“Well, you better get inside, Meaghan. I’ve got something to ease your stomach. Jimmy, go do something with yourself while we women tend to your sister’s needs. Goodness, Maggie, you could have called and told me. Now, Meaghan, come dear, when are you due…and who, for Lord’s sake, is the father…”
Jimmy watched as three generations of Byrne women entered the cottage, the clack of the screen door the signal that he was all alone on the outside. He spun around, looking around at the tree-lined street and at the small cottages situated all around. The scene all looked so innocent, so appealing. Whenever he got out of the city, he also wondered how it was he lived like he did every day. This was freedom. And so he took full advantage of this rare feeling, walking along the side of the road until veering off on a path. He came to the lake, its crystalline waters shimmering under the blazing sun. He kicked off his shoes, then tossed off his shirt. The sun felt brilliant against his skin, its touch almost as warm as that of Frisano.
He wished he was here with him. He’d love to see him in a pair of swim trunks.
As it was, Jimmy stood only in his shorts, but they would serve. He ran across a wooden dock and easily dove into the placid water, slicing across the surface, feeling the bracing cold hit his body. He swam a bit under water, then broke through, sucking down air. He lay flat on his back, his arms keeping him afloat, the water cascading over his chest, his hair matted by the water and glistening amidst the bright rays. For the first time in weeks, he finally felt his body begin to cool down.
But he knew it was a temporary reprieve. Life would heat up, so would his cases.
Starting tomorrow, with a visit to nearby Parsons Hill, where hopefully he would learn more about the incarcerations of Duvan Akhbar, Rocky Martino, and maybe, perhaps, hopefully, a brutal killer named Rashad Assan.
CHAPTER TEN
Jimmy McSwain hit the road the next morning just after ten o’clock, the soonest he could escape from his grandmother’s clutches. She had grilled him the night before about this mystery man, as Jimmy tried unsuccessfully to convince her otherwise that he didn’t exist. Maggie told her good luck, getting Jimmy to talk about his personal life required an Act of Congress.
“Put me in Congress,” Hester said, “I’ll whip those pantywaists in Washington in shape.”
Hester loved to talk politics, and she was doing so this morning when Jimmy came out of his room in a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt. Again, Hester was all over him, asking him where he planned to meet his date, was it lunch, a picnic, or a secret rendezvous at some sleazy motel. He just shook his head. Being old meant you could say anything. Didn’t mean he needed to respond.
“Mother, that’s really enough. Jimmy is a grown man and can take care of himself without interference,” Maggie said, sipping her coffee. “Meaghan on the other hand…”
As he left the cottage, Meaghan’s expression was a pleading one: take me with you.
He blew her a kiss and departed.
Before sleep last night, he’d set the course for Parsons Hill with the aid of the maps app on his iPhone. What he did not use his phone for was to call ahead. Wardens didn’t like visitors, generally; toss in the fact that Jimmy was a private detective and he might as well not waste the gas. So he was doing as he’d done earlier on this case, he’d tried to perfect the pop-in.
He found the exit of 84, stopped at the red light. He reached for his phone, slid it open and double-checked his GPS. It indicated he should turn right, and he did, thankfully not having to deal with any impatient drivers behind him. Down the county road he drove, nearly missing the access road he desired, the sign for Parsons Hill nearly covered by thick brush on the side of the road. He took a quick left turn at a wide angle, righted himself as he headed downward. The prison facility was located in a low-lying valley surrounded by lush green lawns, and it wasn’t until he emerged through a dense covering of trees that he caught his first view of the place.
Parsons Hill was a series of three buildings, all inter-locked. A metal fence ran around its perimeter, and there were no guard towers. Jimmy recalled this was a minimum-security prison, what some might term a “country club” jail, but from where he sat, he saw no golf courses. Just an open playground, where a group of inmates were milling about, talking or sticking to themselves. Some played basketball as guards strolled around as though they hadn’t a worry in the world. There was probably very little violence at a place like this. One false move could have you back inside the brutal walls of Attica before your bruises healed.
Jimmy circled around the facility, following the sign for the main entrance. It was hard to miss, given that this road only went one way: inside the prison. A gate and guardhouse brought Jimmy’s trip to a momentary halt. A thick-bellied man in uniform emerged into the sunshine, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. He indicated that Jimmy should step out of the car. Jimmy pulled off his own glasses, wanting to appear open and friendly. His greeting mirrored his behavior.
“Good morning, sir. Lovely day up here in the country,” he said.
“Sir, are you aware of where you are? What this facility is?”
“All of the signs indicate its Parsons Hill. Which is just what I’m looking for.”
“Are you here to see someone?”
“If it’s possible,” Jimmy said, trying an aw-shucks approach.
“What I mean is, do you have an appointment? Visitors require forty-eight hour notice.”
“Sorry, I don’t, and I didn’t know. It’s rather a sudden impulse on my part, I didn’t have time to phone ahead. Any chance of an exception being made?”
The guard didn’t look like exceptions were in his job description. But maybe it had been a slow week. “Who were you hoping to see? I’m assuming one of our inmates.”
“Actually, I’d like to see the warden.”
The guy smiled, his belly shaking with a hint of laughter. “Come on, man. Really?”
“It’s important. It’s about a case I’m working.”
“A case?”
Jimmy had no choice if he wanted to get inside, so he reached for his wallet and flipped it open. His private eye license lay exposed, alongside his driver’s license. Letting the guy know he was legit, both by the state and the DMV. Jimmy gazed up at him, watching as the guy gave the documents the once-over. He looked like he was wavering.
“Give me something to go on. What’s your business with the warden?”
“Rocky Martino,” Jimmy said, “or Duvan Akhbar. He should know them both.”
“Hang on,” he said, and then slipped back into his guardhouse. He picked up the phone, and Jimmy took the break in action to gaze about the grounds. Beyond the gates, several cars were parked, and a flagpole rose up toward the sky, where the orange and blue colors of the New York State flag lay dormant in the dry heat. He returned a minute later, said, “Your lucky day. Warden Daniels has a curious nature.”
“I appreciate it, Officer Walton,” Jimmy said, leaning in to read the man’s tag.
“Pull around to the front lot, park. His assistant, Jeanie, will come get you.”
Jimmy thanked him again and made his way through the now-open gate, and parked where he’d been instructed. By the time he was making his way to the main entrance, a heavyset lady of fifty was coming for him. She introduced herself as Jeanie Souter, he tossed her his name as a courtesy, and she smiled at him.
“We get the occasional private investigator here,” she said. “Too bad they don’t all look like you.”
He just nodded, not wanting to encourage anything.
She brought him inside the main building, a four-story structure that narrowed as it grew upwards. In the lobby, she asked him to wait and then disappeared around a corner. Jimmy stood around, shifting from foot to foot, going over his approach in his head. He had enough time to rethink it five times, because it was another fifteen minutes before Jeanie appeared. She asked him to follow her, and he did of course, his eyes gazing about the faceless, gray walls.
It was an uninspiring place to come to work. Might be even worse to have to stay overnight for years.
They came to an elevator, and Jimmy was told to press for the fourth floor. She did not get on with him. The doors closed before he could thank her, and the elevator shot up quickly, only to open immediately into a small anteroom. An imposing man, standing like a giant in the confined space, was waiting for him. He had a brush cut and a thick mustache, and on his arms was an array of colored tattoos. He wore a short-sleeved white shirt, with a yellow tie and brown polyester pants. He appeared to be a mix of ex-military and thankless administrator.
“Warden Daniels?” Jimmy asked.
“Henry Daniels. You can call me Hank.”
Jimmy extended his hand and felt it caught in the man’s sturdy grip. “Call me Jimmy.”
Daniels showed Jimmy into his office, a fairly non-descript room. An industrial desk and chair highlighted the room, and there were two guest chairs situated before them. One of them was already filled. The other man stood, and Jimmy nearly fell backwards.
“Fra…Captain Frisano,” he said, quickly catching his words.
“McSwain,” he replied.
Captain Francis X. Frisano was dressed in his uniform, and it appeared as crisp as ever against his solid frame. If he had driven up from the city this morning, Jimmy didn’t think he would have looked so unwrinkled. But no matter when he had arrived, just what the hell was he doing here when there was a manhunt down in the city for Rashad Assan was what came to Jimmy’s mind. Was Frisano up here looking for leads on the man’s whereabouts? He supposed that made sense.
Warden Daniels closed his office door, took a seat behind his metal desk, and clasped his hands. Frisano sat back in his seat. Jimmy felt awkward standing, so he took possession of the last available seat. He stared first at Frisano, then over at Daniels.
“I suppose my easy entry had more to do with Captain Frisano here than did the names I dropped,” he said.
Frisano spoke up. “If you had used Assan’s name, you’d still be on the wrong side of that gate.”
“You told me to stay out of it, I’m doing that. I even left the city, as you advised.”
“And came straight to Parsons Hill.”
“My grandmother actually lives over at Peach Lake, not far from here.”
Daniels nodded his familiarity with the lake, confirming Jimmy’s statement by saying he’d been there. Niceties over, he said, “So, Jimmy, what’s your interest in two of my finer ex-inmates?”
Jimmy shifted in his seat, caught Frisano’s eyes. They were open, inviting, and it gave him the confidence to discuss his business. “You heard about Duvan, I’m guessing. I’m here to find proof that Rocky didn’t kill him. I grew up with Rocky, our families are friends. There is no way he killed Duvan. So I’m helping him out of this jam.”
“Jam. That’s an interesting word for being accused of murder.”
“So you’re familiar with how things went down?”
“Indeed. I’m very sorry to hear about Duvan. He was a model prisoner when he came to us. Of the many people who have passed through these fences, he was one of the most promising candidates in terms of rehabilitation. He’d finally let go of his anger. I spoke up for him during his parole hearing, recommending that the board release him. It took three tries, but finally he got his papers. But not without a stay first in our halfway house. As for Rocky, he was a bit more of a hothead, and it was only after Duvan arrived that I began to notice a change in his behavior. I can’t say I understand much about biology, Jimmy, but the connection those two men had was new to me. Not even my wife—a handsome woman in her own right—conjures the feelings I saw expressed by those two, just through the way they looked at each other.”
Jimmy nodded, appreciating the warden’s enlightened sensibilities about attraction. What would he say if he knew what had occurred between the two men sitting opposite him. He kept things focused on Duvan and Rocky. Frisano had to be a non-factor at the moment.
“Did their relationship affect any of the other inmates?”
“Oh, the usual snide remarks and jokes, but nothing serious. Most men who are here, they want to mind their business, do their time, and get out early on good behavior. It’s kind of the Parsons Hill motto. Get in, Get Out, Good Life. Our work with Alicia House goes the extra mile, ensuring that these men are fully prepared to re-enter society by providing jobs and social events. Even the short-termers adapt to life inside, so it’s not always an easy adjustment when you’re free to walk beyond these fences.”
“So both Duvan and Rocky went through this halfway house?”
“To the best of my recollection. But let me check my records.”
There was a computer situated on a side desk, and Warden Daniels went to his keyboard and started typing commands. Jimmy took that moment to address Frisano, who had been sitting and listening quietly.
“Is this a coincidence?” he asked.
Frisano smiled. “I had a sense you’d show up here. Given what we’d learned.”
“I’m not asking about Assan, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m all briefed on the latest on Assan. I’ve spoken to Barone and Dean, they’re leading the hunt. So far, he remains elusive, and we have no leads to his location. But at least there haven’t been any deli robberies in the last two days—perhaps he’s in hiding.”
“I did break his nose,” Jimmy said.
Frisano nodded, a hint of a smile to his lips. It was a sexy grin, and Jimmy flashed back to the first kiss they shared, right at the bar at Gaslight for all to see. Jimmy had to push aside his erotic thoughts as Warden Daniels was done with his computer search. Business before pleasure.
“My records indicate that Duvan was at Alicia House for two weeks, Rocky only one.”
“But not at the same time,” Jimmy said.
“No, there was one month in between their releases. Do you think that’s important?”
“I don’t know, Warden. I’m just exploring various avenues. Rocky didn’t kill him.”
“A man who looked at him like that, I would hope not. But emotions are strong. They can control us for longer than we realize and have dire consequences when they betray you. Now, Jimmy, unless you have other questions, I do have to get on with my day. Prisoner transfers, to and from, and lots of paperwork. Captain Frisano, I hope I’ve proved helpful to you, as well. It’s a shame about Rashad. He had everyone fooled.”
“Indeed. The NYPD thanks you, for both your hospitality, and your cooperation.”
“You send ’em, we house him.”
“And hopefully when they get out, we’re both done with them.”
The three men shook hands, and then Jimmy and Frisano turned to leave the office. A series of photographs on the wall caught Jimmy’s attention and he halted mid-step. Frisano looked back at him, a curious look on his face.
“Jim, what do you see?”
“This, right here,” Jimmy said, pointing to the eight-by-ten photograph of Warden Henry Daniels and another man. They were shaking hands in front of a large, blue ribbon, getting ready to cut it.
“Warden Daniels, how do you know Eaton McDonald?”
Even as Jimmy spoke the man’s name, reality dawned on him like a splash of cold water. How had he not pieced this together until now? It was the brownstone thing all over again, and like then, it involved Eaton McDonald.
“Oh, Eaton is a generous supporter of our rehabilitation program. In fact, he funded our halfway house, which he…”
“Named after his daughter, Alicia McDonald,” Jimmy said, nodding his head but feeling a burning sensation inside his stomach nonetheless. “Also known as the woman Duvan Ahkbar killed.”
The chilling words echoing in his mind, Jimmy and Frisano emerged back into the bright sunshine of the day. Jimmy stopped, where he proceeded to slide open his phone. He fired up Safari, and typed in the name Alicia House in the search engine. Hunches had a way of eating at you, and one h
ad been chowing at Jimmy since he’d seen that photograph.
“Jim, what’s going on? You flew out of the warden’s office like you were on fire.”
“Something doesn’t add up,” he said. “Do you like coincidences, Frank?”
He shook his head. “They go against everything we’re taught.”
Jimmy found the results he wanted, tracking the location of Alicia House. It was only a few miles away from the correctional facility, which didn’t surprise him. He wasn’t exactly sure what clues the halfway house would reveal, but since he was this close, and the McDonald name kept popping up all over Duvan’s case, he had to check it out. Donning his sunglasses, he turned to Frisano.
“You rushing back to the city, or do you want to help me on this wild goose chase?”
Frisano moved in closer to Jimmy, taking hold of his hand and squeezing it. He pushed Jimmy against the brick wall of the building, leaning in tight and kissing him. It was a deep kiss, soulful and scratchy, his beard rough against Jimmy’s scruff. Jimmy felt a heady desire hit him, his knees going weak. It was one thing to kiss a man at a bar, it was quite another to kiss a cop right outside a correctional facility. This was how the men who were released must feel. Free. Maybe even how Duvan and Rocky felt.
Frisano pulled back, caressing Jimmy’s cheek as he did so.
“Is that a yes?”
“Eventually,” he said, “But right now, I have another idea.”
§ § §
Jimmy would later think Grandmother Hester was a psychic, or blessed with second sight. It was a roadway motel called The Parsonage that represented Frisano’s “idea.” Jimmy could not have been more surprised by this turn of events, but he wasn’t disappointed either. He’d simply agreed to follow Frisano in his car, not knowing where they were headed. It was just past noon when they arrived in the parking lot, Frisano pulling in right in front of the last room of the single-level building. A number 10 in black letters was attached to the door. Jimmy parked next to him, shut off his engine, utterly turned on by their destination. A middle of the day rendezvous, one that was totally unexpected and one hundred percent naughty and filled with promise. Jimmy was working a case, and Frisano, wasn’t he leading up the manhunt for a killer? How was it they could go forward with this? Because not every minute counted, there was such a thing called a time out. This was what it was, that was obvious. After the kiss they exchanged at the prison, Jimmy knew Frisano wanted him, and hell, Jimmy wanted Frisano.
Crime Wave Page 12