“No. Help yourself.” She looked at the computer screen and began typing. The phone rang. She turned and picked it up on the first ring. “Ms. Gates office. Why, Mr. Rosa.” She looked up over her glasses, smiling at Rudi.
Rudi turned red. He waved his arms at her, shaking his head to signal no. Gloria stared at him, surprised at his behavior. She paused, “Uh…”
He put his hands together as if he were praying and got down on one knee. Gloria chuckled, briefly holding her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. She uncovered it and put on her most businesslike tone.
“Yes, Mr. Rosa. Sorry, I just spilled some coffee on my desk. No sir, she has the Do Not Disturb light on her phone. I can’t…a what, sir? A tape?”
Silence.
“Just one moment, sir.”
Rudi crawled over to her on both knees, his hands locked in prayer. Gloria looked at him sternly. He was endearing on his knees, she thought. She kind of liked him that way.
“Yes sir—just hold for a moment, Mr. Rosa. I’ll see if I can interrupt her.”
Rudi heard Rosa’s voice through the receiver as Gloria abruptly put him on hold. She stared at him and began to speak, but didn’t get out a word before he pulled the automatic from his pocket and fired. There was a barely audible phutt. She lurched backward, blood streaming from a small hole in her head. He got up, brushed his pant legs, and walked slowly to the door. He turned the dead bolt to lock and waited. He checked his watch, humming “Baa, Baa, Black Sheep.” His mother used to sing it to him when he was a kid. It calmed his nerves. “Three bags full…and three more to go.”
Then he tried to remember another calming nursery rhyme from his past. “Three little pigs went to market. Three little pigs came home. Two little pigs had roast beef. One little pig had none.” Then it happened.
He watched the brass handle to the enormous cherry wood door move down and then stop. It moved down again and stopped again. He slowly and quietly released the dead bolt, then stepped behind the door as it slowly opened.
Just outside the door, Kirby sensed that something was wrong. It was too quiet. And the DA’s suite shouldn’t be locked before five p.m. He had his hand on his partly drawn service revolver as he entered, followed by Carmen who was holding Lily’s hand. Turning toward Gloria’s desk, he had no time to react. He was instantly blown against the rear wall of the office. His overcoat exploded as he flew backward and then fell in a huge heap like a bushwhacked bull elephant.
Rudi stepped toward the girls and took aim.
Carmen was the closest She brought her knee up toward her chest and then with a powerful kick, tore into his groin.
He fell instantly to the floor and rolled, gasping in pain. He felt his pants go wet. “Fuck, you little cunt, I’m gonna…”
“Bastard!” Carmen yelled. “Fucking bastard.” She looked desperately for the gun, but it was under Kirby. She couldn’t take it.
Lily was frozen. The only thing moving was her small trembling mouth and the tears streaming down her face. Carmen yanked her through the door toward the elevator. “Run, Lily—hurry.” The elevator doors were closed, and there was no time to hit the button and wait. It was the stairs or eternity, a split-second decision Carmen was forced to make.
“No, Lily, here,” She pointed at the door to the stairs as she frantically hit the down button on the elevator, hoping against hope that it would open. But it did not. No time to wait, she thought. He’d soon be off the floor and out the door. She was sorry she couldn’t find Kirby’s gun. She pulled her sister hard, down the first flight of stairs. Lily fell, hitting her knees on the concrete. The metal door a floor above screeched open. It was him! Carmen slapped her hand over Lily’s mouth. “Don’t cry. Shh.” She listened for footsteps. There were none. He was listening for them, too. She knew that. She silently backed Lily against the stairwell wall, her hand stifling her sister’s sobs, and quickly pulled off her shoes so as not to make a sound on the steps. She had Lily do the same. The little girl shook violently, and then silently let out a stream of vomit, all over Carmen’s hand and coat sleeve. Normally Carmen would have shrieked in horror, but this time she gave Lily a hug of encouragement, a hug of it’s OK.
The girls breathlessly made their way to the next level down, tiptoeing in their stocking feet. Carmen tried the door into the hall. It was locked from the other side. They quickly padded down to the next floor. Locked, too.
Footsteps echoed on the hard stairs. Carmen heard them clearly. They were slow and without rhythm. He was hurting, but he was coming. He frantically smacked the hand railing in rage. Carmen and Lily heard the pounding. It was clear that he was close, and he was mad—enraged in fact. He had been foiled by the little bitches, and he was hurt, and had peed himself. He would make the little cunts suffer before they died. But he didn’t know exactly where they were—or if, in fact, they were on the stairs.
Carmen prayed for an open door. Please, please, dear God, let the next door be open. They silently ran down one more flight. It was! It was propped open with a wad of paper towels. Lucky for them the ladies room on this floor was out of order and employees had ingeniously rigged the door so that it wouldn’t close and automatically lock them out. They could use the stairs to the restroom below instead of having to wait for the elevator.
Carmen shoved the door open. It flew against the wall with a crash, leaving the paper towels behind. Both girls pushed the door closed as quickly as they could. The lock engaged. It was music to their ears. He was locked in the stairwell with ten more flights down before he could make his way outside and regain entrance to the building.
But it was also music to Rudi’s ears—now he knew where they were, and a lock was never a problem for him.
Carmen and Lily frantically ran into the first office they saw, Cummins and Bradley, an investment banking firm.
“Call the cops,” Carmen barked at the receptionist. “Call 911 now. Right now.” She vainly fumbled at the door, looking for a deadbolt, but there wasn’t one.
“Wait, young lady. What are you doing.?” The receptionist got up from her seat.
“Please lock the door. Please, he’ll find us and kill us,” Lily begged, her knees scraped and bloodied, her mouth and chin smeared with vomit. “Please, lady!”
The receptionist recognized the look of absolute terror on the little girl’s face and felt the need to calm her down. “Here. Come here and sit down and catch your breath. Let’s see what’s wrong.” She took a tissue and began to wipe Lily’s face. “Why aren’t you in school?” she asked looking at Carmen.
“We don’t have time to wait and answer your questions. We’ll all be dead if we do. Lock the goddamned door—now!”
The woman stared in disbelief. “Wait here. Let me call the office manager.”
Carmen saw that she was getting nowhere, and it was clear that the woman did not appreciate the danger that they all were in. She grabbed Lily by the coat and began to run, pulling her sister along.
“Help!” she yelled into the open offices as she raced past them. “Help. He’s coming in here to kill us.” She frantically looked for a believing face—a strong face, someone who could deal with the crisis. But she saw none.
“Get them!” yelled a worker as he came out of his office and chased them down the teal carpeted hall. “Where do you think you’re going?” Carmen pulled an empty five-gallon water jug from its holder and flung it at the man. She heard phutt, phutt, phutt. Then people screaming. Her heart sank. He was here. On a killing spree again.
CHAPTER XLII
“Get Gates for me again,” Mike Rosa barked into the phone at his secretary. “How long does she expect me to wait? I’m tired of her antics. She’s avoiding me and I won’t have it.”
“Yes, Mr. Rosa,” an intimidated voice responded.
“And bring that couple in here.” He looked down at the note that had come with the video cassette.
“Dear Mr. Rosa,” it read. “We purchased the Maglio estate at auction. Wh
ile we were renovating the library, we came across a security camera hidden behind the paneling. In the camera we found this shocking tape. We decided to bring it to you the day we found it.” It was signed “James and Margaret Snyder.”
Rosa pressed the play button on the remote he kept on his desk. The monitor came alive, first to an intense blue and then the library in the Maglio home. At the bottom of the screen in small letters was a date and beside it, the hours, minutes and seconds. Rosa hit fast forward. Christy Maglio swirled by, in and out of the room. He pressed play when the timer showed 11:00 p.m. as Christy was coming into the room, followed by a figure, a dark figure in a uniform—a cop. She seemed to be crying. Then she appeared distracted, almost angry. Her mouth moved but suddenly stopped. Her forehead opened she fell back to the sofa and slid to the floor. The uniformed figure stepped over the body and sat on the sofa, crossing his legs. He calmly looked around the room, obviously pleased with himself. The camera was set so that it was focused on the face and torso. Pennsylvania State Trooper, badge number 4273, name tag Darin Adams. The figure got up and reached for a crystal decanter and poured himself a drink. Then he reached for a book and sat down, making himself quite at home for a minute while he sipped from the half full glass. He then got up, fumbled with a photo which was out of focus but appeared to be two children. He smiled, looking almost lovingly at the picture and then disappeared from the room.
Rosa hit fast forward and stopped when Joe Maglio appeared. Surprise. A short scuffle, a shot at close range to the temple. Maglio fell. The killer put the gun in Maglio’s right hand, smiled, saluted the dead man, and walked out, leaving the hidden camera trained on two bleeding corpses.
Rosa had already called the State Police. They had no Darin Adams and there was no badge number 4273. The frames showing the killer’s face had been sent over the Internet to the National Crime Information Center and the Pennsylvania Crime Information Center.
“Mr. Rosa?” James Snyder broke Rosa’s concentration. He wore a black jogging outfit with a Polo logo plastered across his chest. “We decided to come directly to you instead of the police. We didn’t want to hand the tape over to someone we didn’t know.” He exhaled, folding his hands in his lap. “Especially since the man in the film was a police officer.”
“I’m afraid,” said Margaret Snyder, anxiously. She rubbed her forehead with her left hand. Her four-carat princess-cut diamond glinted wildly. It was enough to blind anyone in its direct path. “I’m afraid that our lives are in danger, too. I just can’t go back to that house while he’s on the loose.”
Rosa sat back and smiled. “Ma’am, I wouldn’t go back to that house, or anywhere, as a matter of fact, wearing that boulder on my finger. You’re a billboard for muggers, rapists and murderers. You might as well advertise on I-95. Trust me. I know about these things.”
Margaret looked at him in dismay, slightly teary-eyed. “I know. But I want to wear my jewelry, not hide it away in a safe. Why have it then?”
“Exactly,” James agreed, nodding in approval. “We don’t want to lock ourselves and our possessions away and live in fear.”
“Well then, hire yourself a full-time body guard and check into the Four Seasons,” Rosa fired back unsympathetically. He paused and then, taking a softer tone, said, “OK. Let’s get back to this film. You absolutely did the right thing coming to me with it. We’ve sent the pictures to the Crime Information Centers and we think we have a match, but we’re not sure.” He paused. I hope you haven’t told anyone about this film?”
“No,just you,”James said hurriedly,his brow furrowed in concern.
“OK. Don’t mention it to anyone. Did any of the workers, carpenters, or any other mechanics know about this hidden camera?”
“No. We found it,” Margaret answered.
“OK. Now I mean this. Your lives depend on your being absolutely closemouthed about this film. We are not going to break this to the news. If the media gets wind of this, you can rest assured that you won’t see the sunrise. Got it?” He glared sternly at the worried couple.
Wide eyed, both nodded affirmatively at the same time, more frightened than ever.
“And I sure as hell won’t be able to help you. Because this killer is a master of disguise. And he’s quick—you’ll never know what hit you.”
Margaret’s face paled. “That poor family,” she cried. “I wonder what they did to deserve him.”
“Breathe,” Rosa said, standing, signaling that it was time to leave. “I’ll give you an escort home.”
“No.” James put his hand out to shake Rosa’s. “You’ve convinced us. We’re going to check into a hotel.”
“Good.” Rosa took the outstretched hand. “We’ll call you on your cell when the coast is clear.”
“I hope you catch him soon,” Margaret whined. “I don’t want to live in a hotel.”
“Hotel’s better than a grave,” Rosa said, ushering the couple out the door. “Susan, get me Nick Ceratto,” he commanded his secretary. “I want to talk to him now—right now.”
“Mr. Rosa, do you want me to continue to try to reach Ms. Gates?” she asked, looking puzzled.
“Forget her. I want Ceratto now.”
CHAPTER XLIII
Marina Doletov was dwarfed by the heavy mahogany witness stand, which made her look more diminutive than she actually was. Her shoulders barely showed over the top of the heavy wood surround. Her blond hair was tightly pulled back into a neat pony tail tied with a black velvet ribbon. At under five feet, she looked innocent and childlike as she testified—particularly so when her clear, baby-blue eyes brimmed with tears. Although her Russian accent was heavy, her English was good, as were her lies, when she testified about what she had seen when Sean Riley arrived at Metropolitan Mercy Hospital.
“Ms. Doletov, can you tell the jury what Doctor Manning was doing, if you know, when Officer Riley arrived in the ER?” Nick asked in the low, kindly voice, typical of attorneys when soliciting the information they want from their own witnesses.
“Yes.” She hesitated. Her mouth quivered slightly, as if she were afraid to say the words. “I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I’m nervous…I’m new to this country…the language. I was never in a court before.”
“Take your time, Ms. Doletov.” Nick stopped at the railing in front of the stand and looked her in the eye. I’ll just bet you’ve never done this before. What an actress, he thought. What a con. What a bitch. What a cold, murdering bitch. Who would ever think that Alice-in-Wonderland here was a murderer. “Here.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a white silk pocket handkerchief.
“No, no,” she said, smiling. “It’s OK.”
“Here,” he insisted. “Please, the jury understands.” He looked her squarely in the eye. “It’s OK.”
“Thank you, sir. Attorney…ah…?”
“Ceratto,” he smiled.
“Yes, Attorney Ceratto.” She dabbed her eyes and took a deep breath then looked at the jury, seemingly regaining her confidence. “Doctor Manin had just finished a previous surgery. It was repair of an abdominal aneurism, if I recall. He wanted to get out of the operating room as soon as possible. He said that he had to meet his wife for a big dinner, a charity dinner that she had organized.”
“How do you know this ?” Nick prodded.
“I had assisted him in the operation.” She dabbed her eyes again with the silk handkerchief.
“Go on, Ms. Doletov.” Nick leaned toward her, urging her on.
“…and he talked about the dinner and his wife and how he had to wear a tuxedo, and how he was always late for these affairs, and how she was always mad at him for that. This time, he said, he had to be on time because it was her dinner. We all left the OR. Doctor Manin went off to change; then he got paged. Then I saw him rushing past me in his shirt and tuxedo pants. Captain Riley was brought into the OR. I was called to assist with the surgery. When I arrived, Captain Riley was already prepped. We waited and then, shortly, Doctor M
anin comes in, plops on his cap, and mutters to me, under his breath, that he had to do this operation, too. Nobody else was competent in the hospital. His wife was going to kill him—he…” She paused, struggling to finish, “He whispered, ‘Son of a bitch, I can’t ever get out of this place on time…’”
“Liar!” Manin yelled, pointing at her. “Lying bitch, you lying…”
John Asher put a hand firmly on Manin’s shoulder to restrain him.
Manin went limp, sagging against the back of his chair, aware of another fatal mistake.
“Calm down, Victor. What’s wrong with you?” Asher hissed into his client’s ear. “You’re making things worse.”
Judge Barnes smashed his gavel onto its block, twice. The cracking sound was earsplitting, causing every member of the jury to wince. Marina buried her face in the silk handkerchief and cried quietly, her shoulders shaking.
“If I hear any further remarks or outbursts from you, Doctor Manin, I’ll have you removed from my courtroom for the duration of this trial. You will respect this court and never do that again.” Barnes glared down at Doctor Manin and hunched himself, vulturelike over his mahogany desk. The heavy shoulder pleats of his black robe made him look twice as large as he was, and twice as ominous. He had learned early about the magic of the black robe. And when he put it on, he relished the transition from Jekyll to Hyde.
John Asher stood to make the appropriate excuses. “Your Honor, my client apologizes to you personally, and to this entire court, particularly to the jury.” He shifted his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other in a supplicating, “aw shucks” mode. “Doctor Manin has been under an incredible amount of stress…”
“Very well.” The judge looked down, pretending to write on his empty yellow legal pad. Actually he was scribbling possible solutions to Sunday’s New York Times crossword puzzle, which he kept in his desk drawer until they were complete. When finished, he carefully put them in a file, by year, for reference. He could not rest until each week’s was filled in—in pen, and 100 percent correct. “Mr. Ceratto, you may continue with your witness.”
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