Body Of Truth (24 page)

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Authors: Deirdre Savoy

BOOK: Body Of Truth
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Despite his belief that she was barking up the wrong tree, he said, “Let me know what you find out.”
“Will do.” She picked up the phone and dialed another number.
The cell phone on his belt vibrated. He looked at the readout to see his brother Zack's number displayed. He couldn't remember the last time Zack had called him while he was on duty. He connected the call. “Hey, Zack.”
“Hey, little brother. You got a minute for me today?”
“Sure, what's up?”
“Why don't I tell you when I see you?
“All right. Where do you want to meet?”
“I haven't eaten yet.” Zack suggested a restaurant that was equidistant between their two precincts.
“See you there in about fifteen minutes.”
When he got to the restaurant, Jonathan spotted his brother sitting at the bar. For the most part the restaurant was empty since it hadn't yet reached twelve o'clock. As he approached, Zack tipped his head back, exposing the beer bottle he was drinking from.
“Aren't you still on duty?” Jonathan asked as he came up beside him.
“I'm taking the afternoon off.”
“Then isn't it a little early in the day?”
“Who are you? Carrie Nation? Kill the lecture and have a seat. If it makes you feel better I'm heading home after this. The only reason I stuck around is to talk to you.”
Jonathan gritted his teeth. On the rare occasions when Zack got in a mood he could be a royal pain in the ass. Jonathan was tempted to walk out, except then he wouldn't know what was so important that Zack got him out here in the middle of the day. He slipped into the seat in front of him and rested his elbows on the bar. “So talk. What did I do to merit the displeasure of your company?”
“It's Joanna. I got picked as the designated talker-to. It seems she's not too pleased about you shacking up with her friend.”
Jonathan let out an exasperated breath. He should have known. “We are not shacking up together. I have her with me for her own protection. You might try reminding Joanna that someone tried to kill Dana twice. I'm hoping to prevent the third time being a charm.”
Zack took another swig from his bottle. “Whatever. I'm just the messenger. I think we can both agree that I'm the last person who should be giving anyone relationship advice considering I'm the owner of a freshly minted set of divorce papers.”
He'd wondered what had brought on Zack's morose mood. He figured he'd just found out. “I'm sorry, Zack.”
“Don't be. It was over a long time ago, except neither of us made it official.”
“Why now?”
“You can't marry one guy when you're still married to another.” Zack scrutinized his face. “You thought I started this?”
Jonathan shrugged.
“You know what, we made a mistake. That's all there was to it. A mistake. But I'm the bad guy because I was willing to admit that.”
“Maybe if you hadn't stepped out on her no one would have blamed you.”
Zack put down his beer and glared at him. “You ever try to get rid of a woman who thinks she's going to ‘save you from yourself'? Reasoning with that kind of woman is futile. She needed to get knocked in the head a couple dozen times with the fact that I wasn't worth saving, not the way she meant it. Why do you think it took her so long to file the damn papers? Even after she left me she was still hoping I'd come to my senses.”
And now, if she were waiting to marry another man, she must have given up. “Don't look at me to have anything to say about that. I'm not exactly the poster child for domesticity, either.”
“What's your excuse, little brother? You can't make the same claim to faithlessness I can.”
He shrugged again. “How about the most dreaded question in the English language? ‘How was your day?' How the hell are you supposed to answer that? ‘Oh, today I saw someone who'd had their face shot off or they dragged a floater out of the river after some fish got to her. You know they go for the eyes first?' So you say nothing or tell them some stupid joke you heard.” Or in his case, he'd made love to her as if the world rather than just him was on fire.
He cleared his throat. “Then they claim you are emotionally cut off when all you're really trying to do is protect them from hearing things they don't really want to know about in the first place.”
Zack raised his bottle in salute. “Try working sex crimes and go home and have a decent sex life with a woman. Half the time I close my eyes and all I see is what some scumbag thought it was fun to do to another human being.”
Jonathan sighed. “If I had any sense where she was concerned I would have left her alone from the beginning.”
“But you are sleeping with her?”
“That's none of your damn business.”
Zack grinned. “I'll put that down as a yes.” Zack clapped him on the shoulder. “If you want my advice, if you make her happy or she makes you happy or you make yourself happy when you're with her—however it works out—hold on to her. The hell with what Joanna thinks.” Zack picked up the five-dollar bill that rested on the bar top and put it in his pocket.
“Where do you think you're going?”
Zack stood. “Home.”
“The I'll call you a cab.”
“I'm not drunk.”
“You think that makes the prospect of you getting on the road any less scary?”
“I'm fine.” Zack winked at him. “Mood's over. Thanks for listening, little brother.”
“When are you going to stop calling me that? I'm taller than you are.”
Zack stood. “Yeah well, more power to ya.” With a wave Zack walked out of the door.
The bartender who'd been absent while the two brothers talked came back. With a confused expression on his face, he looked from Jonathan to the empty beer bottle at the place next to him and back again. “That'll be three ninety-five.”
The money on the bar hadn't been Zack's change, but his payment. Jonathan pulled his wallet out of his pocket. Yeah, Zack was back to his normal self again.
His cell phone went off again. He answered without looking at the display. “Stone.”
“Guess who's in custody as we speak?”
“Who?” he said, in response to Mari's question.
“They brought Little Big Man in ten minutes ago.”
So, the tip panned out. “I'll be right in. Nobody talks to him before I get there.”
 
 
When he got back to the station, he was told the lieutenant wanted him in the observation room off one of the interrogation rooms. He hoped this didn't mean what he thought it meant. He entered the room to find Mari, the LT, and one of the assistant district attorneys facing the two-way glass viewing Moretti standing over Little Big Man, as Mari called him. Obviously they expected to get something out of him if they got the A.D.A. involved.
Son of a bitch.
“I thought I said I didn't want anyone talking to him before I got here.”
Mari said, “The Lone Ranger had other ideas.”
“Has he gotten anything yet?”
“Other than a lot of lip? No. The only good thing is Pee Wee hasn't asked to see a lawyer yet.”
He could tell Mari was enjoying this, seeing Moretti working himself up and getting nowhere. But since Moretti finally took it upon himself to do his job, Jonathan wouldn't interfere—unless Moretti put his hands on the other man, which he looked close to doing. Pee Wee looked the picture of calm, while Moretti's face was puffed with anger and mottled with color.
As for Pee Wee, dressed in a polo shirt and khakis, he looked more ready to head out to a game of golf than to be in an interrogation room. His calm demeanor served as a counterpoint to Moretti's hostile attitude.
“Hey, Moretti, when'd you get the bump to homicide? Last I heard they had you chained to a desk down in the 'hood. I didn't know they let you out to mingle with the normal people.”
Moretti moved in a way that blocked the view of Pee Wee. “We're not talking about me. We're talking about you. We already know you were the one who ordered the hit on Double U.”
“If you think that, you don't know shit, man.” Pee Wee leaned around Moretti to show his face to the mirror. “Hey, Stone, you out there?”
Jonathan pressed the intercom button to be heard in the other room. “I'm here.”
“You want to get this
maricón
out of my face and I'll talk to you. Just you. Off the record.”
Jonathan wondered what he'd done to earn any consideration from this man, but he'd use it to his advantage if he could. He glanced at Shea, who nodded. Jonathan hit the intercom again. “I'm coming in.” He went to the door of the interrogation room and opened it without knocking.
Moretti stood where he was, glaring back at him belligerently. For a moment he thought the man would make a scene before leaving. After a moment Moretti stalked out. Jonathan guessed even he wasn't that much of a fool to pull that.
After he left Jonathan shut the door and took a seat at the table opposite Pee Wee. “What do you want to say to me?”
“Let's just say some dude came to me with a proposition. He heard I might be ready to off Wesley and would I allow him to make it worth my while to take out someone else with him. That nurse. But he wanted it done fast. Next day.”
“To which you said?”
Pee Wee spread his arms wide. “Look, I'm a businessman. If some punk don't want to work for me no more, he's free to go. And that woman ain't never did nothing to me. I told him to keep walking.”
Pee Wee sat back, a smug expression on his face. “Now if some of my boys took the dude up on his offer, I don't know nothing about that. I didn't ask and they didn't tell, but it wouldn't take much to get that kid outside waiting for someone who wasn't showing up.”
And when Dana came out they'd be ready. If it weren't for the shooter's poor aim, they'd both be dead right now. Anger welled in him, churning his stomach and making his temples throb. At least he knew some of the why of it, but not the who. “Who was this dude who came to see you?”
Pee Wee shrugged. “He didn't give me his name.”
Which meant Pee Wee already knew who he was or what he was. “Go on.”
“All I can say is, look to your own house, man.” He gazed pointedly at the two-way mirror. “Look to your own house.”
Seventeen
Jonathan walked to the lieutenant's office where the others waited for him. Mari stood off to one side of the door while Moretti stood behind one of the visitor's chairs. Shea stood behind his desk, knuckles resting on his blotter. The only one seated was the A.D.A., with both arms and legs crossed. Jonathan stopped a couple of feet inside Shea's door.
“Figueroa give you anything?” Shea asked.
“He claims someone approached him to include Dana in a drive-by with Evans as a target. This someone had heard Figueroa wanted to take Evans out. He says he turned this person down, but some of his crew might not have.”
“Did he give any names? Who this person was? Which boys?”
“No.”
Moretti said, “
I
could have gotten
that
out of him.”
Obviously, Moretti was still fuming over being asked to leave. He was also implying that what Jonathan got out of him was either too little, made up, or both. Jonathan swiveled his head around to glare at Moretti. “But somehow you didn't.”
The A.D.A. sat forward and put both feet on the floor. “Let's lower the testosterone level for a moment, boys. So that means we have nothing, right?”
“Pretty much. Except that if what Figueroa said is true there is someone out there who wants Dana Molloy dead and it has nothing to do with her knowledge of Wesley Evans. That was merely a coincidence that worked in the killer's favor.”
“If he can be believed.” Shea sat and rubbed his jowls. To the A.D.A., Shea said, “Don't worry, Figueroa's not going anywhere. When we picked him up he had a couple of ounces of cocaine on him.”
“It ought to take his lawyer a whole hour and a half to kick him for that,” the A.D.A. said.
Shea shrugged and picked up the phone receiver.
As they filed out of the office, Jonathan could feel Mari's eyes on him. She grabbed his elbow, leading him away from their desks. “Let's get some coffee.” Once inside the room she closed the door. “Okay, Stone, spill it. What didn't you say in there?”
Jonathan glanced around. Moretti had disappeared to God knew where. “Pee Wee said that if I wanted to know who approached him I should look to my own house. Then he glared at the mirror. I guess he figured you guys were still listening despite the arrangement. I wonder which of you he was looking at.”
Without missing a beat, Mari said, “Moretti. Why didn't you say anything about it to Shea?”
“With him standing there? Besides, if Shea heard the accusation, he'd have to report it to IAB. As much as I can't stand the guy, I'm not willing to help fry another cop on the say-so of a drug dealer. For all I know, there's some bad blood between the two of them and the whole story was made up to make Moretti look bad.”
Mari sighed. “What do you want to do about it?”
“I want to find out if there's any history between Moretti and Pee Wee and if there's any reason Pee Wee would want to jam him up.”
“You mean you want me to find out.”
“Uh, yeah. I don't think the animosity between us is any secret down in the 44. It would look suspicious if I tried to check him out.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Work the case. Despite your Rossi angle, I'm still betting Pierce's death had something to do with what she found out about Malone.”
“Then see you back here later.”
Jonathan pushed off the counter. “If you find out anything significant, call me.”
“You'll be the first to know.”
 
 
The people on Father Masella's list had relocated to all five boroughs of the city, Westchester, and Long Island, and those were just the people they could find living in New York. Jonathan had already spoken to four of the families with whom Mari made appointments. All of them remembered Father Malone fondly. All of them had gotten similar calls from Amanda Pierce. None of them seemed to have told her anything that might incriminate anyone.
Jonathan pulled up in front of a one-family attached house on Tiemann Avenue. They called this section of the Bronx the Valley, a ten-block slope leading downhill from the peak at Gun Hill Road. He checked the address again and got out of the car. One Andrew Bickford lived at 3014 on this block. He'd moved his family from the neighborhood a couple of years after the church burned.
Bickford met him at the door. “Come in, Detective. Like I said on the phone, I'll help any way I can.”
“Thank you.”
To the left of the house was a family room that faced out onto the street. Jonathan took the wing chair Bickford indicated, while the other man sat at the edge of the sofa. Jonathan had already heard all of the praise of Father Malone he needed for one day, so he figured he'd cut to the chase. “Did Amanda Pierce contact you?”
“Yes, I spoke to her about two weeks ago. Very interesting woman.”
By the man's expression he deduced he hadn't been either impressed or terribly interested in her. “What did you tell her?”
“Mostly how much my family and I appreciated knowing her uncle. Now my wife, she died a few years ago, she was the real churchgoer. She'd take our girls to mass every Sunday. I'd show up for Easter and Christmas. But Father was always kind to us.”
“Do you remember anything about the time right after Father Malone's death? Any of the speculation about whether his death was accidental?”
“That's what the police said. I remember there was a lot of talk about one of his partners being a shady character. Then there were a few people who blamed those boys he tried to help. They were a wild bunch.”
It wasn't the first time Jonathan heard the latter opinion. When he thought about it, it made sense. If someone from Malone's past had killed Pierce, he needed to be young enough now to take on and subdue a strong young woman. “Was there anyone in particular who voiced that sentiment?”
“I'm sure there was.” Bickford shrugged. “I wish I could remember more.” Bickford's eyes widened as if a sudden idea occurred to him. “You know who you should talk to? There used to be this old guy who hung around the church. These days we'd call him a homeless person. Back then we called him a bum. But Father Malone used to let him sleep on a cot in the back of the church sometimes, if it was too cold or too hot.”
Jonathan reached into his jacket for his notepad. “Did you tell Ms. Pierce about him?”
“As a matter of fact, I did.”
“What's his name?”
“Theodore Randall. I don't know where he lives or if he's still alive.”
Jonathan was glad Bickford continued to talk and wasn't really paying attention to him. Jonathan had heard that name before in connection with his case. Or rather he'd seen it, on the list of tenants at the building on Highland Avenue. As Bickford talked, he checked his notes. Randall was the old man they'd talked to in the first floor apartment at Highland Avenue, the man Dana referred to as Old Specs. Son of a bitch! Randall had to be who Pierce had visited in the building. Damn.
Jonathan stood, thanked Bickford for his time and left. Out at his car, he called Mari. “You won't believe this, but you remember the old guy we talked to when we recanvassed the building?”
“Yeah, ornery bugger.”
“If I'm not mistaken, that's who Pierce went to see that day.”
“Lovely. Didn't he tell us he hadn't seen her?”
“Not exactly.” As Jonathan recalled, he'd asked what a woman like that would have been doing in the building, but he'd never said he hadn't seen her. “I'm going over there now.”
“Listen, Stone,” Mari said in a hushed tone. “I think we may have a problem. Your friend wasn't assigned the Evans case, he asked for it. He'd just caught a double homicide and asked to switch with the detective that had the Evans case. Everyone figured he was begging off the other case to get out of doing any real work. He was supposed to coordinate with anti-crime and narcotics but dropped the ball. They never heard from him.”
In other words, he'd done everything he could to squelch the investigation. “How did you find all this out?”
“Seems he has plenty of other friends willing to badmouth him to whoever will listen.”
Jonathan could believe that. “I'll call you after I speak with Randall.”
“You think this is it, don't you?”
For Dana's sake, he hoped so. “Yeah.”
“Happy hunting,” Mari said before she hung up.
It would be if Randall told him what he wanted to hear.
 
 
Miraculously, Jonathan found a parking space across the street from the building on Highland Avenue. As he got out of the car he noted the telltale pair of glasses at Old Specs's window. He was home.
He went into the building and knocked on the door. He got no answer, but then he hadn't expected one. If Randall wanted to talk, he'd have done so the first time. Jonathan knocked again, louder this time. “Mr. Randall, it's Detective Stone from the NYPD. I know you're home.”
Abruptly, the door was pulled open. Randall sat in his chair, a belligerent expression on his face. “Whatchu want now? Can't you people leave an old man alone?”
“May I come in? I need to speak with you.”
Randall shook his head. “Anything you want to say to me you can say right there.”
Jonathan gritted his teeth, but if that's how the old man wanted it. “Mr. Randall, Amanda Pierce visited someone in this building the day she was killed. That person was you.”
“I told you, that gal had no business to be in here. What would she want with me? Lessons on getting old and dying? You can get those anywhere.”
It was in the man's eyes that he was lying, or rather equivocating. He never said he hadn't seen Pierce; just that she had no need to be there. “She came to see you about her uncle, Father Malone. You remember him from St. Jude's, don't you?”
“I don't remember much from them days. I was a drinking man then.” Randall looked down at his lap, a forlorn expression on his face. “I ain't proud of it, but that's the way it was. Whatever memories I had I drunk away.”
“From what I hear,” Jonathan said in a quiet voice, “Father Malone was good to you. If someone hurt him, don't you want to see this person brought to justice?”
Randall nodded, giving Jonathan the hope he intended to tell what he knew. But when the old man looked up the hostility had returned to his expression. “Don't think I don't know what you're doing, how you cops do. You're trying to trick an old man into saying something that isn't true. I don't know no Amanda Pierce. Never seen her. Now don't come here no more.” Randall wheeled himself back into the apartment and shut the door.
 
 
Dana was sitting on the sofa attempting to read one of the books on Jonathan's shelf when she heard his key turn in the lock. She dropped the book to the sofa and stood. The first thing she noticed about him was that he looked tired, or maybe disheartened, she wasn't sure which. Or maybe he was still preoccupied with their lovemaking last night, but she hoped not.
She bit her lip, waiting for him to get to her. When he got close enough, she took a step toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck. She sighed as his arms closed around her. She buried her nose against his neck, inhaling the remnants of his cologne, the aroma of a hard day's work and his own natural scent. “Hi, stranger,” she said. “How did it go today?”
He pulled away from her, enough so that she could see his face. “You want the good news or the bad news?”
“There's good news?”
His hand scrubbed up and down her back. “Sort of.”
She could live with that. “How about you tell me after dinner? It's almost ready.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Are you going to take a shower?”
One corner of his mouth lifted in a grin. “Are you saying I need one?”
She tilted her head to one side considering him. “No, but that seems to be your habit when you get home.”
“It is. I won't be long.” He swatted her bottom before moving off.
Dana looked after him as he walked away. Maybe he was merely tired, as she'd first guessed, since he didn't seem to be in a bad mood. He'd even joked with her a little. That had to mean something. Honestly, she'd been hoping he'd be able to tell her that he figured out who murdered Amanda Pierce so she could go home, or at least get out of this apartment. She missed her brother and worried about him. He wouldn't return any of her calls, though Linda Kenner reported that he was fine. Damn that boy. He might be bigger than she was, but not so big she wasn't tempted to take a two by four to him the moment she saw him.

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