Dancer in the Flames (12 page)

Boots never got an opportunity to judge Rajiv Visnawana’s mood. The minute he flashed his shield, Rajiv’s expression changed from merely curious to studiously neutral. Evidence of a guilty mind, no doubt.

‘I’m from Grand Theft Auto,’ Boots announced, letting his briefcase drop to the floor, ‘following up on the loss of your car. How’d it work out with the insurance?’

‘Half of what my vehicle is worth. This is what they call Blue Book value.’ Unlike his daughter’s, Rajiv’s English was heavily accented. His voice flew up and down the scales, seeming as erratic as the flight of a moth. ‘They are thieves, criminals. I have been robbed twice again.’

‘Sorry to hear that. If there’s anything I can do . . .’

‘No, there is nothing. I am as helpless as a baby in the hands of these fiends.’ His equilibrium more or less recovered, Rajiv ended the sentence on a note of confidence. ‘Now, how can I be helping you?’

Boots looked down at the floor. ‘This is embarrassing, Mr Visnawana, but it seems like we lost some of the paperwork related to the theft of your car and we need to go over the details again. Now, I know your car was parked on Berry Street, but would you mind telling me when you first noticed it was missing?’

‘After midnight.’

‘How long after midnight? If you can’t remember exactly, make an estimate.’

‘Twelve fifteen.’

‘And you reported it missing at . . . Wasn’t it about one thirty?’

Visnawana’s eyes widened slightly. His lie had backfired and now there was a gap he’d have to account for. ‘Yes, approximately then.’

‘So, where were you when you first noticed that your car wasn’t parked where you left it?’

‘I was visiting a friend.’

‘On Berry Street?’

‘Yes. I had occasion to look out the window and I found my vehicle gone.’

‘At twelve fifteen?’

‘Perhaps closer to twelve thirty. I am not remembering exactly when it was.’

‘OK, tell me what you saw.’

‘I saw my car was not there.’

Boots grinned, a flicker that instantly died out. ‘What did you do next?’

‘I put on my clothes and went to report my loss.’

‘You didn’t call nine-one-one?’

‘That number is for emergencies only. This I have been told.’

‘OK, I won’t argue the point. You probably would have been directed to the precinct anyway. So, where did you go after you left your friend’s apartment?’

‘As I have already said,’ Rajiv grumbled, ‘I went to the station, to report the loss.’

‘I know what you said, Rajiv, and I’m not doubting you. But the Sixty-Fourth Precinct is only a ten-minute walk from Berry Street. Even if it took you another ten minutes to get out of your friend’s apartment, there’s a forty-minute gap unaccounted for. Now, just tell me what you did for those forty minutes and I’ll be on my way.’

Rajiv was ready this time. ‘I was not in my own neighborhood and I became lost,’ he answered.

‘There, you see? Was that so hard?’ Boots started to turn away, then spun on his heel. ‘Wait a minute,’ he said, ‘there’s one thing I forgot to ask.’ He opened the briefcase, taking his time, then removed an object. Shaped like a miniature lava lamp with a handle instead of a base, the object was generally referred to, by the trade, as a butt plug.

‘Tell me, Rajiv, have you ever seen this before?’

As he watched Rajiv’s coppery skin go gray, watched his eyes widen, his lips twitch, his forehead and the space above his upper lip become speckled with little drops of sweat, Boots recalled a phrase from the Bible, something he’d read long ago:
For that which I greatly feared has come upon me.

He reached out to grasp Visnawana’s tie, to pull the man forward. ‘What do you think your beautiful, sophisticated daughter would say if I showed this to her? What do you think your wife would say if I convinced Ms Henrietta to give her a call?’ Boots hesitated, but Rajiv, though his lips trembled, didn’t speak. ‘Ya know, what I figure, half the thrill has to come from the fear of gettin’ caught. I mean, ya hump a street whore, maybe catch a blow job, it’s something a wife could forgive, as long as you wore a condom. But nipple clamps? Cock screws? Latex masks? Foreign objects jammed up your ass? I mean, even if you promise never to do it again, even if you keep that promise, Indira’s gotta know that she’ll never be the object of your fantasies. As for your daughter . . .’

‘Please, officer.’

‘Please? Listen to me, you cocksucker. You witnessed the murder of a police officer and didn’t come forward. Not only don’t I have any sympathy for you, I’m placing you under arrest for the crime of filing a false police report. You got the right to remain silent and the right to a lawyer. Or you got the right to step up, even at this late date, and tell the fuckin’ truth.’

R
ajiv and Boots were still out of sync. That was made clear when Rajiv shook his head as though trying to rid his ears of water, then declared, his tone accusing, ‘You are not from Grand Theft Auto.’

Boots folded his arms across his chest, remembering all the reasons why he disliked the public he was sworn to defend. A hardened criminal would already be negotiating a deal. But then, he consoled himself, a hardened criminal wouldn’t make a very persuasive witness.

‘What you have to figure,’ Boots explained as he stepped away, giving Rajiv a little space to recover, ‘is that you’re gonna come clean, sooner or later. That’s because you’ll be forced to testify under oath before a grand jury. If you don’t tell the truth, it’s perjury. Remember, I’ve already spoken to Ms Henrietta and I know you were lookin’ out that window when the shots were fired.’ Boots spread his hands apart and smiled. ‘Also, you should remind yourself that nobody in law enforcement cares what you were doin’ when you saw what you saw. The state’s interest here is Chris Parker.’

Boots watched a light dawn in Rajiv’s eyes. Sure, he’d been punched around pretty good, but he was still on his feet.

‘What will I say . . . to my family? Why I did not report this witnessing before?’

‘I been thinkin’ about that, Rajiv, and here’s my advice. Tell Indira that you were at the apartment of a man you met in the restaurant, a man who offered you some gold jewelry at a fantastic discount. You didn’t speak out earlier because you were afraid the jewelry was stolen, but now your conscience is bothering you. One thing for sure, as long as you’re straight with me, I have no interest in the lies you tell your family.’

Rajiv’s eyes blinked rapidly for a moment, then he let the air out of his lungs in a great huff. ‘I saw the man who fired this gun only from behind. Believe me, this is the whole entire truth. I am not able to identify this man.’

‘Do me a favor. Just take a deep breath and tell me what happened.’

‘All right, I am lying on the bed and I hear a car alarm go off. I know this is my car, so I dash to the window. There I am seeing that someone is inside my car and they are trying to start it. Then another vehicle, a Jeep, drives on to the block and parks. A man gets out and I’m wondering if he’s Henrietta’s . . . Well, I don’t know who he is, but when he gets to the sidewalk, a second man steps away from a building – I didn’t see him before – and shoots the first man twice.’

‘Then what?’

‘Then he runs around the corner.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Yes, as I come out through the door, I am seeing my car driving away.’

Boots squelched an urge to recite a prayer of thanksgiving as he reached into his briefcase for a yellow pad. ‘OK,’ he said, ‘let’s get the truth down on paper. After that, we’ll take a ride into Brooklyn where you’ll repeat your story as many times as necessary. Myself, if I was in your position, I’d try to be consistent.’

Lieutenant Levine’s features seemed to melt as he read through Rajiv Visnawana’s signed statement, a statement that confirmed those of Vinnie Palermo and Henrietta Penn. By the time he finished, he looked like an English bulldog with a head cold. Sorrowful didn’t even begin to describe his demeanor – not to Boots, who’d anticipated the worst.

‘Bottom line, boss, Palermo’s innocent,’ Boots said when Levine finished.

‘Only until proven guilty.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘It means the car Palermo stole was tracked to a chop shop in Queens over the weekend. It means blood evidence found on the car’s dash has been matched to Chris Parker’s blood type. It means the media is being informed even as we speak.’ Levine laid his hands on the desk and allowed his weight to come forward. ‘It means that I’m the asshole who gets to throw a monkey wrench into Inspector Mack Corcoran’s well-oiled machine. Trust me on this, Detective Littlewood, Inspector Corcoran will not be happy.’

‘I know that, boss. That’s why I waited so long before I went looking for a witness. But what I figure now, as long as I’m in the shit, I’m gonna have a good time. It’s not every day you get to trash an inspector’s dreams of promotion.’

‘Oh, great. Boots Quixote. And lucky me, I get to play Sancho Panza.’

Boots wasn’t buying into the guilt trip. He’d made any number of compromises over the years, but letting an innocent man go to prison was a line he’d never crossed. To cross it now would change the way he felt about himself. That was the conclusion he’d come to and he hadn’t been able to shake it, though he’d tried. Still, Boots felt enough sympathy for his boss to offer him a way out.

‘Why don’t I take Rajiv directly to Brooklyn North and hand him over to the task force myself? I’ll tell ’em I found the witness on my own, which is the truth. You had nothin’ to do with it.’

His offer promptly accepted, Boots drove a complaining Rajiv to Borough Command, led him up a flight of stairs, finally sat him in a chair.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘it’ll be over before you know it.’

Of all the lies Boots told Rajiv Visnawana, this was the most blatant.

Only a single desk in the small office housing the Chris Parker task force was occupied when Boots arrived, that of Detective Second Grade Thelonius Tolliver. Tolliver was cleaning out his desk. Either the task force was being downsized or Tolliver was being dumped.

‘What’s up, Boots?’ Tolliver asked.

Once again, Boots repeated his story, this time adding a number of details relating to why and how he’d gone about locating Rajiv Visnawana. He emphasized Henrietta Penn’s statement as well, and admitted that she was a whore, though he somehow failed to mention her area of expertise.

Boots leaned back in the chair when he finished. Tolliver’s expression hadn’t changed, which didn’t surprise Boots. A large, dark-skinned man, Tolliver had the map of Africa written on his face – his lips were full, his nose flat, his eyes obsidian. On the street, he was often mistaken for the sort of black male who haunts the dreams of white suburbanites, a trait he’d used to his advantage a decade before when he was assigned to the Anti-Crime Unit. Nowadays, he favored black turtle-neck sweaters that made his thick neck appear even thicker.

Thelonius Tolliver listened to Detective Littlewood’s tale. Then, without saying a word, he pulled out his cellphone and walked away. Thirty minutes later, Inspector Corcoran, with Artie Farrahan trailing behind, swept through the squad room and into his office.

As neither man looked in his direction, Boots settled down to wait, his thoughts naturally turning to Lieutenant Sorrowful’s revelations. One thing sure, if DNA testing matched the blood found in the Nissan to Chris Parker, the state’s overall strategy would have to include discrediting Rajiv Visnawana. Either that or virtually admit that the blood evidence was planted.

‘Hey, Boots, what’re ya doing?’

Boots looked up to find Artie Farrahan walking toward him. Farrahan wore a beautifully fitted jet-black overcoat and a flame-red scarf.

‘Just sittin’ here,’ Boots replied.

‘I’m talking about with your fucking career, dummy. We got this jerk, Palermo, dead and buried.’

‘You seem pretty sure of yourself.’

The accusation hung between them for a moment. It would take a DNA match to bury Vinny Booster, and the testing process was ongoing.

‘What I don’t understand,’ Farrahan said, ‘is why you give a shit about a skell like Vinnie Palermo. His whole life, the only thing he’s done is steal other people’s property.’

‘Stop right there, Artie. Think about what you just said. The only thing Vinnie’s done is steal. Meantime, you’re gonna put him on trial for murdering a cop.’

‘So what? Ya know, Boots, you got a hard head. That’s why you been stuck in the Six-Four all these years. You never mastered lesson number one. You never learned to see the big picture.’ Farrahan stood up and brushed off his coat. ‘Corcoran wants you in his office,’ he said. ‘Now.’

‘What in goddamned hell do you think—’

‘Lemme stop you right there, Inspector. The blasphemy? I’d rather not hear it. I have religious objections.’

Brooklyn North’s detectives had long ago hung the nickname ‘Schoolmaster’ on Mack Corcoran. And he had the look, no doubt about it. The craggy face, the austere mouth, the pinched nose, the oversized, wire-rimmed glasses that partially obscured his brown eyes. Looking into those eyes, Boots had to wonder if concealment wasn’t the whole point. Corcoran’s eyes were as dead and empty as those of a man blind from birth. And that was pretty amazing, because in every other way, from the flush in his cheeks to the way he straightened his shoulders, the man’s entire body projected a swelling rage. Even his wig had shifted to one side.

‘Get out,’ Corcoran finally said. ‘Get out before I shoot you.’

Boots gave it a couple of beats, until the hesitation became a dare, looking for any faint glimmer of life in Corcoran’s eyes. But there was no life to be found there, and no hope for Vinnie Palermo, either. Or for Rajiv Visnawana, who would soon be taught a painful lesson: Never trust a cop.

S
houlder to the wheel. For the remainder of that week, Boots arrived at the Six-Four on time and worked his tours enthusiastically. On Tuesday, he helped Narcotics track down Spiros Condraconis, wanted for selling cocaine out of the Grand Street Diner. On Wednesday, he handled three robberies committed within an hour of each other near the western boundary of the precinct. As these robberies all took place within a few blocks of Bushwick Avenue and the perp displayed a knife each time, Boots drew a pair of assumptions: the mugger was local and a drug addict.