Murder Takes Patience

by Giammatteo, Giacomo

“Call off the dogs.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “You owe me.”

  “Favors are a strange thing, Detective. Once you refuse one, it is gone.” He paused. “Ask me something else.”

  “I have nothing else to ask. This is what I want.”

  “I am truly sorry.”

  “You will be, Mangini. If anything happens to Fusco, you’ll be more than sorry. It’ll just be me and you. No fucking badge. No rules.”

  “I hope you get better soon, Detective.”

  The line went dead. Frankie shut his phone and punched the pillow. If he didn’t do something, Nicky would probably be dead. What the hell could he do? Who could he call?

  Kate came back in the room. “What was that all about?”

  Frankie’s nerves drove his impatience. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? A mysterious delivery man brings you a phone with a number scribbled on a piece of paper…and it’s nothing?”

  “Where’s Alex? He okay?”

  “The phone?”

  “Nothing, Kate. Okay?”

  She looked ready to shout. She was definitely pissed. Nothing could hide that. But she held her temper, even put on a smile.

  “Alex is doing fine. He was scared to death you were going to die and leave him.” She leaned down and kissed Frankie on the cheek. “He loves you, you know. More than anything.”

  Frankie smiled. “I’m sorry.” He kissed her back. “About the phone…”

  “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “I want to. It was about Nicky. Manny Rosso sent the phone to tell me someone was after Nicky.”

  “Why?” She seemed genuinely startled.

  “Because he came back to New York. He’s not allowed.”

  Her eyebrows raised. “In the whole city?”

  Frankie laughed. The way she said it made it seem like the end of the world, as if someone couldn’t live without going to New York. “Yeah, Kate. The whole city.”

  “Who…never mind. I don’t want to know.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “What are you doing about it?”

  “I know you don’t like Nicky, but—”

  “I met him.”

  “What?”

  “He came here and I met him.”

  “What did you think?”

  “He’s not as bad as I thought. I wanted to not like him, but it is obvious the guy loves you. I couldn’t bring myself to hate a person who loves Frankie Donovan so much.”

  Frankie coughed. “Don’t make me laugh again. I’ll bust another stitch.”

  Kate stared for a long time. “I hope that someday we’ll be that close. As close as you and Nicky.”

  Frankie reached for her hand. “I think we will, Kate Burns. I do believe we will.”

  “I’ll leave you alone now. Let me know when you’re done. Alex is dying to come in, and Linda and Keisha are here. She’s eager to see you. I think she drew some pictures for you.”

  “She’s a doll baby, I’ll tell you that. And thanks for the privacy. I need to get something done here.”

  Kate headed out. “I know.”

  Frankie raised his head toward the ceiling, thinking of what he could do. Who could he call? Who could help? It hit him like a brick. Connie.

  Frankie dialed Lieutenant Morreau, who answered quickly.

  “Lieu, it’s Donovan.”

  “Good to hear from you. How are you?”

  “I’m alive, Lieu. That’s better than the alternative.”

  “Is Mazzetti there? What do you need?”

  “I need Connie Gianelli’s number. You got it?”

  A long pause followed. “Connie Gianelli’s number? All of a sudden, out of the fucking blue, you need her number?” Another pause. “You gonna tell me what the fuck is going on?”

  “Connie and I got to be friends when I worked her case. I wanted to update her, that’s all.”

  “Is that right? You figured you’d just call to update her on your status. Let me ask you, Donovan. Have you called your family? Your sisters, other friends, relatives? No, I’d bet a thousand dollars you haven’t. So why Gianelli?”

  “Lieu…”

  “Okay. Here’s the goddamn number. Don’t let me be surprised by anything. I don’t want to get a call from the chief asking me about some strange connection between you and Gianelli. They don’t like her, remember? They chased her out of town.”

  “I know all about it. Give me the goddamn number.”

  Morreau gave him her number and hung up with a few final warnings. Frankie dialed fast. It took him twice to get it right. All he got was a voicemail.

  “This is Connie. I’ll get back to you.”

  “Gianelli, it’s Bugs Donovan. Call me as soon as you get this. It’s important.” He almost hung up, then added, “Damned important.”

  Shit. No telling where she was or how long it would take her to get back to him. Nicky might not have that kind of time. He thought of who else might be able to help, but came up empty. Manny risked everything giving him what he did. No way he was getting any more from him. If Tony were alive, he’d be an option but…Paulie.

  Frankie got into his phone’s contact list and typed in “Suit,” which is how he had Paulie listed. Paulie “the Suit” Perlano had been another of his best friends growing up. He’d fallen in with Tony Sannullo, who was part of Tito’s crew in Brooklyn. If anybody would know something about Dominic, Paulie would. He was best friends with Dominic’s old driver.

  Frankie dialed the number, which was somewhere in Texas. God bless Paulie for surviving down there. Three rings and no answer.

  “This is Paulie. Tell me what you want.”

  “Suit, it’s me, Bugs. Call me, man. I mean quick. Nicky’s in trouble.”

  CHAPTER 57

  A Body to Spare

  Lou dialed Saperstein’s cell.

  “Speak, Mazzetti, but make it fast.”

  “You on your way to Red Hook?”

  “As much as I don’t want to be, yes, I’m on my way. And did I say thank you very fucking much for this peachy assignment?”

  “Yeah, it’s about time you put in some real work. Anyway, watch for this guy. He’s no slacker and he probably suspects something.”

  “And if we see him?”

  “Call me. That’s it. Just call.”

  “Okay, Mazzetti. See you later.”

  Sherri waited until the phone line was dead. “I take it you don’t have all the confidence in the world in Detective Saperstein.”

  “You are being overly kind, Miller. He’s a goddamn asshole, loser, son of a bitch who should have been thrown off the force years ago.”

  “And we’re going to Stewart’s other house, the one he stole or inherited, or one way or another got from his father?”

  “That’s where we’re headed.”

  Lou turned onto Flatbush toward Brooklyn Heights. He didn’t get five blocks before the phone rang.

  “Mazzetti.”

  “Lou, it’s Carol.”

  “What have you got?”

  “We have a fire in Cobble Hill that Morreau wants you on.”

  “A fire? I’m a detective, not a goddamn fireman.”

  “This one’s got a body in the bathtub.”

  He punched the dash. “Give me the address.”

  Lou repeated the address to Sherri, and then said, “A fire in Cobble Hill, but with a body in the tub.”

  “They think it’s our guy?”

  “I guess they do or Morreau wouldn’t be sending us.”

  “What about Stewart?”

  “Let’s hope he goes to Red Hook.”

  Two fire trucks and three uniforms were parked outside the building when Lou and Sherri arrived. The trucks had finished their job; the unis hadn’t started. Lou identified himself and introduced Sherri.

  “What have you got?”

  “Don’t know anything other than a body,” one cop said. He was young, not more than a couple of years on the
force.

  The second officer, a more seasoned one, added relevance. “She’s got a note with a poem pinned to her head, Detective. That’s why we called you.”

  “Pinned to her head?” Sherri asked.

  The officer looked at her. “Yes, ma’am. Not a nice scene. Even without the fire.”

  “How about you canvas for us?” Lou said. “I’m sure you know the drill—everything and anything on the vic and on who and what they saw today.”

  “You got it, Detective.”

  Lou and Sherri went to the apartment. An overweight fireman stood at the door, sweating. “I’m glad to see somebody besides me is out of shape,” Lou said.

  “I hear you, Mazzetti, but I can lose weight. You can’t get younger.”

  “Thank God for small favors.”

  Lou patted him on the back. “This is my partner, Sherri Miller. How’s it going, Sean?”

  Sean reached his hand out to her. “Nice to meet you, Detective. You caught a bad one here. Lucky for us it was called in early.” He tilted his head down the hall toward the bedroom. “Not so lucky for the lady.”

  Sherri entered the bathroom, backed up, and bumped into Lou. “God bless her.”

  Lou moved to the side. The fire hadn’t done much in the bathroom, but the victim’s throat was slit, and she was shot in the head, right next to where the note was pinned.

  “Anybody touch anything?” Lou asked.

  “We checked her to make sure she was dead. That’s all,” a fireman said.

  Lou leaned close and read the note aloud.

  “Chocolate pudding

  Chocolate pie

  I ate them both

  And then she died.”

  Lou read the note a second time. “Do you think he means he ate her? What’s the pudding and pie reference?”

  “It means he performed oral sex on her—front and back,” Sherri said.

  Lou stared at her. “I’m not asking how you knew that, Miller.”

  “Good damn thing.”

  “You notice that this is different,” Lou said. “She’s black. The others were white. She’s a single kill, not with a lover.”

  “And it looks as if he did her in a hurry,” Sherri said. “This is the first fire.”

  “Maybe he didn’t have time to clean up. Figured he’d get rid of his DNA another way.”

  “Lou, we should have Saperstein pick Stewart up if he sees him. He might still have her blood on him.”

  “Good idea.” Lou called Saperstein and told him, then joined Sherri, who was talking to one of the firemen.

  “How did you get here so quickly?”

  “Somebody called it in. It was an unknown caller, so I suspect it was on a disposable, which means I suspect it was the guy who set the fire.” The fireman wiped sweat from his forehead. “Lucky he did, too, or this whole place might have gone up.”

  Sherri nodded. “I don’t think he wanted that. He just wanted to get rid of the evidence.”

  “Sick bastard.”

  “Tell me about it,” Sherri said.

  After checking the bedroom and kitchen, Sherri went back to the bathroom and searched the cabinet. She pulled out a couple of bottles of pills. “Hey, Lou, when Dave Shu gets here tell him to check and see if she was pregnant.”

  “Don’t tell me that,” Lou said.

  She nodded. “I’m afraid so. I found a test kit, and she’s got a drawer full of prenatal vitamins, recently bought. I can’t think of any reason to have them around other than being pregnant.”

  “This son of a bitch.”

  Lou dialed Saperstein. “He get back yet?”

  “No sign of him.”

  Where the fuck is he? “Okay, listen up. If he comes, nab him. Hold him on anything. Just don’t let him in the house to clean up.”

  “You got it.”

  Lou turned to Sherri. “We need to get to Brooklyn Heights. He hasn’t shown his face in Red Hook.”

  CHAPTER 58

  Gatto e Topo (Cat and Mouse)

  I rounded the corner and shifted my eyes left to see if I could spot Fabrizio. At first I saw nothing, but with a second glance, I picked him up, blending in with a crowd under the awning of a club. I kept moving, as if I were advancing on his old position…but then I passed it by. He had to be wondering what I was doing. Questioning himself.

  A local delivery truck finished unloading supplies at a restaurant, of which there were plenty on Smith Street, and he was getting ready to pull out. I stuck my head in his window.

  “I got two C notes if you drop me off at my car. Maybe two miles from here.”

  The driver looked at the hundred-dollar bills and smiled. “I’ll take you to Jersey for that.”

  “But who wants to go to Jersey?” I said, and climbed in. We both laughed as I closed the door. I laughed a little longer than he did, knowing Fabrizio would be watching and wouldn’t be smiling. I wished I could see him now.

  I made small talk with the driver as he maneuvered the traffic. He never asked any questions—why I needed to get to my car so urgently, or why it was worth two hundred, when a car service would be less than half that. It was another day in the life of a New Yorker. Wilmington was nice and safe, but I did miss New York.

  ***

  Fabrizio watched Nicky pass the cleaners, and then he passed the restaurant.

  Where the hell is he going?

  When Nicky got into the delivery truck Fabrizio knew he’d been had. Fusco was good.

  He picked me up, but how?

  Fabrizio looked around, checking to see if anyone was watching. He was screwed, but he wasted no time. Nicky would go back for his car. He had to. Fabrizio ran in the other direction. His diligent physical training would come into play now. He had to get there before Fusco got his car and left. With traffic as it was, it was not an impossible thing. He regulated his breathing and pushed a little harder. Dominic Mangini did not tolerate mistakes. When a person worked for Signor Mangini mistakes were buried with the ones who made them.

  ***

  I had the delivery guy drop me off at the rental car. I put the keys under the passenger seat, left the doors unlocked, and walked down the street, settling in about two blocks from the car. Fabrizio would look for me here first, and he’d ignore all common safeguards and take the shortest route. Which meant he’d come right past this bodega, the one I was staring at from a shoe store a hundred yards behind it. I didn’t have long to wait. He must have set a record running there, which gave me more information to store about Fabrizio.

  Don’t try to outrun him.

  As he neared the bodega he slowed, peeked around the corner toward my car, then grabbed a bottle of water from the store. He drank it inside. I smiled. Fabrizio would wait until I came to get the car, or until he realized I wasn’t coming. By then it would be too late. I walked a few blocks in the other direction, called a car service and got a ride back to Red Hook to get my own car. It was time to get the hell out of New York. Tomorrow I’d call the rental guy and tell him where I left it. Fabrizio would be long gone by then.

  As far as Stewart, I’d given Mazzetti enough information that he should be able to pin these murders on him, assuming he obtained a warrant, or got into Stewart’s other house.

  I had cleaned out the first hotel room, so I could check out by phone. The one in Staten Island was a stop on the way home. An electric feeling ran through me. I had tempted the fates and won. Again.

  I’m coming home, Angie.

  ***

  Fabrizio finished his second bottle of water and his second cup of coffee. Why Americans called this coffee was beyond his understanding, but he drank it so he wasn’t forced to infuse himself with a high-energy drink to get his caffeine. He checked his watch. It had been two hours and still no sign of Fusco. Once again he had been fooled. Fusco was not coming back for his car. He left it there on purpose to keep Fabrizio busy while he made his escape.

  Or did something else. But what?

  Fabrizio made the
call he dreaded. Unfortunately, it was answered on the first ring.

  “Pronto.”

  “Signore, queste é Fabrizio.”

  “É fatto?”

  “No, Signore, it is not done. I have lost him.”

  A long silence followed, one Fabrizio dare not break.

  “Bisogna farlo.”

  “Si, Signore. Sarà fatto.” It will be done.

  Fabrizio thought about what Nicky might do. He still had not accomplished what he came for, so Fabrizio must start there. He walked to his car and drove to Red Hook. It was time to see what Signor Stewart, suspect number one, was up to. If Fabrizio stayed with Stewart he would find Fusco sooner or later.

  Patience was the key.

  ***

  I wanted to stop to see Bugs but for obvious reasons opted to head straight for the bridge. I had the sleazy hotel to stop at in Staten Island, then it was straight home to Angie and Rosa and Dante. I shouldn’t have come up to begin with. Angie had been right.

  As she always is.

  Halfway across the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, I realized I still had Bugs’ gun.

  Goddamn! Now I have to go back.

  I was nearing the Staten Island side of the bridge when my phone rang—it was the burner. I had planned on dumping this phone in the Pine Barrens on the way back. Maybe I should have used the East River. I flipped it open.

  “Hello.”

  “It’s Mazzetti.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The son of a bitch got another one.”

  “What?”

  “Stewart. Goddamnit, aren’t you listening? We have a dead woman in Cobble Hill, and I’m sure Stewart did it.”

  “I’d like to help you but I’m on my way home.”

  “Did you get a good look at her?”

  “At who?”

  “The woman Stewart was following. You said he was tailing somebody.”

  “I was pretty far back. I don’t know how much help it would be.”

  “Give me what you remember.”

  I thought about it, recreating the memory of her in my head. “Five foot three, black, great build, dark hair.” I thought a little more. “That’s all.”

  “That’s enough. It’s her. This one’s on you. You should have stayed with him.”