by J. L. Abramo
Lorraine elected to believe Alex, and consequently concluded the two witnesses of record were not being truthful.
And giving false testimony that could ruin the life of an innocent young man, regardless of the reason, was something Lorraine found impossible to tolerate or ignore.
She told Holden she would argue his case.
At the arraignment he pleaded not guilty to second-degree murder.
The press conference was scheduled for ten. Stanley Trenton considered, if only for a moment, dropping the ball into Captain Samson’s lap. But the Chief of Detectives understood the buck stopped with him.
Trenton did decide, however, to hold court at the 61st Precinct on Coney Island Avenue. He laid out the ground rules immediately.
The statement had been drafted by Jennings, Munro and Trenton less than an hour earlier.
“I will make a short statement. I will relate all we currently know about the death of Kevin Donahue and its probable connection to other events that have occurred over the past week. When I say all we know I mean everything, so I will not be wasting valuable time fielding questions I cannot answer.
“Kevin Donahue was last seen alive on Tuesday night. He was found dead late Saturday. The apparent cause of death was deprivation of fluids and air. Donahue had been gagged and tied into a chair and abandoned.
“We have determined DA Investigator Bill Heller, who was killed on Tuesday and discovered Wednesday, was held for a period of time in the same vacant apartment where Donahue was found.
“We also know Donahue and Investigator Heller had a meeting on Tuesday night to discuss an ongoing investigation by the DA’s Office that we are not at liberty to speak about at this time,” Trenton added, causing a good deal of commotion in the crowded room. He had to raise his voice to plead for silence before he could continue.
“Finally, we have found evidence suggesting Lee Wasko and Paul Gallo, named earlier as the perpetrators in the Lake Street double homicide, may have been involved in the death of Heller or Donahue or both.
“The NYPD is committed to addressing all unanswered questions related to these events and will be working around the clock to do so.
“The Public Information Branch of the Deputy Commissioner’s Office will provide you with timely updates when information deemed reliable is available. Please, do not inundate the office or the New York Police Department with premature inquiries. It will only serve to encumber our efforts. Thank you for your time.”
And that was that. There was no mention of a tape recording.
Trenton left the floor as questions were shouted from the audience.
He hurried up the stairs to the second floor and disappeared.
Trenton, Jennings and Munro had literally stonewalled the media and run for cover, leaving behind a roomful of bewildered and angry reporters.
But they were hoping to bait an unnamed man who was accountable for the deaths of Angela Salerno, Edward Cicero, Bill Heller, Kevin Donahue, Paul Gallo and Lee Wasko. They had concluded, at great risk to their careers, that in certain cases the argument the public has a right to know was not sacred.
They were banking on the belief that if a killer was ultimately discovered and brought to justice their deception would be vindicated.
Other than the brass, only Captain Samson and his team knew all that had been omitted in Trenton’s report.
Samson, Senderowitz, Murphy, Rosen, Ripley, Ivanov and Richards held the power to redeem the Chief of Detectives, the District Attorney and the Deputy Commissioner, or bring them all down.
Trenton had great faith and trust in the abilities and integrity of Samson and the detectives of the Six-one.
What Trenton was forgetting about was Detective John Cicero of the Six-eight.
All morning he had been fighting the impulse to watch the live broadcast of the press conference, to find out if the other shoe was about to drop. He felt like a tightrope walker battling the urge to look down.
He lost the battle and tuned into the New York One airing at ten.
After hearing Trenton’s statement, and watching Trenton rush off the stage, he felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
They still hoped to bring him out into the open with the tape recording and he would not be baited. He knew they had nothing.
He could now concentrate all of his time and energy into the important work ahead of him.
An emergency call from a panicked city trash collector was transferred over to Desk Sergeant Kelly at the Six-one. Kelly kicked it up to the Detectives’ Squad and Murphy caught the call.
“Saddle up,” he said to Rosen.
“What?”
“A dead girl in a dumpster at Gil Hodges Baseball Park on Shell Road.”
“I hate Mondays,” Rosen said, collecting her gear.
“Every fucking day is Monday around here,” Murphy said.
Part Two
THE HANGMAN
Every blade has two edges.
He who wounds with one,
wounds himself with the other.
—Victor Hugo
THIRTEEN
Rosen was holding the digital camera, scrolling through all the shots Investigator Joan Michaels had taken looking down into the dumpster at Gil Hodges Ballpark.
“Can you get these photographs to Detective Senderowitz at the Six-one?” Rosen asked.
“No problem.”
Derek Fielder was inside the dumpster with a flashlight and evidence collection paraphernalia.
Two more CSU investigators were walking a grid inside the boundaries of a large area of the ball field cordoned off by police tape.
Uniformed officers were posted at all entrances, keeping civilians out of the park.
The girl had been carefully removed from the dumpster and laid out on a large sheet of black construction grade polyethylene.
Murphy stood at a safe distance watching Batman examine the body.
“Do we have an ID?” he asked the M.E.
“Not yet.”
Murphy called the precinct.
“Kelly. I need a list of Caucasian females, approximately sixteen years old, reported missing in the past few days. If nothing turns up, get a photo from CSU Investigator Michaels and shoot it off to all the local high schools for identification. Lafayette, Lincoln, Dewey, New Utrecht, Coney Island Prep, Bishop Kearney, and so on,” Murphy said. “We need to find out who the girl is, and soon.”
“The schools are still out for another week or so.”
“The administrative offices should be up and running by now.”
“I’m on it,” Kelly said.
Dr. Wayne stood up and walked over to Murphy. Rosen joined them.
“So,” said Murphy, “what can you tell us about the red mark around her neck?”
Investigator Fielder had climbed out of the dumpster and was busy at the CSU evidence van.
“Fielder,” Wayne called.
“Yes?”
“Please show Murphy and Rosen the rope.”
Fielder pulled a large plastic bag from the back of the truck and carried it over to Wayne and the two detectives. The bag held a four-foot length of quarter inch white nylon rope. For all practical purposes, an everyday piece of clothesline. Except for the loop tied at one end.
“A noose?” Rosen asked.
“More precisely a Gallows Knot,” Fielder said.
“The victim was strangled,” Batman said. “There were bruises on her back in the areas of the left and right deltoid muscles. The girl would have been face down on the grass. Apparently the perpetrator was standing with a foot on each of her shoulders pinning her to the ground and pulled on the rope until she was dead.”
“Why go through the trouble?” Murphy asked. “The killer had to be fairly strong to get her up into the dumpster. Assuming it was a man with two good hands, why not just choke the poor kid or snap her neck? Why bother with a noose?”
“To simulate a hanging?”
“I h
ad the same thought, Detective Rosen,” Wayne said.
“Why not just hang her?” Fielder asked.
“It might have kept him out in the open longer than he would have liked,” Rosen suggested.
“Maybe the fuck wanted to save rope,” Murphy said.
Rosen took a long look at the young girl on the ground.
“Let’s hope he’s not saving rope for another victim.”
Detectives Murphy and Rosen stood in the ballpark not knowing exactly what to do.
The body was gone, Batman was gone, and all they could do for the CSU team was get in the way.
Murphy’s cell phone rang.
The detectives might have been thankful Sergeant Kelly had found something for them to work on if it wasn’t the name of a family who had reported a missing teenage daughter.
Jennifer Ann Greco, a sixteen-year-old Junior at Lafayette High, who never made it home from cheerleading practice the night before.
Kelly gave Murphy an address on West Street between Village Road North and Gravesend Neck Road.
“Isn’t that near Our Lady of Grace Baseball Field?” Murphy asked.
“Just up the street.”
“Time to roll,” Murphy said after the call from Kelly.
“Where to?” Rosen asked.
“From one ballpark to another. And me without my mitt.”
Samson called Ivanov into his office.
“I spoke with Lorraine. She told me she agreed to represent your friend.”
“Yes. Thank you again for pointing me her way.”
“Marina.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t have to tell you to stay out of it. We can’t appear to be in opposition to the prosecution.”
“Alex Holden is like one of the family, Captain. My sister expects me to do something.”
“Tell me about Pavel Vasin, Marina, you’ve mentioned his name more than once.”
“He is my father’s cousin, more like a brother. He came over from Russia when I was in my teens. Uncle Pavel was MUR, Moscow Criminal Investigation. He would tell me about his cases and go on about how much he missed the work. Why do you ask?”
“You have told me it was Pavel Vasin who inspired you to go into law enforcement.”
“And?”
“Lorraine said she may need a private investigator on the Holden case.”
Murphy and Rosen elicited two names from Rose and Andrew Greco.
Patty Bolin and Peter Donner.
They asked the couple for a photograph of their daughter. Sadly, the detectives concluded the girl in the photo was the girl in the dumpster.
They had talked with Samson before going in to see the Grecos and agreed they would treat the visit as a follow-up on the missing person report, and not as a death notification, until they had an opportunity to speak with the last people to see Jenny Greco alive.
They chose to see Patty Bolin first.
After looking over photographs emailed from Michaels at CSU, Bernie phoned the medical examiner.
“Wayne.”
“This is Senderowitz from the Six-one, do you have a minute?”
“Only a minute.”
“The girl found in the ballpark.”
“I’m with her now.”
“Can you tell me anything about the gash on her upper left arm?”
“Not a knife, it wasn’t that sharp. I would say metal of some kind. Something that came to a point.”
“Could she have snagged her arm on the corner of an automobile door frame?” Senderowitz asked.
“Possibly,” Batman said.
“Thanks, I’ll let you go.”
“Two more things while I have you on the phone, Detective.”
“Yes?”
“The girl had been drinking alcohol shortly before her death.”
“I’ll let Rosen and Murphy know. And the second thing?”
“If it’s any consolation, the girl was not violated sexually.”
“As a matter of fact it is consoling,” Senderowitz said.
Patty Bolin did not have much to add beyond what the detectives had learned from Rose Greco.
The last time Patty had seen Jenny Greco was when Jenny and Peter Donner drove away from the football field the previous evening.
“Donner’s car? Make? Model? Color?” Murphy asked.
“Ford Explorer. Dark blue,” Patty said.
Rosen received a call from Senderowitz as they were returning to their vehicle.
“The girl had a nasty gash on her upper left arm. She may have cut herself on a car door. She had been drinking alcohol and wasn’t sexually molested,” Bernie reported.
The detectives headed out to Peter Donner’s address on West 2nd Street.
They saw the SUV in the driveway when they arrived at the house.
Murphy took a quick walk around the Explorer.
“Well?” asked Rosen.
“There appears to be blood on the front passenger door.”
“Are you just seeing what you would like to see?” Rosen asked.
“What I would like to see is Dublin in August.”
“Tommy.”
“I said appears to be blood. It should be enough for a search. CSU can confirm before they go into the vehicle.”
Rosen called Kelly at the precinct, read him the license plate number, and told the sergeant they needed a search warrant for the Ford.
“Probable cause, the appearance of blood on the exterior of the vehicle,” Rosen said. “And we need it as soon as possible.”
“I’ll move it right to the top of my list, if I can get through all of this goddamn paper on my desk and find the place where the list begins.”
“Well if it helps you with your work load, we identified the girl.”
“It helps a little. Did you notify the parents?”
“We’re putting it off until we talk to the boy she was last seen with, not that I’m in a big hurry to break the news.”
“I’d rather be begging a judge for a vehicle search warrant than have to tell a mother her daughter is never coming home,” Kelly said.
“How about having to tell two mothers in less than a week?”
“I’d rather have an impacted wisdom tooth.”
“Can you transfer me up to Samson?”
“Sure. Hold on.”
“Thanks Kelly.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Samson stepped out of his office and called Ripley and Richards over.
“Rosen called, we have a possible suspect. I need you to locate the Lafayette High School football coach and get his impressions of Peter Donner. Also ask the coach for names and numbers of some of Donner’s teammates and talk to whoever you can about Peter, particularly about how the boy described his luck with the girls.”
“And if anyone wants to know what all the questions are about?” Richards asked.
“I’ll tell them it’s classified,” Ripley said, “I’m very good at it.”
“Call Rosen if anyone raises a red flag,” Samson said.
Peter Donner answered the doorbell.
The detectives identified themselves and Murphy cut to the chase.
“When was the last time you saw Jenny Greco?”
“It was around nine last night,” Donner said. “What’s going on?”
“Let us ask the questions for a while. Where was that?”
“It was where I dropped her off,” Donner said. “On West Thirteenth, across from the elementary school.”
“Why there? Jenny doesn’t live there.”
“I didn’t know that. That’s where she asked me to take her.”
“Had you and Jenny been drinking alcohol?”
“No.”
“We know she drank alcohol last evening, Peter,” Murphy said.
“Not with me. Maybe she met with some other friends afterwards. Are you going to tell me what this is about?”
“We will,” Rosen said, “but we would like to continue this conversati
on down at the precinct.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“Not really,” Rosen answered, “but cooperating with us would be in your best interest.”
“My parents aren’t home, I need to call them.”
“You can phone anyone you like when we reach the precinct,” Murphy said. “So, how about it? Will you take a ride with us?”
“I have a car. I can meet you there.”
“Your car is fine where it is, Peter, why waste the gas? Think of it as a courtesy shuttle, we’ll have you back here in no time.”
Twenty minutes after the detectives left for the precinct with Peter Donner, Fielder and Michaels arrived at the Donner residence.
Michaels watched as Fielder scraped a sample from the door of the SUV onto a piece of filter paper with the small blade of a Swiss army knife.
“Nice evidence collection tool,” Michaels said.
“Hard to beat.”
“How are you testing? Luminol?”
“Kastle-Meyer.”
Fielder added a drop of ethanol followed by phenolphthalein and finally hydrogen peroxide. The paper turned pink.
“Blood?”
“Most likely,” Fielder said, “if it isn’t horseradish.”
“Do we enter the vehicle?” Michaels asked.
“Call for a tow truck. We’ll go into the vehicle at the CSU garage, better to get the car off the street before we attract an audience.”
Peter Donner sat in an interrogation room at the 61st Precinct. Samson, Senderowitz, Rosen and Murphy stood in a small adjoining room observing the suspect through a one-way mirror.
“He’s asking for a phone call to his parents,” Rosen said.
“Can we interrogate him before we give him a phone?” Murphy asked.
“We’ll call it an interview,” Bernie said, “but we don’t have much time.”