Old Flame (8 page)

CHAPTER

18

I
called Allie later that afternoon. She begged off dinner, mumbling something about a client meeting. The woman who divorced me now wanted to be with me, and the woman I wanted to be with didn’t. Funny how life goes.

I was down to my dinner companion short list. On the off chance I might get an update, I called Pete Toal. Dinner was a swell idea, he said. He suggested Feeney’s.

I tried to change his mind.

He insisted. For old times’ sake.

I arrived a little after eight, and the place was packed. Toal was already there. Swede was with him. Kenny and Nick were deep in conversation at the bar.

I walked over to Toal’s table and pulled up a chair.

He nodded at Swede. “Hope you don’t mind. Old Swede here wanted to tag along.”

“Not at all. How’re you doing, Swede?”

“Good.”

A man of few words. There’s something to be said for that. Toal appeared to be enjoying himself. His collar was unbuttoned and his tie was pulled way down. His face was flushed, the only sign that he had already had a couple of Johnnies. Swede, in contrast, nursed a Coke and went for a very coplike look.

Toal reached for a menu, quickly scanned it, and put it down.

“So,” Toal said, “what’s good? It’s been a while since I did anything but drink here.”

“Nothing.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Swede said.

“Order something. Doesn’t matter. It all sucks.”

“What are you having?” Swede asked.

“Corned beef and cabbage.”

“There you go,” Swede said. “I could go for that.”

“Trust me, it’s shit.”

“Why’re you having it?”

“Reminds me of my mother’s cooking.”

Swede reached for the menu. Guess he had to find out for himself.

“Keeping busy, Steeg?” Toal said.

“In a manner of speaking. What’s going on with the Ferris investigation?”

“Do we have to talk shop?”

“For you, it’s shop talk. For me, it’s personal.”

“OK, we’re nowhere.”

I noticed that Swede was still studying the menu with the concentration of a scholar poring over Norse runes.

“How could that be?”

“Because we’ve got a caseload that would daunt Eliot Ness. Isn’t that right, Swede.”

I suddenly realized where the term “cop out” came from.

Swede wedged the menu between the napkin holder and the salt and pepper shakers.

“I think I’ll have the brisket,” he said. “How can you fuck up brisket?”

“The proof is in the pudding,” I said. “Good luck.”

He made a tentative reach for the menu again but thought better of it and drew his hand back.

“Sometimes you just gotta jump in,” Toal said. “Anyway, like I was saying, in the past couple of weeks, Death hasn’t taken what you would call a holiday. I don’t know what the hell is going on.”

“Let’s start with the ME’s report,” I said to Toal. “Anything new there?”

“No. Ferris was beat to shit, but the cause of death was blunt-force trauma to the head. Appears that someone popped him in the back of the skull with a metal object, maybe a wrench. Several times. Hit him so hard that Forensics was able to recover some filings. Death was pretty much instantaneous. His last meal was endive and radicchio. I’d have gone for a steak.”

“Was the murder weapon recovered?”

“Nope. We even had divers go into the river to look for it. The perp must have taken it with him.”

So far, Pete was doing his job.

“Did you check the restaurant to see whether Ferris was a guest, and if he was, was he with anyone?”

“No one remembers. Busy night.”

“How about the waiter?”

“In the wind. Probably an illegal.”

Not so good.

“There was nothing, Steeg,” Swede said. “We canvassed the area. No witnesses. No nothing.”

There had to be witnesses. One area rife with opportunity that Toal and Swede should have followed up on crossed my mind, but I wasn’t about to share it just yet.

Été was pricey, therefore an expense-account restaurant. If Ferris was there and used a credit card, the size of the bill and the number of entrées ordered should indicate whether Ferris dined alone. If he used cash, that fact alone should tickle someone’s memory. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was a start.

“Anything else?” I said.

“We interviewed his boss, guy named Torricelli, and a couple of his coworkers,” Toal said. “The usual crap. No known enemies. Did his job. Nose to the grindstone kind of guy. Spoke to Ginny. Pretty much the same story.”

“So, your theory is?”

“Well, like I told you initially. Lot of passion went into the killing, and the force of the blows tells me it’s a guy. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Ferris bought it in a known trannie hooker area. The way I see it, he ventured into the dark side one too many times. Wouldn’t surprise me if he took his he/she sweetie to dinner, tried to break it off, and the guy went nuts. Happens!”

It did happen, I had to give Toal that.

“Did you interview the neighborhood regulars?”

“I left that up to Swede, here. Some things I’m just not good at.”

I turned to Swede. “And?” I said.

“Showed Ferris’s picture around, and came up with zilch. It’s like a sisterhood down there. They protect each other.”

“So, you’re . . .?”

“Like I said. Nowhere.”

Swell! Now my list of suspects possibly included a guy in an evening dress. As I scrolled through my mental checklist, my cell phone rang. It was Luce.

“How come I’m the only one in the NYPD to have your cell phone number?” she asked.

“I didn’t want anyone bothering me.”

“Well, you certainly know how to screw up a birthday party.”

“You gotta admit it was kind of fun. Just like the old days.”

“That it was,” Luce said. “Reminded me of the night at Crotty’s Pub where you turned one of New York’s Bravest into a battering ram. How many saloons did I have to scrape your sorry ass out of?”

I smiled at the memory.

“Too bad I’m a changed man, eating healthy and living right.”

“If only,” she said.

“What’s up?”

“Braddock’s been trying to reach you. Called you at home and you weren’t there. Then he called me.”

That was surprising. Gerry Braddock was my former boss, and someone who considered me a punishment from God.

“What does he want?”

She told me.

CHAPTER

19

W
hen I arrived at the Kings County Hospital morgue in Brooklyn, Ollie, Jeanmarie, and Ginny were leaving. Jeanmarie saw me and walked toward me very slowly.

She stopped inches from me. The skin pulled tight around her face, her eyes flat and unforgiving.

“My poor Liam is dead because of you, you bastard,” she said.

Some things never change.

Ollie took her arm and tried to pull her away. “Let’s go home now and prepare to bury our son,” he said. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself. There’re people watching.”

And there were, even at this hour. Swede was right. There was a run on death.

Jeanmarie wrenched her arm away.

“Get away from me, you worthless bastard,” she said. “Let them see a mother’s grief.”

Ollie reacted as if he had been slapped. Jeanmarie turned her anger back to me.

“They wouldn’t let me see my son’s face,” she said, spitting the words out. “And it’s on you, Steeg. It’s all on you!”

I didn’t see it that way. This was on Liam and his choice of business associates.

Ginny walked up, mumbled a few words in Jeanmarie’s ear, and led her and Ollie to a waiting cab. After they left, she walked back to me.

“I need a drink, Steeg,” she said. “Now!”

We found a bar on Linden Boulevard. Ginny ordered a Jim Beam, straight up.

“Tell me what happened,” I said.

“The call came about six. I answered. Jeanmarie was preparing dinner and Ollie was taking a nap. It was a cop. Figured it had to do with Tony. Asked if I knew a Liam Doyle. I said he was my brother. He said there was a problem. Didn’t want to talk over the phone. Asked me to meet him here, at Kings County. None of it made sense.”

Braddock knew Liam, and I guessed he heard the news over the wire and tried to contact me.

“And?”

“And we got in a cab and came down. I identified the body. It”—a shudder rippled through her body—“was awful! Whoever did it chained him to a car and dragged him through the streets like he was a piece of garbage.”

Barak was good to his word. He had promised to kill anyone associated with Danny Reno, and Liam more than fit the bill. The snakes in my head awoke and began their dance.

“What’s going on, Steeg?” she said. “Does this have anything to do with Tony?”

“I don’t think so.”

I told her about Liam’s connection to Danny Reno.

“Liam got in over his head. Got mixed up with some very bad people.”

“I don’t believe this,” she said. “This is all because of that little pissant, Reno?”

“It’s also about Liam. No one put a gun to his head and forced him to work for Reno.”

She drained her glass.

“The whole family has gone to shit. Tony. Now Liam. And who knows where Colleen is. What’s next?”

Unless Barak got his hands on Reno, I had a pretty fair idea.

Ginny stared down at her beer.

“I know how you feel about . . . me,” she said. “I know I screwed things up between us. But, at least for tonight, I don’t want to be alone.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

“It’s not a good idea, Ginny.”

“Please?”

So much for steely resolve. We went back to my place, and I held her until she fell asleep.

Later on that night, she awoke.

“What do we do now, Jake?” she said.

“Take your family and leave. Don’t tell anyone, including me, where you’re going. Just go.”

“Are you serious?”

“Very,” I said.

CHAPTER

20

T
he next morning, after Ginny left, I called Danny Reno. I was relieved when he answered the phone, although I couldn’t suppress the thought that if Barak had already paid him a visit, the killing would end there. For all I knew, every member of Reno’s merry little band of heisters and their families had targets painted on their backs.

“It’s me—Steeg. Did you tell Liam where you’re staying?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Think hard, Danny.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

I told him.

“I swear,” he said. “I never told Barak about Liam. How the hell did he find him?”

“Like God, Barak works in strange and mysterious ways. You had better call Liam’s Nazi friends and tell them to make themselves scarce.”

“Holy shit!” he said.

That about summed it up.

“You’ve got to get out, Danny. And you better do it now. Don’t pack, just go.”

There was panic in his voice. I didn’t blame him. “Where? I’ve got nowhere to go.”

I briefly considered offering him my place —maybe he considered it too — but quickly dismissed it as a truly bad idea. We were friends, but not that close. Besides, the last thing I needed was Barak in my life.

“Look, I don’t care if you head for Epcot until this thing blows over. How are you fixed for cash?”

“I’m good. Got enough to last awhile.”

“Perfect. From now on, you don’t call me. Until this blows over, we’ll communicate through Nick. Get a prepaid cell and leave the number with him.”

“Do you think it will blow over?”

“You want honesty or bullshit?”

“Does it matter?”

“Good luck, Danny.”

Unless I came up with a solution, we both knew that it would end when he or Barak was dead.

I hung up and called Kenny. I was certainly giving my cell phone a workout this morning.

“Kenny? It’s Steeg.”

I told him about Liam and my conversation with Danny.

“You know,” he said, “Epcot is not such a bad idea. The weather’s good this time of year — not too hot, not too cold— plenty of restaurants from all over the world. And the place is clean. Good suggestion, Steeg.”

“I was being metaphorical.”

“Oh. So they dragged Liam behind a car.”

“They did.”

“Messy, but certainly makes the point, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

“I told you Barak scares the shit out of me. The guy’s got razor wire in his head.”

“Scares me too.”

“A definite sign of intelligence.”

“Where are you on Torricelli’s files?”

“About halfway through, but I have some thoughts, and some questions.”

“Let’s meet.”

“It’s Saturday. I don’t work.”

“But you picked up the phone. Isn’t that work?”

“None of us is perfect.”

I had enough problems understanding the observance swings among members of my own faith. I wasn’t about to take on Judaism.

“We won’t be working, we’ll be talking. Look, I need to start making headway on something.”

It occurred to me that I could kill two birds with one stone. It was close to noon and Été should be open, probably not for business — I suspected it was a dinner-only restaurant — but there had to be a manager there to talk to. After that, Kenny and I could meet.

“How about we meet at one, on the pier at Thirteenth Street?”

Kenny thought about it for a few moments.

“Fine,” he said. “I’m not thrilled, but what the hell.”

I was at the door when a truly chilling thought occurred to me. If killing Liam had been Barak’s first move, there was a distinct possibility I was next on his shit list. I may not have had anything to do with the scam, but I was the only person on the planet who knew of Danny’s whereabouts. I went into the bedroom, opened the drawer of the bedside table, and pulled out my Glock.

I was right about Été. It wasn’t a lunch place, at least not on Saturdays, but the door was open. Inside, a white-uniformed crew was mopping, primping, and setting up for the dinner crowd. Tablecloths billowed like snowy white spinnakers, silverware was carefully inspected, and thin vases were stuffed with wildflowers. Rather than a paean to chrome and glass and sharp-edged design, the decor was casual, a place to kick back and spend a comfortable evening. Été may have been high-end, but it kept its pretensions in check.

At the bar, a harried-looking man in a designer suit that had lost its crease was inventorying the stock. I went up to him and flashed my business card. It got his attention. He put down his clipboard and snapped to attention. I had a business card, therefore I was important. If I had pulled the same stunt at a diner, I’d have been told to piss off.

To keep the illusion going, I didn’t offer to shake hands.

“Name is Steeg,” I said. “I’m investigating a murder that took place outside of your restaurant a couple of weeks ago.”

He looked properly contrite, as if Tony Ferris were a beloved member of his immediate family.

“I heard about it,” he said. “How sad. We’re not used to that kind of thing at Été. I guess the neighborhood still needs some, uh, work. By the way, my name is Stuart.”

“Did you work the night of March 10, Mister Stuart?”

He smiled. “Just Stuart. No Mister necessary. That was a Saturday night, wasn’t it? No, I didn’t. I mean, I usually do, but I was ill that evening.”

“So it would be a waste of time talking to you any further.”

He nodded. “Colossal.”

“What’s your job here, Stuart?”

“I’m one of the managers. Assist the general manager. Work the desk. Greet people. See that things are going the way they should. The beverage manager called in this morning and said that he’d be late, and I offered to, uh, fill in for him until he got here.”

“Who worked that night, Stuart?”

“That would be Richard. Richard Noonan, my boss. He covered for me.”

“Will he be in later?”

He looked at his watch, a fat chronograph with a blue face and lots of bewildering little dials. It was a wonder he could lift his hand.

“Richard should be here at four. I’m so sorry I’m unable to help.”

“Me too. Tell Richard I’ll be back later.”

“Absolutely. Have a good day now.”

Well, that was singularly unproductive, I thought. I wasn’t sure that Noonan would be any more forthcoming.

Outside, the day was a tease and the pier was packed. One of those summer days that pops up in March once every few decades. Warm, languorous, not a cloud in the sky, and barely a breeze to ruffle the surface of the water. A day filled with unexpected promise. The possibility that a foot of snow could be lurking a mere isobar away failed to deter anyone eager to shake off the winter blues and throw on a pair of shorts.

I walked out on the pier. A few seconds later, the unmistakable sound of gunfire shattered the promise of the day.

There were some panicked screams and a great deal of scattering. All except for one guy lying about ten feet from me with blood and brain matter streaming out of a very large hole in the back of his head. I pulled the Glock from the pocket of my fatigue jacket and went to the ground.

Suddenly, everything was quiet. The only man standing was Kenny Apple.

He walked up to the body and nudged him with the toe of his shoe. Satisfied that he was no longer a problem, he walked back to me.

I got to my feet.

“Where did you come from?” I said.

“I just got here. A car pulled up to the curb and this guy gets out holding a gun against his thigh. I figured he wasn’t a sun worshipper.”

“Good thought. Hell of a shot.”

He shrugged. “As you are often wont to say, it’s a gift.”

“One of Barak’s guys?”

“Presumably.”

“I could swear I heard two shots.”

“You did. I put one through the windshield, but the guy drove off. I got a piece of him, I think.”

In the distance, sirens wailed.

“I thought you don’t work on the Sabbath.”

“I don’t. But sometimes you’ve got to bend the rules a bit.”

The sirens grew closer.

“For obvious reasons I think I’m going to leave now,” Kenny said.

“I understand. I’ll catch up to you later. Where are you going?”

“To synagogue. I have some explaining to do.”