Coney Island Avenue

by J. L. Abramo

  “They’ll want to know what it’s about,” Rosen said when they were out in the hall.

  “Then we tell them what we told Pabst earlier.”

  “Something like, We understand your curiosity, but we’ll be asking the questions.”

  “Or, it’s none of your business but thanks for asking,” Murphy said. “As long as they get the message.”

  “Where do we start?”

  “Pabst said he left the building with Rose and Calhoun. Let’s begin with them and see if their recollections jibe.”

  “Rose or Calhoun?” Rosen asked. “Eeny meeny miny mo?”

  “Let’s start with Calhoun,” Murphy suggested. “Gym was always my best subject in school.”

  Marsha Calhoun’s account matched Pabst’s story like they were reading from the same page.

  They had both watched David Rose drive away from the school before Pabst accompanied Calhoun to her car.

  “And you left?” Murphy asked.

  “Yes. I drove straight home, my husband and children were waiting on me to start dinner.”

  “Did you see Mr. Pabst enter his vehicle?”

  “Yes, he was parked a few spaces in front of me. When I passed he was getting into his car. When I was waiting on the traffic light at Stillwell Avenue and Avenue V, he was stopped right behind me.”

  “And did you see anyone from that meeting, other than Mr. Pabst and Mr. Rose, after you left the school last night?” Rosen asked.

  “No. Can you tell me what this is about?”

  “Nothing to worry your head about,” Murphy said. “Thank you for your time.”

  “Nothing to worry your head about?” Rosen said when they left the gym.

  “Give me a break, it was the first thing that popped into my mind and I caught myself.”

  “Caught yourself?”

  “I nearly said pretty little head.”

  “Let me question Rose,” Sandra said. “Psychology was always my best subject in school.”

  EIGHTEEN

  They found David Rose in his office. He told the same tale. He walked out of the school with Pabst and Calhoun just after six and drove off before they did.

  “Drove home?” Murphy asked.

  “Yes.”

  “How are the girls responding to Jennifer Greco’s death?” Rosen asked.

  “Generally?”

  “Okay.”

  “Generally speaking, in cases such as the unexpected death of a friend or fellow student, we often witness sorrow due to feelings of loss, sympathy for the family and thoughts about mortality.”

  “What about fear?” Rosen asked. “Fear of harm, fear of death?”

  “Not really. These are young adults. Sadly, they have been exposed to violence. It is pervasive in our culture. Books. Movies,” Rose said. “Some of the girls may have experienced violence personally. I’m reluctant to suggest they are jaded, but teens today are not easily shocked. They’re not as afraid of death as they are fascinated by it. Events like Jenny Greco’s death are far more frightening to the parents of these girls than they are to the girls themselves.”

  “Fascinated?” Murphy said.

  “Death is a profound mystery to the living, Detective.”

  “I don’t think about it much,” Murphy said. “The mystery that intrigues me is who killed Jenny Greco and why.”

  “So,” Rosen said, “you don’t see Jenny Greco’s death as potentially traumatic?”

  “Again, certainly for Jennifer’s parents and family,” Rose said, “but not necessarily for the girls. It is not as if they witnessed a gunman killing others in front of their eyes, survived the ordeal of meeting death face-to-face. It is disturbing, without doubt, but not as shocking. It may inspire them to be more careful, but it won’t make them afraid to leave their homes.”

  “Even if they fear there is a killer of young girls out there?” Rosen asked.

  “Is there reason to believe that’s the case?”

  “No. Not at all. It’s a hypothetical question.”

  “If that were the case, it could be a different story.”

  “Did any of the girls you met with last night appear to be particularly affected by Jenny’s death?” Rosen asked.

  “Patricia Bolin, perhaps.”

  “How so?”

  “Apparently, she was supposed to drive Jennifer home that night and failed to do so. I sensed remorse. She may be feeling somewhat responsible, feeling it was somehow her fault. I will plan to meet with her privately to help her put aside any misguided feelings of guilt.”

  “Thank you,” Rosen said.

  “Any time.”

  “Did that help us at all?” Murphy asked when the two detectives left the school psychologist’s office.

  “Not very much, but I found it provocative. And it stimulated unpleasant thoughts.”

  “I find the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue provocative. I nearly dozed off in there. Let’s find out what kept Walter Kelty after school last night.”

  “Detectives?”

  Murphy and Rosen turned to find William Pabst standing beside them.

  “Yes?” Rosen said.

  “Can I have a word with you in my office?”

  “Of course.”

  “A summons to the principal’s office,” Murphy whispered to Rosen as they followed Pabst. “Now that stimulates all sorts of unpleasant thoughts.”

  “I just received word that Patty Bolin committed suicide last night,” Pabst said when they were behind closed doors.

  “Terrific,” Murphy said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Can you tell us how you heard?” Rosen asked.

  “Your Chief of Detectives called me, he asked me to please cooperate with you and keep the news quiet for a while.”

  “Then you understand why we couldn’t say anything earlier.”

  “Why are you questioning my staff?”

  “We are simply trying to establish when Patty was seen last and if she seemed alright. Clumsily avoiding the subject of her death,” Rosen said.

  “I wasn’t told how she killed herself. When will it be made public?”

  “That’s entirely up to Chief Trenton,” Murphy said, “unless it leaks to the press before he can make a statement. We are trying to wrap up our interviews as quickly as possible. We were about to visit Walter Kelty.”

  “Go ahead, I will keep this to myself,” Pabst said. “I only ask you keep me informed. I am responsible for every student in this school.”

  “We understand,” Rosen said.

  The detectives headed out to talk with the Assistant Principal.

  “Can you tell us when you left the school last night?” Murphy asked.

  “Can I ask why you want to know?”

  “We would prefer you didn’t,” Rosen said.

  “The girls and I left shortly before eight.”

  “The girls?”

  “Classes begin Friday. It will be the first time the entire student body will be present since the death of Jenny Greco. We are planning a memorial assembly at four Friday afternoon. Two of Jenny’s friends have been helping me organize the program. We met in my office last evening to work out details.”

  Murphy was about to ask if one of those girls was Patty Bolin when a look from Rosen stopped him cold.

  “Who were the two girls?” Rosen asked.

  “Susan Fleming and Andrea Fazio.”

  “They’re not on the cheerleader squad,” Rosen said, looking at her list.

  “No. They are not.”

  “And when did you last see any of the girls from the squad?”

  “There was a meeting, which I am sure you have heard about. I left the meeting just after six. The girls stayed behind with Emily Bledsoe. I did not see any of them afterwards. Has something happened to one of those girls?” Kelty asked. “Or is it none of my business?”

  “Thank you for your time, sir,” Murphy said, answering Kelty’s question.

  “He wasn’t too happy w
ith us,” Rosen said, when they left the office.

  “None of them were. We’re treating them like children, keeping them in the dark. The way my mother did when I was a kid.”

  “Oh?”

  “She would tell me we were going out for ice cream and the next thing I knew I was sitting in a dentist’s chair.”

  “I bet you got the ice cream afterwards.”

  “In fact I did. So?”

  “So, let’s see the dance teacher and get it over with. Then I’ll treat you to a double-scoop.”

  “The meeting was here in my home room last evening,” Bledsoe told the detectives. “The girls remained with me. They all left shortly before six-thirty.”

  “And that was the last time you saw any of the girls?” Murphy asked.

  “All except Patty Bolin.”

  “Tell us about seeing Patty Bolin,” Rosen said.

  “I had my dinner here in the room and caught up on some reading. At seven-forty-five, I walked to the gym to set-up for my dance class. Patty was there, working out. We talked for a while.”

  “About?”

  “She said she was thinking about leaving the cheerleader squad. I asked her to give it more thought before making a decision. When my dance students had all arrived, I asked them to begin their warm-ups and escorted Patty to the front exit. I watched her leave the building a few minutes past eight.”

  “And after that?”

  “I instructed the class in the gym. The session ended at ten and I went directly home,” Bledsoe said. “Why are you asking about Patty and the other girls, and about who did what and when last night? I assume you’re looking into Jenny Greco’s death. What does last night have to do with Jenny? Has something happened to one of the other girls? Is it Patty?”

  “Miss Bledsoe, you need to promise you will not repeat this to anyone for the time being,” Murphy said. “Patty Bolin committed suicide last night.”

  Emily Bledsoe sat at her desk. She placed her hands over her face and she wept.

  “We have to go,” Rosen said. “Please, you must keep this quiet.”

  Bledsoe remained seated, perfectly silent.

  “We couldn’t lie to her,” Murphy said when they left the room.

  “We did lie to her, Tommy.”

  Murphy called Samson’s cell.

  “Where are you?”

  “At the high school, but it’s a dead end. Do you want to hear about it?”

  “I’m back at the precinct,” Samson said. “Come in and we’ll talk.”

  “How is Jimmy?” Murphy asked.

  “Come in and we’ll talk.”

  “Do you mind driving?” Murphy asked. “I’ll phone our guys at the scene.”

  “I’d love to drive,” Rosen said. “Where am I driving to?”

  Once in the car and rolling, Murphy called Landis.

  “Get anything?” he asked.

  “The residents of the house are out of town, they have been away since Friday. We got that from the neighbors to the south, who were out until after ten last night. The man in the house to the north is a widower. He’s at least eighty years old and had trouble hearing me from a foot away. No witnesses, just a lot of people not very happy about a wake-up call at four in the morning.”

  “CSU?”

  “Nothing. But I spoke to the M.E. a few minutes ago.”

  “And?”

  “Wayne places the time of death between seven and midnight. The fall snapped the girl’s neck, she would have died instantly. He discovered traces of chloral hydrate in her blood, probably administered by injection.”

  “So, she was unconscious when she was dropped and she didn’t suffer dangling on the end of the rope.”

  “That’s what Batman said. We’re still going door-to-door and will stay at it until people start arriving home from work.”

  “Keep me posted,” Murphy said, as they pulled up to the Six-one.

  Rosen and Murphy found Samson, Ripley and Senderowitz gathered around Bernie’s desk.

  “Grab a chair,” Samson said.

  Murphy filled them in on the visit to the high school.

  “So, the last person to see the girl has her leaving the building at eight,” Ripley said, “and the neighbors on West Eighth Street arrived home soon after ten. That’s only two hours.”

  “Only two hours?” Rosen said.

  “Two hours to abduct the girl, knock her out, get her to the scene, carry her to the back of the house, tie her to the rope, drop her and get out.”

  “He must have chosen that train station beforehand,” Senderowitz said.

  “He may even have chosen the yard, known somehow the residents were away,” Ripley suggested, “mail in the box, newspapers on the lawn.”

  “He did his homework,” Murphy said.

  “I believe so, which means someone may have seen him scouting around the street before last night,” Ripley said.

  “What is his motivation?” Rosen asked the former FBI agent.

  “When we suspect one killer is responsible for two murders at different points in time, the first thing we look for is a connection between the victims. These victims had too much in common,” Ripley said. “They were both female, both teenagers, and both from the same school.”

  “And both cheerleaders,” Murphy added.

  “Very specific. And there is the method, the hangman’s noose,” Ripley said. “I put out the query you requested, Murphy, incidents of hangings that were not considered suicides. Nothing yet, but it’s a good call. And I agree we need to be looking at the cheerleader angle also.”

  “Okay,” Samson said, finally jumping in. “We re-canvass the neighbors. Ask about anyone seen on the street in the past few days who didn’t belong there.”

  “I’ll get word to Landis and Mendez,” Murphy said.

  “Did the girl drive to the school?” the captain asked.

  “No,” Rosen said.

  “Then she planned to walk or she got a ride. Speak to anyone who may have seen her outside the school after she left the building. Talk with all the other girls. Maybe she mentioned arranging a lift.”

  “We’ll have to go to their homes, classes don’t begin until Friday,” Murphy said.

  “Then we go to their homes. And we send uniforms along the route she would have walked.”

  “It’s not fun questioning people who keep asking what it’s about, and not being able to tell them,” Murphy said.

  “No one said it was going to be fun, and it is natural curiosity,” Samson said. “It would be more surprising if they didn’t ask. By five you won’t have to play dumb.”

  “Meaning?” Rosen asked.

  “Trenton will be reporting the girl’s death before the news at five. He can’t hold off any longer.”

  “Apparent suicide?” Murphy asked.

  “Yes.”

  “So we have to play a little dumb,” Rosen said.

  “One of the things I’m best at,” Murphy said.

  “Tommy, can I see you in my office in five minutes?”

  “Sure, Sam.”

  After Samson entered his office, Rosen asked about Richards and Ivanov.

  “Out on a call,” Senderowitz said, “trying to sort out a stabbing incident.”

  “Drugs?” Rosen asked.

  “Pizza. There was a fight about who was first in line at L and B. The winner stabbed the loser four times, with a fork.”

  “Humans,” Murphy said. “How many wars have been waged over religion, political ideology, territory and fast food?”

  “Not to mention Helen of Troy,” Ripley said.

  “I might call Richards, ask him to bring me a sausage and peppers hero,” Murphy said.

  “Murphy,” Rosen said.

  “What? Am I being too cynical?”

  “Not at all,” Rosen said. “I’ll take eggplant parmesan.”

  “Have a seat,” Samson said when Murphy came into the office. “You asked about Jimmy.”

  “Yes.”

>   “I’ll make it short. Jimmy is awake and stable. That’s the good news. But he’s now aware of the extent of his injuries and knows Rebecca Ramirez was killed. It’s a lot for a seventeen-year-old boy to deal with. Frankly, it is difficult for us to get a handle on. Thankfully we’ve managed to keep Jimmy’s name out of the press for the time being. I’ve told only you and Sandra about Jimmy’s involvement with the school teacher. Alicia and I need some time to figure things out.”

  “It won’t go any further, Sam. How is Alicia doing?”

  “She’s coping. She’s stuck answering questions from Kayla and Lucy about their brother.”

  “Any word on the teacher’s husband?”

  “Disappeared.”

  “If there’s anything I can do.”

  “There’s not much I can do,” Samson said. “Let’s change the subject.”

  “Sure.”

  “At the school today?”

  “Yes?”

  “Was anything said that hit a nerve? Was there anyone you talked with who struck you as wrong?”

  “Whatever I have to offer would be subjective.”

  “Noted.”

  “Walter Kelty seemed very stiff, a stuffed shirt,” Murphy said, “David Rose seemed, I don’t know how to put it. Detached?”

  “Administrators are formal, counselors are clinical. It’s the nature of their jobs, and it’s not how you operate. You tend to be more informal and personal. Maybe you simply didn’t like them. Not your type. However, give it some more thought. There might have been something disquieting you just can’t put your finger on.”

  “Talk to Rosen about it. She tends to be more psychological.”

  Murphy and Rosen spent the late morning and early afternoon on the telephones or in and out of their car until they eventually spoke to all of the girls who had been at the meeting the previous evening.

  Asking who saw who last and when.

  Carefully avoiding any mention of Patty Bolin specifically.

  Skillfully deflecting questions thrown back at them.

  Learning nothing new.