SIREN'S TEARS (ALTON RHODE MYSTERIES Book 3)

by Lawrence de Maria

  Paul Vocci from the D.A.’s squad walked in to the interrogation room.

  “The stiff’s name is Cesaro Casabianca,” Vocci said. “He’d just made bail over in Bergen County on some sort of stolen jewelry scam he was running with his sister.”

  “Rosa,” I said.

  They all looked at me. So I told them about the sting.

  “Call Tim Condon over in the Bergen County Prosecutor’s office,” I said. “He will want in on this.”

  Just then Cormac Levine joined the party, looking rumpled, which was how he looked at all times.

  “He did it,” Mac said. “And if he didn’t, he probably did something else. Can I borrow a rubber hose?”

  ***

  “What did the M.E. say killed Cesaro,” I asked.

  It was late afternoon and we were sitting in Mike Sullivan’s office. Mike had dropped a lot of weight and looked about 10 years older. Losing a wife you still loved after finding out that she was an ex-hooker and had killed someone will do that to a man. Everyone but him was eating Egg McSomethings and drinking coffee by the gallon. My near-death experience must have counted for something because Vocci bought the food.

  “He’s stumped,” Mac said. “The only thing out of line was the zinc, which he only looked for because we told him to. It was elevated. But zinc doesn’t kill, he said.”

  “I told you what it’s for.”

  “Yeah. But it’s not proof. She must be a fucking genius.”

  “Might have been nice if you let us in on the jewelry thing,” Vocci said. “We could have run the bust here.”

  “Sure, Paulie. And the wife of every judge on Staten Island would have to return the bracelets they bought. And then they will have to testify. And, of course, there’s the I.R.S.”

  “Shit,” Vocci said. “I didn’t think of that. Good job, Rhode.”

  “Perhaps we should get back on point,” Sullivan said quickly. “I’m not sure I want to hear about the other thing.”

  “The point is, if my flight wasn’t delayed, when I opened my front door, Cesaro would have aced me in revenge for killing his brother and getting his sister arrested. Instead, when he opened the door, he got a snoot full of frog poison, or something similar, by someone who also wanted me dead.”

  “You’re a popular guy,” Mac said. “But why did he open the door.”

  “I took cabs to and from the airport. My car was in the driveway. Whoever killed Cesaro probably assumed I was asleep, and was persistent. Maybe Cesaro saw her from the window and figured she was a girlfriend. Killing her would be a bonus.”

  “You sound sure it was a woman,” Sullivan said.

  “I’m sure it was Isabella Donner. Or, rather, Mary Naulls. It’s what she does. And it’s how she kills. She figured I would eventually figure things out. For Christ sake, she knows I had the priest’s computer and cell phone. I even asked her to sneak it them back into the rectory.”

  “That’s something else I just didn’t hear,” Sullivan said.

  “Do you guys have enough for a search warrant,” I said.

  “We still have no proof. Just a grainy photo from years ago, a lot of coincidences and the tainted evidentiary products of a sacrilegious burglary of a Catholic church.”

  “Try a Jewish judge,” Mac said.

  Everyone ignored him.

  “Maybe I can get hard evidence,” I said.

  How,” Vocci asked.

  “From her house.”

  “Burglary is burglary,” Sullivan said. “Anything you find will be thrown out.”

  “I’m not a cop. But I don’t plan on breaking in. I don’t even know if she realizes she killed the wrong man. Even if she does, she will want to see me.”

  “To finish the job, maybe,” Mac said.

  “I doubt she’d do it in her own house. Besides, now that I know what she’s capable of, I’ll be careful.”

  “I don’t like it,” Vocci said.

  “Gee, Pauli, I’m touched. I didn’t think you cared.”

  “I don’t. But I also don’t want you screwing up a case.”

  “A case you can’t make unless I get in that house. And I don’t want a cop within a zip code of the house. This has to be completely unofficial if you want it to stand up in court.”

  I went home. If I didn’t get some sleep, no one would have to kill me.

  Cesaro had died nicely. There was no mess.

  My cell buzzed. It was Isabella.

  “Alton, I’ve found out something. Can you come out to my house tomorrow morning? We can have breakfast. There is something you should know.”

  CHAPTER 31 - BACKUP

  I was getting dressed the next morning feeling almost human when my front doorbell chimed. Just because Bella invited me to breakfast didn’t mean she wasn’t standing on my doorstep with gallon of frog poison. I pulled my gun and peered out the bay window. Arman Rahm was on my stoop, with Kalugin standing behind him. I holstered my gun and opened the door.

  “You really should do something about your lawn,” Arman said, handing me a small strip of yellow tape that the cops had apparently left behind. “It must embarrass your neighbors to know that the police consider it a crime scene.”

  I waved them toward my kitchen.

  “I presume this is not a social visit,” I said.

  “Hardly. We heard what happened. Your house is gaining a reputation for being unhealthy for felons.” He knocked on the wood of the banister leading up to the second floor. I was about to point out that he was responsible for the majority of felons who died under my roof, but he continued. “My father assumes that it was precipitated by your investigation into the Father Zapo situation. He feels responsible.”

  “As much as it pains me to say it, Arman, your family is off the hook for this one.”

  We were sitting at my kitchen table. Kalugin was leaning against the counter next to my refrigerator, which now looked like a side-by-side. I told them what happened.

  “I heard about the Tiffany parties. Thought it was quite inventive. You are very lucky to have survived. That Hispanic bunch has a reputation for violence. You should remain on your guard.”

  “It was apparently a family operation. Rosa is going away, she’s run out of brothers and the cops don’t think anyone else in their crew will chance another shot at me. They probably think I’m Jason Bourne.”

  “Do you know who killed him?”

  “I’m pretty sure.”

  I told them everything.

  “Tsar Bomba!” Kalugin said when I finished, impressed despite himself.

  “So you think she came here to silence you,” Rahm said, “and killed the wrong man when he opened the door. Do you think she knows it wasn’t you?”

  “She called me last night. I’m going to her house for breakfast.”

  Both men looked at each other.

  “You can’t be serious about going out there,” Rahm said. “She may have already tried to kill you. She’s may be a mass murderer. Let the police handle it.”

  I shook my head.

  “Sullivan is working on a warrant, but all they have is a bunch of coincidences and a grainy photo from 20 years ago of some woman standing in a Colombian village surrounded by a bunch of underdressed Indians. They can’t prove she killed anyone. The Ontario cops never even brought an indictment. I want to confront her and see what happens. Maybe she’ll slip up. Maybe I’ll find something.”

  “Maybe she’ll kill you,” Kalugin suggested.

  He didn’t seem distraught over the prospect.

  “Unlike her other victims, I’ll be ready.”

  “And if she dies trying,” Arman said, “Justice is served.”

  “I think she killed her father, four people in Canada and now five here, including Father Zapo and Casabianca. And she was lining up another.”

  “Who?”

  “Congressman Purvice. Her latest boyfriend.”

  Rahm smiled.

  “A Congressman. Well, I suppose she’s not all
bad. But you are making a mistake.”

  “Maybe. But she suckered me. She told me she was born on Staten Island and lived here all her life. I fell for it. Didn’t even bother to check it out.”

  “The big lies,” Kalugin said.

  We both looked at him.

  “Hitler and Goebbels used them,” he explained. “People believe the big lies.”

  “Listen, Alton,” Rahm said, “I have a meeting in Manhattan. But I want Maks to go with you.”

  “Thanks. But it’s not necessary. She’ll know something is up.”

  “Humor me. Just as backup. He can hide behind a tree.”

  “I don’t think there are any redwoods on her block.”

  Rahm ignored me.

  “Maks, go in his car and do what he says. I’ll take the Mercedes.”

  It was no use arguing.

  “I didn’t know you remembered how to drive, Arman. I’m impressed.”

  “I learned to drive getaway cars before I had hair on my balls.”

  CHAPTER 32 – SKIPPING BREAKFAST

  I parked on the street in front of the house next door to Isabella’s.

  “Be careful,” Kalugin said.

  It was the nicest thing he ever said to me.

  I walked up to the door and rang the doorbell.

  “Alton, it’s not locked,” she shouted from inside the house. “Just let yourself in. I’ll be right with you.”

  I turned the knob and entered. There were two suitcases in the front hallway. I went into the living room and could see Isabella flitting about in one of the back bedrooms. The table in the kitchen was set with a coffee pot, cups, a container of cream and some more damn soda bread. Maybe it was my imagination, but the raisins in the bread looked particularly malevolent.

  “Help yourself, Alton.”

  Drinking or eating anything in this house was a nonstarter. A moment later, Isabella walked in carrying a coat in one hand and a rag in the other. She had on rubber kitchen gloves and dropped the coat on a chair before disappearing into the hallway, where I heard the front door open. I jumped up but then remembered Maks. She wouldn’t get far if she was running. I heard the door close and she was back in the dinette almost immediately. She washed the rag in the sink and put it and the gloves on a rack to dry. Then she sat down at the table. So did I.

  “Just some last minute cleanup,” she said. “Hate to leave a mess.”

  She was wearing a smart business suit and sensible shoes. She poured herself a cup of coffee, added cream and sugar and cut a piece of cake to put on a plate.

  “Don’t you want something, Alton?”

  “You’re going someplace?”

  “Yes. I have a flight out of Newark. The food on those planes is execrable. I won’t eat for hours, so I just had to have something.”

  “You’ve been traveling, I suspect, so you know how it is. Where did you go?”

  “Canada.”

  She didn’t seem surprised.

  “Cashman?”

  “And Ocean Falls.”

  “My, but you are thorough. How is good old Ocean Falls.”

  “You were smart to leave. Did you kill your father?”

  “It seemed the right thing to do. He was a monster.” She took a dainty bite of soda bread. “Runs in the family, I guess.” She seemed preternaturally calm. “I presume you don’t think it’s a good idea that I go on a trip right now.”

  “You’re not.”

  She took a sip of coffee. Her actions were precise and ladylike.

  “I guess it’s no surprise you won’t eat anything, Alton. Trust me, the food isn’t poisoned. Nor is the coffee or cream. Unless, of course, I’m committing suicide right in front of you.”

  I hadn’t considered that. I made a move toward her but she laughed and held up a hand.

  “I’m only joking, honey. My bags are packed and I fully expect to make my flight. What were you going to do? Give me mouth-to-mouth?” She laughed. “Not that I wouldn’t want you to. I will always regret that we didn’t finish what we started that night. You’re younger than my traditional lovers, but I thought it might be a nice change. You don’t know what you missed, although I think you got a taste of what it would have been like when you watched Bruce and me.” She shrugged. “Your loss.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why did you kill those other men? And why Father Zapo? Did he find out?”

  Isabella, or Mary, looked at me sadly.

  “I was right. You still think I killed Zapotoski.”

  “Of course you did.”

  She poured herself more coffee.

  “Believe me, I’d tell you if I did. There can be no secrets between us now. The good Father had a legitimate stroke. A stroke of bad luck for me, as it was, since it convinced you that there was really a killer at work. That meant you wouldn’t stop investigating until you found out. You always get your woman, you joked. You are dogged, Alton. Cashman, Ocean Falls. I’m surprised you didn’t go to fucking Colombia.”

  For someone already packed, Mary Naulls didn’t seem to be in a hurry. I wondered about that.

  “When you think about it, it’s all quite funny. Another man whose death I had nothing to do with forced me to change all my plans again. For God’s sake, Alton, the man was 80, smoked, drank vodka and ate Polish food. He was a walking time bomb, health wise. Believe me, I almost died myself that day in the hospital when he mentioned my name and said I was Mary Naulls! Thank God that silly monsignor convinced you that Zapotoski said Maryknolls.”

  “How did Father Zapo figure it out?”

  “I don’t know. He never approached me. Perhaps he heard something in the confessional from one, or all, of the men. I doubt if they mentioned me by name, but maybe the time frame with my coming to the parish tipped him off. By the way, you never checked to see when I moved here, did you?”

  “Not one of my finest moments. I took you at your word. Who would lie about something so easily checked? I won’t make that mistake again.”

  “No, you won’t. But don’t feel bad. I’m really good at that kind of thing. And I’m sure my apparent age also threw you off. How old do you think I am?”

  “I know you must be at least 45. I presume you are still using Rantox for wrinkles.”

  She laughed delightedly.

  “My God. You are good. You know everything now. But I had you fooled, even when you saw me naked. But while my face may have been helped chemically, my body is the result of hard work. I have smallish breasts, but it’s still tough fighting gravity.”

  CHAPTER 33 – GOD’S WORK

  Listening to her, I got a queasy feeling in my stomach. Her Eucharistic Minister pose was nowhere in sight. Before me was a cold, calculating serial killer. Possibly insane, but a killer nonetheless.

  “You want to know why I kill men? Isn’t it obvious? I hate them. Especially men of a certain age and position. Secure, married but with a roving eye. Coach the fucking Little League. Church-going hypocrites who profess to be right-to-life but force their mistresses to have abortions. Like my father. Yes, yes, I’m one of those who blame Daddy. But in my case I think it’s justified. When dear old Dad wasn’t screwing all the women in British Columbia he was popping into my bed on a regular basis. Got me preggie and forced me to abort, on the sly. Couldn’t chance my Mum finding out, though I’m pretty sure she knew everything my father did, with me and others.”

  Her face, serene to this point, got hard with the remembered abuse.

  “I can’t have children because the abortion was botched.”

  “It doesn’t seem to have affected your sexual appetite.”

  “What’s left to me? I love sex and it’s a means to an end. The Rantox helps me stay desirable and also inflames my libido. When I was younger, I had trouble climaxing. Probably the result of my father’s abuse. Now I’m multi-orgasmic. You heard me. I wasn’t faking it. Those fools think they are great lovers. You should hear them. ‘I love you. I’ll leave m
y wife. Just give me a little time.’ And I never even bring up marriage. It’s so easy. Sure, they all have visions of screwing some 25-year-old Pilates instructor but they know, deep down, I’m the best they’re ever going to get. I keep in shape. You saw that yourself. I know I turned you on. Once you tell them you’re really not interested in marriage, only being their love slave as long as they want you, they’re in your thrall. I love killing the sons of bitches. I only wish I could look them in the eye when they died. But, of course, that would present a problem. One Nelson Rockefeller dying in the saddle is happenstance; two or more is murder.”

  “How did you do it?”

  “Kill them?”

  “Yes.”

  “The Body of Christ.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  I was suddenly very thirsty. But I wasn’t going to ask for a drink of water.

  “Come on, Alton. Figure it out. On what days did the other three men die on Staten Island?

  I tried to remember the information from the obituaries. I couldn’t. I seemed to have a problem concentrating.

  “I’ll help you out,” she said. “Two were on Sunday and one, Spinelli, was on a Thursday. It’s the Thursday that’s throwing you, right? I’ll give you another hint, since you seem to be having trouble. The Thursday was the Assumption, a Holy Day of Obligation.”

  “They all went to mass?”

  “Bingo!” She laughed. “No, I don’t mean that. There was no church gambling involved. I mean you’re right. They all went to mass before they died.”

  It wasn’t possible! “The Body of Christ” referred to Holy Communion. It is what a priest says when he puts the wafer on your tongue or hands it to you. It was also what a Eucharistic Minister serving communion would say!

  “You poisoned their communion wafers!”

  “Ingenious, no? The beauty of oral delivery is that it’s very easy to adjust the dose. It wouldn’t do to have people drop dead in their tracks, at the altar or in a church pew. I had to make sure that there was enough time between ingesting the poison and their collapse from an apparent heart attack. It was ridiculously simple. I always wore a long-sleeved blouse and kept the wafer under my watch. I think my boys loved receiving communion from me. Sometimes we’d exchange knowing winks. I told you they were hypocrites.”