“All I heard you say about cussing was I couldn’t do it around girls. You ain’t no girl, are you?”
“You want me to drop you off at school?”
“Nah. Just call Father Murphy so he doesn’t think I’m a gangsta’ or something.”
Frankie looked at his watch. “I’ll call him on my way in. And let me know if anything happens. Me, not Kate.”
“They don’t let us use phones in the school.”
“If something happens, call me. I don’t care if it’s against the rules.”
“I got it covered,” Alex said. “You worry about catching the bad guys.”
Frankie kissed Kate goodbye and headed out the door. “You gonna be here tonight?”
“Can’t,” she said. “I have bodies lined up for autopsies like they’re waiting for concert tickets.”
“Okay, have fun,” Frankie said. “And tell Alex to call Linda if he needs anything.”
Frankie called Father Murphy on the way in. The priest wasn’t too happy when he heard what the other kids called Alex, and he promised to keep an eye out. “Don’t forget, Father. He doesn’t want you to do anything.”
“I haven’t been a priest all my life. I know how this works.”
“Thanks.”
The next call was to Nicky. Frankie left him a voicemail. “Nicky, I’m hoping to wrap up this case soon. After that I should be free. We can get together then.”
Lou and Sherri were already hard at it when he got to the station. “Anything new?”
“Trying to put it all down so it makes sense,” Lou said. “I went by Parnell’s place on my way home. The key from Chad’s house fits.”
“But he’d already told us he had a key,” Frankie said.
“I know. This confirms it.”
Sherri opened a folder. “We have ballistics showing all of them killed with the same gun. We have Parnell’s computer being infected with spyware, and then being stolen. And her keys being stolen.” Sherri looked up at Frankie. “That’s one we haven’t talked about. It seems awful coincidental that her keys were stolen a week before she was murdered.”
Lou nodded. “You’re right. Chad didn’t need them, and Stewart had keys. So who took them? And why take her personal computer but not the other?”
Frankie nudged a chair aside with his foot and set three cups of coffee on the table. “Mark it down as one more goddamn thing we don’t know about this case.”
Carol followed him into the room. “I have that report on Stewart.”
“About what?” Frankie asked.
“About whether he was on the Internet that night.”
“They gave it to you?”
Carol shrugged. “Kind of. A friend of mine works at his service provider. And don’t worry; she checked without leaving a trace.”
“What’s the verdict?” Lou asked.
“According to her, Stewart was at home most of the night and active on the computer. There was a forty-five minute lull around 8:00 and again a little after 11:00, but other than that, he was very active. He downloaded a lot, visited a lot of sites. She said there was no discernible pattern to indicate that it was a bot.”
“What the hell is a bot?” Lou asked.
“Dinosaur,” Carol muttered. “A bot, Mazzetti, is an automated program. He could have had something like that set up to go to websites on its own. My friend said it’s not too difficult to do.”
Frankie shook his head. “For what it’s worth, I don’t see this guy being able to do that.”
“I also checked with the IT department where Debbie worked. The spyware on her computer was nothing special—run of the mill, not malicious. They cleaned it up and sent her home, so to speak.”
“Thanks,” Frankie said.
“That doesn’t tell us much about Mr. Clean,” Lou said.
Sherri stared. “Who?”
“Mr. Clean,” Lou said. “That’s what I named this guy.”
Frankie shook his head, but Sherri laughed. “You have to admit, ‘Mr. Clean’ fits.”
“Now that Miller recognizes my brilliance, I’ll finish my coffee.”
Frankie spread the files across the desk. “Okay, let’s start over and go through everything we have. We’re missing something.”
“What do you think we’re missing?” Sherri said.
“I don’t know yet. But you don’t kill four people and not leave a clue. We just have to find it. It’s something at the scenes or it’s in our notes, but it’s there.”
“I hear what you’re saying, Donovan, but you better hurry up and solve this. You only have me for the next two months.”
“Shut up and help us find a killer,” Frankie said.
Two hours later Lou pushed his chair back and kicked off his shoes. “That does it for me. If you guys don’t find something, the killer’s getting away.”
Sherri looked at him with narrowed eyes. “That’s it? You’re giving up?”
“I’m not giving up; I’m retiring early.”
“He’s full of shit,” Frankie said as he sorted through papers in Krenshaw’s folder. “At the first hint of a clue, he’ll get off his fat ass and run for the door.”
Lou popped a cigarette into his mouth. “That was the old Lou Mazzetti. This is the new me. A life of luxury and no responsibility.”
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Sherri said. “I might have something.”
Frankie stopped searching and looked up. “What’ve you got?”
“I’ve been going through her phone. There’s an email from a couple of weeks ago that says, ‘What was he doing in BH?’”
Lou didn’t move. “What was who doing in BH?”
“I don’t know, Mazzetti. I just found it.”
“‘BH’ could be Brooklyn Heights,” Frankie said. “But Lou’s got a good question. Who’s he?”
“It’s an email from Parnell to herself.” Sherri said.
Lou sat up in the chair. “When did she send it?”
Sherri looked at the date and cross-checked it with the timeline on the file. “Day she left town—8:12 AM.”
“Any other emails that morning?” Lou asked.
“A lot. This was a busy lady.” Sherri took time reading. When she finished, she said, “She had a lot of business emails, but none of them look strange. And this was the only personal email.”
“And she sent it to herself?” Mazzetti leaned forward and slipped his shoes on.
“Not only did she send it to herself, it’s the only email she sent for the next three hours.”
Frankie stood and walked around the table. He pulled a toothpick from his jacket pocket and chewed on it. “You have her phone records there?”
Sherri looked through the file. “Right here.”
“Who did she call that morning?” Frankie asked.
Miller traced her finger down the list. Carol had documented who owned the numbers on all the phone records. “Guess who’s first at bat?”
Lou slapped his hand on the desk. “I knew it. Benning, isn’t it?”
“Chad Benning,” Sherri said.
Frankie didn’t join the celebration. “Who else?”
Sherri looked again. “A car service and Bruce Stewart. That’s it until that night.”
The toothpick in Frankie’s mouth snapped. He took it out and tossed it in the trash. “Give me Benning’s number. In fact, give me Stewart’s number, too.”
Frankie took a seat and dialed.
“Mr. Benning, this is Detective Donovan.”
“Donovan? Was that your doing, siccing that maniac on me?”
“Believe me I had nothing to do with it. But I do have a question. What did you and Ms. Parnell discuss on the phone the morning she went out of town?”
“What? How the hell do I know? She went out of town a lot.”
“This was two weeks ago, and it was the last trip she made before she was murdered.”
A short pause followed, then, “I don’t know. I can’t remember.”
Benning stepped back a bit. “It was nothing. If I recall, she wanted me to drive her to the airport.”
“And that’s all? She called just to ask you to drive her? That’s what you’re sticking with?”
“That’s it. Why? What’s the problem?”
“Nothing, Mr. Benning, it’s just…”
“What?”
Frankie let him stew a moment. “We found a note in her phone that said, “What was Chad doing in Brooklyn Heights?”
“What?”
“Do I need to repeat it?”
“No, but that doesn’t make sense. I wasn’t in Brooklyn Heights.”
“Not ever?” Frankie said, and waited while he let the question sink in.
“Are you saying you’ve never been in Brooklyn Heights?”
“No. Of course not. It’s…I’ll tell you what. Fuck this. Call my lawyer,” he said, and the line went dead.
Frankie smiled at Lou and Sherri. “I think the man is agitated.”
Next Frankie called Stewart. “Did Ms. Parnell call you the morning she was going out of town?”
“She did. It was while she was waiting to board the plane.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Nothing, really. Debbie liked to talk about herself so that’s what we usually talked about.”
“We found a note in her email that said, ‘What was Bruce doing in Brooklyn Heights’, and it was dated that morning. What were you doing there, Mr. Stewart?”
He laughed. “Detective, I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I was not in Brooklyn Heights that morning, and I can’t imagine why Debbie would say I was.”
“We’ll get back to you on it,” Frankie said, and hung up.
Lou had his hand raised when Frankie looked at him.
“What’s that about, Mazzetti?”
“I’m casting my vote for Benning,” he said.
Sherri raised hers. “Me, too.”
Frankie nodded. “I’m with you, but I’ll reserve judgment. Let’s turn over a few more rocks.”
CHAPTER 27
An Unwelcome Guest
The killer woke in the middle of another dream. It must have been the fourth time, and every one had been about the girl from the fruit stand. Cantaloupe Girl.
He looked at the clock—5:30. Only half an hour before his alarm would go off. After drinking coffee and dressing, he walked to the café down the street. Sometime between his last dream and getting seated, he decided not to kill the girl. She had earned a reprieve. As he sipped his espresso he thought about Susan. She had been his first. They say you never forget your first of anything. It was certainly true about first kills. He remembered this as if it were yesterday. The fear still gripped his chest and made his heart race. And the joy of seeing the look on her face when she realized what he planned to do.
But he hadn’t been very good at killing back then. He would have been caught if Leo hadn’t discovered his crime first. And that meant he had to take care of Leo—an inevitable event. The killer learned a valuable lesson from those kills. They taught him to clean up after himself.
The waitress came by. “More espresso?”
The killer thought about it. “I think I will, thanks.” Now he had time to mull things over. Regardless of whether he killed Cantaloupe Girl, one thing was certain—Donovan had to go.
He paid the tab, went to the building where Parnell had worked, checked on a few things, and made a call. He would go home now. That would be his alibi: being home.
The killer threw on a jogging hoodie, a big pair of shades—the kind they wore in the 70s—and then he stuffed latex gloves and lock picks in his pocket. He left the house wearing jogging pants and carrying a gym bag. Inside the bag was a knife—a plain kitchen knife, the kind you can get from almost any store. If the police stopped him, he’d say he was carrying it for protection—it’s a dangerous world out there. He had been mulling over where to kill Donovan and decided his apartment would be best. He would be relaxed there, not as tense or alert, and Donovan needed to be caught off guard. His reputation for being trigger happy preceded him. The killer did not want to catch Detective Donovan prepared. That would buy nothing but a ticket to the grave.
He started out the door, then reevaluated his decision on the knife. If he was going to kill Donovan in his own apartment…wouldn’t it be proper to use one of his own knives? Yes, I think so. Good idea. He put the knife back in the drawer then left, locking the door behind him. The apartment was a good idea. He liked that. Killing Donovan in his apartment presented DNA problems, but the killer had some ideas about that, too.
He parked his car about half a mile away on a street where it wouldn’t get noticed. Maybe stolen, but not noticed. Then he jogged toward Donovan’s building. He turned the corner. No one was there. As he approached the front door, he did a quick look to see if anyone was watching then went inside and climbed the steps to Donovan’s apartment. The hall was clear. The killer knocked gently, then a little harder. He pressed his head to the door. Thought he heard a noise, but then…nothing. Another check in the hall before he got out his picks. He opened the door in less than a minute, though it seemed like five.
“Hello, anyone here?”
Once inside, he adjusted his hoodie. He put a nylon stocking on his head, settling the edge of it on his forehead, ready to be pulled down at a moment’s notice.
***
Alex scrambled under the bed, like he used to do when he was real little and his mom would have her guests over. He lay under the bed, trembling. Afraid to make a noise. Someone was in the apartment, and he didn’t recognize the voice.
He scrunched up real small and slid toward the wall, deep into the shadows. The gap between the floor and the bed was maybe eight inches. Big enough for whoever was out there to spot him. He squeezed deeper into the dark, his heart racing. A wool blanket lay folded under the bed. Alex pulled it over, in front of him.
Footsteps sounded on the kitchen floor.
Don’t come in here.
Someone was talking in the other room but Alex couldn’t make out what was said. Then he heard singing. The floorboards creaked. Alex curled up tighter, afraid he’d make a noise. The blanket made him itch. He tried not thinking about it. He had to get FD. He’d know what to do. Alex thought about getting his phone off the nightstand, then worried it might ring. If it rang…
He stretched his legs out a little, positioning himself so he could crawl to the other side without hitting anything. He had stuff stored under the bed and didn’t want to make noise. He moved an empty shoebox—very slowly—toward the bottom of the bed, hoping it would block the view from the living room. One of his sweatshirts was under there too. He pushed it with his leg, stretching it out as far as it would go, until it was next to the shoebox. Now if he could just get to the phone. Only a couple of people had his number, but Keisha was one of them. And she was famous for calling at the wrong time.
Alex crept toward the far side of the bed, poked his head out, then, when he got far enough, he turned on his side and stretched to reach the phone.
Then the front door opened.
CHAPTER 28
Roughing It
After Frankie downed his fifth cup of coffee, he prepared to go home. Kate wouldn’t be over tonight, which meant he and Alex would be roughing it. That normally meant frozen pizza and old movies.
Carol was at her desk when Frankie passed. “What are you still doing here?”
“I thought I’d wait for the crowd to clear out downstairs,” she said. “You know how I excite those young studs.”
“Can’t keep their hands off you, huh?”
“Been a problem all my life.”
Frankie laughed. “Any word on when we get the DNA back on that hair Kate found at the scene?”
“Why don’t you ask her?”
“I haven’t talked to her since this morning and she won’t be by
tonight.”
Carol shook her head. “Nothing yet. I’ll let you know.”
“Goodnight, hot stuff.”
“See you tomorrow, Donovan. Let me know if the coast is clear.”
Frankie headed home through ridiculously bad traffic, his mind wandering from one problem to another. Even problems were better than traffic. He thought of calling Alex to see how his day had gone, but figured he’d wait until he got home to talk to him. A flash of anger raced through him as he thought about those kids who called Alex nigger. Little pricks.
He made a mental note to see Linda, and make sure she’d be okay watching Alex if an emergency ever came up. He never knew when he or Kate wouldn’t be available. Better stop and get Keisha something special. He hadn’t done that in a while. She and Alex liked it when he brought them treats.
He stopped at a bodega to buy cigarettes and something for the kids. Damn cigarettes were a fortune now, tempting him to make a trip to Delaware to buy some cheap ones.
Frankie picked up a bag of Cheetos for Alex and a couple of packs of Keisha’s favorite gum—watermelon—and a large bag of Ruffles. She loved Ruffles. He laughed as he thought of Keisha—always happy and always with dirt on her face from playing.
A little dirt can’t hide a pretty face. That’s what Mamma Rosa used to say. She was right. Then again, the longer Frankie lived, the more he realized that Mamma Rosa was right about everything.
“That will be $14.55,” the guy at the counter said.
Frankie paid, got in his car and started for home. Mamma Rosa’s saying jarred something in his head, but he couldn’t think of what. He grabbed his phone to call Lou, but when he went to dial, the phone rang instead. “Hello?”
“Bugs?”
“Nicky, is that you?”
“I got your message. When do you want to get together? We can plan this around the christening if you think you can get down here then.”
“If you can wait till I finish this case. It shouldn’t be long. How are Angie and Rosa? And Dante? Damn, I almost forgot my soon-to-be godson.”
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