Based on the way we exercise and eat, if Laurie doesn’t outlive me, there is no justice in the world.
Over the sound of the blender I hear the phone ring, and I go into the den to answer it. It’s Horace Persky, from the state lab. “How’s it going?” he asks, which is Horace-speak for “Did you get the Giants tickets?”
“It’s going fine. You’re on the forty-five-yard line, club level.”
“Sweet,” he says. “I got the DNA results on the bloody cloth. I’m emailing them to you, but I thought you’d want to know this right away.”
That sounds intriguing. “You got a match? Whose is it?”
“None other than Ernie Vinson.”
“The Ernie Vinson who just turned up dead in the hotel room in Connecticut?”
“The very one.”
Wow.
I’m not ready to call this a significant and connected development, but I’m tempted.
Not long after Ernie Vinson attempts to attack or kidnap Don Carrigan, he turns up dead. I don’t believe in coincidences, but it’s possible that these two things are actually unconnected.
I say this because Ernie Vinson was no Boy Scout; he was a mob-connected enforcer. That is among the more violent careers, and the dangers involved in holding such a job no doubt would be off the actuarial table charts. If you’re applying for life insurance, and you’re mob-connected, you should lie about your occupation on the application. So Vinson’s murder could easily have nothing whatsoever to do with Don Carrigan.
But of course the two events could actually be related to each other, and I have to look into that possibility. If we can make the connection, which is a long shot, that would be huge for us.
More interesting to me is the question of what the hell Ernie Vinson would have wanted with Don Carrigan. Vinson was a violent guy, but he operated with a purpose. He wasn’t, at least to my knowledge, someone who randomly killed for kicks. He killed on orders or for money, or both, and that doesn’t seem to fit with Carrigan’s status in life.
My first call is to Sam Willis, to get him to use his computer magic to learn whatever he can about the last days of Ernie Vinson. “I’m on it,” he says.
“Also, Vinson had an accomplice the night he attacked Carrigan. There was someone else there, driving a dark-colored SUV. I’d really like to know who that was. Can you access Vinson’s phone records?”
“Why do you insult me?” Sam asks. He knows that I am aware he can get phone records as easily as I can get food out of the refrigerator.
“Sorry,” I say. “But maybe he talked on the phone to the guy who helped him. It would be a big help if you could narrow down the possibilities.”
“I’m on it,” he says again. There is literally nothing I could ask him that wouldn’t draw an “I’m on it.”
I next dial Pete Stanton, who thinks I am calling about the Carrigan case. “Leave me alone” is his friendly conversational opener. “I have nothing to do with the case. I just made the arrest for the Essex County cops.”
“I’m calling about Ernie Vinson,” I say.
“He’s dead.”
“I was hoping to get better information than that. Like who killed him, and why.”
“All I know is what I read in the papers. But he was a mob killer, so I assume he was killed by another mob killer. That’s usually how it works.”
“Any idea why?” I ask, though I already know this conversation is going nowhere.
“I’m going to go out on a limb and say that the other mob killer wanted him dead.”
“You’re an outstanding source of information.”
“Hey, he worked for Joseph Russo. Why don’t you ask him?”
“I think I will,” I say.
“I was kidding.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Are your affairs in order?” he asks.
“I laugh in the face of danger.”
“You’re about to get your chance,” he says. “I should mind my own business, but you want me to go with you? I could do it unofficially.”
I appreciate the offer. Pete knows if he’s with me, because he’s a cop, Russo would never try anything. “No thanks, Pete, I got this.”
“Yeah.”
As soon as I get off the phone, I head down to the Tara Foundation to speak to Willie Miller. It’s the dog rescue operation that we run, and Willie is my partner in it. He and his wife, Sondra, do all the work, something that makes me feel guilty much of the time. But they love doing it.
Willie also spent seven years in prison for a murder he did not commit, and I got him off on appeal. In the process we won him a fortune in a civil suit, which is why he can happily work at the foundation for no pay.
While in prison he used his considerable skills in karate to defend another inmate from an attack by three assailants out to kill him. Willie put the three of them in the hospital, earning the eternal gratitude of the inmate he protected. Willie’s actions were especially noble because he had no prior relationship with the inmate; they had never so much as spoken to each other.
That inmate was Joseph Russo. And Willie’s actions earned an actual sense of gratitude in Russo that caused Russo to tell him that if Willie needed anything, at any time in the future, Russo would be there for him.
I’ve used the “Willie connection” to get to Russo a number of times since then, and it has worked out well. But my relationship with Russo has grown a bit more complicated recently. Russo had been the number two man to Dominic Petrone until my efforts sent Petrone to prison, where he will spend his golden years.
Russo was thus elevated to the head of the family, and all reports are that he has consolidated his power in the interim. So he either hates me for putting away his mentor, or is grateful to me for securing the top job for him. Or something in between.
He’s let me live since then, so that’s a good sign.
Willie is talking to potential adopters when I arrive, which can always be a volatile situation. Willie does not think that every home is an appropriate one for one of the dogs under our protection and he’s not hesitant to so inform the applicants in rather direct terms.
I say hello to Sondra, and she tells me she heard about Zoey from Laurie. “You might want to let her come here,” Sondra says.
“Why?”
“Because you and Laurie are working on the case, and when she has the puppies, that’s going to be a full-time job. Plus, we have better access to the vet.”
I hadn’t thought about that, but she’s probably right. They’re here with the dogs all day, and they could take Zoey and the puppies home at night. Plus we have a vet on call twenty-four/seven for the foundation, which might be needed.
“Thanks, Sondra. Let me talk to Laurie about it.”
At that moment the office door opens and a middle-aged couple, stunned looks on their faces, walks out. They head for the door, dogless. They clearly had not passed the “Willie Miller” test and were told so with no chance for misinterpretation.
Willie comes out and says, “Hey, Andy.”
“What happened with them?” I ask, meaning the departed couple.
“They were going to tie the dog up in the yard when they were out.”
I can’t help but smile with relief that Willie didn’t kill them both. “What did you tell them?” I ask.
“That they weren’t going to do that with one of our dogs, and that if I found out they did it with any dog at all, they’d hear from me.” Then, “So what’s up?”
“I need to see Joseph Russo.”
“Sure, no problem,” he says, as if the request is nothing unusual at all. “When?”
“Whenever,” I say. “Sooner the better.”
Danny Costa was scared for so long, he had forgotten how it felt not to be scared.
That fear had progressed through three stages, each one stronger than the one before it.
The moment it began was that night when they went after the homeless guy. Danny had literally gone along for
the ride; Ernie Vinson was paying him good money just to drive his SUV. All Ernie told him was that they were going to tie the guy up and put him in the back of the car. Danny didn’t know why, or what would happen after that.
He didn’t want to know.
But then it went wrong; amazingly, the guy was more than Ernie could handle, and the dog bit him. Danny didn’t know why Ernie didn’t just shoot the guy, but he was afraid to ask.
So they drove off, and when Danny had dropped off Ernie at home, Ernie made him swear he would not tell anyone what happened. Danny knew what Ernie was capable of, so there was no way he would disobey. But Ernie’s words were not what scared Danny.
It was his eyes.
Danny could see in his eyes that Ernie himself was afraid. He had never seen it before, and it shocked him. He had never known Ernie to be afraid of anything; if Ernie was afraid, then there were some very dangerous people involved.
That was the first stage of Danny’s fear. The second came when he couldn’t reach Ernie by phone and no longer saw him around. He went to his house, but he was not there either. To Danny, this meant that Ernie was on the run, or worse.
But the third stage, which left Danny nothing short of petrified, was when he saw the TV report that said Ernie was found dead in that hotel. There was no question in Danny’s mind that it was a result of that night with the homeless guy, but he had no idea why.
He wished he had asked Ernie more about what was going on, though it was not Ernie’s style to have confided in him. And in a way, he was almost glad not to know, because the knowledge might have made him feel even worse.
There was literally nothing Danny could do, other than hope that the killers had not gotten Ernie to mention Danny’s role that night. If he hadn’t, Danny was safe. If he had, then Danny was toast. Because if Ernie could not stand up to them, if Ernie was that scared of them, then Danny had no chance.
He was a dead man.
He couldn’t go to the police; he had absolutely nothing to tell them. They wouldn’t have had any reason to believe that Ernie’s death was related to the homeless guy, but even if they entertained the possibility, Danny had no information to help them connect it to Ernie’s killers.
So for now all Danny could do was wait … and hope.
And try not to panic.
“Uncle Marcus is in the kitchen.”
I’ve just showered and gotten dressed when Ricky comes into the bedroom and drops that bomb on me. Laurie has obviously arranged for Marcus Clark to come over, as he is working with us on the investigative aspects of our case.
I’m not sure what to do. The kitchen is where the coffee is, but Marcus is in the kitchen. It’s not an easy decision. I need coffee, but not having coffee is not going to kill me. Marcus could certainly kill me. I’m not scared to death of missing out on coffee, but I am scared to death of Marcus.
On the other hand, I’ve spent a lot of time with Marcus and he’s never killed me. Not once. In fact, on more than one occasion he’s saved my life. Marcus listens to Laurie, and Laurie wants me to be safe and alive.
I need more time to think about this. It’s happened so suddenly. Usually I know when I’m going to see Marcus, so I have time to mentally prepare. It’s not fair that I have to wake up to this.
Maybe I should send Ricky downstairs to get me some coffee. That would possibly humiliate me in front of my son, and Laurie would see through it. But it is definitely a viable option.
I’ve made my decision: I’m not going. Coffee is not good for me anyway; I think I saw a study on it recently. I have to start taking better care of myself; my body is a temple.
“Andy, can you come down?” Laurie yells from the kitchen. “Marcus is here.”
Now I am stuck.
“Mom’s calling you,” Ricky says.
“Thanks, Rick, I heard her. How come you’re not in school?”
“Christmas vacation started yesterday. We’re off for two weeks.”
“That’s ridiculous. In my day, Christmas vacation was like an hour.”
So I head down to the kitchen, fearless as always. There, sitting at the counter island and drinking my coffee, is Marcus. He even looks scary in this setting; he would look scary in a tutu dancing at the Met.
“Hey, Marcus.”
“Unhh,” he says, in a burst of eloquence. Marcus says very little, and what little he says is indecipherable to all but Laurie.
They have a few sheets of paper in front of them, no doubt related to the case. “Marcus has been tracking down the people that our client has had violent incidents with,” she says.
“Good. How many are there?”
“Six.”
“Six? And he’s never been charged with any of them?”
She shakes her head. “No, but keep in mind that for the most part he hasn’t been tangling with Boy Scouts. He’s been arrested a few times, but the charges were dropped. Nobody on either side pressed charges.”
“Okay. We need to talk to all of them.”
“Not as bad as it sounds,” Laurie says. “Two of them are in jail, one lives on the West Coast, and one is dead.”
“Any chance the dead one is Ernie Vinson?”
“No.” Then, “Do you want to talk to them yourself?”
“Might as well; I’ve got nothing else to do today. Let me go down to the jail and show the names to Carrigan; maybe we can decide whether to talk to them based on what he knows and remembers about them.”
The doorbell rings and when I open it I see Sam Willis standing in the rain. “Got something for you,” he says. “I figured I should bring it over.”
“Come on in. What is it?”
He hands me an envelope. “An address for Jaime Tomasino and a photograph. As soon as I get more information, I’ll get it to you.”
“Great. You want some coffee?”
“You have chai tea?”
“Chai tea? You think you wandered into Starbucks?”
Once we’re in the kitchen and Sam, Marcus, and Laurie have exchanged hellos, I open the envelope. There’s a photograph of Jaime Tomasino, just as Sam promised.
“Is this a driver’s license picture?” I ask.
“Yup.”
“How’d you get it? Never mind, don’t tell me.”
“Okay.”
“I officially have no idea that you can get into the motor vehicle bureau’s computers.”
“You want me to get rid of any speeding tickets for you? By the way, I think it’s great that you’re an organ donor.”
I’m about to answer when the phone rings, and Laurie picks it up. After saying “Hello,” she just listens for about twenty seconds and says, “Okay.” It’s a stirring conversation.
She hangs up and says, “Willie’s going to pick you up in ten minutes. You’re going to see Joseph Russo.”
“I guess I do have something else to do today.”
Usually when I am facing something that could involve personal danger, Laurie insists that Marcus go with me. She knows that when it comes to potential violence, Marcus can handle pretty much anything, and I can handle pretty much nothing.
But the Joseph Russo situation is different. Marcus could protect me in the moment; he could protect me in the moment from an alien invasion. But Russo has an endless supply of dangerous people in his employ, and if he was set on getting to me, he would know that Marcus could not be there forever.
Besides, I’ll have Willie with me, and Russo is in Willie’s debt. The fact that he’s agreed to talk to me is evidence of that.
I call Hike and tell him to get the names of potential grudge holders from Laurie and talk to Carrigan about them. Then I take a few sips of coffee and wait for Willie.
Willie pulls up on time, and Sondra is with him. Laurie is going to drive her back to their house with Zoey. I give Zoey a hug goodbye; I’m going to miss her, but she’s much better off at Willie and Sondra’s, at least until she has the puppies.
Once we’re in the car I ask where we�
��re going to meet Russo.
“At his house,” Willie says.
“Did he sound pissed or friendly when you told him I wanted to talk to him?”
“Friendly. Joey always sounds friendly; he’s a good guy.”
“Willie, he deals in drugs, prostitution, extortion, and has had people murdered. He’s a good guy?”
He nods. “Except for that stuff.”
The media coverage of the sniper shootings had died down.
Not surprisingly, the public terror had gradually gone from fear to concern to a vague unease. By this point it was mostly gone, since it had been weeks since the last shooting.
The general theory, which the police privately did not disagree with, was that Chuck Simmons had gotten his revenge and gone underground. Part of the reason that law enforcement felt that way was the fact that the manhunt had been so intense; if Simmons was still out and about and planning additional shootings, he would surely have been caught already.
Someone who was uncomfortably close to the situation, and who was seriously afraid he might become a victim, was Drew Stroman. Stroman was Greta Simmons’s boyfriend at the time of their divorce.
Greta had been separated from her husband for a few months by the time she met Stroman, and he was not a factor in their marriage breaking up. Nor was he named in any of the legal complaints; in every sense he had nothing to do with anything that happened between husband and wife. And their relationship hadn’t lasted; they’d been broken up for months by the time Greta was killed.
But still he worried. There was always the chance that Simmons was misinformed about his role and held a grudge against him, especially since he had been there to show his support for her during the trial.
For all Stroman knew, Chuck Simmons could hold him responsible for the loss of his wife and what he knew of his life. It was unlikely, and people told him that he was safe, but he worried that he could be the next target.
So for weeks Stroman tried to limit his movements; he stayed indoors as much as he could. And he followed the media stories voraciously, hoping to see that the police were making progress, or even better yet had made an arrest. But he also read those same articles hoping not to see his name mentioned. He was included in some stories, but usually with the helpful disclaimer that he had met Greta Simmons after her separation from her husband.
Deck the Hounds--An Andy Carpenter Mystery Page 8