Animal Instinct

by Rosenfelt, David

  Andy, when he uses Sam, is unconcerned with whether Sam wanders into websites that are illegal to enter. When we use him, we try to avoid that, though I think he occasionally steps over the line. “Tell him nothing illegal,” I add.

  “Will do,” Laurie says, “but Marcus and I are here and ready to do what we can.”

  “I know and I appreciate that,” I say. “Let me nose around first.”

  BETWEEN us, I think Laurie and I know every cop in New Jersey.

  That can come in handy in a number of ways. For example, we’re unlikely to get a speeding ticket. But more important, especially in our line of work, we have access to information. In our business, information is the coin of the realm.

  Today we are taking advantage of one of Laurie’s contacts. We’re waiting in the Suburban Diner on Route 17 in Paramus for Lieutenant Stan Battersby of Teaneck PD. Battersby works homicide, so we’re looking for information on the Lisa Yates murder. He and Laurie worked together on a case back in the day, which she tells me resulted in a conviction.

  It’s lunchtime so the place is crowded. We have a table near the back, but we can see the entrance. A guy comes in and I immediately know it’s Battersby; cops just carry themselves differently. Battersby might as well have I’M A COP tattooed on his forehead.

  Laurie sees him as well and waves him over. They hug hello and she introduces us. He sits down and Laurie asks if he’s hungry.

  “Who’s buying?” he asks.

  “We are,” I say.

  He smiles and smacks his hands together in anticipation. “Let’s get some menus over here.”

  We all order, and then I have to sit through ten minutes of them reminiscing about the case they worked on. Cases that end with an arrest and conviction generally lead to greater reflection. Nostalgia works that way.

  “You still living with that asshole?” Battersby asks.

  “If you’re by chance referring to Andy, we’re married with an eleven-year-old son.”

  He laughs. “You married him even though you knew I was available?”

  Laurie returns the laugh. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  Andy Carpenter is probably New Jersey’s most famous defense attorney. In achieving that prominence, he has pretty much alienated every police officer on the East Coast. That Laurie is his wife doesn’t even matter, and she has to deal with comments like this fairly consistently.

  I include myself in that alienation; our history consisted of an unpleasant cross-examination in an otherwise-now-forgotten trial. It did not go well for me, but I only hold grudges until I die, and maybe a couple of years after that.

  “We want to talk to you about the Lisa Yates murder,” I say.

  He nods. “Tough one.”

  “How so?”

  “It was likely a professional hit, but there is nothing about her that would seem to warrant that. And the other two that were wounded seem like innocent bystanders as well. Yates was a nine to fiver; she doesn’t fit the profile, but I think she was the target.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Two bullets: one in the head and one in the heart. Perfect placement. The other two people each got it in the leg. My hunch is that they were hit to make it look like a random shooting. Though my captain disagrees.”

  “What does he think?”

  “That it was just a drive-by. Random violence, anyone could have been the target. My captain is full of shit.”

  “What about Gerald Kline?” I ask.

  “What about him?”

  The waitress comes over to serve the food, so I wait for her to leave before answering. By this time Battersby is deep into his open hot roast beef sandwich, and gravy is dripping from his mouth.

  “Gerald Kline is her boyfriend, or at least he was. I was called to her house in Paterson on a DV about a year and a half ago; he had smacked her and drawn blood.”

  This gets Battersby to put down his fork. “I know who Kline is. But your DV report wasn’t in the record.”

  “I filed it; I’m surprised it didn’t work its way to you. But it never went anywhere. She wouldn’t press charges and they both denied the whole thing. She said she fell.”

  He frowns. “Women seem to fall and walk into doors a lot, especially the ones that hang out with asshole men. I’ve checked out Kline, but he has an alibi for that night. He was giving a seminar on something or other on Long Island.”

  “That doesn’t mean he didn’t hire someone,” I say.

  “No, it doesn’t. But that doesn’t really fit the domestic violence pattern.”

  “Do you mind if we get involved?” Laurie asks.

  Battersby immediately looks wary. “Define involved.”

  “We investigate the case, but we do it without stepping on your toes. Any actionable information we get, we turn over to you.”

  “You have a client somewhere in this?”

  “No,” I say, “just a desire to see justice done.”

  The light goes on in his eyes. “You’re blaming yourself for not making an arrest on the DV? Come on, you know that’s bullshit.”

  “Kline is a piece of garbage. He was laughing at me that night, as much as telling me that he could do whatever he wanted, and I couldn’t touch him. So right now I want to touch him; in fact, I want to strangle him. There’s no law against that, is there?”

  Battersby laughs. “Go for it.”

  “So to get back to the original question,” Laurie says. “Do you mind if we get involved?”

  “What if I mind?” Battersby asks.

  “We’ll get involved anyway. But we’ll be less forthcoming with information.”

  He shrugs his acceptance. “All hands on deck. But give me a couple of days to talk to Kline again before you beat the shit out of him.”

  “Deal,” I say. “You want dessert?”

  Battersby nods. “Damn straight. And I think we should have regular lunch meetings to discuss the case.”

  DANI is in control of our relationship.

  I’m not superhappy about that, and I’m sure not used to it, but just that I’m sitting here at home, thinking about her while she is away on business, is highly unusual for me.

  I don’t think this has ever happened to me before. For the most part, I’ve never been in a relationship long enough to lose control. In the past I always quickly felt claustrophobic, so I would find a reason to bail out. I’m really good at finding bail-out rationales.

  But with Dani it’s been different. I was all set to end it.… I fully expected to do so … but I could never find the reason. I just couldn’t pull the trigger. That’s because she’s presented one big, so far insurmountable, challenge.

  I like her.

  A lot. I never thought I could like someone this much.

  If a young guy came to me looking for relationship advice, though he would have to be flat-out nuts to do so, I would tell him to find someone he wasn’t too crazy about. That’s the key. That way, if you dump her, or if she dumps you, what’s the big deal?

  Somehow Dani is different, and I haven’t quite figured out exactly how. And I’m not talking about the obvious facts that she’s funny and smart and beautiful. It’s something else that’s caused me to lower my defenses.

  Soon I’m going to analyze it, even though it’s way too late. The enemy has scaled the wall, taken over, and planted her flag. I am a relationship POW.

  “Simon, how could you let this happen to me?”

  I talk to Simon a lot. We’re buddies, and even though I doubt he understands most of what I say, he’s a good listener. I think he’s probably listening for the word biscuit, but I can’t be sure.

  Simon is smart; he was the best police dog in the department, and it wasn’t even close. We had a connection between us when we were on the job; we knew what each other needed, and we never failed to provide it. He was the best cop in the department, including me.

  Right now it’s time to stop thinking about Dani and start thinking about Gera
ld Kline. Lieutenant Battersby said that Kline has an alibi for the night of Lisa Yates’s death, which doesn’t surprise me.

  If it was a professional hit, then the killer was hired. If you’re going to hire someone to commit a murder, it makes perfect sense to do it at a time when you have an ironclad alibi. That’s actually the reason that alibis exist.

  Battersby is right that domestic violence murders don’t usually involve hired killers, but there are no ironclad rules. If you have enough money and want someone dead, but don’t have the guts to do it yourself, you hire someone. Kline struck me as a gutless worm.

  I’ve come to the conclusion that our investigation has to proceed on two tracks. One, obviously, is to try to find evidence of Kline’s guilt. That is not the best way to investigate a case. It’s generally a bad idea to decide in advance who the guilty party is, then try to make the pieces fit. The evidence should call the shots; the investigator should just follow it to a conclusion.

  I admit that my visceral dislike for Kline is driving me. I think he’s guilty and I want him to be guilty; I just have to keep those feelings in check and be as impartial as I can.

  The other track we have to follow is Lisa Yates’s life, and not only her relationship with Kline. Was there someone else that might have wanted her dead? Someone with money and connections? We know absolutely nothing about Lisa, but that will change in a hurry.

  “Simon, you on board for this?” Simon just looks blankly at me, so I add, “There are going to be biscuits involved.”

  That perks him up, so I head for the biscuit jar to demonstrate that this is not an empty promise. This is a ritual we played out every morning before going to work on the force.

  As I give him one, I say, “Not sure what your role will be yet, but stay ready.”

  He barks his agreement, or maybe he’s barking for another biscuit. I give him another, then a third.

  “Good. Glad to have you on board.”

  “YEAH, I remember that night. It was the only time I called the cops.”

  I’m talking to Walter Nichols, Lisa Yates’s neighbor. He made the 911 call that resulted in my trip to the Yates house that night … the night I didn’t do anything except write a meaningless report.

  He continues, “A cop showed up; I saw him go in. But he came back out after about a half hour, and I don’t know what happened.”

  “I was the cop.”

  “I thought you said you were private. You’re a cop?”

  “That was then; this is now. Tell me about Lisa Yates.”

  “I don’t know that much about her. I just saw her outside a few times, mostly when I was mowing my lawn. I haven’t lived here that long. She liked to garden, so if she was out there, we just exchanged small talk.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  He thinks for a moment. “It’s been a while; come to think of it, I haven’t see her car either. Maybe she’s away?”

  Based on what he just said, he obviously hasn’t heard that she was murdered. It has not been a huge story in the media.

  “You told the nine-one-one operator that there were other incidents in her house, and you just said that it was the ‘only time you called the cops.’ Tell me about the other incidents, and why you chose to call that night.”

  “Can I ask why you’re asking me this now?”

  “Fair question. Lisa Yates was murdered last week.”

  He reacts; obviously stunned by the news. “Holy shit.” Then, “Was that her, that thing at the restaurant?”

  “Yes, it was. Now please tell me about the other incidents.”

  He shakes his head in amazement; still processing the news he’s just heard. Finally, “They were arguments more than anything else. Really loud arguments, but I didn’t get the feeling it was physical. You understand, I wasn’t prying. I usually heard it when I was walking my dog.”

  “I understand. Did you get a sense of what they were arguing about?”

  “Not really. One time I heard him yell, ‘You’ll do it my way.’ Or, ‘You’ll do what you’re told.’ Something like that; it was hard to tell exactly.”

  “But that night was different?”

  He nods. “Yes. She screamed, like she was in pain, or like she had been hit. Was I right?”

  “It works better if I ask the questions,” I say. Then, “You were right.”

  He nods sadly. “How can guys do stuff like that?”

  “That’s not something I have an answer for. Do you know if she had any close friends in the neighborhood?”

  He shrugs. “I have no idea. This area isn’t like that, you know? I mean, basically we wave to each other. But that could be just me; maybe everybody is close but they shut me out.” He shakes his head. “But I don’t think so.”

  “LET’S start with Gerald Kline,” Sam Willis says.

  Sam is giving his report on what he has learned about Kline and Lisa Yates from his relatively quick computer search. Once again we’re having this meeting at Laurie’s house, in deference to Simon and Tara’s close relationship. Since Tara and Simon have long ago been “fixed,” as a doting parent I can be confident that their friendship will remain platonic.

  Laurie has prevailed on Andy to go out and get us some pizzas. He wasn’t thrilled about it, but he certainly prefers it to being involved in our case. Andy is wealthy; I’m told it’s as a result of an inheritance, as well as some lucrative cases. Not having to work, he has become a lawyer who tries to avoid lawyering at all costs.

  “Kline lives in Ridgewood,” Sam says, “house is worth two million seven. He’s a headhunter; he recruits people for jobs in the medical services industry. But he does more than that; I’m not sure how to describe it yet.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, he gives seminars. People pay to come hear him speak, sometimes for an entire weekend. They have lectures, workshops, that kind of stuff. As far as I can tell, it’s all tied in. The people are there to learn how to make themselves good prospects for jobs. How to interview, do a résumé, learn about the industry, et cetera.”

  “Does he recruit from the people at his seminars?” Laurie asks.

  Sam shrugs. “Not sure; no way to tell from what I’m looking at. Kline has his own firm; it’s just Kline, his partner, and one assistant.

  “He seems to do very well; his net worth just from what I can find is in excess of seven million dollars. There could be a lot more that’s hidden, but I haven’t looked that deep.

  “He’s forty-one … never been married. Father is deceased, mother lives in Toledo, where he grew up. No siblings. Got an undergraduate degree from Stony Brook, MBA from Marshall.

  “One interesting item: in the last two months he’s cashed three checks, two for nine thousand dollars and one for seven thousand. Not sure what he did with the cash, but that’s not surprising. The main reason to use cash is to avoid records. The main reason for doing it in nine–thousand-dollar increments is that the bank is required to report ten-thousand-dollar-and-higher cash transactions to the government.”

  “How do you know about the cashed checks?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

  “I accessed his bank records.”

  “Legally?”

  “Oops. I tried to stay on this side of the line, but sometimes the line is blurred.”

  “If you see a blurry line, you probably shouldn’t cross it. Anything else on Kline?”

  “Not so far. You want to hear about Lisa Yates?”

  “Of course.”

  “She was thirty-six when she died; would have been thirty-seven today.”

  Laurie shakes her head in sadness. I know that she’s feeling, in the grand scheme of life, it is utterly meaningless that today is Lisa Yates’s birthday, but it still feels extra-awful.

  Sam continues, “She was born in Garfield and grew up there. She went to Rutgers and got a BA in computer science. She taught computer programming for a while and then three years ago she went to work for Ardmore Medi
cal Systems.”

  “What is that?”

  “It’s apparently a firm that tracks and maintains medical records. You know how when you go to a specialist they already have your records? Ardmore facilitates that process. They probably do a lot more than that; I just haven’t gotten into it.”

  “You said Kline recruited in the health-care industry. Did he place her in that job?”

  “I don’t know. I would have no way to access that. Moving right along, she’s lived on Derrom Avenue in Paterson for the past two and a half years.”

  “That’s where I met her,” I say.

  “But strangely, it looks like she’s been living in a motel in East Rutherford for the past month.”

  “What makes you say that?” Laurie asks.

  “She’s paid for it for that long. I suppose she could have been paying for someone else, but it seems a likelier bet that it was for herself.”

  “How do you know this?” I ask.

  “Her credit card records.”

  “Ah … another blurry line.”

  Sam puts on a fake frown. “Damn those things.”

  Andy comes in carrying six large pizzas. Four of them are for Marcus; he doesn’t talk much but he sure can eat. “Here we go,” Andy says. “Is the K Team planning on reimbursing me for the pizzas?”

  “As the team treasurer,” I say, “I can pretty much rule that out. But I do have a legal question.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “If we skip our investigation and I just strangle Kline with my bare hands, can you get me off?”

  Andy thinks for a moment. “I could, but would choose not to.”

  With that he goes to get Ricky, Laurie and Andy’s eleven-year-old son, so he can share in the pizza. While I have never been a big fan of Andy’s, going back to that cross-examination, Laurie and Ricky are crazy about him, which I consider pretty significant.

  And as long as he keeps buying the pizza, we might even become buddies.