by Ronnie Allen
“Swearing won’t help you. Why did you retire the day after the murder, Doctor Freed?” Frank pushed, his voiced raised.
Doctor Freed broke down, hysterical. “I didn’t retire right away. I just never went back to work. I used my sick days.”
“Why did you do that?” Frank persisted.
“I realized Jennifer’s murder must have had something to do with those invoices. I had approached the accounting supervisor right after Jennifer came to me. She said she knew nothing about it, but I know she did. From just the way she looked at me. Then Lisa approached me three days later, the day of the murder. Oh--my--God!” she sobbed.
“Lisa?” Sam asked.
“Yes,” Dr. Freed took a deep breath. “Lisa McDonald. On the hospital paper work, it’s Mallory, but she goes by her middle name, Lisa, and her maiden name. She suggested I retire. No one would suspect because of my age.” Doctor Freed couldn’t catch her breath. Sobs overtook her. “She said they wouldn’t put me in jail for not saying anything because of my age and failing health either, but she said she’d ‘sweeten the pot.’ Yes, she used those exact words. She gave me sixty thousand dollars to put through my retirement papers and keep quiet.” She bobbed her head up and down. “But I didn’t get any money from when they were doing it.’
Frank roared and stood up, leaning over the table. “And you chose the easy way out! To do that and not report it so my son and I would have over two years of anguish. He was five years old when his mother was taken from him, Doctor. Had you made a police report as soon as Jen told you, you could have prevented her murder. What a sorry excuse for someone who took the oath!” Frank spun away and slammed his fist into the wall behind him. The plaster board split and fragmented, just like his life felt at this moment.
“But I wasn’t the only one,” she cried in a whisper.
Frank turned around abruptly. “What was that? You weren’t the only one for what?”
She hung her head and wrung her hands in her lap. “There were five people in the accounting department who knew about it. And got money. Why should I be the only one being blamed?”
“Who? I want names now,” Sam said flatly.
“They still work there. Lisa left after she came to see me. The supervisor, a Mrs. Langston, then three others, still work there. I don’t know their names.”
Sam got up, leaned over the table, and got into her face. “You better think of the names, now!”
Doctor Freed scooted away, shoving her chair back. “Oh my God, you’re upsetting me. Okay, Two men. Paul, he was Irish. Spoke with a Brogue. Teddy, he was Haitian. And Karen. I don’t know what she is, but she rode a motorcycle to work.”
Sam licked her lips and nodded with a sarcastic slant. “If you weren’t involved, how do you know who was?”
“It was a Thursday. Lisa came over to my house on Thursday after work with the money. The day after. She came with them. They all frightened me. I didn’t know what to do. So I never went back to work, at all. I used my sick days until my papers went through.”
Frank returned to the table and sat. “Doctor Freed, what did you use the money for?”
She sniffled. “Personal reasons.”
“You need to tell us. My partners need to know everything.”
She stared down at her skirt. “My son’s bail.”
“What was he arrested for?” Sam asked.
“Embezzlement. He worked for a large discount store chain.”
“And you didn’t learn from his arrest that it was not okay to do that?” Nick sounded flabbergasted.
“He had gotten away with it for years, the other ones more than six months and me, a measly one time.”
This doctor was not all there. Frank knew her attorney would grab onto her mental instability. He should if he was worth a penny. Frank was leaning toward a diagnosis of early dementia. “Where is he now?”
“In Switzerland.”
“The sixty thousand you made, did it go entirely for his bail?”
“Yes.” She sniffled again. “The bail was six hundred thousand. I paid, sixty in cash. I was so relieved I didn’t have to dig into my own money.”
“Look, Detectives. These people obviously did their due diligence, researched, and knew that her son had just been arrested. They saw how vulnerable she was. Is. She’s still vulnerable.”
The attorney’s explanation didn’t make a dent.
“Do you realize that money obtained in the commission of a crime is not allowed to be used as bail money?” Nick asked.
She shook her head.
“Then I suggest, Doctor Freed, that you contact you son to come back.”
“But--but--but he’ll go to prison.”
Sam and Nick sat, as dumbfounded as Frank at this woman’s lack of ability to make connections.
The lieutenant entered the room and put his hand on Frank’s shoulder. “As will you, Doctor Freed. Doctor Khaos come outside for a while. Doctor Freed, did Mrs. McDonald tell you who pulled the trigger?”
Through her sobbing, she shook her head. “No. I swear.”
“Did you call anyone to tell them you were being brought in?”
Again, she shook her head.
“Did you tell any of the other people involved you were leaving the country?”
“No, I haven’t spoken to anyone since right after the--Mrs. Khaos--I’m so sorry.”
“Then how did you know to leave the country, now?” Lieutenant Rojas persisted.
Doctor Freed slumped in the chair and looked down at her hands in her lap. “Lisa called yesterday to check up on me after all this time. I told her I wasn’t feeling well and she suggested I go visit my daughter in Switzerland.”
“Detectives, I have a warrant for Mallory McDonald’s arrest, and one to bring in Dingo Withers for questioning. They’re on my desk. Arrest Doctor Freed. And the two of you may execute the warrants.” The lieutenant escorted Frank, whose fists were ready to beat someone to a pulp, out of the room.
***
Nick, Sam, and Frank followed behind the ESU truck in Nick’s SUV. Two patrol cars followed behind them. Dingo Wither’s garden apartment in the Belle Harbor section of Queens, a block away from the beach, was on the third floor of a three-story walkup recently renovated, thanks to Hurricane Sandy.
Sam patted Frank’s hand. “What did you say to Loo to convince him to let you come?”
He placed his other hand on top of hers and squeezed, appreciating her compassion. “Nothing, really. He must have seen the torment in my eyes and he just nodded as he saw you getting ready to leave. I bolted out the door.”
Nick cleared his throat. “Frank, I know you’re fuming, but you have to think. We have no evidence that Dingo pulled the trigger. Maybe Lisa was having an affair, who knows? All I know is their marriage has been on real shaky ground since about the time of Jen’s murder.”
“Nick, wake up,” Frank growled. “Who had the most opportunity to conceal evidence? Our lead homicide detective. Who had the opportunity to steer the detectives in the opposite direction? Who had the power to access any evidence room in the city?”
Sam nodded. “You told me yesterday, Nick, that Dingo slept at the Brooklyn precinct. Maybe it wasn’t because he wanted to investigate. Maybe he wanted to divert evidence they put into files,” she added. “Oh my God! I just thought of something. Remind me to ask Loo a question when he calls for an update.”
“What, Sam?”
“Not saying until I have definitive proof.”
Nick pulled into a spot. “Anyway, that’s a lot of ifs. We have to stay clear thinking. That’s all I’m saying.”
They waited.
ESU officers entered the building. Thirty minutes seemed like an eternity to Frank. The sergeant exited, looked around, and approached the car. “No one’s home. No suitcases out, clothes still in closet, medications still in medicine cabinet in bathroom. So basically no sign of them being runners.”
“All right. Let’s at least execute the se
arch warrant.” Nick’s cell rang. “Yes, Loo?...Seriously?...Oh, man. I don’t know whether to be relieved or pissed...Yes, sir...At the apartment now. Will search. Hold on, Loo, Sam wants to ask you a question.” He put the phone on speaker.
“Lieutenant, please do me a favor and look again in Hemming’s file. It’s on the conference table in your office.”
“What do you need?”
“They day of his arrest.”
“Hold on...October first.” Sam exhaled a deep breath. “Can you please find out if Withers was in the 053 that day?”
“I’ll get back to you.” Loo disconnected.
“Looks like Dingo is high on the triggerman list now. His daughter is actually well and not in the hospital. Loo called to check. Dingo figured out that we’re getting close and wanted to make himself and his wife scarce. Loo sounded like crap. And if Withers was in the precinct that day, he swiped the phone, not Hemming’s wife. You holding it together, Frank?”
Frank squeezed Sam’s hand. “Yeah. Have to.”
“All right, let’s do a search.” Nicked yelled to the sergeant, “Hey, Sarg. We need cover. Get your men up there.” He tossed vests and helmets to Sam and Frank.
The sergeant nodded and his team entered the adjacent buildings. About five minutes later, there were three sharpshooters, one on each of the surrounding rooftops.
Nick, Sam, and Frank exited the SUV, looked around, and sprinted into the building. They dashed up the three flights, where an officer had been guarding the door. They entered the two-bedroom, modestly furnished apartment, and removed their helmets, placing them on the couch.
After they all put on gloves, Sam entered the short and narrow galley kitchen. The walls were painted in a mint green with plain sand-colored wood cabinets. The granite counter tops were a veined multi-shades of green. Frank took the bedrooms and Nick the bathroom. Sam opened the cabinets. Pot’s in cabinets on either side of the stove.
She pulled them out and onto the floor. She opened the fridge. It was stocked. So was the freezer, with packaged meats. There were the usual flour and sugar canisters on the counter. Sam opened the sugar canister and tilted it.
“In the kitchen, guys!”
Frank approached with a frown. Sugar was his number one enemy. “What, Sam?”
She poured the sugar canister over and into the sink. Out poured rolls of hundred-dollar bills.
“Don’t touch the bills.” Nick spoke into his earwig. “Need packaging.”
Sam picked up the flour container. It was half filled. With flour. She sniffed. “Ew. It stinks.”
Nick took a whiff. “That wet newspaper smell. Yeah, like bills have that been in here for a long time. All right. I’m calling this in. They could possibly track this. I’m clueless as to where they’d go.”
“Okay, let’s go back to the precinct so we can figure this out.” Frank opened the door and addressed the officer standing guard. “Crime Scene’s coming.”
The officer nodded.
Sam propped her hands on her hips. “Hey. I’m not done, yet. And it’s too late, anyway. All sorts of stuff could be hidden in a kitchen.” She opened all of the cabinets above the stove. Nothing but plates and stoneware. She couldn’t reach the cabinets above the fridge. She pulled over a step ladder, climbed to the top, and opened the cupboards.
Frank re-entered the apartment. When he saw her up there, he stopped, putting his hands on his hips. “Hey. Why didn’t you call me?”
“I’m on a mission.” Stretching her arm to the back of the cabinet, she tapped on a box. They heard the sound of her fingernail against metal. She pulled the metal box forward, her eyes widening.
“What?”
“Here, Frank, take this.” She handed him an eight-by-twelve-inch box that was about four inches deep.
He put in on the counter, then put his hands around her waist, and brought her down. His mind was reeling from what he was guessing was in the box. He waited a moment, took a deep breath. Nick put his hand on Frank’s shoulder. With the tip of his index finger, Frank opened the box.
Inside the box was a Smith and Wesson .38 caliber revolver.
The same type of revolver that had killed Jen.
CHAPTER 38
The following morning, Loo shouted to get their attention, when he saw Frank, Sam, and Nick walk into the main room of the precinct. “In here. The three of you.”
They entered his office and sat around the conference table.
Loo scanned their faces. “Okay. You did great yesterday. Our lab will find out if that’s the weapon, Frank. We have to verify it. But you have to keep it together.”
Frank nodded, but his jaw was so tight with gritted teeth, he couldn’t get a word out. He sat, not giving anyone eye contact, punching his thighs with his closed fists.
As the lieutenant spoke, he focused on Frank. “That being said, I had to call the bureau office. With interstate finances and big institution embezzlement, it becomes the FBI’s jurisdiction. They’ll be able to trace the money you recovered. And find out how far back their scheme went.”
Sam rolled her eyes. “Lieutenant, does that mean Doctor Freed gets turned over? And McDonald and Withers?”
“Yes. In all honesty, you should be relieved. Takes the prosecution out of our hands. You don’t know yet, Sam, how hard it is to take down one of our own. The FBI won’t care, nor will they have any emotion invested. They’re sending agents over to pick up all these files and Jen’s computer. You’ll sign the exchange of evidence over to them. By then, we should have an ID on the weapon.”
Sam looked at him with her mouth open, then forced the words out. “What if Withers or Lisa pulled the trigger? Murder usurps embezzlement.”
Loo glanced at Frank before he spoke. “We keep the triggerman or woman. The Brooklyn DA will prosecute, since it happened there. In that event, we clean up our own.”
Frank nodded. “That’s all I care about. And Sam and Nick can still make the arrest.”
Everyone murmured their agreement.
“But what about finding Withers and his wife?” Frank demanded.
“Again, FBI. All we have now is the embezzlement. Until we get an ID on the weapon.”
Sam sat back in the chair with arms folded across her chest.
“You don’t know that much about him, anyway.” Frank said.
She stood her ground. “But Nick and you do. Okay, I’m not just sitting here and waiting for them. Brainstorming time. Where did he like to go?”
“Okay, I’ll bite.” The lieutenant sat at the conference table. “Nick, did he talk to you about personal stuff?”
“Only when Melinda was ill. When they sold the house. He wasn’t sociable to begin with. The way he treated people alienated them. Now I know that during the last couple of years, that was purposeful on his part.”
“Anyone call the daughter? Ask her to come in?” Sam asked, as if they were dumb not to.
Nick tapped Melinda’s number on his smartphone. She answered on the fourth ring. “Hey, Melinda. It’s Nick Valatutti. Is your dad around? I’ve been trying to reach him. Have some forensics I need to run by him.” He put the phone on speaker.
“Oh, Nick, they’re finally getting away for a few days. Can’t you let him relax?”
Nick laughed. “Actually, I can’t, hon. We’ve all been up round the clock on this case.”
“Yes, I know he told me. Seven something murders and that new little detective, what’s her name?”
“Samantha Wright.”
“Yeah, he finds her to be a pain in the butt. He told me she reminds him of me and says she whines and thinks she knows it all. And he despises that pout.” She laughed. “I do the same thing. It gets him every time.”
Sam crinkled her face. Frank patted her back.
“Yeah, she is a pip.” Nick raised an index finger at Sam. “But do you know where they went?”
“Yeah. The new hotel that just opened up in Atlantic City, near the big ones, uh, the smoke free one.
Lisa’s trying to get him to quit smoking. Yeah, the Calgary. Lisa loves the slots and she doesn’t care that she loses. They tell us they’re spending our inheritance.”
“Okay, thanks. When are they coming back?”
“Actually, tomorrow afternoon. So can’t you wait?”
“Till tomorrow, yeah. Thanks, Melinda. Be well.”
“Bye, Nick.”
He disconnected the call. After a quick Google search for the hotel and a phone call, Nick found out Dingo and Lisa were indeed there, but they had checked out a few hours ago. “Okay, get a team around their apartment, a BOLO out for his car on the Verrazano and the Marine Park Bridge. I believe he gets into Belle Harbor that way.”
“Yes. The Verrazano. The location of the text. They were probably on their way there last night. Why can’t we track the GPS on his phones? Department and personal?” Sam asked.
Frank sure approved of the way this woman thought. On her feet.
There was a knock at Loo’s office door.
“Come in.”
It was Tom, looking despondent. He rolled his lips together, with his eyes focused on a sheet of paper in his hand. He swallowed, not making eye contact with anyone. “Doctor Khaos, I’m sorry. I don’t know how to say this. I wanted to tell you in person, not on the phone.”
“Just say it, Tom. I’ll be okay.”
“That was the weapon that killed your wife, sir. Exact bullet match. Oh, man, I’m sorry. The only fingerprints that were on the weapon were those of Detective Withers. The serial number had been filed down, but I retrieved it. It’s all on this printout.”
The lieutenant took the document.
The room went silent. Time stood still. Frank slumped in the chair, his fingers over his mouth, and closed his eyes. After two years, one month, three weeks, and three days, he and Frankie were going to have closure. A tear trickled out of the corner of his right eye. “That fucking bastard is mine.”
***