Cassidy's Corner

by Hack, Henry

  “Mr. Winston, we believe you were attacked on Christmas Day, at about four in the morning, in the parking lot behind the Bird’s Nest Bar. We believe one or more young men stabbed you and then shot you. We believe one of the men was the same person you had an altercation with earlier that evening, resulting in his being thrown out of the bar. Is that essentially what happened, Mr. Winston?”

  Richie nodded yes and Susan whispered into the recorder again.

  “Mr. Winston,” continued Pop, “do you believe you can identify one or more of your attackers?”

  Another yes nod.

  “I am going to show you a composite sketch of one suspect. The information was provided by Officer Harold Cassidy, who had seen him earlier in the evening right outside the Nest, and the likeness was confirmed by some of the patrons in your bar.” Pop held the composite up to Richie. Richie’s eyes widened and he nodded forcefully up and down. He tried to speak, but only an “m-m-m” sound came out.

  “Take it easy,” Pop said.. “Are you trying to say ‘him’?”

  Richie nodded yes.

  Are you trying to say, “It’s him, the man who attacked you, the man you had the altercation with earlier in the evening?”

  Richie nodded yes again.

  “Were there more than one who attacked you? Was it two?”

  Richie moved his head side to side in the no motion.

  “Was it three?”

  Richie nodded yes.

  “Can you identify the other two if we catch them?”

  Richie shook his head no.

  “You’re doing fine. A couple more questions and we’ll get out of here and let you rest. Sergeant?”

  Susan came in close to Richie and said, “Did you have an argument with Officer Cassidy earlier in the evening?”

  Richie nodded yes.

  “Did Officer Cassidy grab you by the neck and choke you out?”

  Richie’s street-wise eyes looked at Susan for a long ten seconds and then he slowly shook his head no. He moved his hand toward her. She grabbed it and held it. Richie tried to speak. With great effort he opened his mouth. The doctor moved in and moistened Richie’s lips with a cotton sponge soaked in water.

  “Tell…Ca…Cassidy, th...thanks… for...for…sav…saving me,” he uttered in a guttural, rasping voice.

  “Tell Cassidy thanks for saving you, Mr. Winston? Is that what you said?”

  Richie smiled and nodded slightly up and down. He closed his eyes. One of the machines began to beep.

  “What do you mean by saved you?”

  Richie did not respond. The doctor put his hand on Susan’s arm and said, “He’s slipped back into the coma. That was a tremendous effort for him.”

  “Will he come out again?” Nick asked.

  “Only God knows the answer to that,” Zacklin said.

  “Doctor,” Susan said, “I’d like to have our Electronics Unit install a voice- activated recorder by Winston’s bedside just in case he pops in and out of the coma and utters something which could be relevant. Do you see a problem with that?”

  “No, but I’ll check with our equipment people to see if it would interfere with these devices.”

  “Good, I’ll call you in a day or two to see if it’s a go. Thanks for everything. We made great progress tonight.”

  “Glad to be of help. I don’t envy your jobs coming out in this weather on New Year’s Eve. Happy New Year to all of you.”

  They went back down to the lobby and Susan said, “Do you two have any idea what Winston meant about thanking Harry for saving him?”

  “I have no idea,” Nick said. “Maybe he was confused?”

  “He seemed pretty coherent while he answered our questions with the nodding,” she said.

  “Yes, he was,” Pop said. “Maybe he thought one of the two uniform cops that drove him to the hospital was Harry.”

  “That could be it,” Nick said.

  “Could be,” Susan said. “Maybe we should all get out of here before we get snowed in. I’ll be in contact Tuesday morning to let you know when to come over for the meeting.”

  She walked out of the lobby. Nick admired her all the way and said, “Pop, she is some looker. I’d love to get a piece of that, even if I had to break the rules to have her investigate me.”

  “She’s out of your league, Nick. Too much class for a squad dick like you. You better wait till you’re a hot-shot Manhattan dude before trying to put a move on a classy lady like that.”

  They laughed and then Nick said, “Pop, were you surprised when Winston nodded that Cassidy didn’t choke him?”

  “I sure was. We have five pretty strong statements he did, and all seemed truthful to me.”

  “Me, too. And I detected a little disappointment on Goldman’s face when Richie motioned no.”

  “So did I. I think that’s all she had on him, and that took the wind out of her sails. But this should all play out on Tuesday. Let’s get out of here and go home.”

  The fifteen minute drive from the hospital to her home in Carle Place took Susan fifty minutes in the storm. She drove very carefully, sticking to the middle of the roads which had not yet seen a plow. Thankfully, hardly any other cars were braving the conditions with hers. She slid momentarily while turning into the driveway of her modest Cape Cod and sighed with relief when she came to a stop and turned the ignition off.

  Before she crawled into bed, she thought to call Harry, but then realized he had to be up soon to report for work at 7:30. Best to let him sleep. She’d call him tomorrow. What a night this had been. From Mario’s restaurant, to Harry’s bed, to the hospital in a blizzard – and Winston – just what the hell had he meant? How could Harry have saved him? And she had been so certain he had choked Winston. She drifted off with those questions running through her mind and was soon sound asleep.

  ●

  Harry lay on his back wide awake as the questions raced through his mind: What had Richie said? Had he told them about the choking, the stabbing by the trio and Harry’s appearance in the parking lot? Or maybe Richie slipped back into the coma before Susan and Pop got there? He knew this brain torture was useless, but he couldn’t turn it off. He got up and poured a small scotch on the rocks and sipped it while sitting on the edge of the bed. He lit a cigarette and glanced at the clock. It said 3:42 and the alarm was set to go off at six. He drained the glass and got back in bed, hoping for at least two solid hours of sleep, but the thought of the phone ringing would not allow it. Why wasn’t somebody letting him know what was going on? Susan, Pop, Nick – somebody – call me.

  Harry’s exhaustion finally overcame his anxiety and he fell unconscious around 5 a.m. The alarm clock buzzed a long time before his hand groped toward the off button. He was suddenly awake and glanced at the answering machine, wondering if he had slept through any phone calls. No messages flashed. He sleepwalked through his morning routine – shower, shave, coffee pot on, uniform on. He glanced out of the apartment window and it still snowed heavily. He put the weather channel on as he ate a meager breakfast of one piece of toast and lot’s of hot coffee. His stomach could accept no more. The TV weatherman said the storm would pick up speed and should be out of the New York area soon, leaving a total accumulation of twelve to fourteen inches in its wake. “The sun may peek out later this afternoon,” he said, “but the temperatures will stay cold with only a slight chance of getting above freezing by mid-week.”

  Harry put on his overcoat and hat and took the broom with him to his car. The snow had definitely eased up and he brushed the accumulation off the Dodge. It was deathly quiet on the street on this first day of the New Year. Only those who absolutely had to would be up and out on a day like this. The main roads had been thoroughly plowed and the ride to his precinct was negotiated with little trouble. He picked up the phone at the callbox and informed Sergeant Harris he was on post. “Any messages for me, Sarge? Did Detective Hunter call?”

  “I don’t see anything here, Harry. Were you expecting something
?”

  “Just thought he might want to talk some more about the Winston case.”

  “What’s happening with that anyway? Are they close to making a collar?”

  “I don’t think so. The suspect has disappeared, and they still don’t even know his name.”

  “Okay, talk to you later.”

  ●

  Harry got a coffee and a newspaper at the Viceroy diner and parked in back of the plowed lot. He scanned the main news section. He read nothing relating to the Winston case, not that he expected to see anything. The news rested with Susan and Pop and neither one had seen fit to share it with him. He checked in with Sergeant Harris and said, “I’m going to try to catch the nine o’clock mass in St. Vincent’s, if that’s okay.”

  “Sure, Harry. I’ll hold you out of service, but check in with me afterwards.”

  Harry parked the radio car at the curb in front of St. Vincent’s. He entered the front door and selected a pew near the rear of the church. Father Tom Ryan appeared from the sacristy with one tired looking altar boy and began the Mass for the few hearty souls who had braved the snowfall. Tom had a few cops in his family and Harry found it easy to talk with him, and confess to him, when the need arose. He wondered how the good priest would react if Harry ever told him of his betrayal of Richie Winston on Christmas Eve. He pushed that thought to the back of his mind and tried to concentrate on the Mass.

  He said a prayer for Richie and for his dad. He did not take communion and he was sure Father Tom would comment on that when Mass was over. He joined Tom at the side door and walked out with him to the priest’s residence home, right next door to the church.

  “Good morning, Harry, and a Happy New Year.”

  “Same to you, Tom. How have you been?”

  “I’ve been fine,” he said as they entered the door and walked toward the kitchen. “And how have you been?”

  “Okay.”

  “You sure don’t look it. You look, pardon the expression, like hell.”

  “I’ve had a tough week. Give the cop a cup-a coffee, and I’ll tell you about it.”

  “And is that tough week why I didn’t see you at all on Christmas Day?”

  “Yes, it was. Unless you want me to lie and tell you I made Mass at St. Stanislaus, you know, the real type of Mass, the one still said in Latin.”

  “What a throwback you are,” he said pouring coffee into mugs for both of them. “The next thing you’ll be doing is going to your Latin Mass in a robe and sandals.”

  “Good idea. I may just do that.”

  “Slice of crumb cake?”

  “Yes, that might hit the spot.”

  “Ah, you can eat crumb cake, but you can’t swallow the Host?”

  “Tom, I saw that coming a mile away. I could lie again, and tell you my stomach felt queasy at the moment you dispensed communion, but I won’t.”

  “Then why?”

  “I don’t feel I’m in a state of grace.”

  “Do you want to confess to me?”

  “No, not now. Maybe soon, but not now.”

  “Does it have something to do with your terrible week?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then please tell me about this terrible week.”

  Harry related the events of the Winston case, for what now seemed like the hundredth time, carefully omitting the part he had been omitting to every inquisitor in the past seven days.

  “Sounds to me like you’re feeling responsible for what happened to Richie. Is that what’s troubling you?”

  “Yeah, could be.”

  “But, you weren’t there. You were home, off-duty. You can’t blame yourself for something that happened miles away while you slept, now can you?”

  “No.”

  “Unless?”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless you’re consciously, or subconsciously, not telling me everything.”

  Harry looked at Father Ryan and a weak smile crossed his lips. He reached out and touched his arm. “I have to get back on patrol, Tom. I’ll talk to you soon. I promise.”

  “Whenever you’re ready, but don’t carry your burdens around too long or they’ll suffocate you. Give your burdens to Jesus. He’ll gladly take them.”

  “Will he, Father? Does Jesus take all burdens and sins no matter how awful they may be?”

  “You know He does. That’s what our faith is all about. He takes them all.”

  Father Tom grasped Harry’s hands in his and looked directly in his eyes and said, “After all, Jesus even forgave Judas Iscariot who betrayed Him to the Romans to be crucified.”

  “So he did. I’ll be back when I can.”

  “God bless you Harry, and like the old sergeant on Hill Street Blues used to say – you be careful out there.”

  ●

  Harry drove back to Hempstead Avenue and checked in with the sergeant. Things were still quiet in the precinct and no assignments awaited him. He drove by the Nest and noticed it was still boarded up. He did not check the parking lot.

  When Harry called in at 12:15 there were still no messages for him. He could wait no longer. He dialed Susan’s number on his cell phone and she picked up on the fifth ring.

  “Hi, Susan. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “It was a long night and…oh, my gosh, I just looked at the clock. It’s after noon.”

  “Yeah, that’s why I didn’t call you earlier. I figured you needed your sleep after your visit to the hospital. What time did you get home from there?”

  “About 4:30, maybe a little later. I meant to call you, but I knew you had to get up early for the day tour.”

  “How did it go with Winston? Was he able to tell you guys anything?”

  “It went well. He identified the composite as the guy who stabbed him. He couldn’t talk much, so he answered us by nodding.”

  “What else?”

  “He indicated there were two other guys with the stabber, but couldn’t identify them, even if he saw them again.”

  “How is he now?”

  “Back in the coma. The doctor said he could pop in and out of it at any time, or never come out, or die, or recover completely. He just doesn’t know. We also don’t know what Richie meant when he uttered a few words. They puzzled me.”

  “What puzzled you about what Richie said?”

  “We are going to discuss that in the context of the investigation when we all meet on Tuesday.”

  “Want to tell me what he said? Maybe I can help you figure it out?”

  “No, I’d rather not discuss it until the Tuesday meeting.”

  Harry’s internal warning system sounded, and a trickle of cold sweat began to run down his left armpit. “That’s fine,” he said. “When can I see you again? Tonight? Or maybe we can get together tomorrow? We’re both off.”

  “I have a lot to do to prepare for that meeting on Tuesday, and I don’t think we should see each other until it’s over.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I think we will finally be able to wrap up our case and I don’t want to jeopardize a successful resolution by possibly being seen together.”

  “It didn’t seem to bother you last night. We could have been seen at Mario’s.”

  “I should never have gone with you to a public place until this case was over.”

  “Why did you?”

  “A weak moment, and I couldn’t resist your charms?”

  Harry smiled and felt a little better. “No regrets?”

  “None. It was a wonderful New Year’s Eve. Let’s not screw up now for the sake of waiting a couple of days. This will be over soon.”

  “I don’t know if I can wait that long to have you in my arms again.”

  “Sure you can tiger. Just think how much better it will be with all that built-up anticipation.”

  “Okay, Susan. I won’t bother you again until I hear from you on Tuesday.”

  “It’s no bother, but we have to play it cool. Hang in there. Talk to you soon.”

 
Harry lit a cigarette and reflected on the conversation. His instincts had put him on high alert despite Susan’s assurances and implied continuation of their relationship. But she was definitely holding back on him. What was the puzzlement with Richie? Why didn’t she tell him? He had to find out from Pop. He dialed his number and said,

  “Pop, it’s Harry.”

  “Vera and I were just talking about you.”

  “Good things, I hope.”

  “Of course. What’s up?”

  “How did you make out with Winston at the hospital last night? Was he able to help with the case?”

  “How did you know I was at the hospital?”

  “I was just on the phone with Goldman. She told me.”

  “Yeah, he was helpful, but he could only nod and say a few words. Left us with a couple of questions, though.”

  “Like what? Maybe I can help you with the answers.”

  “Maybe you can. And that’s what Vera and I discussed. You’re off tomorrow, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why don’t you come over to the house? Vera’ll make us all some lunch, and then we can put our feet up, watch some football, and talk about everything.”

  Obviously Pop was not about to talk about Richie on the phone, and the idea of relaxing with Pop and Vera was very appealing. Susan wanted no part of him for a couple of days and he had nothing better to do, so he said, “That would be great, Pop. I’ll bring the beer. Still drinking Sam Adams?”

  “That I am. See you about noon?”

  “See you then.”

  More mystery. Just what the hell had Richie said that no one would tell him on the phone? Jesus, when would this be over?

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next day, Monday, Harry awoke at eight. He was due at Pop’s house in four hours, and the notion of visiting the Hunter’s gave him another thought. He picked up the phone and dialed Uncle Mike’s number. When Aunt Mary answered, he said, “Happy New Year, Aunt Mary. How are you this fine morning? I hope I didn’t wake you?”

  “Not at all. I just got up and was getting ready to put the coffee on.”

  “Hold up on the pot for a little while. I’m coming over if it’s all right with you. And I’ll bring bagels, rolls and the cake from Ehrhardt’s Bakery.”