It's A Shame

by Hansen, C. E.

  Yes, this part of our lives was falling into place nicely. The rest was going to hell-in-a-hand-basket—as my father would say. God I missed him.

  “Come on Dean… you know this is bullshit!”

  That was Cole’s voice I heard shouting when I stepped off the elevator and walked towards the apartment, and he sounded angry as all hell.

  “I know it is, I don’t believe that you killed this Lauren Buckley, but shit Cole…I’ve got a job to do,” I heard a familiar voice say and then there was a second of silence. “Cole, give me something to go on here, someone who saw you, anything, so I can find who did this.” That was unmistakably Dean… Oh yay.

  Looks like I was walking into a hornet’s nest.

  “What’s going on here?” I asked as I pushed the unlocked door open and walked in tossing my purse on the bench.

  “Just having a discussion here.” Cole smiled weakly at me, but the tick in his jaw, as well as his reddening face gave him away.

  “Bull. I know that face. Tell me the truth.”

  Dean stepped out of the kitchen and walked into the living room, to afford us a little privacy.

  Cole grabbed my hands and squeezed them. I felt sick. I knew I wasn’t going to like what he was about to tell me.

  “They,” he turned his head towards Dean, “are officially charging me for Lauren’s murder. Seems I’m their only viable suspect.” He shook his head and looked down at the floor.

  My shock registered as my knees buckled under me. Thank God for Cole’s agility or I’d be on the floor.

  “What….why…what proof do they have?” I was in a tunnel, the noise was trying to squeeze through, but I couldn’t make out the words. I knew this was coming, and I thought I was prepared, but the thought of the police officially charging him, blew my mind. Poor Cole, he looked so tired, so haggard.

  The door opened and Michelle walked in.

  “Michelle, tell him…” I pointed towards Dean, “Tell him this is crazy, it’s impossible. Cole didn’t do anything to that woman.”

  The words came out of me with more venom than I intended.

  She walked over to where I now sat at the table and placed her hands on my shoulders. I looked up in time to catch the angry look she flashed Dean. “They don’t have a choice Grace. They found...” She looked away a second, then turned to Cole, and back at me.

  I caught the look on Cole’s face and he shut his eyes tightly, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. I knew that look too.

  “Dean get me a cold bottle of water from the fridge,” Michelle instructed over her shoulder, not even bothering to look in his direction.

  “Okay, what’s going on here?” I asked, my voice getting smaller.

  Cole stepped up to the plate without a moment’s hesitation.

  “They found my DNA on Lauren’s body.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Actually, they found it in her body.”

  I remember bolting upright. That’s about all I remember. I don’t know if I blacked out, or blocked it out, but my brain sure as hell shut down.

  I don’t know how I got over to the sofa, but a bottle of iced cold water was thrust into my hand. Cole sat next to me, and Dean and Michelle sat across from me. If it weren’t for the terrified look on their faces, this picture could pass for a lovely gathering of four…well…three friends.

  “All the other evidence is circumstantial, they have a few eye witnesses who saw us arguing at the Waldorf. They stated in their affidavits they heard me raise my voice in a threatening manner. They have the papers, evidence, they found in her purse, witnesses that saw us having a heated discussion outside on the street right before I left her there, very much alive I might add, before I walked to that bar. I never saw her again…dead or alive.”

  Cole was talking to me. I heard the buzzing of words but was too numb to respond. It was like my brain was injected with Novocain, I could hear everything but was unable to participate in the conversation…until I remembered…

  “They found your DNA…in her?” I shook my head violently trying to clear it. “Your sperm? They found your fucking sperm? Inside her?”

  “Grace, you don’t believe for one second that I…fucked…um, deposited it there?” I felt his gaze bore into me.

  The Cole I know didn’t do this. The Cole I know didn’t have sex with Lauren Buckley. The Cole I know would never do that to me…do I even know the Cole I think I know?

  To say that Cole was agitated was a grave understatement. He looked like he was just about ready to explode. He held his temper in check, barely. His fists were flexing open and close. He was trying very hard to hold back.

  “For Christ’s sake Grace.” He shouted sounding wounded.

  “Did you…did you have sex with her?” I glared right back at him, imploring him to tell me the truth.

  “Of course not…how could you even think…” He stood up and walked to the bar pouring himself three fingers of bourbon and draining the glass in less than three seconds. He slowly turned around to face me.

  “I did not have sex with Lauren, Grace. I despised the woman.” He looked at Dean. “But that does not mean I killed her.”

  “Cole do not, under any circumstances, talk about this to anyone. You understand me?” Dean stood. “No one.” Dean was definitive in his command.

  “What, do I look like a fucking moron?” Cole was beyond angry. He was incensed. “Is it obvious to anyone else here that I’m fucking being framed.” He shoved his hands through his hair in exasperation. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

  I don’t know where it came from, but it was there. My total belief in him, my total trust in him, he did not do this. He would never do this. Someone was trying to hurt him, blame him.

  “Cole,” I slowly stood and said, my voice barely audible, “I know you didn’t do it. I know you’re innocent. I love you.” I waited a few seconds they repeated myself, “I love you.”

  He looked at me, and I could see the relief physically wash over him. The lines on his face vanished. The tension on his forehead faded. He gave me a weak smile. God I loved that smile…even now.

  “I love you,” he declared, as if we were the only two in the room.

  “What about the bar? Didn’t someone see you there, notice what time you left?” I asked feeling a spark reignite deep inside me. I took a long sip from the cold water bottle Michelle had placed in front of me.

  “That’s the problem,” Cole said lifting his shoulders.

  “Yeah. It looks like Cole doesn’t remember what bar he was in.” Dean interrupted, shaking his head. “A witness from the bar could give us reasonable doubt. Attest to the fact he was in a somber mood, not angry. But…” Dean rolled his eyes towards the ceiling.

  “So, you are really arresting him?” I spun around to face Dean and said calmly, while I was feeling anything but.

  “Actually…Cole is coming to the station tomorrow morning with his attorney and surrendering. He’ll post bail and be home by dinner time.” Dean sounded like he was explaining a football strategy to a room fool of women, quite sure of himself.

  “But, he’ll still be arrested for Lauren’s murder, whether he is in jail or not…right?”

  “Yes.” Silence. “He’s being formally charged.” Dean had the good sense to look down at the floor when he said that.

  “Fuck…Dean, can’t you do anything? Vouch for him, tell them you know he would never do this?” I pleaded. “This could hurt us getting custody.” I knew I said too much as it rolled over my lips. SHIT!

  “That’s for the trial, Grace. They don’t care what I have to say, they’d think, and rightfully so I might add, that I am prejudiced.” Dean hung his head and his shoulders slumped forward. He looked tired, exhausted, beaten. “I’m hopeful this won’t have any bearing on you guys getting custody of Cole’s son.”

  “Why is all this happening to us?” I asked looking up to the heavens. No answer. No surprise.

  “He didn’t do it Grace, and that will be proven,�
�� Dean offered up trying to defuse the situation. “I’ll do everything in my power to get this resolved. Just hang in there.” He looked at me apologetically.

  On to the next catastrophe, “What about the girl in Brooklyn, did they find her?” I asked

  “No. They let their only suspect go, seems he had an airtight alibi.”

  “Fucking great.” I stood up and slowly walked towards where Cole stood and wrapped my arms around his midsection. He squeezed me and kissed the top of my head.

  Thank God I have people in high places. If I had to rely on the cops, led by Captain Kangaroo here, Cole would be on his way to prison.

  Chapter 23

  The next morning, Cole left with his attorney to file paperwork, which was essentially entering a plea of ‘not guilty’. It was a strategy that, his attorney suggested, would postpone the formal charges. I walked over to the counter and made my second cup of coffee. I didn’t sleep well and I was having hell’s own time trying to focus on anything. Cole said he would call after he got to work…yes, even through this melee; he also needed to go in to his office and run his multibillion-dollar company. I’m just totally floored by his strength.

  I was sitting at the breakfast bar when Michelle, using her key to my apartment, opened the door and came in. Without a word, or a glance in my direction, she walked over to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup. After she added her two drops of cream and one teaspoon of sugar, she came over and sat down across from me.

  “Hey, before I forget, the other day, the day the…um, the finger was found, did you try to unlock the door and come in?”

  “No, why?”

  “Nothing, I’m off my rocker.” I wasn’t about to tell her what I thought I heard, but I know someone inserted a key into the lock, fully expecting me to be out, and when they heard me inside they scrambled off. Right after, I might add, I found the latest gift from our personal crazed maniac…no that wouldn’t do. She’d surely have Dean post a sentry outside my door.

  She eyed me, and I could tell she knew I was holding something back.

  “Anyway, what brings you over to the dark side?” I asked.

  She rolled her eyes on queue, just as I expected.

  “I’ve got a little surprise for you.” She paused long enough for me to grasp what she was saying. I looked up to find her eyes on me. A smug smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, like she was trying to pace herself. “I found out something that just might interest you.” She sat there smiling like the Cheshire cat. It was totally disturbing. “I was in the bedroom listening to Dean talking on his phone and overheard him say that the UC he’s got working downstairs, posing as building security, came across something that might just help us find what we are looking for.” She looked around the room, as if she expected someone to be hiding.

  Now this news piqued my interest.

  “Yeah, what?” I asked her.

  “Heard the UC, that’s undercover cop, in case you didn’t know…”

  I rolled my eyes and smirked…

  “Okay smartass, well, the UC found out that that asshole Pat, the one we believed harassed you, the one you think is creepy, the one we think was following Lauren Buckley… well, get this, he was the one who left the last two packages at our doors.”

  “What!?” I was astounded, my mouth hung open.

  “Yeah, got your interest now, don’t I?” She tilted her coffee cup up and drained its contents then walked over to the counter to make a second cup. How this woman doesn’t have a throat full of blisters is beyond me.

  When she walked back to the dining room table, she looked directly at me and smirked. “Shut your trap, before some ginormous fly swoops in and shits in it.”

  She saw my horrified expression and beamed, quite proud of her comic prowess.

  “All right, Lisa Lampinelli,” I countered. “Get to the point.”

  She actually stuck her tongue out at me.

  “Very mature.”

  “Do you want to hear this or not?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Well…he, the door guy Pat, did something to the tapes of the security footage. Something like looped…roll a loop, or something like that. Anyway, he made it so the cameras would be looking at a portion of tape over and over again, until he had enough time to leave the boxes.” Her eyes widened again when she saw me bring my hand up to my mouth.

  “At this point, they don’t know if he is working for someone, or he is the guy they’re looking for. He’s a person of interest.”

  “Oh, he’s a person of interest alright.” The wheels in my head were spinning.

  “Like I said, they can’t prove he had anything to do with the first package, but come on. Do we look like idiots to them or what? Anyway, I overheard Dean tell the UC to ‘stand down, don’t break cover, that they needed more on him than they had’. He asked him some more questions, but I couldn’t hear what Dean was saying because he walked into the living room, but I watched him write something on his pad. Then I waited for him to go into the shower and took a little peak at his notes and guess what I have?” She waited a second before blurting out the rest. “An address…and guess what again…the motherfucker lives in Brook-lyn.” She was literally singing.

  She waited for my reaction, and my gasp was her cue. She continued.

  “Brooklyn, the lovely borough where they found that dead girl, the one with the missing fingers.” She was obviously more than proud of her detecting skills. “I think we got us a, what the hell do those assholes say,…” she looked up as if the answer were written on the ceiling, “…a viable…”

  “Suspect?” I blurted out.

  “Yeah, that’s it. Suspect!” Did I say she was beaming? Well, that was an understatement. The damn bitch was floating!

  I just stared at her…this was too weird.

  “I think we have the starting point for OUR investigation,” she whispered as she looked towards the door. It was almost as if she were expecting someone to burst in and drag us out in cuffs.

  “There’s no one here, Shelle,” I whispered back, looking under the table for emphasis. “I think… that maybe you been watching too many murder mysteries.”

  I calmly got up and walked to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water.

  “Want one?” I asked as I held the bottle up.

  “Are you fucking with me?” Her mouth hung upon in surprise, and she looked defeated.

  “Of course I am… where do we start?” I couldn’t hold my excitement in any longer. I walked back to the breakfast bar and sat down giving her my full attention.

  She glowed quite proud of herself.

  “We go here…” she pulled out a folded up piece of paper and tossed it onto the countertop. When it landed short of my reach, I stood up.

  “Here.” She leaned over and flicked it closer to me with her fingernail.

  I looked down and saw her handwriting across the top of the torn off piece of paper.

  Pat Ricchicardo, 1724 17th Street, Brooklyn.

  Wonderful, I just love Brooklyn…NOT.

  After quickly changing into jeans, a tee shirt and a pair of running shoes, I took my license from my wallet and my cell phone, placing both in my back pocket, and lowered my sunglasses over my eyes. We both rode the service elevator down in silence, and exited out the back door of the building, walking around the corner to 78th Street where we hailed a cab to take us downtown.

  We jumped out of the cab on Broadway and ran down the steps to the D train, heading towards Park Slope. Michelle had already verified that Pat was at work until 8:30 pm, and the cops were watching him, waiting for him to screw up, so there was no chance he would catch us near his home.

  We exited the train and took the long stairway down from the ‘L’ to the sidewalk below, and stood there like two lost tourists. We looked around, totally clueless as to which direction to take until we spotted a small Italian deli and went in to ask for directions to 18th Street—another idea of Michelle’s—she had
potential to become a brilliant detective someday.

  The sweet little Italian woman pointed the direction we needed to go, and told us it was a ten-minute walk. We both got a coffee for the walk, which according to the little woman meant we would need to also take a biscotti—truth be told she forced it on us—’you too skinny, need a little fat on you bones, this is good…just made myself dis morning...you will like. Eat…Eat…Manga.

  We thanked her and, with coffee and biscotti in hand, made our way out the door.

  The streets were bustling with people; shopping, walking, exercising, pushing baby strollers—presumably to the Park—which according to the little woman with the biscotti was three blocks over from our friend’s address. Yup, we couldn’t wait to meet up and hang with our old friend Pat.

  We turned onto his nice little suburban street, and stealthily walked right past number 1724, scoping it out from the corner of our eyes. It was a brick row house, with dark curtains and a screen door that hung a little crooked on the frame. The small yard, with its weathered gnome figure standing front and center, was neat and clean, and the driveway leading to the back of the house was empty.

  There were two garage doors at the end of the driveway. The one on the left had Junk piled high, and looked like the door was broken. The other garage door was closed. The closed garage door had little square windows that looked to be blackened, either dark curtains or paint. There were two large plastic garbage cans standing neatly on a cement platform, adjacent to the driveway.

  We circled the street, like we owned the neighborhood, as we strategized our next move. I’m not sure if our ‘Brooklyn’ attitudes were convincing, but we tried.

  On our second pass, we noticed there was a car double-parked on the street two doors down from 1724. Both doors on the passenger side were wide open, and we watched an older woman, being helped into a car by a young woman, who appeared to be her daughter. There were two little kids jumping around and shouting in the backseat. The younger woman warned them, loudly, to behave as she gently coaxed the old woman into the front seat. They drove off without paying us any mind.