Cure (20 page)

“I could use a beer, so suggest a bar.”

Brennan merely nodded before slamming the door harder than he needed to. He knew that it irked Carlo but didn’t care since the slacker was taking advantage of him. By the time Brennan crossed 30th Street, he’d forgotten his peevishness and was curious about what, if anything, he was going to see. When he entered the building’s foyer he recognized the reality that he probably wasn’t going to see much. All the doors into the interior of the building were tightly closed. In front of him was a pleasant-looking, grandmotherly African-American woman with sparkling eyes and a warm, accepting smile. She was sitting behind a U-shaped reception counter in a high swivel chair. According to a nameplate, her 117

name was Marlene Wilson.

“Can I help you?” Marlene questioned, as if she was the concierge at a fine hotel.

“I’m looking for a Vinnie Amendola,” Brennan said, thrown off balance by Marlene’s pleasant appearance and demeanor. He’d prepared himself for something more intimidating or even gothic.

Marlene used an OCME directory before dialing, making several calls before she got Vinnie on the line. She then handed the phone to Brennan.

After making certain he was talking to the correct person, Brennan said he’d just come from talking with Paulie Cerino and wanted to convey a message.

“The real Paulie Cerino?” Vinnie questioned with a hesitant voice. It was, perhaps, the last person he suspected he’d be hearing from that day.

“The Paulie Cerino from Queens,” Brennan said. He knew that it was a name that used to strike terror in certain people, particularly deadbeats who had borrowed money or who had been unlucky at poker or picked the wrong horses or athletic teams.

“Is Paulie Cerino out of prison?” Vinnie questioned. Although Vinnie was not a gambler, he did not like to hear from Paulie Cerino.

“No, he is still in prison but expects an imminent parole. That’s why he sent me.

Is it possible for you to come to the front reception area? We need to talk.”

“What are we going to talk about?” Vinnie said while frantically trying to figure out what to do. He intuitively knew that whoever this person was, he was not someone Vinnie should be associating with.

“Paulie has a few questions he wants me to ask.”

“Can’t he call me himself?” Vinnie questioned hesitantly. “I’ll give you my cell phone number.”

“Paulie has limited opportunity to call.”

“I see.”

“It’s just some simple questions,” Brennan explained.

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“Okay, I’ll be up,” Vinnie said, and hung up.

“Are you family or just a friend of Vinnie’s?” Marlene asked, to make conversation. She’d heard Brennan’s side and wondered if something was amiss with talk about prison.

“Family,” Brennan said. “Very distant family.”

When Vinnie appeared, he purposefully took Brennan out of earshot of Marlene.

The two men eyed each other. Although they were approximately the same age, any similarity ended there. Vinnie’s dark hair and olive complexion was a sharp contrast to Brennan’s transparent freckled skin and supposedly red hair, which was more a carrot orange.

After they introduced themselves, Vinnie said, “The last time Paulie sent a couple of his people to see me, it ended with me being forced to do something illegal, which got me in trouble, and I almost lost my job. I say this just to let you know I’m less than overjoyed to hear from Paulie Cerino.”

“We’re not going to try to get you to do anything,” Brennan promised. “As I said, we’re here just to ask you a few questions.”

“What do you mean ‘we’?”

“My partner is out in the car. We thought we could buy you a beer somewhere in the neighborhood.”

“Can’t do, not before I get off at four-thirty.”

“What a shame,” Brennan said sincerely. After Carlo had suggested a beer, Brennan had grown progressively fond of the idea.

“Well, nice meeting you.”

“Hold on!” Brennan blurted. “How about right here? I’ll call my buddy. We can sit here on the couch.”

Vinnie looked from Brennan to the couch to Marlene and back. He didn’t like the couch idea. In fact, he didn’t even like standing there in the foyer with the likes of Brennan, understanding that Brennan was most likely a member of the Vaccarro crime family, perhaps even one of their enforcers or hit men. When Vinnie was young, he and his friends were in awe of Brennan’s type, but that changed when one of Paulie Cerino’s guys had shot a guy outside the local candy store. Vinnie and his friends had been down the street in the ice-cream parlor 119

when they’d heard, and had challenged one another to run down to catch a glimpse before the police arrived. When Vinnie saw the body lying in the street, blood and pink brain matter coming out, he’d gotten sick instantly as blood drained from the victim’s head. It had been one of those visual horrors of childhood that had been irrevocably stamped on Vinnie’s visual cortex. From then on, Vinnie felt nothing but fear for the gang lifestyle.

“Not here!” Vinnie said, worried the chief might suddenly appear. The chief’s office and the rest of administration was right off the reception area. Desperately he tried to think of what to do, as he was also reluctant to let them into the restricted interior of the building. “I know,” he said suddenly. “Let’s meet on Thirtieth Street. Go back out and walk down to OCME receiving area and the garage doors. I’ll meet you there.” Vinnie gestured toward the building’s front entrance as if Brennan had forgotten. “I’ll see you down there in two minutes.”

Feeling like he’d been given the bum’s rush, Brennan left the building and walked back to Carlo’s car. He opened the passenger door and leaned in.

“Well?” Carlo asked.

“He’s nervous as hell, mentioning his last dealings with Paulie. He claims to have almost lost his job.”

“He’s not going to talk with us?”

“He claims he can’t go out while he’s on the clock, but he’s willing to meet us out in the street,” Brennan said while pointing down 30th Street.

“For the love of God,” Carlo complained, climbing out of the car. He left the flashers on.

As they rounded the corner and started down 30th Street, they saw Vinnie appear from between a cluster of white vans. “At least we don’t have to go inside,” Carlo said while zipping up his coat.

Brennan introduced Carlo to an obviously anxious Vinnie, who kept looking back over his shoulder to see if anyone was paying them any heed.

Vinnie’s intuitions about Brennan’s occupation were confirmed when he saw Carlo’s attire, particularly the gray silk jacket over the black mock turtleneck and the gold chains. That was how the wise-guys all dressed back in his youth.

“Listen!” Vinnie said. “We have to make this short, because I’m still on the clock.

What is it you want to ask me?”

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“You know we’re here on Paulie Cerino’s behalf,” Carlo mentioned.

“So your friend said.”

“He wanted me to remind you what he did for your father.”

“You can tell Mr. Cerino that I will never forget what he did for my father. But you can also remind him what I did for him the last time I heard from him, and that I hope he feels we are more or less even.”

“I’ll tell him,” Carlo snapped, immediately taking mild offense at Vinnie’s implied brazenness. “But it’s the capo’s decision when a debt is paid, not the debtor’s.”

Vinnie took a deep breath to calm down. The last thing he wanted was to get into an argument with these guys. “Please ask me whatever it is you want to ask.”

Carlo glared at Vinnie for a beat, restraining himself from giving him a good slap.

“You people here at the morgue got a body that came in sometime last evening.

A Japanese man who’d collapsed on the subway platform at Columbus Circle.”

“I know the case,” Vinnie said. As one of the more senior mortuary technicians he prided himself that he knew just about everything that went on at OCME.

“What do you want to know about it?”

“Who is the coroner that is involved?”

“We don’t have coroners,” Vinnie said with an air of superiority. “We have trained medical examiners who are medical doctors, not mere civil servants.”

“Whatever,” Carlo snapped back irritably. He was getting progressively tired of Vinnie’s attitude, but again he let it go. “Who is assigned to the case?”

“Dr. Southgate was assigned,” Vinnie began.

After hearing Southgate’s name, Carlo immediately began to relax. It was always pleasurable to report back positive news, especially if it meant less work, which Carlo thought would be the case in this instance. Unfortunately, his relaxing didn’t last as Vinnie continued, “But Dr. Southgate became ill, and Dr. Laurie Montgomery took over.”

Carlo did a double take. “What was that?” He’d heard, but his mind was not in a receptive mood for a change.

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“Dr. Southgate started the case, but he became ill and Dr. Laurie Montgomery, or now it’s Dr. Laurie Montgomery-Stapleton, took over. Why do you ask?”

“Why would they change?” Carlo demanded, ignoring Vinnie’s question.

“I told you. Dr. Southgate became ill. He left OCME to go home.”

“Shit!” Carlo voiced, trying to reboot his brain from the sudden reversal.

“What was the diagnosis?” Brennan asked, as Carlo seemed to have momentarily lost his voice.

“So far there is no diagnosis,” Vinnie said. He found himself wondering why Paulie Cerino would be so interested.

“How about the manner of death?” Brennan continued, using lingo learned from TV forensics dramas.

“At the moment I’d have to say natural, but that could possibly change. It’s Dr.

Montgomery’s first case since returning from an extended maternity leave, and I heard her say that she was determined to find some pathology if it kills her. She didn’t find anything whatsoever during the autopsy, so she’ll be reviewing the case with extra care.”

“So it’s your opinion Dr. Montgomery is still going to look into this case more than she already has.”

“That’s what she suggested,” Vinnie agreed. “And she’s persistent. I have to give her credit for that.”

Brennan and Carlo exchanged an unhappy glance, then Brennan’s eyes brightened. “I want to be sure you understand that we are here in strictest confidence. Paulie would be extremely unhappy if you were even tempted to mention the content of our discussion to anyone. You do understand, don’t you?”

“I do,” Vinnie said, and he was speaking the truth. “For sure,” he added. Vinnie, more than most people, knew that the myths about the Mafia were mostly all true. If provoked, mobsters were capable of episodes of extreme nastiness.

“I mean, something might happen to you or to your family.”

Although Vinnie’s anxiety had lessened to a degree as the conversation had proceeded, it now came back in a flash. In response to the threat, he merely 122

nodded. It was this type of intimidation he’d feared when he’d first heard Paulie Cerino’s name.

“Paulie is very interested in the case of the mystery subway man. If you are interested, I can assure you that we did not kill the individual, but it is in the best interests of everyone that the case fades into the woodwork, so to speak. Paulie would prefer it stays as an unidentified individual who had a natural death. Do you understand?”

Vinnie nodded but wondered why he was being told what he was being told, as there was no way he could influence how the case was to be signed out.

“Let me hear you?” Brennan demanded.

“Yes,” Vinnie squeaked. All brazenness had evaporated.

“We are interested in this Laurie Montgomery-Stapleton. In your estimation, do you think she will follow up on her threats of finding pathology until it, quote,

‘kills her’? I believe that’s what you said.”

Afraid of contradicting himself, Vinnie was impelled to tell the truth rather than tell them what he sensed they wanted to hear. “She said she was going to find some pathology and that she was not going to give up.”

Brennan looked at Carlo. “Paulie’s not going to be happy.”

“I was thinking the same thing. No one is going to be happy.”

“What are we going to do?” Brennan asked, as if Vinnie was not standing there.

Carlo turned back to Vinnie, who was beginning to feel like an anxious mouse trapped by several cats. “Let me ask you something else. How do you think Dr.

Montgomery would respond to a little grease on the order of several grand and maybe a grand for you?”

Nervous enough to be unsure of what was being asked of him, Vinnie said, “Are you talking about a bribe?”

“Some people call it that,” Carlo admitted. “There are lots of names.”

“I don’t think she’d respond well at all,” Vinnie said quickly. “I think offering her a bribe would make her certain there was something to be found. I mean, now she doesn’t know. All she knows is that it is rare not to find some pathology when you do an autopsy, maybe not enough to kill someone, but something 123

abnormal. The man I work with the most—actually, Laurie’s husband—always finds something. It’s a challenge for him as well.”

“Anything else?’ Carlo asked Brennan. “Anything else you think we should ask?”

“I can’t think of anything,” Brennan admitted.

Carlo turned back to Vinnie. “It might turn out we have some more questions.

How about you give us your cell phone number?”

Impatient to get away, Vinnie recited his phone number even though he didn’t want to do it.

“Thanks, buddy,” Carlo said, writing the number down. “Now, let’s see if there were any unintended mistakes made.” It was a 917 number, and Carlo quickly punched the numbers into his own phone. A moment later Vinnie’s personal ring sounded from his lab coat’s pocket. “Perfect,” Carlo said. He waited until Vinnie’s phone had answered the call before stopping it.

Carlo then reached out to shake Vinnie’s hand, and after doing so he squeezed tighter rather than letting go. “Remember about keeping quiet about our meeting,” Carlo said while looking unwaveringly into Vinnie’s dark pupils. “And if you can think of any way to dampen Laurie Montgomery-Stapleton’s enthusiasm for following up on the case of the subway platform, give me a call. As for my cell number, you have it on your phone.”