Lauren had worked in her first precinct with the Invisible Man when she was on patrol. He’d been a lieutenant on the day shift and since she had worked nights usually only saw him in passing when she was leaving and he was coming in. He had been a strange bird even then. He liked to talk in riddles, ask questions when you asked him a question, cock a skeptical eyebrow when you gave him a report—all of which made you feel somehow inferior to his self-proclaimed staggering intellect. Tall, broad, and seventy-five pounds overweight with white-blond hair that gave him a frail look, he seemed more like a bored college philosophy professor than a police captain.
A couple of heads turned as they stood outside his office door, Reese rapping the metal with his knuckle. No one went to see the Invisible Man. His main form of communication was email and memos, asking for more emails and memos, which he sent to the commissioner. Commissioner Bennett loved it because it kept the chain of command documented without either of them being directly involved in anything even remotely controversial.
“Come in,” Maniechwicz called. The office was tiny, with bare beige walls. A pair of newer filing cabinets and a printer/fax/copier combo took up the far corner. The captain was sitting in his mammoth office chair, gut spilling over the front of his pleated black pants. Piles of papers were stacked neatly in front of him, some marked up with red pen, others with green stickie notes slapped on them. His system of filing reports was obviously more sophisticated than Reese and Riley’s, or at least he gave a great appearance of efficiency. But that’s the Invisible Man, Lauren thought, all about the illusion of work.
The only wall decoration was hanging behind his desk. A huge Buffalo Bills flag in all its red, white, and blue glory was tacked into place, covering the window, making the room take on a reddish tinge. A Jim Kelly bobble head stood sentry at the top of his desk, nodding along occasionally with the conversation.
Reese cleared his throat. “You wanted to see us, Captain?” There was only one armless chair positioned in front of his desk, so they both stood side by side.
He looked up from his city-issue iPad. All the top brass had gotten them that year, with the promise the detectives would inherit them as soon as the newer version came out. The department’s own version of the trickle-down economics. “The commissioner called me. Seems that Carl Church is concerned you’re working as a private investigator on the Garden Valley homicide. He thinks it could conflict with your duties here in the Buffalo Homicide squad. Are you working a second front for a defense attorney? Is that true?”
The term “second front” was used in the department to describe a second job. It originated with the World War II veterans who had to take a second job to make ends meet back when officers were barely making a living wage. The police job was their first front, the moonlighting job was their second front. The term had just continued being used, with less and less officers remembering its origins every year.
Lauren nodded. “Yes, sir. But I filed all the required second employment forms—”
He held up his meaty hand, cutting her off. “Is that investigation impeding your work here in the Buffalo Homicide squad?”
“No.”
He looked over to Reese. “Is her investigation impeding your work here in the Buffalo Homicide squad?”
Reese shook his head. “No.”
The Invisible Man clapped his hands together. “Then what you do in your off hours has no bearing on me or my squad. If the DA has a problem with your outside employment, he should take it up with the Police Union. I shall file a report stating such and send it off to the commissioner.”
“Is that it?” Lauren asked when he went back to pecking at his iPad.
“Do you want there to be more?” he asked, but he didn’t look up from whatever he was doing. Lauren noted the middle button of his Oxford shirt was precariously close to popping off against the strain of his gut. As it was, the material stretched wide, allowing his white undershirt to peep through the gap.
“No, sir.”
“Good. Then you two can get back to work.” He made a dismissive motion with his left hand and turned his iPad sideways, squinting at it.
Lauren and Reese glanced at each other and retreated from the office. As Lauren was about to close the door behind her she heard him call, “Hey, Lauren.”
Freezing in the doorway, she looked back. “Yeah, boss?” He was still hunched over the tablet, poking at it with two meaty fingers.
“I thought Joe Wheeler was an asshole while he was here on the job. I’m sure that hasn’t changed. Good luck.”
She gave the top of his head a grateful smile. “Thanks, boss.” And closed the door behind her.
52
Two things happened after their meeting with the Invisible Man: all hell broke loose and the Vinita Ortiz case got put on hold for the second time by the Buffalo Police Homicide squad.
As soon as Riley and Reese walked back into their office they found Carrie Warnes from Crisis Services pacing around wringing her hands. One of the regular Homicide guys must have let her in. The victim advocate was a frequent flier to the third floor of headquarters, acting as a liaison between victims and the cops. Carrie was a short, squat, matronly twenty-something who wore pink glasses and long, flowy maxi skirts. Her face flushed, eyes wide as saucers, she looked like she was about to have a nervous breakdown in the middle of the Cold Case office.
“We have a situation,” she stated, rather dramatically, even for a victim advocate. “It’s the Stenz case.”
The Stenz case was huge. Twenty-eight years ago, Martha Stenz had been found behind the botanical gardens with her head almost cut off. No blood left in the body. No blood on the ground. No blood anywhere. That was easily explained by the fact that she was killed elsewhere and driven to the scene postmortem by her killer. But the press had put their own spin on it. They dubbed it the Vampire Slaying and it made headlines for weeks.
The main suspect, her husband Freddie, lawyered up right away. The case went cold.
And it would have remained cold if his new wife, Arlene, hadn’t come forward just that very morning and told her domestic violence advocate that Freddie had admitted to her he murdered his first wife, Martha.
Arlene, Carrie said, had woken up that morning determined to leave Freddie. She told him she wanted a divorce, and he had fallen on his knees and begged her to stay. She had to, he said, because he had killed Martha to be with her. Arlene was the love of his life, not Martha, and he had killed her to prove it. Despite her obvious terror, he went on to tell Arlene that the wedding ring that Martha had been wearing, along with the knife he used to kill her, was still stashed up in their attic.
After an hour or two, Arlene finally convinced him she was going to stay and he went off to work. She ran like hell to Crisis Services on Main Street, where she’d been secretly receiving help to muster up the courage to leave. Demanding to see Carrie Warnes right away, she was still in her pajamas as she stood in the lobby. Carrie ushered her into her office, and Arlene had broken down.
Crying and carrying on, Arlene said that Freddie told her how he cut his wife’s throat, drained the blood into the sump pump in their basement, and dumped her at the botanical gardens. He waited two days to report her missing, giving him plenty of time to clean up. The cops hadn’t even looked in the attic when they served their search warrant on the house, Stenz had bragged. They just kept rifling through their bathroom and his car, not bothering to check any of the junkers on his lawn out back to see if they worked. The rusted Chevy Nova had, but by the time the detectives showed up, he had burned out the interior and it was just a shell. Suspious, but not enough to charge him with.
As their conversation went on, Carrie learned that Arlene and Freddie were having an affair at the time of Martha’s murder. She had never believed he had done it, even when it first happened. He had convinced her that Martha had been running with some shady people,
that he was being framed. Now, all these years later, Freddie dumped this on Arlene and she had to live with the thought she was responsible for Martha Stenz’s death.
And that she could be next.
Carrie realized right away Arlene’s problem was way above her pay grade. She made Arlene stay put, took her notes, and ran every red light on Main Street to get to headquarters.
Lauren and Reese managed to get Carrie calmed down and Arlene brought over from the Crisis Services building. They spent the rest of the day taking statements, going over the crime scene photos, and nailing down Freddie Stenz’s routine.
Even though they had arranged to put Arlene Stenz in protective custody and were proceeding cautiously, they had to make a move soon. Martha Stenz’s death had made a huge splash back in the day, and if word leaked out that they had a break in the Vampire Slaying, it could ruin the case. By seven o’clock that evening Reese was putting the finishing touches on the search warrant. Their victim advocate was prepping Arlene to go in front of the judge, who they had pulled out of a fancy dinner party to meet them at the Homicide office, to give a sworn statement in support of the warrant.
It happened like that with cold cases—long stretches with no movement, then a big break. And when that happened, it was like a snowball rolling downhill. If the witness didn’t crap out, there was no stopping it. Because of the immediate danger Freddie Stenz posed to his wife, Arlene, an arrest would have to be made right away. An avalanche was getting ready to come down on Freddie Stenz and he had no idea it was about to happen.
53
Kevin King was at their office the next day to go over the developments in the Stenz case with Lauren and Reese. Kevin was a homely red-haired man in his late forties who wore bow ties and loud suits. He called himself the Kinger when he got drunk at the DA’s Christmas party every year. He was actually one of Lauren’s favorite ADAs to work with. Unfortunately, that night he wasn’t his usual wisecracking self, but more reserved and formal.
They sat around the worktable, charts, photos, and statements strewn about. Kevin wouldn’t so much as look at Lauren when she spoke. Finally, Reese had enough. “Kevin, if there’s a problem with this case, tell us right now. If there’s a problem with something else, go screw yourself.”
“Come on, Reese, you know when Church isn’t happy, nobody’s happy.”
“Lauren’s side work has nothing to do with this case. We are doing this search warrant tonight. I want to know if you’re on board one hundred percent.”
“You know I am. Church just makes it tough, you know?”
“No, I don’t,” Lauren chimed in. “Enlighten us.”
“Church is friends with Vine. This is personal with him. And with you.”
“Really?”
“Carl Church has been milking your cases for years. It’s a dirty little joke around the office. If you win this case, when he’s personally trying it, his ego will be crushed. He can’t have that. He loves standing on the podium with you at press conferences. He is all about appearances. This doesn’t look good for him. He hasn’t said anything to me, but right now you are a sore subject.”
Reese threw his pencil on the table. “I told you this would happen. I told you.”
“Shut up, Reese,” she shot back. “So, you’re telling me my disloyalty is breaking Carl Church’s political heart?”
“More like his balls,” Kevin admitted. “But you didn’t hear it from me.”
With the air cleared, they managed to get the search warrant put together. The special term judge who looked it over and signed it praised the detail that had gone into it and wished them luck. Kevin started to get excited, the way you do when a crappy case turns the corner. He wanted to head over to Carl Church’s office and give him the heads up on the case. “It’s always good to let the boss know what’s going on,” he said. “Especially when he’s in a foul mood.”
They broke up the party and agreed to meet at headquarters at eight p.m.
As she finished up some loose ends, Lauren thought about what Kevin had told her. She and Church had stood together for the cameras. He’d thrown his support behind her cases. She hadn’t cared why at the time. What was good for him was great for her. Victims’ families who had thought their loved ones were forgotten now found closure with arrests and prosecutions. It was a case of one hand washing the other, and it had never mattered to her until now. If it got the killers off the street, then everybody won.
The fact that there were rumors about her around the DA’s office bothered her. Granted, when you’ve been married as many times as she had and been involved with a few cops and attorneys, things were bound to get around. This was different. This was professional. Her reputation as a detective was fragile. Being a woman, it always was. Church was ruthless, this she knew. He didn’t defeat his opponents, he destroyed them.
Was that the reason he hasn’t taken the gloves off with me yet? Because he’s confident he’s going to win and wants to teach me a lesson? Make an example out of me? She’d expected fallout from taking the case. A man like Church was a force to be reckoned with, and in all honesty, he really had been good to her over the years. Had she made herself poison to the DA’s office for good? Even Kevin King, who had worked with her for years, was tiptoeing around her. And now she had someone watching her house. This was bad.
All because of her unholy alliance with Frank Violanti.
She had to put it out of her mind today because she had a job to do. The search warrant was going to make or break the Stenz case and she had to be on her game. She didn’t bother to go home. By the time she got there, she’d have to turn around and come right back. Lauren and Reese had already arranged to have patrol assist them while they did the search warrant at Fredrick Stenz’s house that night. Hopefully, after the warrant, it would be case closed on Freddie Stenz.
She and Reese decided to grab some food to kill time. Eating was Reese’s favorite pastime; he was constantly hungry. If I ate as much as him, I’d be a whale, Lauren thought as they pulled out of headquarters’ parking lot. They went to Janice’s, a little diner that was open twenty-four hours a day. The place was mobbed with people stopping home after work. He was such a regular, the waitress knew Reese and gave them a big booth in the back.
He perused the menu. Reese was one of those people who always had to ask the waitress for another five minutes to decide. He didn’t need another five minutes; he just liked looking at the waitress’s ass as she walked away. He was shameless.
“Are you going to tell me ‘I told you so’ again? I know you can’t wait to throw it in my face,” Lauren pressed.
He glanced over the top of the menu. “Oh, is that bothering you now, Ice Queen?” He looked back down at the entrees. “Sorry. I was just being sarcastic.”
“You’re a child, you know that, Reese?”
“Don’t hit on me, Riley. You know I’m not into cougars.” He smiled up at the waitress who had come to take his order. “I’ll have the double cheeseburger basket with a strawberry milkshake.”
“I hope you get fat,” Lauren huffed and ordered a chicken salad.
Handing the menus over to the waitress, he scoffed, “The ladies will still want me. It’s a curse.”
“You’re cursed, all right,” she agreed.
That set the tone for the rest of dinner. She’d say something and he’d come back with a snarky remark. With rough, nervous energy, he tore a napkin to shreds as they talked, his arm muscles working without conscience thought, creating a little pile of paper in front of him. His Army tattoo peaked out from under his shirtsleeve, memorializing his time in the Gulf. His fervor was contagious at that point, charging up Lauren as well. He was invested in this case now and everything was going to come together tonight.
54
At eight o’clock they met with the patrol crews and the lieutenant. An unmarked police car had been sitting on th
e house for the last five hours. Freddie Stenz was supposed to be at work. There was no sign of his rusty old pickup truck. If all went well, they’d grab him up at the brass factory after they executed the search warrant, pull him right off the line, and march him out in front of all his co-workers. Justice served after all these years. The Vampire Slayer in custody. That was the plan.
Sitting in the backseat of their car, Kevin King wouldn’t go in until after they made entry. The assistant district attorneys never did. He’d wait in the car until they cleared the house, room by room, and then supervise the search. Someone had lent him a bulletproof vest two sizes too small for him. The sides flapped open because he couldn’t pull the Velcro around his beer gut.
“You know the drill, right?” Lauren asked as he yanked at Kevlar.
“This ain’t my first time at the rodeo. Let’s just get this over with. My kid has to be at hockey practice at five in the morning.”
“Good to know. You’re on a deadline.”
“Cut it out, Riley.”
“Okay.” She spun around to face the dash. “Let’s do this.”
With everyone now in place, Lauren got on the radio. “Car 1077 to car crews on Seaward Avenue? I’m going to approach the front and Detective Reese is going to approach the back. This is a no-knock warrant, so whoever is doing the ram, come with me.”
Cops began to drift out of their cars, in position all along the street. It was still light out, the long summer days pushing the twilight back. Seaward Avenue was a lonely street on the Buffalo River that backed to a defunct mill. Most of the crumbling, broken-down houses were abandoned. After the paper mill closed, a lot of the homes were condemned as contaminated. Only a few people stuck around. Fredrick Stenz was one of them. He had inherited the house from his parents, so Arlene said, and refused to move even though he had a good job at the brass factory. He was a pack rat as well, Arlene had told them. He never threw anything away.
A Cold Day in Hell Page 17