by Ronnie Allen
Sam wasn’t for him. She cringed at his tattoos. She was just too flighty and high strung for him. He needed a woman like Jen, who could control her enthusiasm. Except in the bedroom. Then all hell broke loose. Sam. She looked like she’d be hot, but she hadn’t connected with him at all.
This was the first time he had been in the war room since the renovation. He scanned the room--sky-blue painted walls, rewired for new computers, navy blue upholstered seating, light toned wood rectangular conference table. Nice. He put his lips together and nodded in approval. He would feel comfortable meeting with the multi-task force agencies in here. Up to date, like the ones in other states with more modern precincts. All right. New York City was finally entering the modern age.
Sam was the first person he laid eyes on. She was wearing, he guessed, a Meghan Mason beige denim pants suit. The oval studs running up the sides of her thighs, accentuated her legs perfectly, even sitting down. The jacket had the same stud pattern on the back.
Highlighted blonde hair flowed mid back, her beige eye shadow making those blue eyes pop, and pale pink lipstick that coordinated with her blush. Minimal.
Gorgeous. Spectacular.
Those were the only two words he could think of to describe her.
“You okay?”
He knew the words hadn’t come from Sam and he knew the voice. He just hadn’t seen Nick yet.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Good morning.” He pulled a chair out from the table next to Sam, sat down, and sank into the chair. His body weight pushed the seat down, close to the ground. He laughed and shook his head, using the lever on the underside to raise him up to an appropriate level. It took him a few tries to get it right. “This chair is mine. I’m not going through this crap every time.”
Sam laughed and waited to greet him until he settled down. “Good morning.” Her cheerful tone changed when she turned her eyes to scrutinize his attire.
“What?” He furrowed his eyebrows in a dare. He could guess what would be coming out of her mouth, next.
“A Khaos Rules T-shirt? Skinny jeans? For a formal interview?”
“Hey! What you see is what you get, princess. Deal with it. I’m the behind-the-scenes guy. You two are conducting the interviews. If I see you floundering, or going in the wrong direction, I’ll type questions for you to ask. So keep glancing at the computer screen. What happened at the club?”
“Carlo gave a different picture of the relationship between Adam and the vic. Dad gives him lots of cash.” Nick scanned his brown book. “And get this. There’s friction between the vic and Jaye Manning. Adam is one of his models.”
“Okay, so Mom doesn’t know her children. How are you breaking this up?” Frank asked.
“We’ll see them together, first. Then I’ll lead in the interview with Adam and Valerie. Sam will take Mom and AriellaRose. One thing, Sam--”
She cut him off. “I know, don’t leave off the Rose.”
Frank frowned. “How did you know that? And don’t tell me a little birdie told you.”
“You’re really out of sorts this morning, aren’t you, Doctor Khaos? How’s your son?”
“Fine. More upset than I am. Shows he has a conscience. And it’s Frank. I’m an informal guy, in case you couldn’t guess. Now, how did you know?”
“Um, I just thought, with a high-profile family, they might like things more formal. You know, use complete names, not nick names. That sort of thing.”
He stared at her for a moment. “Okay. Good assessment. What time are they coming in?”
“Around eleven. I did get back some reports.” Nick referred to the file. “The ME said the cause of death was a small knife in his jugular. He bled out in the car. What was seen on the body were remnants of dried blood, made fluid by the rain. No DNA yet. That could take a couple of weeks. Don’t know if all the blood belongs to the vic. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“Along with the cuts on the body, I think that might put a hole in your theory that it was a woman. Female killers don’t like to get dirty. They’d use poisons or suffocation. Rarely do they touch their victims, and as far as the cuts on his body, they usually don’t torture or bind them. Afraid of getting hurt in the process and hate the blood, especially on themselves.” Frank sat thoughtfully for a moment before he continued. “Females usually target the elderly and defenseless. Larcon was neither of those. A lot of them are nurses and caregivers. Easy access to their prey.” He folded his hands in his lap, sat back awaiting Sam’s retort. He knew she’d have one.
She cocked her head. “Okay, I knew that, as a doctor, you’d have your research down. But what if--just, what if--this person, this killer was the exception and knew the research? Their clean up shows they know some forensics. What if they wanted to throw this investigation, off? If the white band is from a gang, or supposed to make us think it’s from a gang, that could be to throw us off. They already wanted us to question the Mob’s involvement with the very location of the murder. And I researched the Philetano family last night. A general Google search. Carlo, who owns this club, as well as an Italian restaurant in Staten Island, has never so much as had a parking ticket. He’s thirty-eight, married. Wife looks lovely from the internet pics, four kids. The father Paulo has many legit businesses. He’s been on the FBI watch list for years, but nothing. They’re watching him because of ties his extended family has to the Mob. The middle son, Stephano, is a criminal defense attorney. The youngest, Leonardo, has a car repair shop on Staten Island, and the eldest son, Doctor Paulie Philetano, Nick knows. He’s an OB/GYN on Staten Island.”
“I know him, too. He delivered Frankie.”
“Oh, so you know this family? So why don’t you tell me?”
Nick sighed. “First. They’re not off the hook, Sam. We can’t do anything till we get all of the reports, and that can be several days. We start with the family. And I’m going to tell you now. I expect you to be hard on them. No little girl pout.”
Frank smiled, arms on armrests, wanting to hear about this. “Little girl pout?”
“What?” She glanced at Frank, who sat with a closed-lip smile. “And you! Stop calling me, princess. Only my dad calls me that.” She turned her attention toward her partner. “First, I was getting info from him, wasn’t I? He was willing to talk to me, wasn’t he? So don’t question my approach, if I get the job done.”
“Well, unfortunately, Loo put me in the position of correcting your protocol since I’m so good at it.”
“Um--that, I’ll have to wait and see, since we never did get a chance yesterday to get acquainted, so you could teach me the protocol.” Her tone matched his, obnoxious.
Before an all-out pissing match ensued, which Frank knew would fall upon him to neutralize, the conference room door opened. “Detectives, Doctor Khaos, the Larcon family is here.” Lieutenant Rojas stopped dead when Sam stood up. He stared at her, shaking his head.
Frank didn’t get the message. ‘What, Loo?”
The lieutenant opened the door wider. “In here, to start, please.”
In walked Mrs. Larcon, wearing the exact Meghan Mason suit as Sam, and Valerie, the same suit in lavender. Everyone stood still. Mrs. Larcon turned up her nose, scrutinizing Sam. She didn’t hide her disgust. This would be some interview, one that Frank was glad that he’d be in another room for. Even their short-sleeved tops were the same, in a gold Lurex for her and Sam, and the same in lavender for Valerie. Profiling Sam, he deducted she was a loner. She must have spent her entire salary on clothes. Nothing left to spend on entertainment. Not on a cop’s income.
Good. Just like me, except for the money.
“And who might you be, dear? I’ve met these two gentlemen.” Mrs. Larcon gave Frank what appeared to be a condescending look of disdain. He just let it roll off his back.
“I’m Detective Samantha Wright. I’ll be speaking with you today. Come, please sit down.”
“Very well. Oh, this is Adam and AriellaRose. She’s fat because she’s on prednisone.”
&
nbsp; Time stood still. No one spoke. They were at a loss for words. Sam and Nick both had the same solemn expression on their faces--one that mirrored his own, Frank was sure--of deep concern for AriellaRose and immediate dislike for Mommy Dearest. Adam seemed to be a mere oversight in his mother’s eyes. No judgments, Frank, he reminded himself.
As they took seats around the table, Frank peered into AriellaRose’s soul, seeing a tormented young woman, who probably hadn’t received a smile from her mother in years. She wore black oversized sweat pants and sweatshirt, most likely to conceal her weight.
What a demented thing to say about your daughter in an introduction to strangers.
Yeah, he couldn’t prevent himself from judging. AriellaRose hadn’t flinched, or paled, or let out any sign of disapproval with her mother. Her rounded face--broadened from prednisone use, he assumed, the moon face as doctors called it--hung down low, without making eye contact with any of them. When he did get a glimpse of them, her eyes, unlike Valerie’s, had no sign of tears.
“I think I’m going to participate in this interview, Detectives, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, Doctor Khaos.” Sam’s and Nick’s voices trampled over each other’s.
“We’re sorry for your loss.” Nick began. “I know it’s a difficult time for all of you.”
Adam looked up at the recording strobe in the corner of the room and rolled his eyes.
“What’s going on, Adam?”
He sneered at Nick. “I don’t know why we’re here. You spoke with my mom yesterday. We hardly talk to each other, so if you expect me to grieve, forget it. And what kind of a doctor is he, with his name on his T-shirt? I have a meeting to get to and this is a waste of my time.” Staring at Frank, Adam flicked some specks of lint off his denim sports jacket. He straightened the front of his jacket and smiled at his own attire, conveying a denigrating message.
Um, not so much different from my gang kids, just richer. “Forensic psychiatrist. You know? Everyone shows grief, disappointment in different ways.” The only person at the table who showed any movement was AriellaRose. He noticed her already labored breathing, becoming tighter. Her hand moved up to her throat and wheezing became more audible. “AriellaRose, how are you feeling?”
She held her head down, merely tilting her eyes up for a split second.
“Oh, she’s just bringing on an attack for attention,” Mrs. Larcon chirped. “She couldn’t care less about how I’m going to get along now, being a widow. She’ll do anything to get the attention on her. Pay her no mind, Doctor Khaos.”
“I’m talking to AriellaRose, Mrs. Larcon. She’s an adult and can speak for herself.”
AriellaRose snapped her tongue over her teeth, but that was the only response he had gotten.
Okay, she heard.
“Detectives, I think we need to go into different meeting rooms, now. I’ll stay in here with AriellaRose.”
Valerie waved a hand. “Why? We’re a close family, Doctor Khaos. We can talk freely together. Plus, we have so much to do to plan my father’s funeral. When do you think we can get custody of his body?”
Adam rolled his eyes. “Valerie, cut the bullshit. The lollipop act is getting old. These douche bags can see right through you.”
Nick sat straight up, leaned in toward Adam. “Adam, do I have to remind you you’re in a police precinct? Control your language.” He stared into the kid’s cold eyes, sending the message there was a decorum to be followed in here.
Frank had worked with Nick long enough to read his body language. Most of the time there had been a positive effect on the recipient.
However, to Adam, that didn’t register. “That’s how I talk. You don’t like it, fuck off.” He stared at his Rolex.
“What time is your appointment, Adam?”
“None of your business, but I can’t be late.”
“You’re right, Doctor Khaos. Time to separate. Come on, Adam. We’re going to talk privately. Now. Let’s go.” Nick got up while Adam didn’t move. “For a guy who has an appointment and wants to get out of here, you’re awfully slow.”
Adam sneered at him, but got up, and rammed the chair into the table.
This kid needs a few rounds with me in the cage. Frank contemplated how he could arrange that. “Yes, Detective Valatutti, as much as I’d like to hear more obscenities from Adam, I think you’ll convey how we roll. Detective Wright, why don’t you speak with Valerie? Mrs. Larcon, please wait in the waiting area. One of us will get to you when we’re done.”
“I can see this will turn out to be an all-day affair. This won’t do at all.”
“Mrs. Larcon, deal with it.” Frank dealt her his favorite curt response.
“Well, I don’t like the way I’m being treated.
“Sorry you feel that way. In here, everyone is treated equally. Now, I’d like to speak with AriellaRose.”
He stood up exerting his power--straight, tall, and foreboding--through his intimidating physicality. Adam stared at him, wide eyed. Valerie’s mouth went into an O, then her gaze settled on his crotch. Mrs. Larcon backed off and headed to the door, after checking out his tattooed arms. Yeah, he had chased away some parents back in the day. And Sam. Hers was the response he wanted to observe. She put her lips together and then bit her lower lip.
Crap. Jen used to do that.
Frankie’s voice reverberated in his mind again.
Nick escorted them out of the room, leaving Frank sitting opposite AriellaRose at the table. He focused on her breathing that seemed to have eased up when her mother left the room, but her wheezing intensified. He picked up the intercom. “Susan, please bring me my bag from my office.” He disconnected without waiting for a response. “AriellaRose, have you seen your doctor?”
“I’m okay. I’m always like this.” She coughed the words out.
“Always this congested?” There was a knock at the door. He got up, opened it slightly, and retrieved his medical satchel. Putting it on the table, he opened it and pulled out his stethoscope. He approached AriellaRose, but was met with a palm up, facing him. “I just want to check your lungs.”
“No.” She put her head down again, fiddling with her fingers in her lap.
He leaned against the table with his arms folded against his chest. Calm and compassionate, his way, he looked at her with a relaxed, unthreatening expression. “Why not?”
She didn’t respond.
“AriellaRose look at me.” His voice sounded so peaceful it wouldn’t wake a sleeping baby. She glanced up at him, for a moment. “I’m not going to hurt you. How long have you had this congestion?”
“My whole life.”
“You’ve had asthma your whole life.” She nodded. “But how long have you had this episode?”
“About a month.”
“What medications are you taking?’
“My usual.”
“Which is?”
“A couple of inhalers, the nebulizer machine, prednisone.”
“How much prednisone are you on?”
“Twenty, thirty, ten milligrams. It varies.”
His focus intensified. He felt the change in his face, destroying his preferred relaxed composure. “It varies?”
“Depending upon how many I pop into my mouth that day.”
He moistened his lips before he spoke. “Does your doctor know this protocol you’re on?”
“He told me I could take my asthma meds as needed.”
“Don’t think he meant the prednisone. That has to be regulated carefully.”
“Oops. So shoot me.” She put her head down again.
He smiled. “That’s not the solution, AriellaRose. You know? I do see your face is puffy from the pred, but for someone on a large doses, you’re not as fidgety as I would expect.”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“What do you take to calm yourself down?”
She looked up and, for the first time, Frank saw worry in her eyes. Then she blinked and completely shut down.
Almost a catatonic gaze. Eyes blank. Face stoic. Pale.
Okay, forget the interview.
He approached her with the stethoscope. Putting the earpieces in place, he rubbed the metal base with his palm, slipped it under her sweatshirt, all the while without a response. It was as if AriellaRose had left the Earth plane.
That she can do this in an asthmatic episode is unusual, if not impossible. This young woman has a lot more pharmaceuticals than just asthma meds in her body. “Calling EMS, AriellaRose. I don’t like what I hear in your lower right lung.”
No response.
Frank put in a call to 911.
***
Nick sat opposite Adam in a smaller but updated conference room. Adam sat back, looking at a crease in his jeans as his right leg lay over his left thigh. The only info Adam had given in the hour, was his home address on the upper west side of Manhattan and where he worked as a model for Jaye Manning. It was what Nick had already known from his file. Most of the hour had been spent with Adam and Nick having staring contests. Nick had won all of them, forcing Adam to emote a few words.
“We’ve been sitting here an hour, Detective. I’m not telling you squat.”
“I’m a very patient man. I told you I need some answers.”
“I have to get outta here by two thirty.”
“What time is your appointment?”
“Three.”
“Don’t think you’ll make it.” Nick would do the necessary to make sure he didn’t make it.
CHAPTER 10
After buttoning her black, double-breasted denim jacket, raising the collar to cover her neck, and pulling her long hair back into a ponytail with a scrunchie, Meghan Mason strutted out of Bistro Alexander on Broadway. She didn’t pay attention to the passersby or the chilly wind, as she rummaged through her tote for her phone. She pushed her way through the crowds of executive men and woman, who were immersed in their own little worlds, chatting on cell phones as they trudged to their destination on Broadway. This was New York City, the world of the workaholic. Glancing up occasionally, so she wouldn’t crash into a lamp pole or garbage bin, she recognized some of her designs on the women who smiled at her as they passed. She offhandedly waved in response. She had hoped to make it home to Yonkers before rush hour, leaving her office for a late lunch at the Bistro as she did every Thursday.