Alfonzo (26 page)

More questions.

No answers.

More interrogation.

N
o answers.

The s
tern faces
held
little empathy for the young couple and
endless
questions…questions…questions.
Alfonzo told them all to back-off when they’re questions became repetitive.
The memories flooded back.
He saw Uncle Al’s bloody face and blinked the image away. He turned to the young woman at his side
who
held her head high, faced him and whispered, “I’m thankful you came home with me
.”

He sensed her newfound strength. Together they were strong. This time they had each other.

CHAPTER TWENTY—
FOUR

Seven
a
.
m
.
roll call was underway
when
Carey entered the stationhouse.

She marched straight to the Lieutenant’s office. He looked up
then
waved her to a
n
empty chair.

“Sir, we followed the Serano brothers to Sloan-Kettering Hospital.”

“They’re getting medical treatment?”

She rolled her eyes at the corny attempt at a joke. “Luzo Palazzo the billionaire
developer was admitted a week ago for cancer treatment.”

“And?”

“
And after some research I learned Maria Diaz once worked for Luzo.”

He removed his reading glasses and placed them carefully on the desk, “I’m listening.”

“Maria Diaz had a son seven months after returning from Palermo.”

“And?”

Carey leaned forward toward the desk, “The birth certificate list
s the
father as unknown.”

The Lieutenant rubbed his eyes, “I have work to do Winoski, get to the point.”

“The point is
,
Alfonzo Diaz has his uncle’s name. It’s possible the mob wanted the younger
Diaz dead but
screwed
!”

“What proof do you have?” He sighed, “So far you only got a theory, nothing concrete.”

“Let’s bug the Diaz home, that’ll give us something.”

“Good-bye Winoski.” He waved with his hand then returned the eyeglasses to his face.

“Sir, we need to get a court order. If the Serano brothers return to the house maybe we’ll
get lucky.”

“Judges aren’t interested in unsubstantiated theories.” He folded his hands
patiently, “Here’s your play-by-play, Winoski. You go to a judge and tell him you want to place a recording device in a woman’s home who has no criminal background.
The r
eason
you want this is due to
an alleged connection to a man suspected of having mob affiliations. You believe
the woman
whose house you want
surveilled
had a baby by
a mobster, who by the way hasn’t been convicted of any crimes
and
because
she was visited by
hitmen
, who by the way have never been convicted of any crimes
.
Winoski, do you hear how circumstantial it’s beginning to sound
?”

“Yeah, but come on. It’s worth a try.”

He sighed, “The
judge
’ll
toss your ass out!”

Carey stood, “Thanks for nothing!”

“Anytime Winoski, anytime.”

Carey slammed the door. Hanlon was a sarcastic asshole, in this instance, he was right. She needed evidence!

Her cell rang, “Winoski.”

“Did you get my message last night?” Marchese asked.

“No.”

“
C
heck your damn text messages.” He
said then
hung-up.

Carey checked her messages. Sure enough Marchese left a text message that read:
Confimed
AD is son of LP
.

She clapped, “I knew it.”

Another text message:
D
T
Johnson’s daughter is missing.
Boyfriend dead.
A.D. discovered body
in LI
.

“What?” She exclaimed
then phoned
Marchese
, her theory was
a
fact.

***

Detective Marchese sped east on the Long Island Expressway in the Charger
once he
received a call from his buddy, Detective Johnson early this morning.
Apparently his daughter may have been kidnapped and her boyfriend murdered.
He headed out to Nassau County to assist
in the investigation. He and Carl Johnson went through the Police Academy together and worked out of the same precinct until Marchese transferred out of the Seven-five to Harlem.

They were both workaholics in those days but when Carl married and settled down with his family they saw less of each other speaking occasionally on the phone or whenever their cases brought them to the other’s borough.
Marchese learned about the double homicides in Brooklyn
through Carl.
One of the victims lived in the vicinity of his precinct and he got L.T. to allow him and his partner to assist in the case. They had a
load of unsolved homicides and L.T. wasn’t thrilled about using manpower to help solve a Brooklyn homicide until Marchese notified him one of the detectives on the case knew the victim personally.
One thing about the men and women in blue is they ban together. L.T. relented and warned, “Don’t forget those other cases and keep me updated. If it gets cold, I want you and Winoski to give it back to the Seven-five.”

Well, the case and leads were far from cold. In fact,
Winoski somehow got an informant to
add a
name
to the mysterious
perp
and
a
location. Freddie
and he lived uptown
.
Another big development he had an identifiable tattoo.
They checked out the elusive Freddie’s place. It was cleaned out except for what they
were able to salvage from the trash. Found in the garbage were shredded, soiled documents which they were able to piece together
.
Darlene’s address
along with initial’s E.G.

A series of random numbers scribbled on a paper were also found.
He shared this
information
with Carl
,
but omitted
Carey’s theory
about
a mob hit. They just didn’t have proof.
The
ir only
link
was
Alfonzo Diaz
. He was related to one of the victim’s in the Brooklyn murders and had the same name as the deceased. Not too long ago he was attacked and left for dead
.
Winoski’s
theory was beginning to sound more plausible.
These were no
coincidences;
all the murders had one
thing in common, Alfonzo.

Nassau County police vehicles were visible when Marchese arrived.

The wealthy community consisted of homes hidden off the main road, surrounded by landscaped gardens and expansive homes. Marchese would never be able
to afford
such extravagance on his modest salary.

He flashed a NYPD badge at the officer on post and entered the house.
Detective Johnson stood in the living
room talking to three men in suits.

Carl
turned
when
Marchese approached, “Thanks for coming Anthony…I need you to look
over the scene, you have a knack for interpreting things.”

“No problem Carl.”

Detective Johnson introduced the men
.
“This is
Lieutenant
Garret from the Nassau County Police, FBI agents Mark Townsend and Tyler Sinesi.”

The men shook hands politely as they sized-up each other.
The FBI usually handled kidnappings but Marchese had a gut feeling they were here
for more covert reasons.
Detective Johnson excused himself and
motioned for
Marchese to
follow. He showed him the
corpse.
The crime scene was still fresh and forensic specialists were looking around the house.

“Where’s the kid?” Marchese asked.

“He’s in the dining room.”

They
were
in the wide
garage
, with t
he car door open
. A
sheet covered a body on the
backseat
and
Marchese
enviously checked out the
sleek Mercedes
. It was a decadently
expensive
car
and
he
wondered
w
ho
owned
it
?
“What’s the story so far?” He asked
Detective
Johnson as he
slid away
the sheet to inspect
the victim.
He stared at a m
ale black
in his
early twenties
with a
possible gunshot wound to the back of the head.
No
,
a
definite gunshot wound to the occipital. High velocity weapons often left severe damage on point of impact or exit. Other factors to consider were distance, size of the
weapon and whether the target was stationary or transitory.

“
Do me a favor and h
and me some gloves
,
Carl.”

Detective Johnson removed a pair of gloves from the box in the kitchen and returned.
“Here y
ou
go.”

Marchese lifted the
victim’s
head
. The
forehead
was
slightly mangled and covered in blood.
Upon further inspection he found the entrance
of what
of the
bullet.
“Any casings found?”

“No.” Too bad Marchese thought. It might have settled whether this was the same killer from the Brooklyn homicides.
He
lay
the victim’s head gently in the same position and swiveled his head from
floor to ceiling
searching
for bullet holes.
Nothing.
More than likely the victim was shot elsewhere
in the house
. He walked around the car and
followed the blood droppings only to retrace his steps back to the kitchen.

Detective Johnson stayed a safe distance.
“You find something?” He asked finally.

Marchese examined the garbage before stopping at the kitchen sink.

He listened.
Straining to hear above the sound of police radios and voices.
Drip…drip…
drip!
He opened the cabinet
beneath
the sink
. W
ater leaked from the drain pipe into a bucket.
A house like this wouldn’t have a leak and the owner not get it fixed
immediately.
He stood again, removed the rubber mat cover
ing the
drain
and peered in the sink
. Either the spectacular
home experienced plumbing problems or there w
ere two
puncture
s
in the pipes.
Marchese
went under the sink again and examined the pipe, a
puncture hole as suspected. He spun his head around in the cramped space calculating the trajectory.
Bingo!

Something to give ballistics, tangible evidence.
The victim was killed here.
He dug his fingers down the splintered wood base of the enclosure and touched a spent shell. Holding it carefully he rose to his feet and showed Carl.
“Forty-four.”

“Fucking A.”
Carl growled, “The victims in Brooklyn w
ere shot with a forty-four.” He slipped it in an evidence bag.

“There’s another hole, if we’re lucky there’s another bullet to take back to the borough. These Nassau guys, they get shit and don’t share, you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, go check before they start getting territorial.”

Marchese bent down again and unhooked the J-trap. Goddamn, he was right a second bullet. He extracted it from the wet pipe and shoved it in his pocket then reconnected the ring.