Brooklyn Body: The Madison Knox Brooklyn Mystery Series (Book 3)

by M. Z. Kelly

  Amy studied me for a moment, then sighed. “Maybe you’re right. We got different builds.”

  “Thanks for being polite, but we both know I’ve got at least fifteen pounds on you.”

  “That’s cuz you’re taller, and your bones are bigger. Let me see what else I got.”

  I checked the time on my phone. “I’ve got to go now, or I’ll be late.”

  As it turned out, I was fifteen minutes late getting to Bryant Park, where the New York City Library was located, because Amy put up another argument about my outfit. I’d finally surrendered and wore a black dress she’d given me that was a little less tight and a bit longer than the blue skirt.

  After paying the Uber driver, I took a moment and glanced around the area that was familiar to me. In summer, the Manhattan park, with its seasonal gardens, carousel, and restaurants, was crowded and vibrant. Tonight, as a light snow fell, the area was far more subdued, with just a scattering of people on the sidewalk, along with the homeless settling into makeshift shelters for the night.

  I made my way inside the library and found Sam waiting for me in the lobby. After exchanging greetings and hugs, I apologized for being late, adding, “Amy wasn’t happy with my outfit, so I had to change.”

  He smiled, his pale blue eyes taking in my dress. “Looks to me like she got it exactly right.”

  “Thanks,” I said, my cheeks reddening, as my gaze drifted to the marble corridor. “Has the performance started?”

  He took my hand. “We’re just in time.”

  The concert lasted just over an hour, and, while I’d never been a big fan of jazz, the performance was wonderful, paying tribute to some of the legends of the musical genre, who Sam told me all about. After it was over, we walked through the park to a small café called Sen’s.

  We ordered drinks, and, after they were delivered, Sam told me why he’d chosen the place. “I came here a couple of times when I was in college. Good food, and...” He held up his craft beer. “...great drinks.”

  We clinked glasses, and I found the Manhattan (what else would I order, given the surroundings?) delicious.

  “Tell me something,” I said, after we exchanged some small talk, and the conversation drifted to his job. “Why did you decide to become an FBI agent?”

  He smiled. “Long or short version?”

  “It’s still early, but you could just give me the abridged edition.”

  “My uncle was an agent. He raised me, so I guess you could say I followed in his footsteps.”

  “Where was your father?”

  “Drunk most of the time. He died about six years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “I had the best uncle anyone could ever ask for, so it worked out.”

  “Where is he now?”

  His smile came back, only weaker, as his eyes lifted to the heavens. “Watching over me.”

  We spent the next couple minutes talking about his mother, who was a secretary, before he asked me about my childhood.

  “Well, you already know about my mother. As for my dad, all I know is that he was a long-haul trucker. My mother said I met him once when I was about four, but I don’t really remember him.”

  “Do you know where he’s living now?”

  “Somewhere out west, I think, maybe Montana, last time I checked.”

  “Ever think of looking him up?”

  I shook my head. “I have no interest in spending time with someone who abandoned me.” I took another sip of my drink, then got to the topic that had been on my mind. I chuckled. “I guess my mom’s an exception to what I just said, even though she might be a serial killer. Have you found out anything more about her?”

  Our food was delivered, so he waited until the server left before answering. “We’re focusing in on William Jeffers. If we find him, we may know what happened to your mother.”

  I decided to say what we both thought was a possibility. “As in, maybe they’re working together, with my mom finding his victims.”

  Sam took a breath. “Maybe, but the jury’s still out. We do have a lead on a woman who might know something about Jeffers.”

  “Who...?” My voice pitched higher. “Who is she?”

  “Her name is Susan Mitchell. She was arrested in Quincy, just outside of Boston, for breaking into a vacation home. When she was questioned by the locals, she made some statements about working for a guy named Terrence Barlow. We think Jeffers may have used that alias at one time.”

  “Where is Mitchell now?”

  “On probation, living in the town of Quincy Point. I thought...” He smiled. “If you’re interested, I thought we might take a run up there next weekend and question her.”

  “Of course. If she knows something about Jeffers, and maybe my mother, I need to know about it.”

  As we chatted, I learned that Jeffers had used the alias Terrence Barlow while living in Boston a few years earlier. They suspected him of several burglaries, but the trail had gone cold. After trading theories for a few minutes, I had the impression that, to get my mind off Jeffers and my mother, Sam purposely moved the conversation in another direction. As we finished up dinner, Sam went back to our careers in law enforcement and asked me why I’d become a police officer.

  “I’ve never really analyzed my decision,” I said, considering his question. “Maybe, in some ways, I wanted to make up for losing my mom. Helping people by becoming a cop just always felt right to me.” I chuckled. “At least, until recently.”

  “How are things going in your new assignment?”

  “Great, if you like working for the world’s biggest A-hole.” I told him about Lieutenant Corker, then filled him in on the body Max and I had found in the Valley of the Moon. “The girl was strangled. There was no ID, so, unless there’s prints or DNA in the system, I have a feeling the case is going nowhere.”

  “Any other identifiers?”

  I thought about his question for a moment, remembering the book of matches I’d found. “Nothing, but...” I reached into my purse. “I did find this near a fence. Not sure if it has any connection to the girl.”

  He took the plastic baggie, examining the contents. “Herman’s Lounge. Never heard of the place.” He handed the bag back to me.

  “Me neither.” He studied me, without saying anything. “What is it?” I asked.

  He smiled. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not going to let this go?”

  I returned his smile. “The victim...whatever happened to her...she deserves that someone does the right thing.”

  His beautiful eyes held on me. “That’s the real reason you became a cop.”

  “You think I’m just a do-gooder.”

  He reached over and took my hand. “I think you’re amazing.”

  My heart was racing as I blushed. “Thank you.”

  “Next weekend, when we go to Quincy, just so you know, I’m fine with separate rooms. I don’t want to leave any false expectations like before.”

  Sam had previously tracked my mother, or the woman who went by the name Donna Wallace, to Monticello, in upstate New York. At the time, he’d felt guilty because he thought he’d left the impression we would spend the weekend together.

  His hand was still on mine as I surprised myself by saying, “I think getting one room would be fine, if that’s okay with you.”

  He leaned over and kissed me. “I’ll make the reservation for Saturday night in Boston.”

  EIGHT

  “Are you freaking kidding me?” Amy said when I got home later that night, her voice so highly pitched that it was just sort of a siren. She and Max had made a point of waiting up for me so they could hear how my date went. “You’re really gonna introduce the G-man to Puffy Chucky?”

  I laughed at the name Amy had chosen for my girl parts. “I doubt that I’ll make a formal introduction, but we’re planning to spend the night together in Boston.”

  Amy looked at Max, the desperation in her voice obvious. “Geeze, everybody’s get
tin’ some but me. What am I gonna do?”

  “You try calling Jake?”

  “No. I don’t know what to say to him since that last time I saw him and I kicked him in the nuts.” Amy looked at me. “That’s why I wanted to go by his place in person, see if he really is living with his sister.”

  “If you want to go by his place again, I could go with you tomorrow night after work,” I said.

  She nodded. “That would be good. If I don’t get laid soon, my vagina’s gonna explode like one of them suicide vests.”

  I decided to change the subject, since she was clearly depressed. “What’s the latest with Christina Blaze?”

  “I talked to her crazy mom earlier. She’s still missing. I’m still planning to go by her office at noon tomorrow, providing her friend can get me inside.” She looked at Max. “Can you get your friend Rosie to run some checks on that Billy Mercer kid? Find out where his parents are living?”

  “On my to-do list for tomorrow.” Max looked at me. “Providing we survive our new lieutenant.”

  “Don’t remind me,” I said. “Do you wanna go with Amy and me tomorrow night? I was thinking we could all stop by Herman’s Lounge and check the place out.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  We’d spent the rest of our night listening to Amy complaining about never having sex again. The next morning, as Max and I took the train to Precinct Blue, I mentioned Amy’s plans to go by Jake’s place. “If he’s got a girlfriend living with him, I’m worried about her reaction. Since her divorce, she hasn’t been in a good place emotionally.”

  “I know what you mean. We better come up with Plan B.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Not sure, but I’ll do some thinking ‘bout it, along with that payback for Corker.”

  I sighed, dreading seeing the lieutenant. “When you think of something, let me know. I’m all in, as long as he doesn’t know I’m involved.”

  As it turned out, our lieutenant had his own Plan B for Max and me that he announced after roll call at the stationhouse. “Listen up, people.” Corker shot a shit-eating grin our way. “Some of you are not making the kind of progress we expect, so the CO has decided to create a two-tier system in Precinct Blue. Those of you in need of extra training will be referred to as B’s. If you’re a B, it means you’ve been tardy, had write-ups, or you just aren’t toeing the mark.”

  Max and I simultaneously groaned, causing Corker to look over his glasses at us and smile again. The grin was wider as he went on. “Listen up: if your name is on this list, you’re now a B, and will be receiving extra help.”

  As expected, Max and I were on Corker’s list, along with a half-dozen other officers who had, in Corker’s words, “failed to take advantage of the remedial training Precinct Blue offered.” Then the news got worse. “All B officers shall immediately change into sweats and board the transport van to Fort Greene Park for physical training with Sergeant Melvin Hock. Upon completion of PT, your specific duty assignments will be handed out.”

  As Max and I trudged toward the door with the other rejects, Corker met us. “I hope you enjoy your new duties.”

  I bit my tongue while Max responded. “Looks like a nice day for a walk in the park.”

  As it turned out, it was neither a nice day, nor did we end up walking in the park. We soon learned that Sergeant Hock was a former marine drill instructor who used all of his considerable skills to torture us in thirty-degree weather.

  “We’re gonna start with a three-mile run,” Hock said. He was a big guy, all muscle, with a head that looked like the prototype for the term jarhead. “After that, the fun begins.”

  As Max and I were running on the track, and Hock screamed obscenities at us, I said, “What do you think Hock means by ‘fun’?”

  Max, who was heavyset and already out of breath, said, “Don’t know exactly, but I think I’m either gonna end up with frostbite or a heart attack.”

  A few minutes later, we learned that Sergeant Hock’s idea of fun involved pull-ups, weight training, and a run through a mud obstacle course, followed by another three-mile run. We were all given a half hour for lunch at an outdoor picnic area. As it began to snow, we commiserated with some of our fellow B-team members. Then things turned ugly.

  “You ask me, you three are the reason Lenny and me are here,” Carmine O’Brien said, scowling at Max, me, and a cop named Frank Woodson, who went by “Woody”. O’Brien was in his twenties, short and balding, with a big mouth.

  Lenny Stearns, his older, fatter partner took up the cause, leveling his muddy eyes on Woody. “If you hadn’t constantly stirred shit up with Carmine, neither of us would be here.”

  “I’ve found incompetence sinks to its lowest level,” Woody said, with his usual bland expression and precise language. “In Carmine’s case, that would be about the same level as where the Titanic rests.”

  Woody and Carmine had some past issues, related to Carmine’s father selling Woody’s mother a worthless annuity policy that left her broke. He’d told Max and me that he was making it his life’s mission to payback Carmine, believing he was in on the scam to cheat his mother out of her life savings.

  Carmine lowered his voice when responding to Woody, only because Sergeant Hock was standing nearby. “I’m warning you for the last time: Stay away from me and Lenny, or else.”

  Woody smiled, a rare event. “A physical separation from the both of you would be my distinct pleasure, especially if you were relocated to another universe.”

  Two female cops assigned to our new squad came over after we finished lunch and introduced themselves. “I’m Della Reed,” the younger of the two women said. “This is my partner, Mavis Larsen.”

  Della was in her twenties, thin, with bleached blonde hair, like mine. She was attractive, something not lost on Carmine and Lenny, who were salivating like a couple of Neanderthals at a strip club.

  Mavis looked to be about forty. She was African-American, and had the wary eyes of someone who had probably seen her share of bad times. Today, her wary eyes regarded the drooling nitwits.

  “I don’t know if we’re going to survive the B-squad,” Mavis said, cutting her eyes to Max and me. “I’m not used to all the physical stuff.”

  “They want us to quit,” Max said, keeping her voice low so that Hock couldn’t overhear. “Whatever our differences, we need to make a pact to hang together till things get better.”

  “Things are not going to get better,” Lenny said, shooting death stares at Woody again. “And it’s every man for himself.”

  After he and Carmine wandered off, Della said, “I don’t know about them two, but Mavis and me are all in. We gotta watch each other’s backs.”

  We all bumped fists as I lowered my voice and said, “You guys ever had any past issues with Lieutenant Corker?”

  Mavis looked at Della. “You wanna go first?”

  “Corker had a thing for me when Mavis and me were in the 43rd. He hit on me until I couldn’t take it anymore and transferred.”

  “Same for me,” Mavis said. “He made a point of doing takedown drills with me during training and got his hands on everything he could. I had enough, kneed him, and got a reprimand. I got no doubt Della and me are in B because of our past issues with him.”

  I filled them in on my history with the lieutenant, then said, “I think Max is here because of guilt by association.”

  Sergeant Hock called over to us. “Five minutes, then we hit the track again.”

  Max lowered her voice. “Remember, no matter how bad it gets, we never let it show and we never give up.”

  The afternoon got about as bad as it could get, with more running, high-intensity drills, and constant harassment by Hock, even as the weather turned colder. At the end of the day, we finally caught a break when the sergeant explained that every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday would be reserved for PT, but we would be assigned to local precincts during the intervening days.

  Carmine and Lenny were in a
state of shock when they were told they were being sent to work security at a sewer plant in Queens. Assignments were given to the other B-Team members before Max and I got our orders, along with Della and Mavis.

  “You four are going to Hunts Point to work with the detectives assigned to the prostitution and drug detail there. You’ll get your specific duties at 0800 when you get there in the morning.”

  After we told Della and Mavis we would see them in the morning, Max, who was covered in mud from head to toe, gave me her thoughts about being assigned to Hunts Point, one of the most crime-infested areas of the Bronx.

  “Drugs, hookers, and a rotation in hell. Corker and Hock just kicked our asses to the curb.”

  NINE

  Somewhere, far away from the dark place where she rested, Christina Blaze heard a sound. It was like someone tugging on the thread of an impossibly large and heavy blanket that had extinguished her consciousness. That pull came a second time, harder, with more persistence. When the blanket was finally removed, the horrors of what had happened to her seeped back into her awareness.

  She had no idea how many days it had been, but she remembered leaving the TV station one night. She had gotten the keys from her purse as she walked through the parking garage to her car. The light was dim there, but she had looked up when she heard him calling out to her from somewhere in the shadows.

  “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

  Christina remembered turning and seeing the dark hooded figure moving in her direction, her fight-or-flight instinct immediately taking over. Flight won out and she began running, desperately hoping to get away and find help. She remembered her terror as she called out for help before her world exploded.

  An electric charge, like a jolt of lightning, suddenly struck her from behind. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she might have been hit by one of those stun guns she had seen the police use, the electric prongs piercing her clothing and embedding in her back.

  The effect was intense and immediate. She had fallen to the pavement as her body convulsed. She remembered looking up at the dark figure as he bent over her. He’d said something, but she had no idea what the words meant as the black blanket of darkness had enveloped her.