“I can go now?”
“Yeah, you can go.”
“Thanks. But don’t bother driving me. I can take the subway.”
“I don’t mind. Besides, I have some questions for you anyway.”
And I want to see that apartment of yours.
***
After Lou and Sherri reviewed the hotel security tape they headed down to Parnell’s apartment building.
“How do you want to do this, Mazzetti?”
“Let’s check everything.”
They walked the outside of the building but saw nothing unusual. Miller checked a few windows until Lou told her to stop. “That’s all I need, somebody shooting your ass because they think you’re a burglar.”
“Because I’m black?”
“Because you’re trying to open their windows. I’d shoot you.”
“You probably never shot anyone in your life.”
“Not for lack of trying.”
“Let’s go talk to the doorman. Maybe he remembers something.”
When they rounded the corner, Jack was talking to a woman on the sidewalk. He was ten feet from the building and faced in the other direction. Lou grabbed Sherri’s arm. “Hang on. Let’s see how attentive old Jack is.”
After a couple of minutes of talking a car pulled up. Jack opened the back door, took out a few shopping bags, and leaned his head inside, talking to the driver.
Lou nudged Sherri. “See that other woman walk in the building? That’s how the killer got in. Jack was probably chatting it up with some sweet thing and Benning walked right by. He could have waited right here, knowing it would happen sooner or later, or, he could have sent a sweet young thing by in a car to distract him.”
Sherri looked at him with her eyebrows raised. “Is that all it takes to distract you guys—a pretty young thing?”
Lou seemed to give it thought, then nodded. “Yeah, that’s about it. And the closer to naked she is the less pretty she needs to be.”
Sherri rolled her eyes. “Let’s go see the apartment again. And try to keep your mind on the investigation.”
“You mean, and not your butt.”
“Stop it, Mazzetti. I’m gonna choke.”
They walked in and made their way to Debbie’s apartment without running into anyone.
Sherri said, “If the guy had a key, all he’d need to do is wait until he knew they were in bed and let himself in.”
Lou lifted the crime scene tape and let them in. The place still smelled of cleanser. “When we convict this guy I want him to clean my house before sentencing. In fact, maybe the judge can order it as part of community service. He has to clean my house every week.”
“I hear you. Let’s walk this through.”
“The killer comes in while they’re in the bedroom. He steps quietly down the hall.” Lou and Sherri went through the motions, walking the hall.
“His gun is drawn,” Sherri said.
“He goes into the room, sees them in ‘position’ and…”
Sherri stepped quickly from the door to the foot of the bed. “Fires,” she said. “One to the back of Elliott’s head. Parnell screams, and then he pops her.”
“And what time did she scream?” Lou asked.
“I think it was about 9:30. We’ll check when we get back.”
They stared at the bed, looked around the room.
“Didn’t waste any time,” Lou said. “Kate didn’t think the bodies were moved, which means he caught them in the act. The odd thing is how cold this guy is. If this was jealousy, you’d think more passion. More mistakes.”
“We have a smart one on our hands, Lou. He plans it out.”
“The real puzzler is that he stayed to clean the place.”
“Not just clean it, he sanitized it.”
Lou’s phone rang. “Mazzetti.”
“You now have a warrant.”
“Goddamn. That’s what I want to hear.”
Lou looked at Sherri. “Got the warrant. Let’s get Donovan and find some evidence.”
CHAPTER 23
A Friendly Visit
Frankie drove slowly as he made his way to Bruce’s house, slower than traffic demanded. He wanted to get more information about Debbie and Chad, but didn’t want to set Bruce off any more than he already was. Infidelity was a touchy subject. No one knew better than Frankie.
“I can imagine how you feel, Mr. Stewart.”
“I doubt that, Detective. I planned on marrying Debbie. At night, I went to sleep dreaming of the life we’d share.” He turned his head and looked out the window. “I thought she felt the same way.” Bruce looked at Frankie. “We talked about kids. She wanted four. Can you believe that? Most women, especially career women,
wouldn’t dream of that many, but she knew it was important to me.”
Frankie hated talking about personal issues, but he needed to get Bruce’s trust. “On a different level, I understand. My father treated me like shit, and I never knew why. I figured he just didn’t like me. Later, I learned it was because my mother was running around on him.” It was Frankie’s turn to swallow some emotion. “Last year he died. At the funeral, I found out that I’m probably not his son.” Frankie choked back a tear.
Shouldn’t have started down this road.
“No wonder he hated me. If I had known…”
“It wouldn’t have done any good,” Bruce said.
“Why do you say that?”
“Trust me. It wouldn’t.”
“I guess I believe you. I haven’t been able to keep a relationship. I got divorced early. Had a lot of girlfriends since. Nothing worked.”
“And now?”
“I finally have a relationship that I think could work. But I’m afraid of it.”
Frankie drove in silence for a moment. “I hate to ask this, but did you ever suspect anything?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Stewart. I truly am.”
They went about half a mile before Bruce spoke again. “The crazy thing is…that morning, when I found her…the first thought I had when I saw them was that she’d been raped. Then I thought…if this guy raped her, then who killed them? It wasn’t until Jack said something that it hit me. I barely remember anything after that, not until you came.”
“For what it’s worth, I don’t blame you for doing what you did.” Frankie paused and glanced at Bruce. “To Benning, I mean.”
“If I had a gun, I think I’d have shot him,” Bruce said.
“Mr. Stewart, I said I don’t blame you, but I am a detective. You shouldn’t say things like that in front of me.”
He lowered his head. “Sorry. I know it’s just talk, but right now it’s how I feel. I want him to suffer like Debbie did.”
“I understand, on a different level. My best friend’s wife was killed. Gunned down in front of a church.”
“How did he deal with it?”
Stupid shit. What do I tell him…that my friend mutilated five mobsters to get even?
“He’s still dealing with it, but he’s getting better.”
A few blocks later, Bruce said, “Turn left at the next block. It’s not far.”
“I didn’t picture you as a Red Hook guy.”
“I used to live in Brooklyn Heights.”
“Ouch.”
“It’s not what you think. I’m an artist. I like it here.”
After three more blocks Bruce pointed to the left and said, “I’m on the corner. You can let me off here, unless you want to come in.”
Frankie almost said no, but remembered what Stewart had said back at the apartment, how he insisted that someone had cleaned Debbie’s place. He even invited Frankie to come see his “dirty” apartment. Frankie thought it odd at the time, as if he were saying, “Look, it’s not me.” Sort of like the kid who empties his pockets when he knows the stolen candy isn’t in there.
“I could stand to use the restroom,” Frankie said. “If you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. Park where you can. Spaces are difficult to come by, even here.”
Stewart lived in a renovated warehouse, though the renovated part was arguable. Paint was peeling; the door was almost off its hinges. General disrepair described it best. The inside was under construction—at least the front room was. Drop cloths covered the furniture—what there was of it—and half of one wall was painted.
“Excuse the mess, Detective. I’m remodeling. It takes a while when you do it yourself.”
Frankie looked around. “When we talked earlier you said you didn’t have to work.”
Bruce laughed for the first time since Frankie had picked him up. “If you’re wondering why I live here if I can afford better—you have a right to. I sometimes wonder myself. And I’m doing the remodeling because it gives me a sense of accomplishment. I enjoy the work. And the solitude.”
They walked into the kitchen. The glass table was a mess, tools all over one end, and a paint tray next to them. A cereal bowl leftover from breakfast—complete with a few drops of spilled milk—sat across from the paint.
Bruce went to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water. “Do you want water?”
“No thanks, but—”
“I forgot. Bathroom. It’s down the hall on the left. Second door.”
Frankie closed the door then reached for the toilet paper, but the holder was empty. A roll sat on the back of the toilet. He tore off a piece, used it to lift the seat, then took a leak. When he was done he flushed and tossed the tissue in with it. The sink had toothpaste globs in it, and the trashcan was overflowing. He opted to not wash his hands.
Frankie’s cell rang. It was Mazzetti but he let it go to voicemail.
Bruce was sitting at the kitchen table when Frankie returned. He had moved the cereal bowl aside. “You doing okay, Mr. Stewart?” Frankie asked. “You seem pretty calm for what you’ve been through today.”
“Thank you for asking. I’m fine now. I had time to reflect while I sat at the station. I decided I did not want to be in jail. I will have to rely on you to bring justice.”
“That’s what we’re here for.” Frankie fidgeted a moment. “Mr. Stewart, I hate to bring up a sensitive subject, but did you know the man Debbie was with?”
“I didn’t look at him closely, but…” He turned his head, then got up and walked across the room. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about it. Perhaps tomorrow or the next day would be better.”
“Of course,” Frankie said. “I need to get back anyway.” He set a card on the table. “In case you lost the other one, here’s my card. Call me if you get the urge to kill Mr. Benning.”
Stewart gave a fake chuckle. “I will. Thank you.”
As he walked toward the door, Frankie glanced to the back yard. Several sculptures adorned a stone patio. “It looks nice out there. I wish I had a back yard.”
Bruce waved him off. “I might trade you. Tending to it is a lot of work.”
“Where did you get the sculptures?”
Stewart beamed. “They’re mine. Thank you for asking.”
“Impressive,” Frankie said, and then walked toward the front door. As he reached for the doorknob, he turned to Bruce.
“I shouldn’t tell you this, but we will get him.”
“I assume you mean Benning.”
“Yeah. We’ve got evidence that I’m convinced will be enough to nail him. Just relax and give us time.”
Bruce nodded. “I will. Thanks for letting me know.”
Frankie got in the car, dialed Mazzetti, and headed toward the station.
“Where are you, Donovan?”
“On my way back from Red Hook. Why?”
“Red Hook? What the hell. Anyway, meet us at Benning’s place. We have a warrant.”
“Miller with you?”
“Sitting on my lap.”
“I’m twenty minutes away. See you there.”
***
Chad Benning lived in a nice building off Eighth Avenue in Chelsea. Lou and Sherri were waiting for Frankie.
“We going to find a gun?” Frankie asked.
“I hope so,” Miller said. “Be nice to close this up.”
“Be nice to keep the body count at four,” Lou said.
Sherri showed the warrant to the doorman, and then to the building manager, who hesitated about letting them in the apartment, even with the paper. Sherri stopped short of saying “It’s either let us in, or we break it down,” but from the looks Donovan gave the guy, he understood.
“Should I call Mr. Benning?” the manager asked. “It seems like I should.”
“Do what you want,” Lou said. “Won’t ruin my day.”
A few seconds later, the manager opened the door. Lou stepped in first. “Clean. Ve
ry clean.” He wiped his finger across an end table. “No dust. What kind of single guy has no dust on his end table?”
“Remind me—”
“I know, never to come to my place. I have news for you, Miller: you aren’t invited.”
“Let’s each take a room,” Frankie said. “Be gentle. I don’t want his lawyer complaining.”
“I’ll take the kitchen,” Lou said.
“Just search, Mazzetti. Don’t eat.”
“I’ll take his bedroom,” Sherri said.
A few minutes later Lou walked into the bedroom where Sherri was. “I found a key ring with Debbie’s name on it.”
“Bag it,” Frankie said. “And hope we get as lucky with the gun.”
Half an hour later, Sherri came out of the bedroom. “Not a damn thing.”
“Place is clean,” Mazzetti said. “But it’s not like Parnell’s place. That apartment was spotless.”
Frankie came out of the other bedroom to join them. “Nothing in there either.”
“So where did he stash the gun?” Sherri asked.
“He could have dumped it by now. He’s had plenty of time.”
“Might have a storage place,” Mazzetti said. “Or a safe deposit. Could be anywhere.”
“Let’s go through everything one more time,” Frankie said.
The front door opened. Chad Benning walked in. “What the hell is going on?”
“I can’t believe it took your high-priced attorney this long to spring you,” Lou said, and then he showed Benning the search warrant. “We are executing a search warrant. You’re welcome to stay, but keep out of our way and don’t touch anything.”
“What are you looking for? I can’t believe this shit. It’s embarrassing.”
“It’ll be a lot more embarrassing when we find the gun,” Lou said.
“And when we match that hair we found in Debbie’s apartment to you.”
“How long will you be here?” Chad asked.
“We’re getting ready to leave,” Frankie said. “Do you have a safe deposit box?”
“No.”
“How about a storage facility? Rent space anywhere?”
“No. And I don’t even know if I should be talking to you.”
Murder Takes Patience Page 13