by J. L. Abramo
Temperature in the mid-seventies, sunny and dry.
Ivanov and Richards sat in a car up the street from the Donner home.
“Remind me why we are stuck here inside this vehicle on a remarkably beautiful afternoon,” Richards said.
“I can sum it up in three words. It’s our job. Some nut hurled a brick through their front window. Someone could have been badly injured.”
“As I recall, it’s Rosen and Murphy’s case.”
“And that is why Rosen and Murphy are out trying to find anyone who may have seen Jenny Greco, Peter Donner or both after they left the football field. And in the Six-one, every case is everyone’s case.” Marina stopped and took a deep breath before going on. “Look, Richards, I didn’t mean to snap at you, but there are places I would rather be also. Complaining won’t make it any easier to be here. If we are going to talk, let’s talk about something else.”
“Bad news about Samson’s son,” Richards said to change the subject.
“Yes, it is.”
“Have you heard anything about the circumstances?”
“No, I haven’t. It’s personal. We’ll know more if and when the captain wants us to know. Damn it. I’m barking at you again. I’m sorry.”
“Are you having trouble working with me, Marina?”
“No, I’m not, Marty. I have a lot on my mind, I’m a little edgy. I do like working with you, in fact I was going to ask a favor.”
“A favor?”
“When the relief team arrives at five to cut us loose,” Ivanov said.
“Yes?”
“I was hoping you would take a ride with me over to Brighton Beach.”
Murphy and Rosen had been at it since breakfast.
They went up and down West 13th Street for the third time in less than a week. They worked off a long list, visiting homes where no one had come to the door on their two previous attempts. Not one person had witnessed a young girl being dropped off the night Jenny Greco went missing.
“We’re wasting our time. Donner never brought her here that night.”
“You think he’s lying?” Rosen said.
“I’m sure of it.”
“Do you think he’s guilty?”
“He’s guilty of something.”
They cruised Shell Road with lower expectations. Most of the businesses would have been closed that Sunday. Those that did open were shut down by mid-afternoon. If you were not searching for a used carburetor, or attending a Little League baseball game, you had no business on that stretch of Shell Road. Particularly after dark. There was no pedestrian traffic and there were no train stations between Avenues U and X.
No one ventured out to Shell Road without a car.
“As morbid as it sounds,” Murphy said, “this is a perfect place to dump a body.”
The detectives pushed on, interviewing the football coaches and players again, asking this time around if anyone had seen someone strange or out of place hanging around in or near the practice field.
Nothing.
They finally decided to revisit some of the girls who had been with Jenny before she left practice that night.
Rosen suggested they speak with Patty Bolin first. They caught her just as she was leaving home for a meeting at the high school.
Patty had nothing to add to what she told them in the earlier interview.
“So, you saw no one during rehearsal who looked suspicious?” Murphy asked, repeating himself.
“I already told you, no,” Patty said, “and I have a few questions too.”
Murphy turned to Rosen. Rosen nodded a go-ahead.
“What questions?” Murphy asked reluctantly.
“The first time we talked, why didn’t you tell me Jenny had been killed?”
“We weren’t sure it was Jenny at the time,” Murphy lied. “We had to wait for her parents to identify her.”
“And why are you asking about suspicious looking people now? Are you thinking Peter Donner didn’t kill Jenny?”
“We are not at liberty to tell you what we think,” Murphy said.
“What do you think, Patty?” Rosen asked.
“I was supposed to take her home that night,” Patty Bolin said. “I can’t stop thinking it was my fault she never got there.”
“You shouldn’t think that way,” Murphy said.
“That’s easy for you to say.”
“Not that easy,” Murphy said. “Thank you for your time. Take care of yourself.”
The detectives turned to leave.
“Hey?”
“Yes?” Rosen asked.
“I’m running late, could you give me a lift to the school?”
“Sure,” Rosen said.
Ripley drove over to his sister’s house to fetch Kyle and Mickey after a relatively quiet day at the precinct.
“I’m still planning to ask Justine Turner over for dinner, and I would still like you to join us,” Connie said.
“Are you going to torture me until I say yes?”
“Definitely.”
“Okay. When?”
“Friday night?”
“Fine. I’ll bring wine.”
“Don’t forget to bring the boys,” Connie said.
“I’ll try not to.”
He was sitting in his car, watching the front entrance of the school.
When he saw Patty Bolin exit, he stepped out of the vehicle.
“Miss Bolin?” he said, when she reached the sidewalk.
“God. You scared me,” she said.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Why are you still here?”
“I was feeling anxious after the group counseling session,” Patty said. “I went to the gym to work out, work off the tension. Why are you still here?”
“I stayed to take care of paperwork. I was about to get into the car when I noticed you coming out.”
“What time is it?” Patty asked.
“A little after eight.”
“Shit. I totally lost track of time. And I forgot my cell phone. My mom will be really worried. Sorry about the language.”
“I’ve heard it before. Would you like to use my phone? Let your folks know you are on the way?”
“At this point it would be better if I just showed up. After what happened last week, I think a call from an unknown number might scare my mom more.”
“Well, in that case, I’m leaving now. Can I give you a ride home?”
“I don’t want to take you of your way.”
“It’s really no problem.”
Patty looked around. There was no one else on the street.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“I’m sure. Let’s get you home before your mother becomes too alarmed.”
“Okay, thanks,” Patty said.
SEVENTEEN
Murphy’s cell phone jolted him awake. He quickly grabbed it off the side table and fumbled to kill the annoying sound.
“What time is it?”
“It’s Landis.”
“What time is it?”
“Almost four.”
“Not good. What happened?”
“A dead girl. Kings Highway subway station at the Highlawn Avenue end of the platform, west side of the tracks. That’s all I can say. I have to get off the phone.”
“We’re on our way,” Murphy said.
“What time is it?” Rosen asked, sitting up in the bed.
“Time to suit up.”
The MTA had stopped service on the N Line as soon as the call came in.
The body hung from the top of a retaining wall that separated the train station from the houses on West 8th Street.
Officers Landis and Mendez were above, in the back yard of a house near Highlawn Avenue. They held the rope at one end and slowly lowered the girl to the ground, trying their best to keep the body from banging against the concrete wall.
CSU had spread a large black tarp across the train tracks.
Before the girl’s feet touched the ground, Michaels took
her by the legs and Fielder held her under her arms. They gently placed her on her back, in the center of the tarp.
“Same knot,” Fielder said, looking at the noose around the young girl’s neck.
Rey Mendez met Murphy and Rosen when they arrived at the Highlawn Avenue entrance to the subway station. The two detectives followed Mendez around to West 8th. He led them to the back yard where Landis stood at the wall looking down. Landis pointed out the six-inch piece of white clothesline tied to the metal rail running along the top of the wall.
“We were asked to leave this end tied on, we cut it here and had to add our own rope to get the body down to the tracks,” Landis said.
Murphy moved to the back of the house, the officers followed.
“Have you spoken with the residents?” Murphy asked.
“There was no answer, we pounded on their door. I doubt they could have slept through the racket.”
“Neighbors?”
“Four uniforms have been waking people up. Nothing yet.”
“The girl is found hanging off the wall on the end of a rope and no one sees or hears a thing? Who called it in?”
“A transit worker, he was walking the tracks picking up debris,” Landis said. “The victim wasn’t visible from the platform or the street.”
“Has CSU been up here?”
“They’ve been busy down there,” Landis said.
“No one comes back here until they do.”
Rosen had been quietly looking down at the activity below.
Murphy, Mendez and Landis joined her at the wall. They looked down to the tracks. Dr. Wayne was on the tarp, down on his knees working, blocking a clear view of the body.
“Do we have an ID?” Murphy asked the two uniformed officers.
“Tommy,” Rosen said, as the medical examiner stood up and stepped away from the girl.
“What?”
“It’s Patty Bolin.”
When Murphy and Rosen got down to the tracks they saw Chief Trenton talking to the medical examiner. Two EMTs were moving the girl’s body onto a stretcher.
Trenton motioned for the two detectives to follow him to the east side of the station platform.
“We believe the girl was murdered. She was hung with the same rope using the same noose as the girl found at the baseball field last Sunday. We never released the information about the rope to the press in the Greco case. If we do now it will cause the sort of media frenzy and public unrest that can seriously impede our investigation.”
“What are you suggesting?” Rosen asked.
“For the time being, we report this incident as an apparent suicide.”
“You’re asking us to tell the girl’s parents she killed herself when we are thinking otherwise?” Rosen said.
“Yes.”
“Excuse me for saying it, sir, but this sucks.”
“I agree, Detective Rosen. But I feel it needs to be done.” Trenton said. “And I am afraid I have to insist.”
They were heading to the Bolin residence to notify the girl’s parents.
Rosen had not said a word since speaking with Trenton.
“What is it?” Murphy asked.
“What is it? Patty was alive twelve hours ago. She was sitting in the back seat of this car.”
“Your point being?”
“I don’t have a point,” Rosen said. “There is no fucking point.”
After breaking the news to Patty Bolin’s parents, having to uncomfortably witness yet another inconsolable mother and stunned, helpless father, Murphy and Rosen elicited enough information to point them in the direction of William Pabst.
“Messengers of death.”
“What?” Rosen asked.
“Nothing,” Murphy said, as they pulled up to the home of the Lafayette High School principal.
William Pabst answered the doorbell in a bathrobe over a white T-shirt and cotton pajama bottoms. And a pair of moccasin styled house slippers.
Murphy and Rosen identified themselves.
“It’s early,” Pabst said. “Something has happened.”
“May we come in?” Rosen asked.
“Of course.”
“We need to ask some questions and would prefer you don’t question us for the time being,” Rosen said, once they had settled into chairs in the living room.
“Go ahead.”
“There was a meeting at the high school last evening at five. Can you tell us who attended,” Murphy said.
“There were the nine girls, all the members of the Patriots’ cheerleading squad.”
“We will need their names, their addresses and phone numbers,” Rosen said.
“I can supply all of that information when I get to the school.”
“Good,” Murphy said. “When did the meeting end?”
“Shortly after six.”
“Who else was there at the meeting?”
“Our Assistant Principal, Walter Kelty. The girl’s gymnastics instructor, Marsha Calhoun. Our dance instructor, Emily Bledsoe, who choreographs the cheerleading routines. David Rose, the school psychologist. And myself.”
“When did you leave the school?”
“Immediately after the meeting.”
“And the other adults?”
“Calhoun and Rose walked out of the school with me. I watched David drive off in his car and I walked Marsha to her vehicle before I continued on to my own. Emily teaches an adult education dance class on Tuesday nights that starts at eight. She brought her dinner and planned to wait at the school until the class began. Walter said he had work to do in his office, he’s been putting a memorial assembly together for Jenny Greco.”
“And the girls?” Rosen asked.
“Emily asked the girls if they would remain for a while, to talk about how best to go forward with their work in the cheerleading squad in light of Jennifer Greco’s death. Emily asked for fifteen or twenty minutes of their time. I believe all of the girls agreed to stay.”
“When will you be arriving at the school today?” Murphy asked.
“I plan to be there by nine.”
“And the others?”
“They should all be in by ten. Except the students, who will not begin classes until Friday. However, as I said, I can give you all of the information you need to contact the girls.”
“We would like to meet you at the high school, pick up that information and talk with Calhoun, Bledsoe, Rose and Kelty,” Murphy said, looking at his notes. “Would nine-thirty be alright?”
“Nine-thirty would be fine. Can you tell me now what this is about?”
“Not quite yet,” Murphy said.
“What do you think?” Rosen asked when they were back in the car.
“I think we need to talk to everyone who was at that little get-together last evening, starting with the staff at ten. We find out who saw the girl last and go from there.”
“And meanwhile?
“What time is it?”
“Just past seven.”
“I think it’s time for coffee and something to eat.”
“We need to find out where Peter Donner was last night.”
“It shouldn’t be difficult,” Murphy said. “Donner’s house has been under surveillance since the brick went through his window. We can call Kelly at the precinct. He should have an answer before our breakfast order is up.”
“And after breakfast?”
“We get back to my place. Now that I’m finally awake I realize we ran out so fast Ralph never had his morning constitutional. And he is pissed off at me already for dragging him away from my mother’s cuisine.”
“Shouldn’t we take care of Ralph before we eat?”
“He can hold out a little longer,” Murphy said, “and I’ll pick up a takeout order of bacon as a peace offering.”
“And then?”
“And then it should be just about time for Sandy and Tommy to go back to high school.”
Just before nine-thirty, Rosen and Murphy arrived at the school.
Murphy’s phone rang as they passed through the front door.
“Gangster Squad, Murphy speaking.”
“I thought you might be interested in knowing where Peter Donner was between six and seven last night,” Ripley said.
“As a matter of fact we were about to call for that very information.”
“He was here at the precinct. He walked in with his father and lawyer and he changed his statement about what happened with Jenny Greco that Sunday night.”
“Oh?”
“They parked on Shell Road, he put the moves on, she dashed from the car and he never saw her again. He thinks she cut her arm on the way out.”
“He feared he wouldn’t be as popular if he was exposed as a creep, so he lied,” Murphy said.
“That about sums it up. I spoke to the boy’s father this morning. After arriving home from the precinct, Peter stayed in all night. The stake-out team confirmed it.”
“It doesn’t help us much. I never made the Donner kid for a killer, just a shitty liar.”
“Looks like you’ll need to find another suspect.”
“We’re working on it. Has Samson checked in?”
“He called Senderowitz, said he would be at the hospital if needed.”
“Do me a favor.”
“What do you need?”
“Find out if there’s a record of anyone who died by hanging in the past year who wasn’t a suicide. Check the tri-state area.”
“Got it, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks,” Murphy said, ending the call.
“What was that?” Rosen asked.
“Peter Donner copped to not understanding that no means no.”
The principal handed a list to Rosen. The names, addresses and phone numbers of nine girls. Including Patty Bolin.
“Should I summon David, Walt, Marsha and Emily,” Pabst asked.
“We would prefer speaking with them individually,” Murphy said. “Could you direct us to where we might find each of them?”
Pabst jotted down names and room numbers. They thanked him and left the office.