Cold Blooded (Dennis McQueen 02)

by Randisi, Robert J.

  “She said that?”

  “Hell, no,” Sommers answered. “She had nothing but good things to say about him, but she’s in total denial. He was still living at home, sponging off Mom, and couldn’t hold a job. A bum. What did his sister have to say about him?”

  “They weren’t close,” he said. “Her husband gave him a job, but the mother hated the husband, and she and the mother didn’t get along all that well, either.”

  “So why bother giving him a job?” Sommers asked. “It was a joke.”

  “Sounds like the whole family was a joke,” McQueen said. “But maybe . . .”

  “Maybe what?”

  “Maybe the sister gave him a job just to stay in the will,” McQueen said.

  Sommers nodded and said, “That would fit. She’s got a pretty good bank account. The sister seem like that type?”

  “I was getting mixed signals.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like suddenly it seemed like she was . . . hitting on me.”

  “That surprised you?”

  “Well . . . yeah. You saw her.”

  “So?”

  “So why would a woman like that hit on me?”

  “You don’t think it could be because you’re a man?”

  “More likely it’s because I’m a cop,” he said. “The cop in charge of finding out who killed her brother.”

  “She blames her husband, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Convenient, since he’s in the wind. You think she was in on it? Setting the fire to defraud the insurance company?”

  “I’m not sure right now. I can’t get a read on her.”

  “Maybe I should talk to her,” Sommers said.

  “Maybe,” McQueen said. “We’ll see. We better get back to the office.”

  As they started walking to their cars, she asked, “You think maybe she did the husband?”

  “The husband and the brother?” McQueen asked. “She’d have to be one cold bitch.”

  Chapter 24

  When they got back to the office they found Velez and Cataldo back from their assignments. When they asked McQueen if he wanted to hear what their interviews had turned up, he said, “Write it all up, leave it on my desk before you leave.”

  Cataldo said, “But Sarge, I can tell you—”

  “Write it up, will you, Frankie? Thanks.”

  “Fine,” Cataldo said, “no skin off my nose. I didn’t get nothin’, anyway.”

  As Cataldo went back to his desk McQueen said to Velez, “What did you get?”

  “You don’t want me to write it up? But Frank—”

  “I gave Frankie busy work, Ray,” McQueen said. “None of those Polar Bears knows anything. What did you find for me?”

  “Not much,” Velez said. “It was Saturday, so a lot of the other buildings were empty. Did you know the place was a few blocks from Central Booking?”

  He did, but he said, “No.”

  “Well, it is,” Velez said. “Also not that far from Junior’s. I stopped and had a piece of cheesecake. Still the best in the country.”

  McQueen had lived in Brooklyn all his life but had never been to Junior’s. He wasn’t a big cheesecake fan, anyway.

  “Huh? Oh, yeah, well . . .” He opened his notebook. “I did manage to find one person who saw somebody go into the building that morning.”

  “A lady who lives about a block away,” Velez said

  “She walks her dog every morning at the same time. She said she saw a young man go into the building about nine A.M.”

  “That’s it? He just went in? Was he carrying anything?”

  “She didn’t think so,” Velez said.

  “Did they speak?”

  “No.”

  “What else did she see?”

  “That’s it,” Velez said. “He went inside.”

  “How did he get in?” Sommers asked.

  Velez looked at her.

  “Front door.”

  “Did he have a key, or was it open?”

  “I asked her that,” Velez said. “She said it looked like he opened it with a key.”

  “Did she see the fire? Or smoke?”

  “Not until later, when she heard the fire engines,”

  Velez said. “She said she came out to see what was going on, and the building was ablaze.”

  “What about smoke?” McQueen asked.

  “She said there was lots of it coming from all the windows.”

  “Okay,” McQueen said. “Type it up and leave it on my desk. Thanks, Ray.”

  “Hey, Dennis,” Velez said, “I didn’t spend that much time having cheesecake, you know? I was all over those streets, but she was the only one I found.”

  “I know it, Ray,” McQueen said. “Don’t worry about it. Just write it up.”

  “Okay.”

  Velez turned and walked to his own desk.

  “That didn’t help us much,” she said.

  “Well, we know that the kid let himself into the building with a key, and that he was alone when he went in.”

  “So that means nobody took him there against his will, or at gunpoint.”

  “Do you think he set the fire and got caught in it?”

  “Could be, I guess,” McQueen said, “but did you find out anything about him that might indicate he could do it?”

  “I don’t think he could light a cigarette without burning his nose,” she said.

  “Right. So he’s still just a victim, and our best suspects are still the missing brother-in-law.”

  “And the sister, right?”

  McQueen hesitated, then said, “Right, and the sister.”

  McQueen was still in the office with the Double Ds when Lieutenant Jessup came back in.

  “Dennis, my office,” he said, without breaking stride.

  McQueen got up and followed the man into his office.

  “What’s up, boss?”

  Jessup stood behind his desk, facing McQueen. “I’ve got to take this case away from you.”

  “Why?”

  “Orders.”

  “From who?”

  “Lieutenant Campanella went to the C-of-D with this,” Jessup said. “The chief called me in. He says it’s a Brooklyn North case. I argued for you, Dennis, but I told you I wouldn’t put my career on the line for you. Not for this.”

  “I understand, Loo,” McQueen said. “I wouldn’t put my own badge on the line for it, either. It’s just one case. I just wanted to finish what I started.”

  “Write it up, get all the reports together, and ship it over to Brooklyn North.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He turned to leave and Jessup said, “Dennis.”

  “Sir?”

  “Campanella just wins this time. That’s all.”

  “Yes, sir,” McQueen said. “I’ll take care of it first thing in the morning.”

  “Good enough.”

  As McQueen went out, Jessup sat back in his chair and shook his head. He didn’t like letting any of his men down, but this just wasn’t important enough to go up against the chief of detectives.

  McQueen went back to his desk and sat down. In addition to sending the case files over to Brooklyn North, he’d have to notify Sommers that they were off the case, as well as Detective Orson in the Arson Task Force and Willis at the fire marshal’s office. Those calls could also be made in the morning, but he felt it necessary to call Mrs. Wingate tonight—now—and let her know that finding her son’s killer was going to be someone else’s responsibility.

  PART TWO

  Chapter 25

  Two weeks later...

  Two weeks into February and it was colder than ever. McQueen stopped his car behind one of the blue-and-whites and set the emergency brake. He wasn’t on an incline, it was just force of habit.

  He was riding alone, responding to the scene in a supervisory capacity. He and the lieutenant had decided to shake the squad up a bit after they shipped the Coney Island case out to Brooklyn N
orth. Actually, Jessup told McQueen he wanted him to start taking on some more responsibility as a supervisor, so they hooked Ray Velez up with Bailey Sommers as partners. McQueen thought he might have been being punished for getting the boss in dutch with his boss, the chief of detectives, but he didn’t bitch about it. In fact, he’d started thinking recently that it might be time to put in his papers and retire. He just had to figure out what he’d do with his life after that.

  He was responding to a call from Sheepshead Bay of a floater, but in fact this was Velez and Sommers’s catch. The word had gone out for Homicide to respond, and then he got a call from Velez, who said, “Dennis, I think you better come out here.”

  McQueen hadn’t been on the streets at all during those two weeks, and was starting to feel rooted to his desk. Even retirement was preferable to permanent desk duty. He thought that might end up being a strong factor in his decision.

  In any case, he was happy to be out from behind the desk. He got out of his car, which he left in front of Randazzo’s—where he’d had seafood more than once—and walked across the street to the docks. Fishing boats left from there each day—not so much now as in the spring and summer—as well as excursion boats. He saw Velez and Sommers at the end of one long concrete pier and, hands thrust deeply into his pockets and the collar of his coat turned up, he walked out to them.

  Sommers and Velez were red-faced from the cold, and both were glassy-eyed, as well. In addition, Velez’s nose seemed to be running badly, and he sniffed after every few words.

  As Velez started to tell him what they had, McQueen held up his hand to stop him.

  “I can’t understand, with all the sniffling,” he said. “Sommers?”

  “It’s my case, anyway, but I can show you better than I can tell you,” she said. “Come with me.”

  He followed her to the end of the pier, where she pointed into the water. McQueen looked down and saw the body of a man floating there. Someone had used rope to lash it to the pier so it wouldn’t drift away.

  He turned his head to look over his shoulder. The pier was crowded with official personnel from the M.E., the Crime Scene Unit, blue uniforms, boat captains and crew and—farther down, toward the street—civilian onlookers. There was also a police boat tied to the pier, with men in uniform wearing baseball-type blue caps with police insignia on them standing by.

  “No duty captain?” he asked Sommers.

  “Not yet.”

  Somebody from both the M.E.’s office and the Crime Scene Unit came up to him. “Can we get the body out of the water, yet?” the M.E.’s man asked.

  “Yes,” McQueen said. “Get it up here on the pier—” He stopped talking, because beyond them he saw that the M.E., Dr. Bannerjee, had arrived. He waved at the doctor to come over to him, then repeated what he’d started to say to the other men before continuing, “—and make the rest of your examination as quickly as possible. The duty captain should be here soon and he’ll release the body.”

  “No danger of it thawing in this cold,” Bannerjee commented, “even when we get it out of the water. Is this connected to that one in Coney Island last month?”

  “That’s what I want to find out,” McQueen said. The M.E. leaned over to look at the body in the water.

  “Looks like his face is unmarked,” the doctor said. “Young man, too, like that other one.”

  “I see that.”

  “Okay,” Bannerjee said, “let’s get it out of the water.”

  By the time they’d pulled the body from the water and the M.E. had made his cursory examination, the duty captain had arrived. McQueen was pleased to see that it wasn’t Captain Hartwell, but the much more congenial Captain Bill McAffey.

  Before the captain reached him, and as the M.E.’s guys were carting the body away, McQueen pulled Bannerjee to the side.

  “Is there a scratch on his back?”

  “Yes, there is.”

  “Did you ever find out about the blood on the other one?”

  Bannerjee looked embarrassed.

  “We became extremely busy, and once the case was shipped to Brooklyn North—”

  “Okay, never mind,” McQueen said. “Not your fault. Just let me know if the scratches are identical, and try to find out about the blood. Also look for any other . . . similarities, all right?”

  “I’ll let you know ASAP,” Bannerjee promised, and followed his men.

  “Who’s catchin’?” McAffey asked.

  McQueen had already determined that Sommers had been up when the call came in.

  “Detective Sommers, Cap,” McQueen said.

  McAffey looked at him. In his forties, his blond hair had begun to turn gray, but his eyebrows were, as yet, untouched by gray. His eyes were blue, and they bored into McQueen’s.

  “I know you,” he said. “McQueen, right? Brooklyn South Homicide?”

  “That’s right, Cap.”

  “Which one’s Sommers?” McAffey asked, looking past McQueen at the two detectives standing at the end of the pier.

  “The lady.”

  “New?”

  “Fairly new to the squad, sir.”

  “Okay,” McAffey said. “I’ll talk to her.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why are you here?” the superior officer asked. “Why’d they need a boss?”

  “This case might be connected to one I caught last month, sir.”

  “That right? You still workin’ it?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Why not?”

  “I had to turn it over to Brooklyn North.”

  McAffey opened his mouth to ask another question, then said, “Fuck it. I don’t want to get involved, do I?”

  “No, sir, you don’t.”

  “I’ll talk to your lady detective.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As the captain walked away, McQueen hoped he had displayed the proper amount of respect without projecting any sarcasm. With McAffey, though, that didn’t much matter. He’d worked his way up through the ranks without the virtue of a fast track. He was considered a cop’s captain.

  McQueen stood back and watched as everyone went about their business. He stuck his hands deep into his pockets again as questions scrolled through his head.

  Would this body—this case—stay with them or have to be referred elsewhere?

  Also, if the similarities between this one and Thomas Wingate were close enough, what did that mean for the Wingate case?

  Did this young man have any connection to the Wingates or the Deans?

  If he didn’t, and the circumstances were so similar, did that take Victor Dean off the hook for murder, while he was still on the hook for fraud and conspiracy to commit arson?

  Did Thomas Wingate die in some other fire?

  Could these possibly be two different cases involving bodies that were—even partially—frozen in fresh water ice, but dumped in salt water? That’d be up to the M.E. to determine.

  McQueen decided they didn’t need him there any longer. Velez and Sommers would be returning to the office soon, and he’d see their reports. At that time he’d have to decide—with Jessup—where the case belonged. It couldn’t be decided standing out in the cold, freezing.

  The Observer watched from the street with the other onlookers as the body was finally pulled from the water. He’d just been asked by a uniformed if he’d seen or heard anything and he said no. The man moved on, questioning everyone who was craning their necks in the hopes of seeing blood.

  Once they loaded the body into a van he turned and made his way through the crowd. His work was done, time to move on to the next one.

  The Ice Man was waiting.

  Chapter 26

  When Velez and Sommers returned to the office, McQueen was behind his desk, taking care of some squad paperwork. The lieutenant was out, but McQueen decided he wouldn’t tell the man about the Sheepshead Bay body. He’d wait for Sommers to type up her report and let the lieutenant read it for himself. If he saw the similarities, let
him bring it up.

  Velez went to his desk and Sommers walked over to McQueen.

  “What do you want to do, Dennis?” she asked.

  “About what?”

  “About the similarities in these two cases.”

  “Bailey,” he said, “just work your case, don’t worry about the other one. You need to ID this body before we can really see a connection between the two that needs to be worked. You also need the M.E.’s report. Get back to me when you have all that.”

  She stood there for a few seconds, then said, “Yes, sir,” and went to her own desk.

  There was one other case the squad was working, which had been caught by the Double Ds the day before. For Sommers, this was the fourth case she had caught in the past two weeks, the seventh she had worked on because Ray Velez caught three. Seven cases in two weeks, but five had turned out not to be homicides, and two had been quickly solved because the perps were family members. That meant that all seven cases had been cleared. The Double Ds had caught a similar number, with almost identical results.

  The only real homicide the squad had worked since the Coney Island case was the Coney Island case, and McQueen had no idea how that was going over at Brooklyn North. He had called Mrs. Wingate to tell her he was no longer working the case and that was the last contact they’d had. Later, he’d had one call from Lydia Dean, who wanted an explanation of why he was dropping the case. He tried to tell her that he hadn’t dropped the case, it had been taken from him as a matter of procedure. She’d told him she didn’t care about his procedure, it looked to her like they were burying her brother’s murder. Before he could argue she’d hung up on him, and he didn’t see the benefit of calling her back.

  When Sommers finished her report of the morning’s activities she dropped it on his desk for him to approve and sign.

  “We’re going to go out and do some canvassing,” she told him. “Be back this afternoon in time to clock out.”

  “Okay.”

  “Ready, Ray?” she called across the room.

  “I’ll meet you at the car.”

  She waved and left the room. As soon as she was gone Velez came over to McQueen.