by F. P. Lione
“No. She won’t be able to drink. Her face is pulverized,” Fiore said with disgust.
We took her into the crime room and sat her in one of the cushioned chairs.
“What happened?” I asked her. I was glad she didn’t know what she looked like—she had enough to deal with right now.
“We were at Port Authority, waiting for a bus together. They were from Queens, so they started talking to me.”
“But you were in a parking lot on a deserted street with two guys you don’t know at twelve at night.” I said it softly, but I’m not stupid.
She put her head down.
“Why’d you go from Port Authority to the parking lot?” This from Terri Marks.
“They said they knew where to score some weed. They were nice at Port Authority, they seemed harmless,” she said.
“I don’t know how you could say the big guy seemed harmless,” I said. “They looked like they just got out of jail.”
“They did get out of jail, but they said it was for drugs. They were helping a friend, holding some of his stuff, and the apartment got raided. They wanted to score and told me that their guy is usually in the back of that parking lot.”
“You knew they just got out of jail and you walked into a dark parking lot with them?” Terri said, amazed.
“I know, I know,” she sobbed. “They seemed so nice. But then right before we walked back there, I saw the big one look up and down the street.” Her breath hitched as she spoke. “I thought he was looking for their guy, but I guess he was making sure no one saw us go in there. As soon as we got in the back where it’s dark, the big one started whaling on me.”
“It doesn’t matter why she went, Terri, she wasn’t looking for this,” Fiore snapped at Terri.
“I’m not blaming her for what happened, but I don’t understand why she’d put herself in a position like that—they could have killed her!” Terri said to Joe.
EMS came into the room, an older male who looked to be in his late forties and a younger female in her twenties. Joe and I left Terri in the room while they took a look at her.
I went out to the desk and went behind it to the green property locker to grab the Polaroid camera. There were four pictures left, so I grabbed some more film.
The vestibule door opened, and the sarge came in with Noreen. They had the smaller of the perps with them, and Rooney was right behind them with the big one.
The perps had their heads down and their mouths shut. Rooney and Connelly searched them again at the desk, this time emptying their pockets and counting their money. They had rolling papers and forty-six bucks between them. The only ID on them was their discharge forms from Riker’s.
I shook my head. They just got out of jail and already they’re looking to hurt someone. It didn’t shock me. It’s not uncommon for us to lock up perps with nothing but their release papers from Elmira.
What a mistake to let these two out. I don’t know who the moron was that paroled these two, but he definitely should find another job. They’d go back to finish their original sentence and then face charges of rape, sexual assault, and unlawful imprisonment, all in the first degree.
“Ya know,” Vince Puletti said loudly, his voice sounding like he gargled with sand from all his years of smoking, “when I came on, we’d throw scum like this off a rooftop. They’d never make it to the precinct.” He was walking toward them from the radio room with his hand on his gun. The big one looked up, and Vince gave him a hard look.
“Yeah, the good old days,” Rooney said.
“Take them back to the cells,” Lieutenant Coughlin said. “Don’t take the cuffs off them in the cell, and make sure you search them good.”
“Who’s taking the collar?” the lou asked me.
“Let Joe take it. It’s got Cop of the Month written all over it, and I got enough abuse last time,” I said. I took a gun collar in March and this month I was up for the Cop of the Month award, complete with a certificate and a savings bond. My face was on the wall of the precinct, and everyone wrote cartoon balloons over my mouth with “Let me kiss your butt, inspector,” “Wipe your nose, soldier,” and other degrading remarks. You get abused for it, but secretly I was glad I got it. It’s nice to be appreciated.
“Alright, Joe takes the collar. You go to the hospital with the victim.”
The inspector would love that two of his guys picked up a rape in progress—it would make up for the geisha house thing he got nailed for.
It was before 1:00, so I was able to call the Special Victims Squad. On any first-degree sexual assault, we have to call in Special Victims. After 1:00 and until 8:00 a.m. it goes to the Detective Borough night watch dispatcher. They said they’d have someone meet us at Bellevue. The rape kit would go to the chief medical examiner’s evidence unit. Any other clothes of the perps with blood on them would be taken to the property clerk’s office.
I went back into the crime room with the camera. I took pictures of her face and head at each angle. The choke marks on her neck, the bloody legs, ripped clothes, and bald spots where her hair was pulled out. EMS put her in a chair to take her over to Bellevue.
I walked back to the cells to tell Joe I was leaving. He was sitting at the desk inside by the cells, doing the paperwork.
“You okay, buddy? You want me to take the collar?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No, I’m okay.”
“You sure? If you want, you can go to the hospital with the victim, and I’ll process this for you.”
“No, I’ll be alright. Thanks.”
“Hey, Officer, can you take these cuffs off? They’re too tight,” the big mutt said, his face scrunched up in pain.
“They’re new. Break ’em in for a while, maybe they’ll loosen up,” I said as I smiled at him.
I took the RMP and followed the ambulance across town on 34th Street and down the service road to the back of the hospital. I was starting to feel like I lived at Bellevue, I’ve been here so many times this week. I parked the RMP and waited for EMS to get the victim out of the bus. She looked worse now; her face was more swollen and her eyes looked like Rocky Balboa when he fought Apollo Creed.
“How you doing there?” I almost added “champ” but caught myself.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said, trying to focus on me. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you didn’t show up,” she said as she started to cry again.
I banged down the fury starting to rise up in me and said, “It’s okay now, no one’s gonna hurt you.”
“Let’s get you inside,” the female from EMS said to her.
People were staring at us as we walked her down the hall in the emergency room. A nurse brought us into the last room at the end of the hallway. I stood in the doorway as they got her onto the gurney.
“Can I get you some ice chips or something?” I asked.
“No,” she said and balled herself up, wrapping the sheet around her.
I backed out into the hall, wanting to give her some privacy. I heard the nurse talking to her in soft tones, asking if she could help her into a gown.
A female doctor, looking professional in her lab coat with a stethoscope around her neck, approached me and asked me what happened. She looked around my age, with dark brown hair and big blue eyes. She had a dark red birthmark on her face that I tried not to stare at while I gave her a brief rundown of what happened.
She went into the room, and the nurse came out a minute later. She came back with the rape kit and closed the door again, leaving me to amuse myself with the various machines that were stored at the back of the hallway. There were a couple of standing blood pressure machines, a complicated-looking thing that might have been for X-rays, and two gurneys with black plastic mattresses parked next to the wall.
The Special Victims detectives came in about twenty minutes later. One was a short, stocky male with brown hair cut military style. He was wearing a gray suit with the tie loosened, and he introduced himself as Detective
Macklin and his partner, a female, as Detective DePalma. She was tall and thin, late thirties, with long dark hair pulled back from her face. She was wearing a beige suit and no makeup. She gave me a nod and dismissed me.
“Is this where the victim is?” he asked.
“Yeah, the doctor’s with her now,” I said.
“Were you at the scene for it?” This from DePalma.
I nodded. “We got it as a pickup.” I went through it again with them. I talked to both of them, but he was the only one who would look up and acknowledge anything I was saying. I was concerned that maybe she wouldn’t be nice to the victim. The female detective seemed pretty cold, and I didn’t want this to be any worse for the victim than it already was.
“You got them both in custody?” he asked.
“They’re at the precinct; their only ID was their release papers from Elmira.”
“What were they there for?” She looked at me for the first time.
“I have no idea. My partner is back at the house, processing the arrest.”
They went into the room, and I moved closer to the door to hear how they handled it. The female detective surprised me by smiling at the victim while she introduced herself, and apologizing for what the victim went through. I smiled at the victim and pulled the door closed, leaving them in there with the doctor.
When the detectives came out, they said they would wait while the victim had stitches, X-rays, and some kind of scan. The doc was thinking about admitting her but would wait until after the tests were done.
I scribbled out an aided card naming the injuries that I could see on her. While they took her over to radiology, I sat on a chair in the room, bored out of my mind.
I must have dozed off. I sat up when they came back with the gurney and tried to look like I hadn’t been sleeping. It was now 2:30, and we had to wait another hour for the test results.
When the doc came in, she told us they would be admitting her. Apparently she had a fractured skull and a broken nose and cheekbone, and they were concerned about damage to one of her eyes. They were calling in a plastic surgeon to deal with the stitches on her face, and several of her teeth were broken.
I was feeling guilty and thankful at the same time. I wished we’d gotten there sooner, and I was glad we didn’t get there later.
I got the admission number, EMS’s info, the victim’s pertinent info, and talked to the detectives again before I left. They were doing the notification and would contact the victim’s mother. The doctor gave me the rape kit to bring back to the precinct.
I left the hospital at 4:30. I drove across town and stopped on 34th Street to pick up coffee and a buttered roll for Joe and me. I wasn’t hungry, it was just to absorb the acid in my stomach.
“How’s the victim?” Vince Puletti asked as I walked in.
“A mess. Fractured skull, broken nose and cheekbone. Her teeth were busted, and they were calling in a plastic surgeon to sew her face back up,” I said.
“Good collar, Tony,” he said gruffly—and let go a stream of curses about the perps.
I locked up my gun behind the desk in the gun locker. We do this so in case of a scuffle with the perps, they can’t get our gun and shoot us.
I went in the back to look for Joe. He was still sitting at the desk in front of the cell, looking worn out.
“How’s the victim?” he asked.
“They’re keeping her at Bellevue. They messed her up pretty bad.” I went through her list of injuries again.
He shook his head and looked over at the cell.
The perps were in the cage, untouched by the whole thing. The big one was laying on the bench and snoring; the smaller one was sleeping sitting up with his head back against the concrete wall.
Watching them sleep enraged me, and I wanted to go in there and see how well they slept after I made them look like the poster boys for police brutality. I thought about what Vince Puletti said about a time where you could throw them off the roof for doing something like this, and to tell you the truth, I could understand it. As far as I’m concerned, for something like this, they should have no rights.
“They give you any trouble?” I asked.
“The big one complained until I loosened his cuffs. After that they went to sleep,” he said as he rubbed his hands over his face.
“I need the complaint report to take the evidence kit up to the evidence unit on 1st Avenue.”
He looked around on the desk and pulled it out for me. “Here, it’s finished. You just need the complaint number.”
I walked past the desk to go to the complaint room for the number and saw the two Special Victims detectives come in.
“Tony, can you tell Joe to come out—the detectives are here,” Terri Marks said.
“I have the complaint report. I have to get the number and I’ll give you copies.” I filled in the complaint number and made four copies before I went back to get Joe.
I gave Joe the original three copies and kept one for the kit.
“I’m gonna drop off the kit. The detectives are here to see you,” I said. “You want anything while I’m out?”
“No, I’m good, thanks.”
The medical examiner’s office was across the street from Bellevue, so I took 34th Street across town again, but took 2nd Avenue over to 30th Street instead of the service road. I parked outside the white brick building and was met by an old-timer at the door. He looked like a cop, and it turned out he worked at my precinct twenty years ago. I dropped the evidence off on the third floor, came back down, and threw the guard a wave on my way out.
I got back to the precinct at 6:20. The lou had gotten someone to take the perps downtown, and Joe was asleep downstairs in the lounge. I didn’t want to wake him, so I tried not to make any noise as I took off my shoes, belt, and vest.
Joe’s watch beeped at 7:15, but he didn’t move. “Hey, buddy.” I gave him a shake.
“I’m up,” he said, still sleeping.
I went into the locker room to change. Joe was awake when I went back into the lounge. He was talking on his cell phone. I threw him a wave, telling him I’d talk to him later, and went upstairs to sign out.
I drove crosstown and took the Queens Midtown Tunnel to the Long Island Expressway. Michele lives way out in Manor-ville at exit 70 off the LIE. The LIE was congested through Nassau County but eased off once I got out to Suffolk. The drive took me an hour and fifteen minutes, and I was in Manorville by five after nine.
I was gonna stop at the Starbucks on 111, but I didn’t want any more coffee. I stopped at a deli in the King Kullen shopping plaza for a bacon, egg, and cheese on a roll.
I had a key to let myself in the house, and I wondered how Michele manages to keep it clean in the middle of construction. I ate my sandwich, then used the ladder they threw together from two-by-fours to go upstairs and see how the work was going. They didn’t put the stairs in yet, which is fine with me. I’d rather wait until the upstairs is done before Stevie could get upstairs alone and, God forbid, get hurt on something.
When I was here on Sunday, the rooms were framed and they had put plywood floors down. The electrician must have run the initial wiring, because they were starting to Sheet-rock. Michele and I are going this weekend to look at paint, the new front door, and carpet for the bedrooms. It’s pretty exciting watching it come together, and I couldn’t wait for it to be done.
There was no crew here. I knew the contractor had a couple of jobs going, and sometimes he didn’t get here until the afternoon. I heard the phone ring downstairs and went down to get it, figuring it was Michele.
“Tony?” I heard my mother’s voice.
“Yeah, hey Mom.” I guess I sounded surprised.
“Oh, I didn’t expect you to be there—I was leaving a message for Michele.”
“She’s at school,” I said.
“I know, that’s why I was leaving a message,” she said logically.
“Well, what’s the message? I’ll give it to her.”
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br /> “Um, no, that’s okay. I’ll call her later.”
“Why can’t you tell me?” I asked, suspicious.
“Because it’s about her wedding dress and I’m not telling you,” she chuckled.
“What do you have to do with her wedding dress?” “Tony! I don’t want to tell you. What are you doing there? I thought you were working.”
“I’m off tonight. I’m doing a day tour tomorrow,” I said. “Are you ready for Sunday?” she asked.
“I guess. I just hope it doesn’t end up in a brawl.”
“Well, neither of us will be drinking, so that should help,” she said good-naturedly.
We’ve gotten better at this, my mother and me. She’s surprisingly honest about herself and her drinking, so it makes it easier for us to talk.
“We won’t be drinking, but everyone else will,” I said. “Who else will be there? I thought this was something small,” she said, sounding uneasy.
“Everyone. Grandma invited the whole family.”
“Aunt Rose, Uncle Mickey? That whole family?” Now she sounded panicked.
“Even the cousins,” I said.
“Why? They weren’t at Vinny’s party.”
“Christie’s parents threw Vinny’s party, and it was only the immediate family on both sides.”
“I don’t know if I’m up for all of them and Marie,” she said quietly.
“Suck it up, Mom. If I can do this, so can you. Besides, we’ll get to see what everyone’s like when we’re not drinking.”
“Tony, it’s things like this that are triggers, things that make us vulnerable to drink again.”
“We’re not gonna drink again,” I said, meaning it. Although last time I fell off the wagon, it was after a family brawl.
A thought popped into my head and before I realized it, I was asking her, “Mom, was Dad always like this?”
“Like what?” she hesitantly asked.
“You know, like he is. Difficult. I mean, was it Vietnam or was he always this way?”
“Tony, I really don’t want to talk about your father. Why don’t you ask him?”
I barked out a laugh. “Yeah, like he’d tell me anything. Come on, was he always this difficult, or did the war make him mean?”