They approached Room 907. That’s when Taylor stopped.
“Let me do all the talking. Jimmy, just sit behind us.”
“Uh, sure. What about Rocky?”
“I spoke with him yesterday,” Taylor said. “He understands the process.”
He’d been through this before. He’d even been convicted. It was like old home week.
They entered a large room with a bank of windows, sunlight flooding in and leaving streaks on the hard floor. There were several wooden benches, a couple of tables, and of course, the judge’s bench. An empty jury box was positioned on the side. It would remain so. This was not a trial. Jimmy sat on the bench, while he watched his sister and her associate (lover?) position themselves at the table. He tried to note their body language, but whatever had existed between them outside the courthouse was now neatly tucked away. Jimmy gave Taylor the once-over. Dark blond hair, cut short, he was cute, if a bit nerdy; getting rid of those glasses might give him a more modern look. Still, his suit cost more than Jimmy’s rent, and he wore it well. Probably had a gym membership and actually used it.
Just then, the door from the inside opened, and out stepped a guard, along with Rocky. He was dressed in orange, and still in cuffs. He was accused of murder. They’d be keeping them on. When Rocky saw Jimmy, he gave him a slight nod, no doubt the best he could offer given the circumstances. Taking his seat, he turned back.
“Thanks, Jimmy, for all of this.”
“I’m sorry, Rocky. For all of this. Afterwards, I’d like to talk to you.”
“’bout what?”
“You say you’re innocent. You say you want me to prove it.”
“Jimmy, it’s real complicated.”
“Murder usually is.”
Their conversation was interrupted. Judge Clark Fitzwater was announced, and from the back emerged an older man with thick white hair and bushy eyebrows, and a stern expression that looked embedded in the cracks of his face. His robes flowed behind him. He moved briskly for a man of his age.
“All rise,” the bailiff announced.
Jimmy stood, following the lead of counsel. Rocky did too.
Jimmy took note of the prosecutor, a woman of about thirty-five. She looked frazzled, as though this was the first case of a very long day for her. Summer in the city, the heat on high, tempers flared, and crimes were committed. A dangerous combination, one that took its affect on the put-upon ADAs.
“First up,” Judge Fitzwater said, “the State of New York versus Rocky…Martino.”
“Yes, sir,” Taylor said. “A problem, your honor?”
“Does the man not have a formal name?”
“It’s what my parents named me, your honor,” Rocky said.
“The accused will not answer questions. Counsel, please advise him.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Ms. Eldridge, this is your case?” he said to the prosecutor.
“Indeed, your honor. The charge is murder in the first degree.”
He nodded, then turned back to Taylor. “Mr. Hendrix, does your client wish to enter a plea?”
“Not guilty, your honor.”
He jotted something down on his desk before looking back up. “So noted. Mr. Martino, it is my understanding that you are out on parole, just two months removed from Parsons Hill. As is the law, bail cannot be granted in this situation, given the gravity of the crime in which you are accused. You are hereby remanded to Rikers, where you will await trial. Guard, you may escort Mr. Martino back to his holding cell.” He banged his gavel. “Next case, Ms. Eldridge.”
Jimmy rose, clearing his throat. “Excuse me, your honor?”
“What the devil…who are you, young man?”
Taylor and Mallory both stared back at Jimmy, clearly not happy with his intrusion.
He forged ahead anyway. “Jimmy McSwain. I wonder if, before the court sends Rocky…uh, Mr. Martino back to Rikers, if I might have a word with him.”
“What is your connection to this case?”
“Mr. Martino, he’s hired me to prove his innocence.”
“So that makes you a private detective?”
Jimmy nodded.
“I don’t like private eyes,” he said. “They’re usually smart-mouthed.”
Jimmy knew to keep his mouth shut to that one.
“Mr. McSwain, I’m sure you’re good at your job. But you should leave detecting to the police.”
“I would, your honor, except they’re not going to investigate, are they? Why would they, if they believe they have their man? My client is entitled to consultation with those who will help his case. All I ask is for fifteen minutes of his time. Surely his transport won’t be ready until at least that amount of time.”
“You could just visit him at Rikers, Mr. McSwain.”
“If the court so directs, that’s what I’ll have to do.”
“Bailiff, show Mr. McSwain to Mr. Martino’s room. Keep an eye on him.”
“With all due respect, your honor, I thank you.”
Jimmy felt relieved. He was allowed to follow Rocky out of the courtroom. He thought to turn back and thank Taylor and Mallory for their actions, but he could already feel daggers on his back. They’d get over it. He’d apologize later. Right now, he’d won his victory, and soon, he was being taken through the myriad of corridors behind the courts, and into a small, enclosed room. A window let the guard see everything happening inside. Jimmy was just thankful the guard wasn’t waiting inside the room with them. Right now, it was just Rocky and Jimmy.
“Man, Jimmy, I can’t believe you spoke up like that, talked to the judge.”
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” he said. “Now, we don’t have much time. Talk.”
“I didn’t do it. It’s that simple.”
“If it was simple, you wouldn’t have just been remanded to Rikers. Who shot Duvan?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve had all weekend to think. Got any clues?”
“Duvan didn’t have any enemies. He was a beautiful person, inside and out.”
“Why the façade, dating Meaghan?”
“Oh, man, tell her I’m real sorry. She was just at the right place. She’s cute and funny with those freckles, and her mom and my mom, you know, are friends for years. It was perfect. I thought maybe I could…you know.”
“Fake it?”
“I’ve been a disappointment my whole life to my parents. First jail, then…”
“Being gay? I’ve somehow survived.”
“Your Dad ain’t around to disapprove, Jimmy.”
The words did their trick. They shot through Jimmy as though Rocky really had pulled the trigger. But he had to bury it all right now, had to focus. “Look, Rocky, whatever issues you have with your sexuality, clearly you weren’t acting as a hermit. I followed you that afternoon up to Duvan’s apartment. You spent several hours there, and I don’t think you were making cookies. Meaghan was with me. She was suspicious when you broke their date. Lucky for her, she had to go to work and wasn’t there when you and Duvan came out of the building—so to speak. What I saw was a tender kiss between two people with deep feelings for each other.”
“I love him. I told you that.”
“And he loved you?”
“We said after we got out of the Hill, we’d be together. And we were. Until…this. Jim, we were planning a future.”
“Did Duvan have a roommate? How did he afford that place after being in prison?”
“He had savings. He made money, did well in life. Before the hit and run.”
“Tell me about the hit and run. He killed someone?”
“He turned himself in the next day. It was an accident. He had no idea he’d hit someone.”
Jimmy would have to check into this. There might be something there. “When did Duvan get released?”
“About three months ago. Man, Jimmy, it was like we’d gotten our lives back. You can’t know what it’s like, living behind bars, being treated like a
nimals. You don’t find a buddy there, you become prey. Minimum security is a joke; it’s still prison. Duvan and I started talking, then things got more serious. We kept our relationship on the down-low. We never had sex, not until after our release. Ironic, huh?”
Jimmy just nodded. Rocky wasn’t known to be a wordsmith, but that was good.
“So, Jimmy, you think you can help?”
“Tell me about when you entered the Tomorrow Lounge. What happened?”
“Duvan, he always wanted to be a singer. It was a dream he’d put on hold to make money. The bar, it had that back room that people could book, or where amateurs could go and try out stuff. Comedians, cabaret acts, college kids who think they’ve got talent. Duvan wanted to show me the space. It was a surprise, he said. He was going to sing me a song.”
“But then someone interrupted you?”
“When he told me that, I took him into my arms. I never saw the person coming.”
“So, Duvan, he was shot at close range?”
“Guy pushed me out of the way, hard. Sent me reeling. He fired once without saying a word, Duvan dropped. I wasn’t watching the gunman, I just saw the world collapsing…my world draining away right in front of me. Next thing I know, you’re standing over me.”
“Rocky, you were holding the gun.”
“I must have picked it up. I mean, I wasn’t in my right mind. Jimmy, I’ve done a lot of bad things in my life. Duvan was the best thing. Strangely, he made me feel like the man I could never be before. Isn’t that rich? I fall in love with a guy, and suddenly I feel as macho as ever.”
“Love empowers, Rocky. I’m happy you found it, even so short-lived.”
“So what are you going to do, Jimmy?”
“I’ll talk to the lead detectives, not that they want to talk to me. I’ll see what they’ve got. The blood stain on the second exit door, I want to know what they turn up. Fingerprints, DNA, whatever. I’ll also tell them again what I saw, what I heard, and try to establish a more concise timeline. There’s no way you could have put the bloodstain on the door, you didn’t have time.”
“Thanks, Jimmy. That’s the key to this whole thing, I know it.”
“Are you sure the shooter was a man?”
“Huh?”
“Any distinguishing features? I mean, you sure it wasn’t a woman?”
“Jimmy, I’d just spent the whole afternoon in the arms of my male lover, making love to him; yeah, I know what a man feels like.”
It was Rocky’s final comment, because just then the guard interrupted them and Jimmy was asked to leave. He said he’d be in touch, then minutes later, found himself back outside in the bright sunshine of a summer day. The sun seemed overly harsh, nearly blinding Jimmy. He took sunglasses from his blazer, slipped them on. Then he slipped the blazer off and tossed it over his shoulder. He started for the subway.
It was still Monday morning; the week was alive with potential.
He thought of Rocky, sitting on the police transport back to Rikers. He was broken, and he had turned to Jimmy to fix him. Jimmy hoped he could do it, he hoped that Rocky could be free of his shackles, and not just those made of iron. He deserved to be happy, to find love. Just like anyone with faults, and wasn’t that everyone? He thought of Rocky’s use of the word ironic. It was fitting too for Jimmy’s life, too. Shouldn’t he have what others had? To be wrapped up in the arms of the man he loved?
Trouble was, who was that man?
That’s when he remembered his date tonight. Shit, he’d forgotten to text Frisano.
He took out his iPhone and started typing, and then he went back underground.
§ § §
The text reply came about an hour later.
GREAT. SEE YOU AT NINE. GASLIGHT, HUH?
Jimmy didn’t know where else to go. Surely they weren’t going to dinner; it wasn’t some big romantic night out. It was a drink, and one shared in surreptitious darkness. Frisano couldn’t afford to be outed, not when his career was on an upward trajectory. But a man like him surely had needs. Was he just a conduit to those needs? Or was there something deeper? Christ, he thought, we haven’t even shared one drink yet and already you’re picking out matching linens? He needed a distraction for the remainder of the day, and while he could return to his office and contemplate his first moves on Rocky’s case, he had another thought, especially given how far down the island he’d already come.
Brooklyn Heights was just a short subway ride from here.
So he changed direction, foregoing his intended uptown route.
Ralphie Henderson was sitting in his usual spot by the time Jimmy got to Eamon’s Pub. It was found on Montague Street, the main drag in in the Brooklyn neighborhood. It was just past noon, and Ralphie had what Jimmy hoped was his first beer of the day. Tradition knew it wouldn’t be his last. A retired NYPD detective, Ralphie had been Joey McSwain’s partner for years, right up until his death. He’d helped mentor Jimmy through his teen years, and steered him toward the academy. While he didn’t love Jimmy’s decision to spurn that career path, he respected the emotions that drove Jimmy. What the two men continued to have in common was the unsolved murder of a man they both loved.
“Thought I might see you soon,” Ralphie said.
He hadn’t even turned to watch Jimmy take the stool next to him. He was that wily, even into his seventies. His skin a dark rich color, it had grown leathery over the years, and his hair was completely gray now, what was left of it. His hand shook a bit when he went to lift his glass. Jimmy worried about the old guy, living alone out here. But as much as he looked weary, his mind was as sharp as ever.
“Come on, you saw me coming.”
“I smelled you coming,” he said. “Kieran, give the man a beer.”
Smithwicks was Jimmy’s choice lately, and the friendly barkeep poured it good and fast.
They clinked glasses, cheered. Jimmy watched his unsteady hand, filed it away.
“So, you still like boys?”
It was his usual refrain. “Men, Ralphie, I like men. And yes.”
“Long as you’re happy.”
“Now I know you’re full of it.”
“Well, you should try happy on for size, some people like how snug it can be.”
Again, Jimmy found himself thinking of Frisano, and what tonight might bring. Frisano’s suggestive comment about kissing him had lived within himself for two days. It was an itch he wanted to scratch.
“So, what made you think of me, Ralphie?”
“Saw the news. Deli murder. Thought of your father, I bet.”
“I dragged out the file, laid it all out on the floor the other night.”
“Let me guess, you came up empty.”
“Maybe not.”
Ralphie turned to him, sparse eyebrows thickening with curiosity. “Do tell.”
Jimmy explained his theory, the same one he’d told Frisano. “I’m waiting to talk with Roscoe and Dean, of course, as they’re the lead detectives. They don’t like to share, but I think Captain Frisano can aid me if they try to stall. I mean, I know deli robberies are common, but this one…I don’t know, Ralphie, there’s something about the sketch of that guy. Like my fourteen-year-old eyes recognize him. Could my father’s murderer have been in jail all this time for something else? Is he back, operating under his usual M.O.?”
“The bad guys do tend to repeat themselves. They’re not very smart.”
“Look, it’s the first real lead I’ve had in…years. You know I can’t stop until I know the truth.”
“The truth, Jimmy, lives in dangerous places. We don’t need you sacrificing yourself for something you couldn’t control.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Joey’s been gone a long time. You’re still here. We’d like to keep it that way.”
“Who’s we.”
“Me, your mother. Probably one of those boys you like so much.”
“Ralphie…”
“I know, I know, just yankin
g on ya. You gotta ease up, Jimmy. Smell the roses.”
“But don’t get pricked by their thorns while doing so.”
Jimmy went to lift his glass, but Ralphie held it back. He pointed at the half-empty beer. “What do you see?”
“Point taken, Ralphie. I’ll try and see things half-full.”
“How’s your mother?”
“Getting ready for summer. Show closed yesterday. She’s going to the lake.”
“Ah, to see the irrepressible Hester. And you?”
“I’ve got a case.”
“Rocky Martino?”
“Geez, what don’t you know, Ralphie?”
“I’ve got feelers still out there in the NYPD and beyond,” he said. “You be careful on this one, Jimmy. That Martino kid was trouble before he was born. Probably held up his mother’s womb. Fights, drugs, prison, now a murder charge. Being behind bars changes a man. It makes you see the evil in this world. Murder’s just a logical next step. You sure he’s innocent?”
“Normally, I wouldn’t take Rocky’s word for anything. But I was there and saw his eyes right after it happened. It’s like a locked room mystery, Ralphie. Someone else was already there, and they slipped out so fast…it’s like…wait a minute. How did the killer know Duvan and Rocky were headed to that bar? Because he must have known it already and been lying in wait, ready to strike. He wasted no time in getting the shot off. They’d only been inside the bar two minutes, five at most. Duvan’s murder was premeditated.”
“I believe we call that a lead,” Ralphie said with a knowing smile.
Jimmy nodded, his mind churning with new possibilities, new clues. He drank from his beer. “I knew talking to you would help. Next one is on me.”
“That sounds about right,” Ralphie said, “and while we share a last drink today, what say you tell me what you think you’re doing running around with that Frisano character. Talk about trouble, he’s up everyone’s ass in the NYPD. Find the word ambition in the dictionary, you’ll see his face. Word is, he won’t settle till he’s commissioner. Corruption is his bag; he hates bad cops. Gonna take a string of bodies along with him if that happens, and those won’t be breathing.”
Crime Wave Page 5