by Ronnie Allen
The nurse picked up the pole, moved the table next to the bed, and started to pick up the sheets.
He put a palm up to her. “Stop, Vera. Tell me what’s going on.”
The sixty-something, gray-haired nurse was winded. “She won’t let us put the IV back in, Doctor Khaos. I’m sorry, we tried.”
He paused, put his hands over his mouth before he spoke, and swallowed. “Why, AriellaRose?”
Her breathing had become so labored she couldn’t get the words out. “It--hurts.”
“We have to get the meds in you. Your breathing is getting worse. You have to let us help you. Which arm?”
“The left,” the blood tech responded.
“Put out your left arm now.”
AriellaRose looked up at Frank with tears running down her cheeks.
Okay, some emotion. I’ll accept that. “I said, now.”
She hid her face in her hands, crying. “I need my stuff and you won’t give it to me. My stomach hurts.”
He sat on her bed. “Okay, calm down. It’s okay.”
Her legs bounced on the bed as if she was chopping salad. “I don’t want the IV. I need to get my stuff.”
“You need the IV. Listen to yourself. I heard you wheezing down the hall.”
“Don’t I have the right to say ‘no’?”
“If you were a responsible patient.”
“I am responsible.”
“I beg to differ. A responsible patient sees her doctor regularly for her meds. A responsible patient doesn’t pull out her IV and try to leave without medical clearance. You are anything, but responsible.”
“I don’t care.”
“Okay, then.” He retrieved his smartphone from his pocket and put in a pretend call to Nick. “Detective Valatutti, Doctor Khaos here. I need you to get a judge to sign a PINS petition for AriellaRose, assigning her to me.” He addressed her in an official tone. “Do you know what a PINS is?”
“No,” she replied, whimpering.
“A person in need of supervision. So I’ll be able to treat you without your consent. And a judge will want a full report on your drug use. Including your sources.”
Sam stared at him. His gaze was steeled on AriellaRose, his face expressionless, lips closed tight. He definitely wanted to intimidate. He glanced at Sam. His assertiveness shook her, too.
“No. I’m not a P...that person. Look at me. I can’t keep my legs still, I’m crying. I can’t stop the angry voices in my head. I’m freezing. I’m shaking. I’m hot. My stomach is killing me. I feel like I’m going to take a dump in bed. Or throw up.”
“That’s your withdrawal.” Frank continued his call. “Yes, Detective. I need it ASAP.”
She gazed up at him with pitiful eyes. “Okay. Okay. I’ll let you.”
He ended the make-believe call, feeling sympathetic for just a moment. “Vera, get me a glucose reading. Have you eaten?” he asked AriellaRose.
“No.”
The nurse returned with the glucose monitor. “Unroll your fist. Vera needs a finger.”
AriellaRose hesitated as she put out her hand. Vera gave her a poke on her index finger.
“Ow!”
“Oh, that doesn’t hurt.”
Vera showed him the number--375.
“Show her.”
“So, 375, so what?”
“AriellaRose, diabetes could give you most of the symptoms you’re popping those pills for. Did you know that?” She shook her head. He nodded. “Besides, the high amounts of prednisone you’ve been taking, in addition to what I’m giving you in the IV, could give someone who doesn’t have diabetes, diabetes. I’m not an alarmist, but this number is high. I want her on a diabetic diet.” Vera nodded and started to leave the room. “And coverage before she eats. Ten units.”
“What’s that?”
“Insulin. Now let them put the IV in and then you’re eating. And while they’re doing that, you are going to listen to me.”
She extended her arm. “Then give me Suboxone like they did at some of my rehab places.”
“No. It’s one addiction replacing another. We’ll deal with it and you will be comfortable.” He needed to engage her in conversation to distract her. “Who were you waiting for at the curb?”
She swallowed her tears. “No one. Just a cab.”
“I don’t buy it. There were cabs right in front of the door. Why didn’t you just hop in one of those?”
She ignored him, just looked away.
“Okay. Be mysterious. That’s okay. You can have visitors, you know? Why don’t you call up some of your friends?”
“I don’t have any friends--any close friends, who’d give a damn, anyway. I’ll be fine alone. I’ve been alone most of my life.”
“There ya go. All done,” said the blood tech. He gathered his vials, nodded to Frank and left the room.
About fifteen minutes later, AriellaRose sat with a tray on her table. She lifted the metal cover. “Ugh, what’s this white stuff?”
Frank was nonchalant in his response. “Boiled fish. With string beans and spinach.”
“It looks like wet Styrofoam with green shit.”
“Nah. Not Styrofoam. It is wet. More like undrained cod and thinned out butter, and over-steamed veggies.”
AriellaRose laughed, coughed, and laughed again.
Good. That’s probably the first time she’s laughed in years.
“How much of that other stuff do you take?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “The Blue, about two pills every four hours or so. It’s not that much.”
“Sixty milligrams of oxycodone every four hours. That’s quite a bit. And the Vicodin?”
“In between the Blue.”
“What does all that do for you?”
“You’re a shrink and you don’t know about drugs?”
He smiled. “Yes I do, but everyone has their own reasons.”
“It calms me down. I can ignore my whiney mother and my judgmental dad. At least he gave me whatever I wanted. I think I’m the only one in my family who’s really upset he was murdered. But that stuff lets me hold in my feelings.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good thing. People need to emote to show grief. It’s a lot more healthy. How long have you been using?”
“Since I was fifteen.”
“What happened when you were fifteen?”
She looked up at him with a solemn expression. Another shut down. No response. She took a forkful of the fish and pushed the tray away. He pushed it back.
“You need to eat with the insulin. You’ll see. You will calm down. You won’t be so flighty. I know it’s hard for you. Hard to trust. Give me a chance to help you.”
She began eating slowly. Frank could see she was holding back tears.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said.
***
Nick ended his call as he knocked on the door to Withers’s office in the Homicide Investigative Unit at the precinct.
“Come in.”
Nick entered and saw piles of folders on his desk.
“Where’s the rookie?”
“At the hospital with Frank. She went to see how AriellaRose was doing. Dysfunctional isn’t the word to describe that family. Anything come in yet?”
“A little, yeah. The decedent’s name moved his case to the top. Call them to come back here. I don’t want to have to go through this shit twice. My luck, the case landed in this precinct. So I’ll be stuck here more.”
“They’re on the way. You okay?”
“Yeah. Fine.”
“You don’t look fine. You don’t exactly look your healthiest self.”
“Knock it off. My breathing’s just a little tight. Doc gave me an inhaler. Said I have emphysema from smoking. Like I didn’t know that already. I’ll live.”
“Okay. Give me a prelim.”
Sam and Frank knocked at the door and entered.
Withers gestured at them. “Sit down, both of you and just listen.”
They followed the directive without saying a word.
“There were twenty-three cuts made on Larcon’s torso, from two paring knives. One was held right-handed, the other left. The cuts ran four inches long, each one, as if the perp measured them. Meticulous cuts, so the knives were brand new. No blood was found on him, other than his. B positive. From the lines of the cuts, they found one company who sells blades with these serrations. Just in case you don’t know, rookie, each knife has distinguishing characteristics like bullets. Just like we could recognize the type of gun from the lands and grooves in bullets and their casings, we can find the manufacturer of a knife. Anderson and Son’s. They’re an online company. A warrant has already been sent to them for their sales over the last six months. No telling how long his murder had been in the works. If we have to go back farther, we will. And a machete chopped him. They’re still working on his dick.” He looked up at Sam.
She didn’t react to his terminology. “What do they have to do on his dick? We know it’s his.”
“It was feasted upon by the turkey vultures so the lines of demarcation were destroyed. Want to see if he got fucked before he was offed. You were right, rookie, the white band is from the crime scene. Only blood on it was the vic’s. No prints. Smudges caused by latex gloves. Good call on that, Wright. I’m impressed.”
“Thanks, Withers. That means a lot.”
“Don’t get too cozy. We don’t have a weapon, motive, or any prints yet. This person knew the drill. They did an assessment. Agree with you, rookie. More than one person. Too much for one person to do alone and not be seen. More people cut time in half or thirds. Again, rookie. I’m impressed. I can’t believe I said that.”
“Twice. You said that twice.” Sam kept an impassive expression while Nick covered his mouth and Frank rolled his lips together.
Withers had become annoyed with himself. “From your conversations with the family, no one wanted him permanently dead. Am I right with that?”
“If there’s any other kind of dead, I’d sure like to know about it,” Sam chided, remaining straight-faced.
Nick and Frank let out boisterous laughs.
“Stop being a fucking smartass, Wright! Nick, what did ya get from the son?”
“He did admit to me his dad gave him a lot of money. He confirmed his meets with his dad at the club. The arguments between his dad and Jaye Manning were over the salary Adam was being paid. His dad felt his kid was worth twice the amount. Manning refused to give in because Adam sometimes wasn’t reliable. When I asked him what he meant, he told me that sometimes he’d sleep late after partying and miss a morning shoot. The kid doesn’t get it. Doesn’t understand what responsibility is. There’s a trust for him and AriellaRose. But he can’t have control of it till he’s twenty-seven. Valerie just got hers and she’s spending it. Right now, control went to Mrs. Larcon. He’s pissed about that because Mommy isn’t as tolerant as Daddy and won’t be so free with the dough. He was more pissed at Dad about his murder, than grief struck. Oh, get this one. After Sam told me about the conversation with Mrs. Larcon and his lovely girl, Calinda, I asked him how serious he was with her. He shut down. Didn’t want to talk about it. Said she’s last month’s flavor. I asked him why they broke up. He said it was painful and told me to ‘drop it.’”
“Yeah, well you ain’t going to drop it. Does this Calinda have a last name?”
“I’ll call Mrs. Larcon and ask her. I’ll find everything about her down to her conception,” Sam volunteered.
“Okay. Good. That’s good. That’s what I wanted to hear. What I have for you, rookie, is a list of everyone Mrs. Larcon gave us. Family, friends, biz associates. Over a hundred people, including what Valerie and Adam shared. And funny thing is. There’s no Calinda on this list. What did you get from the daughter?”
Frank sighed. “AriellaRose is one sick puppy. Has pneumonia. Started drugs when she was fifteen. Shut down when I wanted to talk about it. Told me she’s probably the only one truly upset about her father’s murder.”
“Don’t believe her.”
Frank darted a look at Sam. Withers and Nick followed.
“What are you thinking, Sam?” Frank asked.
“What I’m thinking and what I know are two different things. We need to find her street contacts for drugs.”
“What are you thinking, rookie? Don’t make me pull it out of you.”
“I’m thinking you might have the killer in custody already.”
Withers jumped in. “Nope. The second kill of Meghan Mason occurred when the family was here. And she was in the hospital. We’re calling it serial.”
“I don’t care. AriellaRose may have partners. I want a list of all of her friends and a search warrant for her apartment and phone.”
“You don’t have probable cause,” Withers snapped at her with a coughing fit. “You can’t stick to the hypothesis you created at the crime scene. How many times do I have to tell you?”
“Listen. This girl doesn’t hesitate to say what she means.” She glanced at Frank. “I’m saying it.”
Withers shot her a glare of disapproval. “Saying what?”
“AriellaRose wanted us out of her room and she told us to get out of there and go fuck. Literally, she wanted us to fuck, not fuck off. Hearing now that she started using drugs at fifteen. What would girls at fifteen want to block out or dull the pain of? Rape. I bet she was raped by a person in a position of trust. An associate of her father’s. Or her father. And she was waiting at the curb for someone. Right, Frank?”
His lips curved in agreement.
Sam glared at Withers. “Why wouldn’t she want her friends to visit? I’ll find the proof. And I’m as sure of that as I’m sure I’ll find Frank’s wife’s killers.”
CHAPTER 14
Paulo and Carlo had lunch at their private booth, the one closest to the kitchen in the back of Carlo’s restaurant. A Reserved sign hung from the ceiling like a chandelier, hovering over them. Paulo gazed out the dark red-and-blue stained glass windows overlooking their booth. He didn’t expect to see anything. The thick glass shielded the afternoon sun. The darkness reflected Paulo’s mood. He closed his eyes, wanting to escape from the despair that tormented him.
Glancing toward the other patrons enjoying their lunch on the other side of the restaurant, he sighed. He and his sons needed privacy now.
Paulo looked for a distraction so he focused on the pristine white tablecloths. Candlelight from small lanterns on each table projected a romantic feeling. Booths lined one wall and squared tables for four were spaced equidistant around the rest of the space. Stained glass windows ran the length of the wall above the booths, depicting scenes from Venice waterways. Patrons focused on the imported Italian glass throughout their dinner. Paulo nodded in approval that his son took care to provoke elegance in his restaurant.
“I’m finito, Carlo.” He stared at the half-eaten antipasti salad and meatball heroes in front of him. “Leave the rest for your frattelli. Stephano will be here in a little while.”
“Papa, you need to prepare yourself. Leonardo isn’t getting off with just a few years sentence. Judge Malone denied bail. That’s a very bad sign.”
“Don’t tell me how to prepare myself.” Paulo glared at his son. “I’ll prepare myself when I see it in black and white. Then I’ll do the necessary.”
“Papa, you did do the necessary. You hired the best criminal defense attorney on Staten Island and I’m glad you listened when we told you and mother not to have Stephano represent him.”
“You were right. We would have been too emotionally involved. As it is, the heartbreak is killing us.” Paulo swallowed, choking back tears. “After the first time, I thought I’d be used to it. Obviously not. I haven’t slept since the night of his arrest. I haven’t been able to focus on anything. That’s why I need you to oversee the businesses for a while. That damned fool!” He took the napkin off his lap and threw it onto his plate. “And your mother, your poor mother. A
mother could never get used to her son being in prison. She’s isolating herself from all of her friends. She doesn’t want to vent to people who wouldn’t care. All she does is bake. I don’t need all those extra calories, but how can I tell her ‘no’? She’s crying herself to sleep every night again. I don’t know what to do to console her. He was a bambino the last time.”
“Papa. Leonardo was eighteen. Hardly a baby.”
“I can’t believe he didn’t learn from that. He got three years for dealing cocaine. He promised. He swore he would never do anything like that again. The therapy, the rehab, all meant nothing. I threw out thousands on his rehab. And what does he do nine years later...”
Stephano hurried toward the table, clenching a thick folder. His father’s heart skipped a beat as he saw the sullen expression Stephano carried on his face. Paulo closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had to prepare himself now. He knew it was serious, but he didn’t know how serious.
“Stephano, eat, then we’ll talk.”
“No, Papa. We need to talk now. This isn’t going away. The grand jury indicted him. That was to be expected. There were weapons this time. And not just hand guns.”
“Oh my God!” Paulo grabbed his stomach, feeling as if it would plummet out of his body. His heart thumped in his chest and beads of perspiration formed on his forehead as he inhaled and exhaled rapidly to calm himself, just like his doctor-son had taught him. He wiped his hands over his face, swallowed, and composed himself. “They had to wait six days?”
“Yes, Papa, the grand jury has six days to indict or release. At least his attorney didn’t waive his right to that to give the prosecution more time.”
“All right. Tell us everything.” Paulo waved his finger at Stephano. “Everything. No sugar coat.”
Stephano opened the file.
Paulo understood the look of apprehension on his son’s face.
“Leonardo sold firearms to three DEA agents on three separate occasions.” Stephano paused and looked into his father’s eyes. “Not at the repair shop.”
“Then where?” Carlo asked.
Stephano flipped through the documents. “Once in a gym parking lot, once in his apartment, and the third time at the mall. Papa, it was in broad daylight where there were children.”