by Jason Starr
“We’re not,” Geri said. “I mean technically.”
“Techni…” Shawn said. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”
“Maybe, but I’m telling you, I think I got him,” Geri said. “And we gotta bring him in before he kills again.”
“We?” Shawn said. “You think I’m crazy? Workin’ a case you were taken off is a good way to lose your badge.”
“So you want to let a killer walk?” Geri asked.
“If you think you got a lead, call it in,” Shawn said.
“So Dan can take care of it, like he took care of Carlita Morales’s police protection?”
“Come on,” Shawn said.
“I’m texting you the address; be there,” Geri said before Shawn could say anything else.
After Geri sent the address to Shawn, she drove uptown, going the speed limit and stopping at lights because she figured this would save more time than if she got pulled over and had to explain she was a cop.
She arrived at the apartment building on Isham Street where Alvarez lived and double-parked. Normally she would have waited for backup—in this case, Shawn—to arrive before she went to confront a potentially armed-and-dangerous perp, but for some reason she wasn’t concerned about the possibility of danger. She got right out of the car and strolled up to the building, where a group of teenage gangbangers were hanging out in front. Again, usually, she’d worry about her personal safety in a situation like this, but not tonight. Tonight she was fearless.
“Anybody here live in the building?” she asked.
Although she hadn’t displayed a badge, the guys seemed taken aback, intimidated. None of them wanted to answer—exchanging looks to see who would take the lead.
Finally a guy with long dreads said, “I do.”
“So what’re you waiting for?” Geri said. “Open the goddamn door for me.”
The guy, obviously feeling shown up in front of his friends, seemed like he was about to snap back but then reconsidered and let Geri into the building.
Geri had no idea where her bravado and ability to make potentially dangerous guys cower was coming from, but she was liking it. A lot.
She took the stairs to the sixth floor, not winded at all, and rang Manny Alvarez’s doorbell again and again, till he opened the door in gym shorts and wifebeater, squinting because of the hallway light.
“Hell’s goin’ on?”
“Forget me already?” Geri asked. “I’m insulted, it’s only been one day.”
He forced his eyes to open a little wider, then said, “Oh yeah, the cop. You find out who killed my sister yet?”
“Yeah, actually I think I did,” Geri said, and she gave him a little shove to push him back into the apartment. Well, she meant to give him a little shove, but he went straight back, his feet actually leaving the floor, and slammed against the wall in the foyer area. Geri had no idea how she’d been able to do that, as Alvarez was a big, stocky guy, must’ve weighed more than two hundred pounds.
Enjoying this too much and not wanting to question any of it, Geri went into the apartment and stood over Alvarez, who was sitting, looking up at her, dazed.
“I gotta admit, that was pretty clever,” Geri said, “hanging out in front of the building yesterday, pretending to be the angry brother who wants justice. Guess you didn’t think you’d run into a cop who’d recognize you, though, huh? What was it, four and a half years ago? After that shooting on Sherman Avenue. I was a cop back then, so I didn’t question you directly, but I never forget a face.”
“Bitch, you crazy,” Alvarez said. “I didn’t do nothin’.”
He was trying to get up and she kicked him in the head, again much harder than she’d intended, and his head snapped back hard against the wall and blood gushed from his nose.
“Carlita saw you shoot Orlando Rojas,” Geri said. “That’s why she was so torn about cooperating with us, because she didn’t want to turn in her own brother. You were threatening her, weren’t you, telling her you’d kill her if she talked. Then she gave us a sketch that wasn’t accurate to try to throw us off. Gotta give her credit, she had some family loyalty, not like you. You’d kill your own sister to save your own ass, wouldn’t you? That’s why there was no sign of a break-in in the apartment, ’cause she let you in. She probably thought you were gonna thank her for trying to throw us off, but you weren’t gonna take any chances, were you? You wanted her dead, shut up for good, didn’t you?”
He didn’t answer. Geri kicked him in the face again, and more blood gushed. She was loving this. And, was she imagining it, or could she smell his blood?
“Okay, okay,” he groaned. “So I shot her. So what?”
On what there was a gunshot, and Geri felt the pain rip through her leg. She saw the shooter—an African American woman in a bra and panties—off to the right. As Geri went for her piece she heard three more shots in quick succession, but they all missed, and then Geri fired a shot from about twenty feet away that went bull’s-eye, right between the woman’s eyes, and then the whole room seemed to be immersed in the aroma of gunpowder and the wonderful, alluring scent of blood.
Shawn arrived at the crime scene at about the same time as local cops, EMS workers, and crime scene investigators. Manny Alvarez was treated for his injuries, including a broken nose, at the scene, and then he was taken away, under police protection, for more treatment with possible murder charges pending. The remains of Alvarez’s girlfriend, Danielle Howard, were being analyzed by investigators and crime forensics workers.
Although Geri had been shot in the leg and lost a good amount of blood, somehow most of the pain had already subsided. The wound itself didn’t look as bad as it had immediately after she was shot; was it possible she was already healing? She also noticed that the bite wound on her neck that she’d gotten earlier was almost gone completely. And what about her strength, how she’d kicked the crap out of Alvarez without exerting much energy? And what was up with her sense of smell? Aside from the blood, with all the police and medical personnel around her she was hyperaware of all of the perfumes, colognes, and deodorants. Obviously something very strange was going on. She remembered Ramon telling her when she was leaving his apartment that he could explain everything, and now Geri was eager to hear that explanation herself.
When Detectives Santoro and Reese arrived, Geri explained what had transpired. Her only embellishment was that Alvarez had grabbed her before she’d beaten the hell out of him.
“What made you enter the premises alone?” Santoro asked.
“I thought the perp might try to run,” Geri said.
Santoro didn’t seem to buy this lame explanation, but Geri really couldn’t care less.
“You should’ve called this in,” Reese said. “Right now all you’ve got is a confession, an unrecorded confession, so you better hope they find something here linking Alvarez to the shootings, or your ass is gonna fry.”
As if on cue, a young Asian forensics guy came out of the bedroom holding an evidence bag with what looked like an S&W inside it.
“Good news, we got the gun,” he said. “We’ll have to check it out, but I’m willing to bet this is the weapon.”
“Congrats, Rodriguez,” Santoro said to Geri.
Reese almost seemed disappointed.
Several minutes later, Dan McCarthy arrived on the scene. Santoro updated him on what had happened at the apartment, including the discovery of the probable murder weapon.
Dan took Geri aside and said, “I can’t say I’m happy about how this went down. You shouldn’t’ve been here, especially on your own, and you’re going to have to explain to me exactly how Alvarez, who was apparently unarmed, sustained injuries that hospitalized him. That said, I owe you one, Rodriguez. This case was rapidly turning into an albatross for the whole department, for the whole city, and the most important thing is that a killer will be brought to justice.”
Geri and Dan shook hands. Geri squeezed too hard and Dan winced.
“Sorry,” Geri said.
“Hey, I just got one question for you,” Dan said, flexing his fingers. “If you got shot in the leg at close range, how is it that you’re walking around?”
Geri shrugged, said, “Must’ve just grazed me.”
In the hallway outside the apartment, there was a lot of police activity and neighbors standing in front of their doors.
Shawn came over to Geri and said, “Hey, sorry I didn’t get here sooner, but I guess Super Woman didn’t need me, huh?”
“You know I can’t do it without you,” Geri said.
“But seriously, we’ve been partners, what, over a year? I’ve never seen you do that kinda damage to somebody’s face before. Seriously, where’d that come from?”
She remembered the crazy night with Ramon—seeing him turn into an animal, or just imagining he had, and then drinking the beer, and that weird bite mark on her neck. Was it related to how she was suddenly stronger, more confident, and felt like she was practically invincible?
“I guess something just came over me tonight, that’s all,” she said.
Leaving the building, she saw that there were already several reporters outside, a couple she recognized from yesterday in Washington Heights. After the humiliation she’d suffered, having to take the fall for ending the protection order that had allowed Carlita Morales’s murder to take place, she never expected she’d have a chance to redeem herself so quickly.
As the reporters shouted questions, she smiled widely and took a deep breath. Yeah, she was going to milk this one for all it was worth.
TWENTY
Alison just wanted to get through this day. After she’d left Jeremy with his friend Matthew’s babysitter on West Sixty-seventh, she was late to her first appointment at Mount Sinai, and then she was only able to talk to the doctor for maybe ten minutes before he was called away for surgery. She’d managed to make a follow-up appointment for next week, but the doctor was so busy he’d probably cancel, and timing was so important in sales, and Alison feared that the time to close this deal had passed her by.
The bad Mount Sinai appointment set the bleak tone for the rest of the day. She was off her game at her ten thirty and thought there was a good chance she’d lose what had been a steady client to a competitor. After the appointment she got a call from Matthew’s babysitter that Jeremy had been acting up, crying, and complaining that he wanted to go home. Alison had appointments stacked up all day and couldn’t go over there to help calm him down; the babysitter sounded pissed off, and Alison knew this was the last time she’d be able to get coverage there for Jeremy. In between her twelve thirty and one o’clock appointments, Alison didn’t have time for lunch because she was on the phone, trying to find a babysitter. She tried their old babysitter, Margaret; she’d found another job but was nice enough to give referrals to two other babysitters whom Alison called and made appointments to interview later in the week. She called Stephen Tyler because she still hadn’t heard a peep from him since leaving his office yesterday afternoon. She’d left several messages, calling late last night and this morning, but the calls kept going straight to voice mail. Alison was getting seriously pissed off. He’d said he would stay in touch; was this what he called staying in touch? She had no idea if he’d even been able to follow Simon, but if she didn’t hear something from him today, that was the end, she was going to fire him. She wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt right now, but maybe that was why Vijay had warned her about him. Maybe the guy was a total flake.
Alison was still sad about the whole Vijay situation. She knew not getting involved with him was for the best, but she wished she hadn’t mixed business with pleasure in the first place. She and Vijay used to have a friendly working relationship, and now he wasn’t even her client. As per his request she’d handed him off to Chandra, one of her co-workers. Chandra had been thrilled of course—Vijay was a lucrative, influential client—and now Alison had lost a friend as well as significant commission income.
The rest of the day, Alison tried to focus on work, but she was still a mess. Her afternoon appointments didn’t go any better than her morning ones. She was distracted, kept losing her train of thought, and just didn’t feel like being around people. She always told young salespeople that ninety percent of this job was personality based, engaging with doctors on a personal level, often in very short periods of time. Doctors were busy and often had only five or ten minutes to meet, and if you weren’t having a good day, if you were in a bitter, edgy mood, your chances of making a connection were almost nil. After all, doctors had enough stress during their workdays. Alison even had a bad meeting with Dr. Morgan, a super nice Park Avenue gynecologist—older guy, early sixties—who was one of her longest, steadiest clients. Dr. Morgan had known her for years; he’d noticed she was stressed and asked her if she was okay. She got defensive, afraid that her personal life was intruding in her professional life, and snapped, “I’m fine,” and changed the subject, and then the meeting ended awkwardly. Leaving the office, Alison regretted her curtness and sent an e-mail apology. Dr. Morgan was such a great guy she didn’t think there would be any long-lasting tension, but she knew she had to get her crap under control or it would seriously affect her job, and one thing she couldn’t lose right now was her job, especially in this economy.
At a little after six, after her last appointment of the day, she took a cab back across town, figuring she’d change out of her work clothes before she had to zip out again and pick up Jeremy. What she would’ve really loved to do was hit the gym, but when would she have time to work out again? With full-time work and solo child care at night, she wouldn’t have time to do anything for herself. She already felt like crap, forgetting to eat, and was losing way too much weight. She hadn’t weighed herself in a while, but going by how most of her clothes were loose on her, she figured she must’ve lost seven or eight pounds over the past month. If her life became more difficult and stressful and she lost another five pounds, it would push her dangerously close to anorexia territory.
When the cab dropped her at Eighty-ninth and Columbus, she feared that today was just a preview of the rest of her life, that things would get worse. She was going to be alone, stressed out, broke, exhausted, and anorexic. And what about Jeremy? What kind of life would he have with a miserable single mom taking care of him?
Then Alison entered the lobby and saw Simon standing there. Her first thought was, That’s my husband? He looked good, better than he’d looked in years, or maybe ever. He was lean, toned, and his skin had a healthy glow. He was also extremely well dressed in a stylish suit, an expensive-looking black dress shirt, and new black loafers—were they Ferragamos? It took a few seconds before she remembered how angry she was at him, how he’d put her through hell lately, and how she’d hired a PI to find out who he’d been screwing lately.
Putting on a serious, pissed-off expression, she said, “What the hell’re you doing here?”
“I’m here to be honest with you about everything,” he said.
Honest? Was he going to confess an affair? If so, how come Tyler hadn’t let her in on any of this? Was he following Simon or not? And there was something different about Simon, but she couldn’t quite figure out what it was. He was in clothes she’d never seen before—a clean shirt, tucked into beige chinos—but it wasn’t that.
“Sorry,” Alison said. “I’m just … surprised to see you here.”
“How’s Jeremy?” Simon asked.
“Fine,” Alison said. “He’s at Matthew’s. I have to pick him up in a few minutes.”
“This won’t take long,” Simon said, “but maybe we can do it upstairs.”
Simon motioned with his eyes very quickly in the direction of James the doorman. James, organizing some packages that had been dropped off, didn’t seem to be eavesdropping, but doormen were always eavesdropping. If you lived in a doorman building in Manhattan, you never wanted to have a dramatic confrontation in front of a doorman, as it was the equivalent of having the confrontation broadcast to ev
ery apartment in the building.
But Alison was wary of being alone with Simon after his bizarre behavior the last time she’d seen him and said, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
Simon glanced at James, then whispered to her, “I promise, nothing bad will happen. I just want to clear the air and be honest about everything that’s been going on.”
Alison stared at him, still getting that vibe that something had changed about him; there was an intensity in his eyes she had never seen before, but she believed he was sincere about wanting to get things out in the open and, after so much confusion these past several weeks, she was eager to hear what he had to say for himself.
“Okay, fine,” she said. “But it’ll have to be quick; I really have to get Jeremy.”
Before they got in the elevator, she looked back through the glass windows, toward the street, wondering if Stephen Tyler was out there somewhere. If he hadn’t been able to tail a man to his own apartment, he had to be the worst PI in the world. Or maybe he’d lied to her, and he wasn’t even working on the case. Either way, unless he had some incredible explanation for what had been going on lately, she was going to ask for her retainer back, every cent of it.