by J. L. Abramo
His concession speech was not televised live.
Although Marco Acevedo, a favorite son of Brooklyn, had received nearly sixty-five percent of the Kings County vote, his supporters in the remaining four boroughs were greatly outnumbered and, at the end of the day, he was defeated citywide by twelve points, fifty-six to forty-four percent.
Theodore Wilson celebrated his victory at a mid-town Manhattan hotel, in a ballroom packed with enthusiastic backers and with cameras from all of the networks rolling.
The City Comptroller thanked Acevedo for a well fought, dignified battle, adding he had learned much from the campaign about the issues which most concerned the citizens of this great city.
Wilson reminded the cameras that the general election was only six weeks away. He expressed his sincere hope that the esteemed Congressman from the Tenth District, along with those voters who so vigorously endorsed Acevedo, would all stand behind him in the tough fight ahead to keep a Democratic mayor in City Hall—more than once in his victory speech invoking the term common cause.
A regular visitor to Seth Low Park took a seat beside an old acquaintance later Tuesday night.
“What do you think of Wilson?” he asked.
“Wilson?”
“The Democratic candidate for Mayor—will you vote for him?”
“I’ll vote for anyone who has any idea about how to help me get off this fucking bench,” Stump said.
THIRTY SEVEN
The job of Police Commissioner in the city of New York is an appointed position. The Commissioner is chosen by the sitting mayor, can be replaced at any time, and so serves at the pleasure of the city’s Chief Executive.
Wednesday morning, Mayor Fredericks phoned Commissioner Daniels on behalf of Theodore Wilson and explained to Daniels what Wilson had in mind. The commissioner didn’t care for the idea, but was reminded by his honor that maintaining a Democratic Party hold on City Hall could have a profound effect on Daniels’ position going forward. The Commissioner called Chief Trenton who in turn called Captain Samson at the Six-one. Samson in turn called down to Sergeant Kelly and then he scheduled a meeting of all detectives at ten.
Rey and Salina Mendez dropped their two daughters at school. Now that the younger girl had started kindergarten, Salina had it a little easier getting through her day. Still, their two-year-old boy was a handful.
Afterwards, they visited Salina’s pediatrician for a routine check on her pregnancy. Rey kept the toddler at bay in the waiting room. Thirty minutes later his wife rejoined them.
“Well?”
“Everything is perfect, but she did do an ultrasound.”
“And?”
“Would you like to know if it’s a daughter or a son?”
“Do I?”
“Do you?”
“Sure. It’s good either way.”
“A boy.”
“Another holy terror.”
“Rey.”
“Yes?”
“I would like us to name him for Landis.”
“Stanley Mendez, that would be a family first.”
“You don’t like it?”
“I love it,” Rey said, “and I love that you suggested it.”
Mendez dropped his wife and his son at home and rushed down to the Six-one, arriving just as Samson began his presentation to the squad.
“Beginning Monday, following a ritualistic promotion ceremony to which you are all cordially invited, I will be moving down the hall to the Captain’s office so I may attend to administrative duties without being distracted by all of your pretty faces. Lieutenant Murphy will be sitting in the office I have been trying to hide in lately, or standing on his head out here if he prefers, either way he will be responsible for the smooth and successful operation of the detective’s squad at the Six-one. Try not to make his job as difficult as he made mine. Rey Mendez will be joining us as detective third grade and I will let Murphy flip a coin to determine who gets stuck having to wipe behind Rey’s ears. I spoke with Detective Maggio earlier, inquiring as to his possible interest in joining us permanently. He indicated he would very much like to do so, God knows why. I will be cashing in a marker with Chief Trenton to try to make it happen. Bernie Senderowitz sends his Jewish motherly love. I am hoping he will eventually come back to work with us, at least in a limited capacity. If there are no questions, I will move on to the really bad news.”
“Have you ever considered hosting the Oscars?” Murphy asked.
When the laughter died down, Samson continued.
“Everyone in the precinct works Saturday—as in no exceptions. Theodore Wilson, the Democratic candidate for mayor, will be staging a campaign rally in front of the Six-one at ten that morning.”
“You have to be kidding,” Rosen said. “Why here?”
“Because he needs Brooklyn if he hopes to win the general election in November, for that he needs Acevedo’s endorsement and he wants to get it right here in the Congressman’s district. Wilson also wants to make a big show of praising the Police Department. Finally, if a Republican candidate is elected, Commissioner Daniels will be out looking for another job. That is why. Coney Island Avenue will be closed to all traffic between Avenues X and V, as will Crawford and Lancaster Avenues between Seventh and Twelfth Streets and Gravesend Neck Road between Eighth and Twelfth. It is what it is, several hours of logistical hell. Then those who had a scheduled day off will go home, and the rest of us will take a deep breath and do police work.”
Murphy and Rosen picked up sandwiches and soft drinks from a deli on Avenue V, walked over to Mellett Playground, found a park bench, and called it a late lunch.
“Samson was hilarious this morning, until he got to the part about the fucking rally on our doorstep,” Murphy said.
“I was just thinking.”
“What?”
“Today is four weeks since Angela Salerno and Eddie Cicero were killed.”
“It seems like yesterday.”
“It seems like a year ago,” Rosen said.
“I’ve been meaning to reach out to John Cicero, and I keep putting it off. There’s a problem between us, I could feel it when Maggio and I went out to the Six-eight and Cicero had to hand over the Holden investigation, and it needs to be dealt with. And I feel I brought it on.”
“Cicero can be a hard case.”
“And I can be a hard case myself. When my brother Michael was killed, I was prepared to crucify a frightened rookie cop who made an honest mistake, and when Lou Vota was killed I was ready to destroy the world. I was hard on John. His son was executed, and he was treated as if he was just someone who was in our way.”
“I can’t say what you should do, Tommy.”
“I know you can’t,” Murphy said, “but what if you could?”
When Maggio arrived home Wednesday evening, his wife Annie was preparing dinner.
“How was your day?”
“Captain Samson asked if I’d like to remain at the Sixty-first Precinct permanently.”
“And you said?”
“I said I would, and I would. It still has to go up the ladder for approval, but he seems certain Chief Trenton will sign on.”
“You’ll be missed at the Fifth.”
“I’d like to think so, but I will be glad to be working the neighborhood. How was your day?”
“I received a flattering telephone call from Theodore Wilson’s campaign manager asking if I would like to join their camp—on salary.”
“And you said?”
“I politely declined.”
“Why?”
“There’s something about Wilson that bothers me, I can’t put my finger on it but it’s there and I can’t shrug it off.”
“What will you do?”
“I’ll do what I have been doing, teach my Political Science classes at Brooklyn College and pick up high school history classes as a substitute,” Annie said. “It’s funny.”
“What?”
“The assignment for my class tomorrow was
a report on Sunday’s debate, the result of yesterday’s primary sort of diminishes the debate’s importance.”
“If you are examining the debate process itself, the outcome shouldn’t really matter.”
“You are perfectly correct, Detective.”
“So do a get an A, Professor?”
Sarah was clearing the dinner dishes. She had been unusually quiet during their meal, and intuition told Bernie Senderowitz there was something plaguing his daughter.
Sarah brought coffee over to the table, then moved to the sink and began rinsing plates.
“Leave those,” Senderowitz said. “Pour yourself a cup and come sit with me.”
“I brought the sesame Regina cookies you like so much.”
“Sit. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
Sarah sat, took a deep breath, and began.
“A good friend from journalism school was asked by CNN to cover the presidential debate in Chicago. She and her husband are expecting a child in a few weeks, so she decided to decline the offer and she recommended me. I guess CNN admired what I did for New York One on the last gubernatorial campaign and I received a telephone call today asking if I would be interested in the assignment.”
“It sounds like a simple decision. I’m very proud of you.”
“It would mean being away for nearly a week.”
“And you’re worried about leaving me to fend for myself. Sarah,” Bernie said, before she could respond, “I’m doing fine, getting around well, and in any case I was going to suggest I was taking up too much of your time. Don’t let me stop you—it would hurt me more than help me. And don’t worry about the drinking. I haven’t thought about a drink in some time, and if I thought for a moment it had anything to do with your hesitation in accepting a career changing opportunity it would make me very sad—and a bit angry.”
“Are you certain?”
“Absolutely. On top of that, I will probably be back to work myself before long.”
“I thought you had decided to get out.”
“I had lunch with the captain yesterday. Samson is lobbying to have me return, limited duty, as a consultant. Finish out my time so I can earn full retirement benefits.”
“So you think it’s a good idea?”
“I do. If I don’t do something to keep busy, I would go stir crazy. And it will keep me out of mischief.”
“If I sign on, they want me in Chicago on Friday.”
“Well, then, you have a lot of preparing to do. But first, where are those sesame Regina cookies I like so much?”
Alison and Vinnie finally got around to watching the DVD recording of the Sunday debate on Wednesday night. Vinnie didn’t really see the point of watching the thing after a candidate had already been chosen, but he didn’t argue. Alison had sat with him to the bitter end of a heartbreaking loss by the Giants and he would hold up his end of the deal.
The final few minutes of the debate were devoted to closing statements. Theodore Wilson spoke last. He succinctly reviewed his visions for the future of the city, and he restated some of his ideas about how these goals could be realized. He ended with a call for a united effort. “Working together to keep New York City great,” Wilson said, “should be our most pressing concern.”
Vinnie Salerno nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Are you alright,” Alison said, “you just turned as white as a ghost.”
“I just heard a fucking ghost. It’s him.”
“What’s him?”
Vinnie crossed the room and took a CD from a bookcase shelf. The copy Carmine Brigati had made of the tape Bill Heller has passed to him at the restaurant a month earlier, the tape which held the conversation between Kevin Donahue and the unidentified second man. The conversation that had gotten Heller killed, and then Donahue. The tape recording that had led to the violent deaths of Eddie Cicero and Vinnie’s sister Angie.
Vinnie inserted the disc into the CD player. His hand shook as he pressed the play button. “Listen carefully,” he said.
Donahue: Kevin Donahue.
Unknown: Good afternoon, Mr. Donahue.
Donahue: Are you crazy? I told you never to call me here. And why are you calling at all, our business is done.
Unknown: I need two hundred thousand dollars.
Donahue: You already got two hundred grand.
Unknown: My needs have changed. I saved you at least twenty times that amount and a good deal of bad publicity. I don’t feel as if a ten percent commission is asking too much.
Donahue: We had a deal. I don’t know what world you bureaucrats live in, but where I come from a deal is a deal.
Unknown: Spare me the lecture on business ethics, Mr. Donahue.
Donahue: Why should I give you another dime?
Unknown: Because just as easily as I made incriminating evidence disappear, I can make it miraculously appear again. We are talking about a scandal that could severely damage reputations and hurt the city. Working together to keep New York City great should be our most pressing concern.
Vinnie stopped the CD there.
Then, using the DVD remote, Vinnie replayed the last several moments of Theodore Wilson’s closing statement.
“My God, it can’t be,” Alison said. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve listened to this conversation so many times I hear it in my sleep. And there it is, word for word, without question. Alison, I have to tell someone about this.”
“You can call Detective Senderowitz first thing in the morning.”
“Senderowitz is out of commission, recovering from a heart attack, but there’s someone else who needs to hear this and I feel I owe it to him.”
Vinnie told Alison who he had to see. He took the DVD from the player, went to the kitchen, and put both the CD and the DVD into a plastic bag. Then he grabbed a jacket.
“You’re going now?” Alison asked. “It is nearly eleven.”
“This won’t keep. Can I use your car?”
“The keys are in the candy bowl near the door.”
“Don’t wait up for me,” Vinnie said, as snatched up the car keys and rushed out the door.
THIRTY EIGHT
Alison opened her eyes and glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was half past three Thursday morning.
She couldn’t say what woke her.
She climbed out of bed, walked out to the living room, and found Vinnie sitting silently on the sofa. “What happened?” she asked, “you look like someone hid the ice cream.”
“He dismissed it.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“He said it was compelling, but not conclusive. He said Wilson has such strong support from the current mayor and the Police Commissioner that no one would touch it without an incontestable voice comparison, which no one was going to authorize.”
“And?”
“He asked me to leave the CD and DVD, said he would try to go through the back door to get an analysis done.”
“Was he convinced himself?”
“He said no, but not convincingly.”
“And what does that mean?”
“Something in his eyes, Alison, it was a little frightening. He told me to keep it to myself. Tell no one.”
“So?”
“I don’t know.”
“You did what you needed to do, you’re not police.”
“I don’t know.”
“Aren’t you working a double at the restaurant today?”
“Ten in the morning until closing.”
“It’s almost four, Vinnie. You need to get some sleep. We can talk about it tonight. Come,” Alison said.
She took Vinnie’s hand and led him back to the bedroom.
Early Thursday morning Rachel Ivanov called her sister to ask if Marina had time for breakfast.
They sat at a window booth in the Del Rio Diner at seven.
“Alex’s sister asked me to meet her yesterday afternoon,” Rachel began. “Sonia has been here since the funeral, to be wi
th her mother. She returns home to California later today. She asked to meet at the bakery. When I arrived, Katherine, Susan and Alex’s two assistant bakers were there also.”
The younger sister took a moment before continuing.
“Sonia would like the Avenue Bakery to survive. She sees it as a legacy to both her father and her brother. She has a family and a business in San Francisco, so she is out of the equation. She asked if I would be interested in taking over operation of the bakery. She expressed confidence in my ability to handle the business end, and said her mother could make a baker of me. The four employees wish to stay on.”
“And?”
“We reopen Monday morning at seven.”
“I’ll be there,” Marina said.
Lorraine DiMarco called her assistant Victoria Anderson into her office Thursday morning.
“We need some information on a Riker’s Island inmate, Anthony Territo,” Lorraine said.
“Go,” Victoria said, legal pad and pencil in hand.
“The date set for his first parole hearing, whether or not he has been a good boy inside, and if there are any respectable citizens out there who can speak well of Territo’s character. And reach out to his wife—find out where she stands.”
“Got it.”
“Thank you,” Lorraine said
Victoria left the office to get to work.
Twenty minutes later, Victoria came back in and placed a dozen long stemmed roses in a cut glass vase on top of the barrister bookcase at the door opposite Lorraine’s desk.
“These just arrived. I’m guessing they didn’t come from the flower shop at Riker’s.”
“What does the card say?”
Victoria removed the card from the small envelope.
“Have a nice day—Kyle and Mickey Ripley.”
“I believe I will,” Lorraine said.
Detectives Rosen and Murphy were doing lunch at Nikki’s Café on Kings Highway.