Skeleton Justice

by Michael Baden

  Manny knew she was losing him, but she wouldn’t stop trying. “Dr. Costello, stop and think! It’s not cowardly to protect the innocent. How can hurting a defenseless teenager ever be justified? Don’t sink to the same level as the soldiers who tortured your parents. You’re better than that.”

  Elena whirled around. “Shut up, you pampered American bitch! You know nothing about suffering, nothing. I have suffered.” Her voice was raw, her breathing like a runner’s at the end of a hard-fought race. “I will decide what is justified.”

  Manny watched Costello put his arm around his wife’s shoulders and kiss the top of her head. She relaxed into his embrace.

  Manny had no ally now.

  “Raisins,” Jake said, looking up from his lab table. “As few as seven raisins can cause kidney failure and even kill a little dog.”

  “Must’ve been that Vietnamese food Mycroft shared with us last night,” Sam replied. “The Vampire must’ve been watching Manny’s apartment, just waiting for a good opportunity to grab her. To see her leave alone at five in the morning—I bet he couldn’t believe his luck.”

  Jake shook his head. “The Vampire doesn’t rely on luck. This was planned.”

  “But how could he know Mycroft would get sick from eating Vietnamese food?”

  “He didn’t. I called the Saigon Sunset. There’s no raisins in their spring rolls, just a little scallion. I found four partially digested raisins in Mycroft’s vomit; someone must have known he is a food slut. Probably gobbled them in a millisecond. Someone did this on purpose.”

  Sam looked down at the bundle of red fur reclining on a pallet of morgue sheets next to Jake’s desk. “Manny would never let a stranger give Mycroft food. How did the Vampire get close enough to the dog to do this? The only time he’s away from her is when he’s at—”

  “Little Paws,” Jake concluded. “I’m speculating the Vampire waylaid the group of dogs and did this to Mycroft during one of his walks in the park.”

  “So that means the dog walker has seen the Vampire. Can’t she describe him?” Sam asked.

  “According to Sheila, the owner, the walkers are approached all the time. Even jaded New Yorkers get a kick out of seeing six or eight cute little dogs romping together. And Sheila encourages the dog walkers to talk to people—that’s how she brings in new customers. The unemployed actress walking Mycroft yesterday passed out Little Paws business cards to four or five people. None of them made an impression on her.”

  Sam knelt and stroked Mycroft’s head. “I wish you could talk, buddy. Tell us who grabbed Manny and how you made it back to Little Paws.”

  The dog lifted his head weakly and his tail twitched in what passed for a wag.

  “Do you think he’s really okay now, Jake?” Sam asked. “He still seems awfully listless. Kenneth took him over to the Animal Medical Center and they gave him the all clear. Kenneth wanted to take him to Dr. Costello, too, but he couldn’t get—”

  Jake’s head snapped up from his microscope. He felt a prickle run across the back of his neck as the piloerector muscles in his skin contracted. “What did you say?”

  “I said that Mycroft still doesn’t seem himself. Maybe we should take him to Dr. Costello, his regular vet.”

  “Costello? Costello is the name of Manny’s vet?”

  “Yeah, the new guy. The one that Kenneth thinks is so hot. Why?”

  Jake swung around to face his computer, his fingers wildly tapping the keys. “Nixon’s coffee mug. Through a subpoena on the eBay seller, we tracked down the name of the seller. The seller sent me an e-mail with the info. It sounded vaguely familiar, but I hadn’t yet tracked it down when Manny disappeared.” A final mouse click and Jake leaned forward to squint at the screen. “The buyer is one Elena Costello. The billing address on her credit card is in Manhattan. This can’t be a coincidence.”

  Picking up on his brother’s excitement, Sam asked, “Where in Manhattan—uptown or downtown from Manny’s place?”

  “The fifties, midtown, near her. That could explain why she went out the back door of her building. Dr. Costello claims he told Manny to take Mycroft to the Animal Medical Center uptown, but he must really have told her to bring the dog to him.”

  “Is there anything else the eBay seller revealed?” Sam asked.

  “It says the mug was shipped to a PO Box in Paterson, New Jersey,” Jake continued. “The last known address for Freak, the guy who set the bomb, the guy who has a prior for organizing dog fights, was in Paterson. Pasquarelli tried to locate him, but none of his street friends are talking.”

  Sam jumped up. “I’ll find him.”

  “I should have seen this earlier,” Jake said. “The expertise in drawing blood, the rats, what happened to Mycroft—it all points to a veterinarian.”

  “No time for recriminations, Jake. You put the police on the Costellos’ trail. I’m going to Paterson.”

  Jake’s phone rang. He signaled his brother to wait, but Sam was already out the door.

  “All right.” Dr. Costello handed a remote-control device to his wife. “Are you ready?”

  Elena smiled and nodded. Walking to the far corner of the room, she pressed a few buttons while her husband watched the screen of a laptop. Snapping her fingers to get Manny’s and Travis’s attention, she pointed above her head to a tiny camera by the ceiling. “Smile, you two. You’re on Candid Camera. Or candid Web cam, I should say.”

  Manny looked up at the glass eye focused on her. She’d known military families who used Web cams to let the soldier mom or dad witness their kids’ lives in real time. And she’d heard of live porn distributed over the Internet. But what exactly would be gained by showing her and Travis tied up in this otherwise-empty room? Stress, exhaustion, and ether had combined to dull Manny’s mental reflexes. She tried to use her imagination to sort things out, but she came up blank.

  She looked over at Travis, who stared listlessly up at the camera, then hung his head and coughed hoarsely. He’d been with the Costellos for days now, and he’d lost all his defiance, all his anger. What had they done to replace his youthful passion with this weary passivity? Travis had accepted his status as victim. Would she?

  “Is it working?” Elena asked.

  Dr. Costello tilted the laptop so his wife could see. A delighted smile spread across her face. Then the vet turned the laptop toward Manny and Travis.

  Manny wouldn’t have recognized the haggard red-haired woman on the screen except that she was sitting next to Travis, so it had to be her. Instinctively, she lifted her hand to smooth her wild hair. The woman on the screen’s hand went up, too. Manny dropped her hand; the screen hand dropped. Creepy.

  “What do you think?” Elena asked.

  Manny sat stoically. She refused to perform.

  “Come now, smile. Soon you’ll be a star. Because we’ve sent an e-mail from the Vampire to every news outlet in the city, so that they can watch what’s about to unfold here. And, of course, we’ll ask your friend Dr. Rosen to tune in.”

  “What’s about to unfold?” Manny asked.

  “You’ll see. The whole world will see. Finally.”

  “Lookin’ for Freak.”

  Sam had circled Paterson in Jake’s car, studying the clusters of young men gathered on certain corners. Although it was the middle of the day during the beginning of a work week, Paterson didn’t lack for guys with no time clock to punch. After careful observation, Sam selected the group he would least like to meet in a dark alley, parked, and strolled up to them.

  “Lookin’ to get me a dog,” Sam elaborated after his opening gambit elicited no response. “Friend of mine said Freak’s the man to see about that.”

  The men shifted, dropping their hips and rolling their shoulders. The tallest man stared at Sam. Sam stared back. This lasted a good forty-five seconds. When Sam didn’t wet his pants in fear, the big guy broke into a grin, revealing four shiny gold teeth.

  “Nice grille,” Sam said. “I think you must be the guy the fellas
over on Fifteenth Street told me to look for.”

  This cracked them up. Sam smiled, too, happy to have brought a little sunshine into their lives.

  “Freak ain’t been around lately,” the big guy finally said through his laughter.

  “Well, like I said, it’s a dog I want. Who takes care of his dogs when he’s gone?”

  The big man looked Sam up and down, trying to determine his line of work. Suburban drug dealer? Pimp? Pornographer? “You can’t use his dogs for protection, man,” he advised. “They fightin’ dogs—too mean for much else. Ain’t nobody but Freak can handle ’em.”

  “But Freak’s not around. Who’s taking care of the dogs?”

  “Pauly feeds ’em. But he can’t help you.” The big guy touched his forehead. “He’s not all there, know what’m sayin’?”

  “Got it. Okay, then. Be seein’ ya.”

  Sam got back in his car, slipped on his sport coat, and drove two blocks to the Mother of Mercy Soup Kitchen. He entered the crowded dining room, scanned the crowd, and walked purposefully toward a stocky middle-aged woman with a wooden cross on a leather string around her neck.

  “Good afternoon, Sister.” Sam beamed. “I’m looking for a young man named Pauly.” He dropped his voice. “A little developmentally delayed? But I understand he’s a hard worker, and I was hoping I could hire him for a few odd jobs around my warehouse over on Philips Street.”

  The nun clasped her hands in delight. “Ah, the Lord always provides! Pauly was just here, hoping for a loan to tide him over until his disability check arrives. I’m sure he’d love the opportunity to work, Mr.—”

  “Pettengil,” Sam said, lying without hesitation. “Where can I find him?”

  “Right down the street. He lives above the bodega.”

  Sam felt a momentary twinge of guilt for having hoodwinked a nun, but it evaporated once he met Pauly. Not only was the young man happy to talk to Sam about his cousin Freak and the dogs, but also he immediately sought Sam’s advice.

  “Don’t know what I’m gonna do. Freak said two days, watch ’em two days. But it’s been five—no, six—no, five—five days he’s gone.” Sam trotted to keep up as the young man walked hyperkinetically along the dingy street. “Runnin’ outta food, yes I am. And I ain’t got money to buy more. Gotta give ’em meat, that’s what Freak says. No dog chow, nope. Only meat.”

  Sam nodded sympathetically. Pauly didn’t require much in the way of dialogue. When he finally got a chance to get a word in, Sam asked, “Where is Freak anyway?”

  “Don’t know. Bizness, he got bizness.” They had reached a dilapidated house, one of only three still standing on the block. A tall board-on-board fence, sturdier than the building it was attached to, enclosed the small backyard. Pulling out a key, Pauly unfastened a thick padlock and pushed the gate as far as he could—about a foot. He slipped through the narrow opening, followed by Sam.

  Recoiling from a tremendous volley of ferocious barking, Sam instinctively moved to duck back through the gate. But Pauly shuffled forward and Sam realized the dogs—at least twenty pit bulls—were all caged. They snapped and snarled, their small eyes rolling in fury, their powerful jaws seeking something, anything, to clamp onto. Pauly had been feeding them, but he obviously hadn’t been taking care of any of their other needs. The dogs were covered in their own filth and some had bloodied their paws trying to escape their small pens.

  The stench, the noise, the rage—it all reminded Sam of a tour he’d once taken of a maximum-security prison in Texas. There, too, the inmates had hurled themselves against the bars, angered beyond reason by the sight of a free man.

  Sam looked at these canine prisoners and knew there wasn’t much he could do other than call the ASPCA and hope the dogs could be tended to humanely. He gripped the young man’s shoulder. “Come on, Pauly—we need to call for some help. You can’t keep taking care of these dogs on your own. It’s not safe.”

  Pauly looked uncertain. “Freak said he’d pay me five dollars. If I don’t do my job, I won’t get paid.”

  Sam pulled a ten from his wallet. “You did a good job, Pauly. Let’s get out of here.”

  Pauly’s eyes lighted up. “Maybe you’re right. It sure does stink in here.”

  Just then, a breeze blew through, stirring the fumes from the uncleaned cages. Sam coughed as he moved toward the gate, then stopped. The powerful smell of dog waste permeated the air, but under that was another smell, much worse, just as distinctive.

  “Wait for me outside, Pauly.” Sam gave the kid a gentle shove, then crossed the yard to a garden shed in the corner. Covering his face with a handkerchief, he quickly yanked open the door.

  What had once been a thin man, wearing a baseball cap with a ponytail extending out the back of the hat, slid out. Sam thought he saw a ghost—his ghost. Instead what he was looking at was the real killer of Boo Havrek.

  The dogs began to howl.

  The door opened once more and the Costellos returned. Between them, they pushed a large cage on wheels.

  They stood aside. Travis screamed.

  “He’s a little cranky. He hasn’t eaten,” Elena said.

  Manny looked into the eyes of an abused, angry, and restless pit bull. It stared back, its small gray eyes as flat and emotionless as a shark’s. Hard to believe that this creature was from the same species as Mycroft. Now Manny understood the plan. She and Travis would be left alone and unprotected to be tortured by this animal while people watched on the Web cam, powerless to help them.

  “Wait!” Manny screamed. “You can’t leave us here with that, that… We’ve never done anything to hurt you. I would have helped you with your cause if you had just come to me and asked.”

  “I’m sorry that you and Travis have to suffer,” Dr. Costello said. He looked sad. The nervousness had returned. “So often, the innocent do.”

  Manny sensed his weakness. Elena was ferocious, but Manny felt she could prevail with Dr. Costello. “We can still work this out,” Manny pleaded. “I’ll help you file a lawsuit against the government.”

  “The time for that is long past.” Elena waved her hand while groaning in disgust. “To get what, lip service—skeleton justice? This is the only way. The right way.”

  Elena stepped up to the cage and checked what appeared to be a timer attached to the door. The white-and-brown dog lunged at her hand, but she didn’t react. “He’s not that big. Freak said he wasn’t a great fighter. He won’t kill Manny and Travis, just as the dogs they used on our parents didn’t kill them. These two can survive the bites. This was our plan. To show the world the torture our parents suffered.”

  Dr. Costello nodded. Manny couldn’t be sure if he was agreeing or convincing himself.

  “This is wrong,” Manny said, trying one last time to convince him. “This isn’t justice; it’s pure cruelty. It’s not what your parents would want to avenge them.”

  “You can’t know that.” Elena’s voice, low and steady now, chilled Manny more than her screaming had. “You don’t know our parents. We never knew them. They’re nothing more than decaying flesh and bones to us. But we have vowed to keep their souls alive for them, for us, and for all others like us. You preach justice. Can you guarantee you could get us true justice, Ms. Manfreda?”

  Manny averted her eyes. She had no answer.

  “We will do this. The others want to forget about the Dirty War, pretend it never happened. We will finally make the world see.”

  “The Costellos’ apartment and the veterinary office are both empty,” Pasquarelli reported by phone. “No one’s seen them since yesterday afternoon. We’re watching all three airports and the train stations.”

  Jake nodded without much interest. He knew the Costellos wouldn’t try to escape before they carried out their final plan, whatever it was. Finding them mattered to him only if it led to finding Manny… alive. “Any information they left behind to indicate where they’re holding Manny and Travis?”

  “Our computer guys are searc
hing the office computer, but so far it seems to be strictly business. At home, it looks like they used a laptop, which they must’ve taken with them. There was some ash residue in the kitchen sink, and the smoke alarm was disconnected—they probably burned some papers before they left.”

  Meticulous. He hadn’t expected anything less. Elena Costello’s purchase of the Nixon coffee mug using her own name was the only mistake they’d made so far. Any forensic psychiatrist would say it was her way of getting caught—purposely. So that the world would know of her accomplishments, and she would be glorified. The twenty-first-century version of Jack the Ripper. But implicating Travis instead of Paco in the bombing was a more mundane blunder. But they’d made that error work to their advantage, milked it for even more publicity. As his mentor used to say, the hallmark of a professional lay not in never taking a misstep, but in knowing how to recover from it. Jake knew he couldn’t count on the Costellos to trip themselves; he would have to trap them.

  As soon as he hung up with Vito, the phone rang again. The caller ID indicated it was Sam, who was obviously reporting in from Paterson.

  “Hi—what’ve you got?” Jake said.

  “I found Freak.”

  “Already? Fantastic!”

  “Not so fantastic for him. He’s dead,” Sam said.

  Jake’s grip on the phone tightened. The Costellos were tying up every loose end, eliminating every person who might intentionally or unintentionally disrupt their plan. Manny seemed to be part of their plan. But when they were done with her, what then? “What happened to him?”

  “Shot through the back of the head, apparently while he was getting food for his dogs out of this shed. There’s blood and brain matter everywhere.”

  “Where are you? What’s all that noise?”

  Jake listened as his brother described the house in Paterson and the condition of the dogs. “The local police are here. We’re waiting for Animal Control and the morgue meat wagon to arrive,” Sam said.