At this point, Boff pushed off the wall and walked over. “Danny, I’m really sorry,” he said as he laid one hand on the boxer’s shoulder, left it there a few moments, then took it away.
Knowing Boff, Cullen understood that touching his shoulder was as close to expressing affection as he could do with almost anybody except his wife. He looked up at Boff and managed a weak smile. Then he hung his head down and sighed. “Man, I’ve seen too many people close to me die. First my father. Then Julio. And…and now this.” He looked up again. “I know Marla and I had only been seeing each other for a few months, but…how do I say this? Marla…she took my breath away whenever I was around her.”
Boff nodded. “When I starting dating my wife in high school,” he said, “I had trouble breathing around her, too. Still do sometimes.”
“Kate took my breath away, too,” said McAlary. “But that was because she was always punching me in the stomach when she got angry with me.” He let out a big laugh, but no one joined him.
His wife made a face. “That’s a lot of malarkey,” she said. “Maybe I should dig up the love letters you wrote me when we first met in Belfast and show them to Danny.”
McAlary pointed a finger at her. “Don’t you dare!”
“I believe in one letter you said, ‘When I’m around you, the whole world disappears and it’s just you and me, my love.’”
Cullen glanced up at his trainer, who shrugged. “I was a wee bit of a flowery writer back in the day.”
“Mikey?” Cullen said. “You ever felt that way?”
Bellucci shook his head. “So far, I haven’t met nobody I’ve loved more than myself.”
Cullen punched his friend lightly on the shoulder, then stood up. “Thanks for coming, you guys,” he said. “Now it’s time for everybody to go to bed.”
Chapter 17
Instead of driving straight home, Boff headed over to the alley where Damiano had told him Marla had been murdered. He didn’t know why he was going there. It was just one of those feelings he got from time to time. Sometime it panned out. A lot of times, it didn’t.
Getting out of his car, he walked down the alley, found the spot where she had been killed, and surveyed it carefully. Dried blood on the ground. Paint mark where the top of her head had been on the ground. Then he turned to the fence. More dried blood in front of that. He deduced that the killer had been scaling the fence when the cops gunned him down. For a few moments, he just stood there, trying to picture the scene as it had unfolded.
When he had a good feel for how it had gone down, he started back up the alley toward his car, but he was still unsure why he had come. It was an open and shut case. Guy rapes and murders girl. Cops arrive. Catch the doer trying to escape. And shoot him.
He stopped walking suddenly and backtracked in his mind. Cops arrive…. He wondered what the odds were that two cops in a night patrol car had just happened to be on the scene in time to shoot the doer. The window of opportunity they had would’ve been very small. Maybe five seconds. That was how long it would have taken for the killer to scale the fence and be gone.
As he resumed walking, an idea began to form in his head. Reaching the sidewalk, he spotted an elderly man out walking a cocker spaniel. The man was halfway up the front stairs to the building adjacent to the alley when he turned and saw Boff. He looked suddenly frightened.
“Sir,” Boff said, “could I please ask you a question?” He kept his voice low and unthreatening.
“What…what do you want?” The old man fumbled nervously with his keys trying to get one into the door lock.
“I’m Frank Boff. An investigator.”
He conveniently left out the “private” part so the old guy would think he was a cop. It apparently worked. The dog walker stopped trying to open the door and turned to him.
“I was just wondering,” Boff continued, “if you or anyone else in your building witnessed the crime committed here tonight.”
The man shook his head. “No. And I have a window overlooking the alley.”
“Which window is that?”
The old man pointed to one on the second floor near the front of the alley.
To look more like a cop, he took out his notepad and pen and began scribbling some nonsense on it. Then he looked back at the man. “At what point, sir, were you aware that a crime had been committed?”
“When I heard a bunch of gun shots.”
That surprised Boff. “You must’ve heard the siren as the first cop car arrived, right?”
Again the man shook his head. “Nobody I talked to on my floor heard a siren until later when a whole bunch of cop cars arrived.”
He stopped scribbling nonsense and wrote that down. Then he asked, “Before the other cars came, did you see colored lights flashing in your window from the first cop vehicle to arrive?”
The old man shook his head again. “No lights until the other cops arrived.” He turned back to his door and succeeded in putting his key in the lock this time. As he opened it, he said over his shoulder, “I’m glad they killed the bastard who did this. I don’t trust the courts to get justice.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Thanks for talking to me.”
The man quickly disappeared inside.
Taking out his phone, Boff made a call.
Detective Damiano.
She sounded out of breath. He smiled. Either she was exercising, or….
“It’s Boff. Is this a bad time?”
Yes, it fucking is! Whatcha want?
“Have you talked to the two cops who shot the killer of Danny’s girlfriend yet?”
No. There’s no rush. This’s an open and shut case. Now I’m hanging up.
“Wait! Would I interrupt you from whatever you were doing—sounded like exercising—if it wasn’t important?”
He heard her sigh, and then she apparently cupped the receiver to muffle sound, but he could make out the words Diane and sorry before she came back on the line.
What’s the deal here? Why is the Great Boffer nosing around in an open and shut?
“I’m curious how the cops happened to be so close by. Do me a favor. Find out what their patrol perimeters were tonight. Also, I’d like to know what they said when they phoned in. And finally, whether they used their siren and lamps in responding.”
He heard her sigh again, then, And what do I get in exchange?
“I did a financial workup on Rafael. Apparently he lived an active social life. Without his wife. The kind of social life where an arrogant boxer with a bad temper might’ve gotten in trouble. I’ll fill you in tomorrow. Go back to whatever you were doing. Tell Diane I’m sorry.”
He hung up before she could begin swearing at him.
Chapter 18
Boff and Damiano met for lunch the next day at a pizzeria on Prospect Place. He ordered a ten-inch pie loaded with extra cheese, sausage, onions, and bacon, while she went for handmade fried zucchini sticks.
After shaking a generous amount of red pepper flakes over his pie, he picked up a slice, bit into it, and then said, “I hope I didn’t cause any domestic trouble last night.”
“Screw you. You’re such an asshole. Whatcha got for me?”
“First,” he said through a mouthful, “some questions. Let’s say you’re in your police car and you hear a shot being fired. What do you do?”
“Call in a ten-ten, ask for backup, and then hit the siren and lamps. Standard procedure. Why?”
“Did you find out what the cops said when they called in?”
“Yeah. Then I talked to them. They admitted that they didn’t call for backup. They said they were too worried the shooter would get away. The first time they phoned in was to report the rape and murder and the dead assailant.”
“What about the siren and lamps?”
“They said they turned ’em both on.”
“Well, the people in the building adjacent to the crime scene said they never heard their siren or saw their lights. The first time they knew someth
ing was wrong in the alley was when they heard a string of gun shots. And, the first time they heard sirens and saw the lamps flashing in their windows was when backup arrived.”
Damiano pointed a half-eaten zucchini stick at him. “Come on, Boff. You know witnesses are routinely unreliable.” She finished the zucchini and picked up another stick. “I’ll take the word of my cops.”
“What’re the names of these hero cops?”
“Pearson and Janovich. Boff, where are the hell are you going with this? There was a rape and a murder. We killed the mutt who did it. Case closed.”
“Well, I have a theory that trumps your take on the crime. Finish your zucchini stick so you don’t choke on it when I tell you.”
Instead of eating the zucchini, she put it down and frowned. “Okay, let’s hear it.”
“I have hunch that the doer was contracted to rape and murder the victim. And the cops were hired to kill the perp before he could get away.”
Damiano scrunched her face. “Whoa! Even for you, that’s way off the wall. I mean, if the doer was paid to rape and murder Cullen’s girlfriend, give me one reason why the person who hired him would also want him dead?”
“To create an open and shut.” Boff replied. He finished his slice and picked up another one. “That way, the police wouldn’t bother to look into Marla’s life too deeply. If at all. Somebody apparently didn’t want you to do that.”
Damiano shook her head. “You’re grasping,” she said.
He tried to snatch one of her zucchini sticks, but she slapped his hand away. “Did you find out what the cop car’s patrol grid was that night?” he asked.
“They said the alley was within their perimeters.”
“Christ, Victoria. Don’t take their word for it. Look it up. Earn your pay. What I’m mainly interested in is how big of an area they had to patrol.”
“I can tell you right now it was probably pretty large. That’s a relatively low crime neighborhood. Only one car would be assigned.”
“But you’ll check it out for me, right?”
“Yeah, yeah. Your wish is my command.”
“Based on the size of their patrol area,” he said, “don’t you think it’s an amazing coincidence that they were in the right place at exactly the right time?”
“They got lucky! It happens to cops all the time. Boff, I still don’t get your interest in this.”
“I’m doing it for Danny. I feel bad for him. What was the doer’s name?”
“Glenn Tarver. First name with two N’s.”
Boff scribbled it down on a napkin, then looked at her again. “Do you know where this mutt lived?”
“I’ll find out for you. Okay, now tell me what you dug up on the Cuban boxer.”
He took a sip from his supersize cola first. “The person I asked to do a workup on Oquendo found a lot of credit card charges at strip and dance clubs.”
Damiano spread her hands. “So the boxer and his wife went to clubs. What’s the big deal?”
“I seriously doubt he took her with him. She has a small girl at home. I can’t see her partying at clubs and asking the McAlarys to watch their daughter. Plus, she told me her husband usually went out alone.” He took a bite out of his slice. “And, he also took four trips to Miami. Alone.”
“Well, maybe he did go to clubs alone. Where’s the relevance to anything? As for the trips he made to Miami, they’re easily explained. The guy moved to Brooklyn from there. He probably had family and friends in Miami.”
Boff smiled and shook his head. “Easily explained? Then how do you figure that each time he came back from Miami, he paid for two extra one-way tickets to New York.”
Damiano chewed on another zucchini stick as she thought about that for a minute. “There could’ve been any number of innocent reasons why he bought extra tickets. Like, maybe, friends of his in Miami wanted to move to New York and he fronted them air fare.”
“Perhaps. But it still raises a red flag for me. I have a gut feeling those trips to Miami were part of the reason he was killed. Just can’t tell you how yet.”
She suddenly caught the drift of his thinking. “So you think he was a womanizer.”
“Especially if you look at the facts as we know them.” He held up one finger. “First, his wife told me he went out alone.” He held up a second finger. “The guy went to strip and dance clubs.” He held up a third finger. “Three, the wife admitted she suspected him of cheating on her.”
Boff put his fingers down so he could use them to shake more red flakes on his slice before biting into it. “The wife also told me that her husband had a bad temper. And while she didn’t come right out and say it, I’m certain he hit her. Being the great investigator that I am, I took it even further and obtained a list of all the calls the wife made during the past month. Four were to a guy in Miami who has mob connections.”
That perked her interest up a notch. “So…so you think she had this guy in Miami put a contract out on her husband?”
Boff smiled. “Well, Victoria, jealous wives have been known to do that.”
She nodded. “Okay, so we’ve got a violent guy who might’ve been cheating on his wife and going to clubs alone. I guess I can concede there’s any number of deadly scenarios that could’ve developed from that.”
“Right. So I’m going to check out the club he went to most often and see what I can dig up.”
Damiano suddenly looked away from him when the pizzeria’s front door opened and a young mother pushing a stroller with twin girls walked in. As she watched the mother push the stroller over to the counter to order, she frowned and looked back at Boff.
“Diane wants to get married and adopt a kid,” she said in a flat voice.
“You don’t sound all that excited. I gather you aren’t too hot on the idea.”
“Come on, Boff. Being a married gay couple on a police force isn’t exactly the best way to advance your career. Hell, I don’t even know if I want any friggin’ kids. Like, can you picture me bottle feeding or getting baby vomit on my shirt?”
Boff smiled. “Not really. Can you see me doing it?”
“No. But it’s definitely something I’d pay to watch.”
“Well, for you information, detective, Frank Boff—the world’s most brilliant and morally-challenged private investigator—actually burped and changed diapers for both of his kids. And, yes, he fondly recalls them vomiting on his shirt.”
Damiano made a sour face. “Ugh. Let’s get the hell out of here. All this baby talk is giving me agita.”
Chapter 19
Figuring Cullen would take the day off from training, Boff called his home phone to see how he was doing. When he got voice mail, he hung up and tried to reach him on his cell. Same result. He either was not taking calls or….
At the gym, Boff found him sparring with Bellucci under the watchful eye of their trainer, who stood in one corner of the ring.
“Move your head more, Danny,” McAlary said. “Show me some angles.”
When they were done sparring, the trainer walked over to them and corrected a few moves they had been doing wrong.
Leaving the ring, Cullen grabbed a towel and strode over to Boff, who asked, “Are you feeling any better today?”
The boxer shrugged. “Not really. But training beats the hell out of sitting home staring at the walls and thinking about her.”
“After I left the gym last night, I drove to the alley where Marla was killed.”
“Why’d you do that?”
“Oh, just a feeling I had.”
“And…?”
“Something’s not right about the way everything went down in that alley. So I’m going to nose around a bit.”
“What the hell are you talking about? The cops caught the scumbag in the act and killed him!”
Boff spread his hands. “Without going into details right now, I think there may be more here than meets the eye.”
Cullen threw his towel away. “More? Marla’s fucking dead! N
othing’s going to change that!”
That’s when Bellucci walked over. “What’s up?” he asked.
“The Great Boffer here thinks there’s something fishy about the way Marla was killed.”
“Like what?”
“He doesn’t know. Just one of his feelings.” Cullen frowned. He knew all too well that Boff’s little feelings had an uncanny way of being right on the mark. He turned back to Boff. “Well,” he said, “I want to know if you turn up anything concrete on this so-called feeling of yours.”
“You got it.”
Cullen didn’t want to talk about Marla anymore, so he changed the subject. “What’s happening with your investigation into Rafael’s murder?”
“After looking at it more closely, I’ve concluded his death was not politically motivated. I think it was personal. I’m going to check out a nightclub he went to a lot without his wife.”
Cullen looked puzzled. “Nightclub? What kind of nightclub?”
“An upscale one called Devil’s Own that’s apparently very popular with the thirty-something set. Rafael’s credit card shows that he went there frequently. And since he went without his wife, that raises a red flag for me.”
“If you’re going to this club,” Cullen said, “then pick me up after my early evening workout. I’ll go with you.”
“Are you sure you’re up to it?”
“Look, I’d rather work on Rafael’s murder than spend a depressing night watching sitcoms and thinking about Marla.”
“I’m coming, too,” Bellucci said. “I know how to maneuver around clubs better than either of you two white breads.”
Boff frowned. “If you guys are coming, just make sure you bring a change of clothes to the gym. And deodorant. I don’t want two smelly jocks stinking up my car.”
While Boff was driving to the Bronx to visit his mother at the candy store she owned and operated, Damiano called him with the address of Marla’s killer.
What are you going to do with the address? she asked.
The Killer Sex Game (A Frank Boff Mystery) Page 9