by Rusk, Day
Leslie realized he wasn’t getting anywhere, both in his debate regarding Gail and his work for the paper; deadlines were looming and he had responsibilities. There was only one thing to do, immerse himself in the stories he needed to write and try to forget about his other life on the dark side of the tracks. It seemed life had other plans for him, however. He’d just barely got down to work when Detectives Ray Michaels and Bryan Stork darkened his office door.
“You Leslie Marshall?” asked Ray, even though he all ready knew the answer to that question.
“And you’re?”
“Detective Ray Michaels and this is my partner Detective Bryan Stork from homicide,” said Ray. “Do you have a couple of minutes? We’d like to talk with you.”
The sudden urge to flee gripped Leslie. How had they known? A full day hadn’t even passed and they were there for him. He wanted to run but couldn’t, not realistically. All he could do was his best not to look overly disturbed and guilty by their presence. Life had been so much simpler before thoughts of revenge.
“You do know I’m an entertainment reporter, don’t you?” he asked as the two Detectives entered his office and took a seat in front of his desk.
“I don’t read the Examiner,” said Bryan, “So I guess I didn’t know that.”
“I think you’re looking for our News Division or possibly Walter. Walter Souchak?”
“I do know Walter,” said Bryan. “But, no, we’re looking for you.”
“How do you know Harry Madwin?” asked Ray.
“I know of him,” said Leslie.
“Enough that your prints would be found in his home,” asked Bryan, “at a crime scene?”
Shit, he’d left his fingerprints behind? He hadn’t been wearing gloves and the way that one guy was tossing him around; it was possible he left more than a few prints behind. Gloves! That was basic. How could he have not known that?
“How do you know Harry Madwin, Mr. Marshall?” asked Ray. “How did your prints get into his house and our crime scene?”
“I wouldn’t imagine he’s part of the city’s entertainment scene,” said Bryan.
They were fishing around and trying to intimidate him; he could see that. In many ways just their presence in his office was intimidating. He could come clean and turn in Gail, after all he had acted in self defense, but somehow he didn’t think they would care; and despite himself, he really hadn’t decided what he wanted to do in that regard. He didn’t know if he ever wanted to see her again, but he did know that right now he didn’t want to be the cause of her downfall.
He had to think quickly.
“Harry Madwin is part of my past,” said Leslie. “I visited him a couple of days back.”
“May we ask why?” asked Ray.
“Harry, along with Morgan Neil murdered my parents when I was ten-years-old.”
He could see a brief look of surprise cross the faces of both Detectives; they were veterans so they hadn’t revealed much, just enough. They obviously weren’t anticipating just such an answer.
“And you decided after all these years to pay him a visit,” asked Bryan. “It a reunion date or something like that?”
“You’ve got a smart mouth, Detective,” said Leslie, looking directly at Detective Stork.
He was generally an upstanding member of society and had done nothing wrong as far as he was concerned (okay, maybe morally), so he didn’t feel he had to put up with Detective Stork’s attitude like he was being sweated in an interrogation room. As far as he knew, he really didn’t need to be talking to them at all, unless they wanted to arrest him. He’d given them an explanation and if they didn’t like it they could take the next step and haul him in for further questioning, if not he owed them nothing more. Allowing them to remain here questioning him, was a courtesy on his part.
“Why would you pay the killer of your parents a social call, Mr. Marshall?” asked Ray, interrupting the tension that seemed to be building between his partner and Leslie.
“You want to know the truth, Detective?” asked Leslie. He was suddenly feeling bold. The way he figured it, people were always trying to keep the truth from them; most information they received probably had to be pulled out of their suspects with a lot of difficulty. Throwing out information in a matter-of-fact way might just throw them off their game and give him the upper hand.
“I could live with it,” said Ray.
“I went there to kill him.”
Leslie paused to look at the two Detectives. His last remark seemed to have thrown them off their game; they hadn’t expected an answer like that. Leslie could see the wheels spinning in their heads. He’d definitely taken them off-guard. He was impressed that they recovered quickly, once again hiding their surprise; the value of being experienced, he thought.
“And you returned last night to finish the job?” asked Bryan.
As Bryan looked at Leslie, he found it hard to believe this man could have taken out Harry and his two buddies, although from his appearance, he looked like he had been in a couple of scuffles recently.
“I don’t know what I was thinking, Detectives,” said Leslie. “I went there to kill him. Revenge for my parents and my brother and sister. I’ve been living with their deaths for a very long time. Actually, I’ve been waiting for guys like you two to finally bring them to justice; not necessarily for my family's murder but for some other murder or crime they’d committed, and you guys haven’t done a thing. I was getting tired of waiting and thought maybe I’d take justice into my own hands.”
“How’d that work out for you?” asked Ray.
“I was lucky to get out of there alive,” said Leslie. “I shouldn’t have visited him. It was stupid. I learned my lesson the hard way.”
Sure he’d learned his lesson in an alley near Duffy’s, but they didn’t need to know that.
“Let me get this straight, you met up with Harry Madwin with the intention of killing him and he let you walk away?” asked Bryan. “That’s a hard pill to swallow.”
“I more or less crawled away,” said Leslie. “Once he knew who I was he seemed amused by it all. A ten-year-old, after all this time, shows up to exact revenge. He didn’t take me seriously and roughed me up. I got lucky.”
“You have a gun, Mr. Marshall?” asked Ray.
Leslie looked at him.
“I mean, how did you plan to kill Harry?” asked Ray.
“I brought a large kitchen knife with me,” said Leslie. He had a gun, but it was illegally purchased and it was used in the murders last night; he might have to consider sending it to sleep with the fishes in the lake before it got him in trouble.
“So let me get this straight,” said Bryan, “you, a fella whom I imagine hasn’t been in many fights in his life, decided to kill one of the city’s deadliest men, and you thought it would be a good idea to use a weapon that required you to get up close and personal to do so?”
“My family’s death has haunted me for a long time, Detective. What can I say, I wasn’t thinking clearly. That’s what happened, Detectives. As for the events of last night, I know nothing, but if you have any information you’d like to share, I can escort you both down to Walter’s office; we were talking about it earlier, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind a private audience with some Detectives working the case.”
“We’ll pass on the interview,” said Ray standing up. Bryan also stood up.
“I suppose you have an alibi for last night?” asked Ray, “Or were you home alone?”
“I was with a woman,” said Leslie. “Gail Russell, the artist. Let me get you her number, I’m sure she’ll verify everything.”
Leslie grabbed a post-it note pad and wrote down Gail’s cell phone number. They had discussed this last night in the car; they’d be each other’s alibi on the off chance someone came questioning either one of them about the murders. They’d covered all the details of their night together so their stories would be straight. He hadn’t thought they’d need to do so, but luckily Gail had insis
ted; she’d been right. Leslie handed the piece of paper to Ray.
“Gail Russell,” Ray said reading the post-it.
“She’s an artist with a show in town,” said Leslie. “Not bad. You should check it out.”
“I’ll think about it,” said Ray putting her phone number into his coat pocket.
“Anything else, Detectives?”
“Not at the moment,” said Ray, “but if we think of anything we’ll be in touch.”
“I’ll be here,” said Leslie.
Leslie put his hand out towards Ray, who shook it. He then extended it to Bryan, who did the same.
“I know it was stupid, Detectives,” said Leslie. “I don’t know what I thought I was doing. It’s like I’d lost my mind or something, but I can assure you that after my meeting with Harry Madwin the only one hurting was me. He knocked some sense into me.”
“So you’re not planning to go after Morgan Neil?” asked Bryan with a smile.
“If you run into him, Detectives, tell him he can sleep nights.”
Both Ray and Bryan turned and left Leslie’s office. Leslie sat down. It all seemed like a plausible story; if they had anything concrete on him, or truly did suspect he was there last night, they probably would have taken him into custody. As it was, they had nothing and he had an alibi.
Ray and Bryan exited the newspaper building and paused on the street.
“So what do you think?” asked Ray.
“I think there’s more there than he’s telling us,” said Bryan. “I’ll check out his alibi; why don’t you look up his story; see if Harry and Morgan really did hurt his family.”
“Revenge after all these years?”
“Weirder things have happened,” said Bryan.
“True, but even if his story doesn’t completely check out, do you make this guy as a potential serial killer; let’s not forget the financial guys; the similarity in all the murders. He just didn’t strike me as someone like that. Sure, he’s someone who’s holding back some information, and not exactly telling the whole truth, but not a serial killer.”
“Like I said, weirder things have happened. Guy’s too smart to try what he said he did. Something’s just not right. Who knows. Anyway, I’ll see you back at the Precinct.”
Bryan set off to check out the alibi, as Ray continued to analyze the interview. He often went with his gut, and it told him that no matter how dodgy the Harry Madwin story was, this newspaper guy wasn’t their serial killer.
It had been another long day. Ray put his feet up on his desk and closed his eyes. Bryan had left hours ago; said it was time to forget everything and unwind at home with his family. Good for him; Ray had once had that, but he hadn’t discovered the secret of balance fast enough to save his marriage. Bryan had spoken briefly with Gail Russell and Leslie’s alibi had checked out. He added that this artist woman was quite a looker and quite a character. Usually a visit by the police intimidated people in some way, but not her. She had actually asked Bryan if he could take the time to describe the crime scene for her, which he found odd, until she explained her first ever gallery show were portraits of famous killers and serial killers. His partner had a way of cutting to the chase and not wasting his time. If Ray had of been there he would have questioned her as to the motivation behind just such an exhibit; it always fascinated him that others were fascinated by killers; when you spent a lifetime trying to put them away, it was just hard to see what was so interesting about them, or why some even seemed to worship them. Of course, he didn’t know the nature of the paintings, whether they glorified these killers or condemned them; if it was the latter, he’d be all right with it. The fact of the matter was he wasn’t there and these questions would never be asked. What really mattered was the fact she’d confirmed Leslie’s alibi.
Ray liked the squad room at this time of day; less hustle and bustle. Night seemed to calm things down a bit, at least in his world; he knew all wasn’t calm because he was often called to help clean up the mess when the sun came up. But for now, he’d enjoy what was.
Today the streets went quiet; that was standard operating procedure for all the lowlifes out there when a crime was committed involving Morgan Neil. If he didn’t loathe Morgan as much as he did, he’d almost have to admire him; he was merely one lone man, yet the fear he inspired in others - and so many others - was truly impressive. Even with the law breathing down their necks and threatening them, they still honored his code of silence; if only the police could threaten as effectively as Morgan.
The Joe Weldon case; it would never be closed. Ray knew that and his superiors knew it as well. They all knew who was responsible, but no one was talking. Even the Feds, who had a task force looking to make a RICO case against Morgan and his organization, haven’t been able to do so; they were compiling information, just like the Lakeview Police Force, and have been doing it for years, but it was now a race against time; could they get enough information to take him down, before natural causes finally claimed his life. According to a Fed Ray had known for some time, Morgan, who remained low-key when the papers weren’t reporting a crime committed by his men, stressed a code of silence, stressed honor among thieves. He said they’d actually caught him on tape once waxing poetic on deceased New York Mob Boss John Gotti.
Morgan had been explaining to his cronies the importance of respect and staying low-key. He’d said Gotti became a number one target of the U.S. government because he was flamboyant; he earned himself the moniker Teflon Don and enjoyed getting his picture in the papers. He made the same mistake Al Capone and Bugsy Siegel did; Capone liked to get his picture in the paper and in the newsreels of the day, and Bugsy did the same when he went to Los Angeles, enjoying being photographed with starlets of the day; by doing this they were thumbing their noses at the authorities and as such made themselves high priority targets. Whether the authorities got them, like Gotti and Capone or the Mob took care of them, like Bugsy, they had to be removed from power. In Gotti’s case, Morgan said, he was undone by his own rise to power, in which he feigned respect for the old guard of Mob Bosses, who were in power at the time, but really didn’t; he sold drugs against Paul Castellano’s wishes, and when it was looking like that was going to blow up in his face, he had Castellano, a Mob Boss killed. This was unthinkable; minions didn’t order the assassination of a Mob Boss unless the heads of the other families sanctioned it for one reason or another. By not showing the proper respect for his organization's hierarchy and knowing his place in it, he demonstrated to his own men that the days of honor were over; as such, a high ranking member of his mob, Sammy “The Bull” Gravano finally turned on Gotti and testified against him; something that was unthinkable in the olden days of organized crime. This was the theory Morgan had developed, and as such, he made sure he brought back the value of honor to his organization; anyone stepped out of line, even a small infraction, they paid the price. Ray’s F.B.I. friend was telling him this during a casual conversation when they were talking about how tight Morgan’s organization was, and how they weren’t turning the amount of informants they expected and had in other cities with other crime families.
Morgan ran a tight ship and that ship was constantly banging up against Ray’s and the Department’s. He wasn’t even hopeful they would catch a break in the Harry Madwin murders. The wagons were once again circled. As for the Financial District murders? The killer hadn’t been sloppy. He’d spent several nights in both bars, the last place anyone had seen the two victims alive, but had come up with squat. This killer was organized and careful and that wasn’t good for them.
Over the course of almost thirty years on the Police Force he figured he’d done some good; he’d closed a lot of cases and there were a few he couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried. Some of them haunted him from time to time, but he also knew you just had to accept that that was the case. It had all seemed so simpler back in the day; or maybe it wasn’t, it just seemed simpler when you filtered the memories through the passage of time. It just
seemed that in today’s day and age, the killers, at least those who didn’t kill on emotion, were getting smarter and smarter; he could probably blame it on forensic-based TV shows, or the growing interest in the True Crime section of bookstores, but that would be taking the easy way out. What truly changed everything was the flow of information today; with the Internet, reams of information were at everyone’s fingertips if they just wanted to take the time to do some research; as such, criminals were getting craftier and learning how to cover their tracks.
Ray took a deep breath. He wasn’t as young as he’d once been; he wasn’t as naive as he had once been; and, he wasn’t as willing to just let go as he’d once been. The fact he couldn’t bring the Joe Weldon case to a close and the fact he’d have difficulty with the Harry Madwin murders, and the fact that they really needed the Financial District murderer to strike again and get a little sloppy (they still weren’t ruling out that that killer was involved with the Harry Madwin case, but for the life of him, he couldn’t imagine how) bugged the hell out of him. He was having trouble letting the fact go and that was a problem. The job had eaten him up many times over the years, and he’d bounced back, but how many bounce backs would he get in one lifetime?
He knew he should go home; maybe put on some Tim McGraw and lose himself in the healing properties of country music, but getting up off his ass seemed like just so much hard work. He also knew he should get on the computer and download the Department’s Retirement papers and start thinking seriously about taking his pension and getting the hell out. That also seemed like a lot of effort, but right now, if he had to pick between the two that seemed like the most likely course of action.
chapter EIGHTEEN
leslie HAD a friend; his name was Marvin, a likeable guy, but somewhat eccentric. In college, Marvin whom they all liked was considered a God for his ability to cook; if you found someone in your fraternity who could take a box of Kraft Dinner and turn it into a meal (more than it ever could be), well you’d found someone special. Marvin was a great guy, but never good with the ladies. Because he and Marvin’s other fraternity brothers liked him, they were constantly trying to set him up on dates, each time hoping that that girl would be acceptable for a second date. They never were. Marvin would always have an excuse and often a petty one. “She’s overweight,” or “She smokes,” or “She doesn’t appreciate Sinatra,” or something else like that would be his excuse for never going out on a second date and never developing a steady meaningful relationship with anyone. Secretly, after a while, they all began to suspect he might be gay, which was fine with them, that wouldn’t affect their relationship with him, although he might not know that. The point of all this and what got Leslie thinking about Marvin as he walked along Jarvis Street was that where Marvin was so picky about women, Leslie obviously wasn’t. For instance if the answer as to why you wouldn’t take a woman out on a second date was because she was a serial killer, that seemed a lot less petty than Marvin’s excuses. Actually, Leslie was sure if he spoke with a relationship counselor, they’d probably tell him that was one great big fucking red flag for a relationship. He couldn’t see how he could argue against their logic. Nonetheless, here he was, on his way to see Gail. Why? Because she called and he was an idiot. God must have been laughing when he made the brain in men’s penises much stronger than the one in their heads.