Compromised, page 6
part #6 of Stephanie Chalice Series
Harry seemed pensive on our ride up to the roof, and I wondered what was going through his mind. He had flown to New York to bury his brother and had returned to Japan soon afterward. It was during his short stay here that he had come to visit me in the hospital, and then after, the unexpected phone call in which he expressed his strong desire to assist in the murderer’s apprehension. “I’m thinking,” he said as if he somehow knew what I was wondering about. “I’m thinking about how it will feel to stand where the assassin stood when he pulled the trigger and killed Yana.”
I touched his arm. “Think about how it will feel when he’s captured. Think about the look on his face when he knows we’ve got him dead to rights. Block out everything else.”
“I will try,” he said solemnly. “I will try.”
~~~
A rooftop deck is a nice feature, but the building was predominately occupied by blue-collar tenants who had little or no time for sunbathing. I walked to the railing and looked out from the point where it was most likely the shooter stood. I saw that there was a clear and unobstructed line of sight to where Yana and I had been shot.
“Not a difficult shot,” I said. “Especially on that night. Don’t ask me how I know, but I have the feeling that the wind was very still.” I certainly wasn’t recalling from memory. Perhaps it was just my mind projecting what it thought I wanted to believe.
“As you said, you could hit a squirrel from this distance. I understand that the thirty-caliber is often used for small-game hunting.”
“Yes. It can be, but snipers also commonly use it.”
“Yet the bullet was just small enough to slip between my brother’s ribs and rupture his heart. Had the bullet been of a larger caliber, it might’ve hit one of his ribs, been deflected by it, and missed his heart completely.” He turned to me. “This is the essence of paradox, is it not?”
“Sadly, yes.”
“Have you ever shot and killed a man, Chalice?”
“I’ve pulled my gun three times and killed two men.”
“How does it feel to shoot someone?”
“I take it you’ve never shot anyone?”
“No.”
“It was horrible the first time as well as the second, but they were both kill-or-be-killed scenarios. I didn’t have a choice.”
“I don’t understand why my brother was shot. I’m standing here, and I can’t understand. What did he do to bring such violence upon himself?”
“I don’t know, Harry. I just don’t know. We’d just interviewed the parents of a homicide victim in this building, a seventeen-year-old girl. I really doubt that they had any connection to the shooting.”
“Is your memory coming back, or is this what you read in your notes and the police report?”
“From the notes, unfortunately. My memory of that day is still a blank. It’s been so long now—I wonder if I’ll ever remember what really happened that day.” As I looked out at where Yana and I had been shot, the shadow of a nearby tree moved as the sun changed its position in the sky. I clutched my heart. The shadow now stretched across the pavement, and the image it cast looked like that of a body sprawled out across the ground.
Chapter Nineteen
Lido clocked in and made straight for the watch commander’s desk. It was the morning after Stephanie’s disappearance. He had barely slept at all.
Ridon had the phone in one hand and a breakfast burrito in the other. His eyes were glazed over but did an oh-brother roll when he saw Lido poke his head into his office. He covered the mouthpiece. “Estoban is on the rag again.” He shook his head, looking upward. “Why me, God? Why me? She’s been bouncing around from command to command like a friggin’ pinball. Jeez.” He uncovered the mouthpiece. “Estoban, hold on a minute . . . I said, hold on a minute.” He placed the call on hold. “Bet you dollars to doughnuts she doesn’t even break stride. Guaranteed she’ll still be blowing gale-force winds when I pick up the call. Anyway, you look like shit. What’s up?”
“Who’s working the Ramirez case?”
“Be specific, Lido. There are at least three Ramirez files out on the floor. It’s kind of a common name.”
“The one Stephanie was working on, Serafina Ramirez. With all that’s happened over the last month, I’ve lost track of who was working it.”
“McIntyre and Kelleher. Why?”
“Are they making any progress on it?”
“I did say McIntyre and Kelleher, didn’t I?”
“So no, then?”
“Read between the lines, Detective.”
“Any chance I could pick it up?”
“Why would you want it? It’s a high-jingo nightmare. A pretty little high school girl gets raped and murdered, and the department is still tripping on its dick a month and half later. Sure you want to wade through a murky stream like that?”
“What can I say, man? I’m a glutton for punishment.”
Ridon’s expression read schmuck. “Talk to Egan. There’s a task force assigned to the case, and the captain is up to his ass in hot water. Like I said, it’s all high-jingo now. The principal of the school the Ramirez girl attended is an at-large member of CPAC.”
“Meaning?”
“The Citizen’s Police Advisory Committee, Lido, and they have coffee and doughnuts with the executive brass once a month. Believe me when I tell you this group has lots of sway and they want this bastard found and punished pronto.” Ridon reached for the phone console. “Why are you still standing here? Vamoose! I told you Egan needs all the help he can get.” He hit the blinking light, and once again, Margarita Estoban’s incensed voice bled over the earpiece. Ridon mouthed, “Someone shoot me.”
~~~
Captain James Egan was also on the phone. He waved Lido into the office. Cupping the receiver, he said, “I’ll just be a minute,” in a reserved voice.
Lido sank into a chair and waited until Egan was finished with his call. “Sorry to barge in,” he began.
“Forget it, Lido. Spending five minutes with a hardworking cop is a hell of a lot more important than the hour I just wasted on a dumb compliance conference call.”
“More red tape?”
“Miles of it, Lido, procedural initiatives, new chain of evidence protocol . . .” He puffed out his lips. “Pretty soon the squad will have to spend the bulk of its time in a classroom instead of being out on the street. Anyway, how’s Stephanie? Coming along?”
Lido sensed that he was taking too much time to respond and threw out a quick, innocuous answer. “You know Stephanie, she’s like a force of nature.”
Egan snorted. “I’ll bet that woman keeps you on your toes.”
Lido grinned. “You’ve got no idea, Captain, no idea whatsoever.”
“So what can I do you for, Lido?”
“The case Stephanie was working on before the shooting—Serafina Ramirez—can I get in on it?”
“You’re just stepping back into the ring, Gus. You’re not even up to speed on your own caseload. Why the sudden interest in the Ramirez case?” He glanced at Lido over the top of his glasses. “You wouldn’t possibly be interested because you think it’ll help you find your wife’s shooter, would you? Not that I would blame you for trying.”
“I hear you’re forming a task force. I also hear the brass are chewing their way down the ranks.”
“Down the ranks and up my ass,” Egan said flatly. He closed his day planner and pushed back in his chair. “You know, I could give you an earful of shit about conflict of interest, protocols, and the rest of that mindless mumbo jumbo, but you’re a good cop and I can use all the help I can get. You want in? You’re in. I’ll add you to the task force, but I’m not pulling you off any of your current assignments, and I’m not giving you carte blanche to carry out a vendetta. Is that clear?”
“Completely clear, Captain.”
“Good! Find the Ramirez killer and the cop killer, and find them fast. People are watching us. Important people. I’ve got the brass so far up my rectum, I could shit bullets.”
Lido gave Egan a thumbs-up.
“Okay, then. Get out of here, Lido, and don’t make me regret my decision.”
“Not a chance,” he said, and blew out the door.
Chapter Twenty
It took Lido about two hours to read through the Serafina Ramirez file and schedule an appointment to visit her parents.
He had been to the crime scene before, yet the spot where his wife had been shot still filled him with dread. He couldn’t stop his imagination from replaying the event—Stephanie and Yana walking toward their car, the crack of two rifle shots, and the two detectives lying on the ground. A shiver raced through him as the scenario tortured him yet again. Just ahead of him was the apartment building they had visited on that fated night and the rooftop upon which the sniper had stood. It took a moment for Lido to pull himself together, after which he walked determinedly toward the building.
Wearing a flannel shirt and a vinyl trooper cap with the earflaps pinned at the top, Jack Burns opened the door to his apartment before he knew who had rung the bell. “Can I help you?” he asked in a trusting tone.
Lido flashed his detective’s shield. “Detective Gus Lido. We have an appointment.”
Burns nodded. “Oh yeah. Come on in.” He walked back into the apartment, leaving Lido to close the door and follow him into the kitchen. “Sofia’s not home yet, but she should be back soon.” A package of bread was open on the kitchen table along with Ziploc bags filled with cold cuts and sliced cheeses.
Lido passed through the small living room along the way. The local news was on, and the meteorologist was announcing a storm. It was an old-world TV, an RCA portable built in the days before flat screens replaced antiquated cathode ray technology.
“They say it’s going to snow,” Burns said. “About time.”
Lido glanced at the heavy winter hat atop Burns’s head. Guess you’re all set for the storm, he mused. Although Lido thought of snow in the city as nothing but an inconvenience, the announcement was a relief for him as well. He pictured the sidewalk covered with early spring snow, the soft white layer masking the bloodstained concrete where his wife had been shot. “Hasn’t been much of a year for skiing.”
“I imagine not. Say, have you had lunch? I make a mean sandwich.”
Lido shook his head. “No. I’m good. Thanks.”
“I grew up on bologna,” Burns said as he pulled slices off a stack of meat. “I’m a man of simple tastes.” He spread mustard on the bread and closed the sandwich. “Mind if I eat while we talk?”
“No. Go right ahead,” Lido said, despite finding that the aroma had in fact aroused his appetite.
“Sure you don’t want coffee or something?”
Lido shook his head. “No. I’m good.”
Burns sat down at the table. “What do you want to know? The police haven’t sent anyone around in weeks. You some kind of mastermind detective they haul out when the case has gone to shit?”
“No. I’m just a fresh set of eyes the department has recently assigned to the task force. I know this may be redundant, but if you don’t mind answering a few questions . . .”
“I guess that would be all right.” He glanced past Lido to the TV. “Anything to help bring my daughter’s murderer to justice. Not that it will bring her back.”
Lido sat down at the kitchen table and opened his notebook. “You’re her adoptive father. Is that correct?”
“I adopted Serafina right after I married Sofia. It’ll be five years this coming June.”
“What happened to her biological father?”
“Ernesto?” he huffed. “What a jerk. The poor guy was a hopeless alcoholic—drank himself to death before he was forty.”
“Did you know him?”
“Yeah. He was from the neighborhood. Lived in this apartment, as a matter of fact.”
“How’s that?”
“I started seeing Sofia about a year after he died. She asked me to move in, and the rest . . . well, I guess you can figure it out.”
“I see. Well, look, I went over the file in detail and there’s no point asking you the same questions you’ve already answered. Serafina didn’t have any obvious enemies. Robbery wasn’t a motive. Looking at the file objectively, it appears that the killer’s MO was sexual assault and murder.”
Burns was chewing on his sandwich when Lido’s final sentence hit him. He closed his eyes and arched his neck until he was facing the ceiling. Several moments passed before he finished chewing the food in his mouth. “I loved that child, Detective Lido. Shit, but your words just ripped the scab off the wound. Please. Please don’t say anything like that when Sofia comes home. She’s hanging on by a thread and you’ll put her over the edge with a comment like that.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s all right. It’s just that we’re both pretty fragile these days.”
Lido paused for a moment before continuing. “So your daughter left home just after the Super Bowl began to go to her friend Ginger’s house and never made it there. Is that right?”
“Yeah. It makes me sick to think about it. She’d made that walk a hundred times, so often that you never stop to think . . .” He pushed away his plate and took a drink from a bottle of beer. “It’s just heart-wrenching—she was such a good kid.” He shook his head woefully. “Sofia just started going back to work. We figured it would be better for her to keep busy.”
“What does she do?”
“Housecleaning. Babysitting. Shopping. Whatever she has to do to make a buck.”
“And you?”
“I’m a handyman. I do plumbing, electrical, and a little woodworking. Same kind of thing. Anything to make a buck.”
“Are you in debt to anybody?”
“I’m in debt to everybody—twenty here, fifty there. No one killed Serafina over a few bucks, Detective.”
“No. It sounds unlikely. Just looking at every angle. What about you and your wife?”
Burns wrinkled his brow. “What about us?”
“The revenge angle. Piss anyone off lately? Anyone who’d want to hurt Serafina to get back at either of you?”
Burns cocked his head to the side and squinted at Lido. “What? You’re kidding, right?”
“Revenge is a common motive for—”
Burns looked strained. “No. I get that, but do you really think . . .” He stood and began pacing around the kitchen.
Lido could see that he’d touched a nerve. “Something come to mind?”
“Come to mind? Uh. No.”
“The question seems to have gotten you pretty upset. Tell me what’s bothering you.”
“Nothing. Nothing. I’ve just never been asked that question before.”
“Really? I’m surprised none of the other detectives explored the revenge motive with you. Someone wants to lash out at you or your wife and figures the best way to do it is to go after your daughter. Some people are real SOBs. It’s coldhearted, but it happens all the time.”
“Oh shit. Really?”
“I can see by your reaction that you’re upset. What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing. You just made me think. That’s all. You’ve got me thinking about every argument I’ve gotten into in the last five years. Do you know how I’d feel if . . . Jesus, you’ve got me feeling guilty over nothing. Maybe you ought to go before Sofia gets home. A question like that might kill her.”
“I don’t understand why. Anything either of you thinks of might help me apprehend Serafina’s murderer.” Lido placed two business cards on the table. “Well, if anything comes to mind.”
“I think you should go.”
“You look jumpy, Mr. Burns. Are you sure you don’t have something to share with me?”
“No, but thanks for stopping by,” he said and ushered Lido out of the kitchen. “I’ll kick it around with Sofia, and we’ll call you if anything comes to mind.”
“I hope you will. We only want to see justice served and take a monster off the street. You wouldn’t want something like this to happen to someone else’s daughter.”
“Of course not.” Burns was practically pushing Lido out of the apartment. He closed the door, leaving Lido standing alone in the hallway.
Lido knew that he had touched on a sensitive subject and wondered what Burns was hiding. At the same time, he felt guilt of his own. Not only had he struck out with Burns, but he had also failed to learn anything valuable about his wife’s disappearance. He had a long list of questions that would have to go unanswered for the time being. He was too frustrated and impatient to wait for the elevator. The burden of those two disappointments weighed heavily upon him as he gripped the bannister and hustled down the stairs.
Chapter Twenty-One
It was late afternoon. The lettuce in Lido’s salad had wilted. He stared at the brown lettuce for a moment. Jeez. Some lunch. I would’ve been better off with the bologna sandwich Burns offered me. It hadn’t been sitting in front of him for very long, but all that had been left at the corner deli’s salad bar were the dregs, the leftovers from lunch, the crap that had been picked through and pushed to the side. At his desk, he’d picked the grilled chicken out of the salad, leaving the soggy greens behind. For all intents and purposes, he was done with it, yet he continued to pick bits of food out of the plastic tray, nibbling on them, trying to fill a void that could not be filled.
He was pecking at the computer keyboard when a dust-covered evidence box was placed on his desk. “Lido?” the delivery officer asked.
He nodded and reached for a pen.
“This box was buried so deep I found it next to evidence recovered from the Titanic.”
Lido grinned. “Glad I could spice up your day.”
“Sign here . . . Thanks. It’s all yours. Call me if you’re looking for the Declaration of Independence. I think I spotted it nearby.” The delivery officer grinned and turned away.
Lido pushed the keyboard aside and placed the dusty box dead center on his desk, noticing that the dust had recently been disturbed. Interesting, he thought. Who’s been looking at this? After reading the label, he removed the lid, careful not to get dust all over himself or his desk. The box was from the archives and contained records from the days before all case documents were digitized and stored on computer mainframes. He opened the top folder and began scanning documents that had long since yellowed with age. It didn’t take long for him to get drawn in by the particulars of the case, the lurid details, interviews, and notes chronicling a child’s abduction and abuse. The victim was Jack Burns.
