Fairstein, Linda - Final Jeopardy (4 page)

Mike laughed: “Whew! Women in the workplace!”

“Listen, Mike, I don’t know what happens in parochial schools most of the guys survive the nuns and come out with a sense of humor some a little more tasteful than yours, but humor nonetheless. This guy came out like Mother Superior himself, with a stick up his ass that should have punctured his brain by now.”

Pat McKinney was one of Rod’s deputies. He was senior to me by a couple of years, and as rigid and humorless as any man could be. I’ve never figured what made him such an angry person, but something seethed inside him and most frequently found its outlet when directed at the women professionals in the office.

“Laura thinks he blames the crab incident on me, don’t you?”

She nodded as I told Mike the story.

“Pat refused to sign off on an extradition request for one of the assistants in the Asian Gang Unit, who wanted to fly in a witness from Los Angeles and put the kid up in a hotel during the trial.

McKinney said it was too expensive and that there was a strong enough case without the witness. I told the assistant that Pat was just crabby that day, and if he wrote up a new request I would walk it in to Rod for approval.

Rod signed and the jury convicted. You know those fish stores on the corner at Canal Street?“

Our office was smack in the middle of the part of Lower Manhattan where Little Italy overlapped with Chinatown, and the south side of Canal Street was lined with Chineserun fish stores that daily displayed open crates of live fish on the sidewalks.

“Well, a few days after the trial ended, Pat arrived to find his office door unlocked. He flew to his desk to call Security to come upstairs, and when he pulled open the top drawer, about forty live crabs came rushing over the lip of the drawer onto his lap frisky little suckers that had been packed in on top of each other all night. I’m surprised you didn’t hear his screams on Ninety-fourth Street.”

Mike liked the story.

“You do it?”

“Are you crazy? I assume it was the cops from the case, but he knows that I’m the one who called him ”crabby“ that time, so he blames me.”

We were interrupted by the appearance of a uniformed cop in the doorway beyond Laura’s desk. He looked like a rookie baby-faced, polished shoes, new equipment, and a sheaf of arrest papers in his hand.

“I’m looking for Mr. Cooper,” he announced to the , three of us.

“You got him. Only I’m Cooper. It’s Alex Alexandra.”

“Oh, sorry. I’m Officer Corchado. They sent me up from the complaint room I’ve got a new case.”

Laura moved to her desk to start working the phones and I waved Corchado into my office and introduced him to Mike as we seated ourselves.

“I won’t be able to write this up for you ‘cause I’m involved in something else today, but my assistant, Sarah Brenner, will work on it with you as soon as she gets in.”

“Yeah, but my lieutenant told me I had to see the bureau chief. There’s a problem with a cross-complaint and he said you’d know what to do.
You’re the chief, right?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“What’s the problem? Tell me what kind of case you’ve got.”

Corchado explained that he and his partner had responded to a 911 call shortly after eleven last night.

“Neighbors had called it in housing project in the two-three.” East Harlem.

I asked if he’d met the victim.

“Yeah, she was a mess. A kid, fifteen. Taken to the rooftop from the elevator on her way home. Put up a struggle. Lots of blood, mostly from her nose, I think, when he punched her to shut her up.”

“Did he rape her?”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s what she said. She was crying so bad we didn’t talk to her a lot. Ambulance took her to the hospital.”

“How did you get the guy?” I asked.

“Easy. She knew him. Said he had gone to junior high school with her older brother. So when they took her to the hospital my partner and me went to the apartment to get her brother. We told him what happened and that his sister said that it was Otis who did it.

“Her brother, Kenny, was wild, ma’am. He knew exactly who Otis was and what apartment he lived in. Told us the guy’s real name was Herman Myers, but they called him Otis ‘cause he used to ride up and down in elevators, waiting for old ladies to get on so he could rob ’em. Just got out of jail on the robbery cases a few weeks ago. Took us right to the apartment, we knocked on the door, and when Otis came out into the hallway to talk to us, we locked him up.”

“Nice collar,” I told Corchado.

“Is it your first felony?”

“Yeah, actually it is.”

“Well, congratulations. You can feel good about this one.

Laura will send you down to Sarah’s office and you’ll have him indicted by the beginning of next week.“

“Yeah, but there is a problem. Otis… well, his lawyer called the precinct and wants to file a cross-complaint.”

“What?”

“Well, Miss Cooper, Kenny hit the defendant in the head with a baseball bat. Otis is in the hospital took a bad crack to the head. That’s why the lieutenant told me to see you.

Do we have to lock Kenny up, too?“

“Christ, how did you let this happen?” I asked, as my pleasure over a good arrest turned to annoyance.

“Kenny followed along with us to point Otis out,” Corchado explained, ‘and I guess he was carrying the bat. He just came back from playing ball so I didn’t think nothing of it. He was real quiet until we put the cuffs on Myers, then he started to cry and all. He kept saying,
“Why’d you do it to her, she’s just a baby. Man, Why’d you have to do it? She was a baby.”

“Right before we got him to the patrol car, me and my Partner on each side of him so nobody could interfere, Otis turns back to Kenny and says, ”Shit, she was no baby. Her hole was so big I almost fell into it.“

I closed my eyes at the thought of the way that must have stung poor Kenny, whoever he was.

“Miss Cooper, it was so fast I never saw it coming. Kenny just reeled back and landed the bat square on Otis’s head, and he fell to his knees like he was a sack of sugar.

“Give Kenny a medal,” mumbled Mike from his chair in the corner.

“Lucky you don’t have to worry about brain damage it doesn’t sound like Otis’s elevator went to the top floor to begin with. When I came on the job, kid, taking a defendant to be arraigned with his head wrapped in bandages was the sign of a good cop we didn’t have to let civilians do it for us we could whack ‘em ourselves.

Stand ’em in front of the judge with their heads wrapped in bandages.
Turban jobs.
”Yeah, Your Honor, he resisted arrest, sir. Put up quite a struggle.“
Before all the ACLU crap started you could really get some street justice.”

I rolled my eyes as Mike played with the rookie.

“Ignore him, Corchado. Just go see Miss Brenner for the rape arrest.

She’ll take good care of you. As for the cross-complaint, give me the papers.“ I took the package and found the D.A.”s data sheet, the space for the write-up of the case summary. Across the top of the complaint made by Myers for assault, I scrawled in large letters: “Decline to prosecute.

Reason: Interest of justice as per Alexandra Cooper, Chief, SCPU.“

“What do I tell his lawyer, Miss Cooper?” Corchado asked.

Oh, the beauty of prosecutorial discretion.

“You tell him that Miss Cooper said that he hopes Otis’s head hurts so bad and for so long that the next time he even thinks about having an erection, it’s so painful that he thinks twice and I can’t get it up.”

“Way to go, blondie,” Mike cheered as Corchado left the I room.

“A chance to spend a few days with me, a couple of solid new cases, a murder to solve, and your charming good nature comes right back to the surface. Book ‘im, Corchado.”

“What’s the name of the Chilmark police chief?” Mike asked, picking up my phone to dial the call.

“Wally Flanders,” I answered.

“Why are you calling?”

“Just to see what they’re up to. Any leads, any news.”

I walked out to Laura’s desk to check on my messages.

Laura began to recite them to me: “Your mother called.

She expects to hear from you once a day until this is all resolved. She said the rabbi from your old synagogue called to see if you needed any counseling.“

“Call her back. Reassure her that I’m fine. I’m getting all my spiritual guidance from Monsignor Chapman, for the moment.”

“Nina called from L.A. Can you imagine, she was up at six forty-five to make the call?” said Laura, knowing most of my pals well enough to offer editorial comments on the messages.

“She says it’s a huge story on the Coast. Not you, of course, but Isabella. Nina says Isabella made herself so unpopular since she hit it big two years ago that everybody in Hollywood has a motive… except O.J. Simpson!”

“What else?” I asked, seeing a list of names on her pad.

“Sarah’s in. She understands the situation and will assign all the new cases. A lot of your friends have been calling - I’m just taking names and telling them to keep in touch with Joan Stafford. Diane Sawyer called and wants to know if you can do ”Prime Time“ with her this week nothing procedural, nothing about the case, just reminiscences of Isabella. I referred her to Brenda. Same for Liz Smith, she wanted a quote from you.

“And Detective Wallace is here with his witness. I’ve gotten her coffee and a newspaper and she’s in the waiting-‘ Laura was interrupted by Mike calling out to me with his hand cupped over my phone, ”Hey, Coop, you expecting some guy named Spiegel on the private line?“

“You know it’s Segal, you jerk. Can’t you be civil to him?

Now get out of here for a minute go say hello to Mercer Wallace and tell him I’ll be with him as soon as I get off the phone.“

“Oh, Jed, thank God you called,” I gushed into the receiver, unable to articulate anything that sounded less like soap opera dialogue and more like the paralyzing terror that had knotted my stomach. I was talking over his words as he was saying, “Alex? Alex? I can barely hear you,” through the crackling static of a transatlantic line.

“Do you know what happened, Jed? Are you still in Paris?

Have you heard anything about the murder? Are you going to be home soon?“

I kept spitting questions into the phone, and with the awful echoing in the bad connection I was missing the answers that Jed tried to give back.

“Yes, Alex, I know all about it. My secretary filled me in first thing this morning, and the story of the murder is even big news today in Europe. I’m worried about you though it must be awful for you.”

I don’t know why I tried so hard not to cry as I talked to him: “I need you so badly. Please come back I just want you to hold me. Please let me know when you’ll be home.”

“Of course, Alexandra, I’ll try to get back immediately. I love you, darling. I’ll call as soon as I know when I can fly out.
Unfortunately, everyone on the deal came into Paris for these meetings, so it’s impossible to break away. Be strong, darling we’ll get you through this.”

I’m so sick of being strong, I complained to myself after exchanging sophomoric farewells with Jed and hanging up the phone. Being strong for victims who can’t do it themselves, being strong for weak-spirited strays of all varieties who crossed my threshold, being strong for strangers who truly did depend on the kindness of others.

When I had the opportunity to stop and think about it, I was well aware that it was a complete pain in the ass to be expected to be strong for everyone all of the time especially because no one ever wants to see me through a moment of weakness.

I’m tired of being Scarlett O’Hara. In my next life I’m going to come back as Melanie Wilkes, fragile and helpless.

I blew my nose with a tissue from the supply kept on my desk to service the victim population that passed through every day, and called out to Laura that I wanted her to send Detective Wallace into my office.

Mercer and Mike came in together a few seconds later.

“Before you get started,” Mike said, “Chief Flanders wants to know if you have any idea who Isabella was taking with her to the Vineyard.”

“No one, Mike. That was the point of it. She wanted to get off by herself for a few days and make some decisions about the scripts that had been sent to her for upcoming roles.”

“Well, Coop, I know you hate it when people lie to you, but she wasn’t alone in your cozy hideaway. At least not all the time. Looks like she had a playmate.”

“How do they know she wasn’t alone?” I asked, trying to hold my annoyance in check.

“Maybe she met some friends on the island and invited them in for a drink, or…”

Everything was getting to me today. I don’t know why it should irk me that Isabella didn’t spend her last few days on earth alone, but I assumed that I was overreacting to news of her tryst because I was so lonely at the very same moment.

“The obvious signs. Not only was Lascar sleeping in your bed, Goldilocks, but the other side of it was rumpled up pretty well, too.
Coffee mugs in the sink, food in the frig.

Flanders says get this his wife read in People magazine that Lascar was a vegetarian, but there was a big steak bone in the garbage and some hot dogs ready for a barbecue.

Right next to the yogurt.“

“Well, tell them to talk to her friends, not to me. She clearly didn’t want me to know. Now let me talk to Mercer about his case while you show the Chilmark Police how to play Dick Tracy, okay, Mike? If you need to use Peopleto solve the case, I’ll get you a subscription.”

Mercer Wallace was one of the best detectives in the bureau. When the time finally came to beef up the Special Victims Squad he was handpicked by the commissioner to lead one of the teams. He was big, black, and very smart, with a gentle manner that endeared him to women who had been victimized, and with an equally tough attitude that signaled to defendants that this was not a man who would brook any nonsense. He was so good at working on these matters that most of the big ones were assigned to him, no matter how heavy his caseload.

“Hey, Alex, Chapman told me about the murder and whatever. Are you-‘
”Mercer, do me a favor, let’s not even talk about it. The best thing for me is to get to work for a while, otherwise I’m out of control.“ I knew he’d understand, and so we began to talk about the pattern that had been developing on the Upper West Side.
”This here’s our man, Cooper. Fourth hit. Victim’s twenty four years old, freelance illustrator, which could be a big break for us. After you get what you need from her, I’ve got an appointment at headquarters with the artists. She’s pretty sure she can help us with a sketch.
She’s really good on detail, and that’s what the guys need for a good composite.“