Hard Case Crime: Fake I.D. (21 page)

“All right, I’ll be by.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

I showed up at the precinct at two o’clock on the button. Mike came up front to meet me. He looked the same as he did last night—wearing what looked like the same shirt and tie. We shook hands and then he led me to a room in the back. There were three guys sitting on one side of the long table—the only one I recognized was the detective who was investigating the robbery. Mike sat down next to them and told me to sit down in the one seat on the other side of the table. It didn’t look like this was going to be “routine.”

One of the guys said, “I’m Detective Himoto, Mr. Russo. Thank you for coming down here today.”

Himoto was Japanese-American, but he spoke English without an accent.

“No problem,” I said.

“This is Detective Howard,” Himoto said, and the black guy next to him nodded, “and I think you’ve already met Detective Edwards. We just wanted to run through a few things with you, Mr. Russo, if that’s all right with you?”

“I’ll do whatever I can to help,” I said.

“First of all,” Himoto said, “we’d like you to take a look at this.”

He slid a sheet of paper across the desk to me. I picked it up and read to myself.

Mama, mama can’t breathe no more

Mama, mama always there, ain’t no cure

Mama, mama you better run

‘Cause it sure as hell ain’t gonna be no fun

“Yeah,” I said, sliding the paper back across the table. “So?”

“These are lyrics to a song we found in Gary O’Reilley’s apartment last night.”

“Well it doesn’t sound like he’s gonna be the next Michael Jackson, huh?” I said smiling.

All the detectives smiled with me, except Himoto.

“The lyrics to several of his other songs also had homicidal themes,” Himoto said. “Did Gary ever talk to you about his homicidal fantasies, particularly ones involving his stepmother?”

“No, I told Mike—I mean Detective Scott—last night that I couldn’t imagine the guy killing anybody.”

“Sorry to be redundant, Mr. Russo, but we have to be as thorough as possible with our investigation. That’s how a police investigation works. At this point, we don’t know what’s important and what isn’t, so we just have to assume everything is important and work from there. So I’d appreciate your cooperation and patience.”

I didn’t like the way Himoto was talking down to me in front of the other detectives.

“No problem,” I said. “Like I said, I just wanna help you guys any way I can.”

“Has Gary O’Reilley tried to contact you?” Himoto asked.

“You kidding? He hardly speaks to me.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s just one of those things. I guess we don’t have a lot in common.”

“Do you know any friends of his he could be staying with?”

I shook my head.

“No friends of his ever came to the bar?”

“Yeah, once in a while, but I didn’t know any of them. I mean maybe if you showed me some pictures I could pick somebody out. Except, come to think of it, there was a guy from his band who came to the bar to meet him sometimes. He had a ponytail, but I don’t know his name.”

“We’ve talked to his band members,” Himoto said. “I was hoping you knew of somebody else. Maybe somebody who lives in Brooklyn.”

“Sorry,” I said.

“What about Gary O’Reilley’s relationship with his stepmother?”

“What about it?”

“Would you describe them as close?”

“No, not really. I mean the way Debbie drank it was hard for anyone to get close with her.”

“Is it possible that they were closer than they seemed?” Himoto asked.

“What do you mean?”

“A witness we spoke with said that he thought he once saw Gary and Debbie holding hands. Do you think it’s possible that they...something funny Mr. Russo?”

“Sorry,” I said, realizing I must’ve been smiling. “It’s just the idea of Gary and Debbie together like that is kind of sick. It’s impossible too.”

“Why is it impossible? We understand that Debbie was quite promiscuous.”

“That’s true, she was,” I said. “But let’s just say that I don’t think women are exactly Gary’s type.”

“Did you know that Gary O’Reilley has a girlfriend?”

“No, I didn’t know that.”

“Well, he does. Let me ask you something else, Mr. Russo. Do you have something against homosexuals?”

“What do you mean?”

“You just seem to have a sarcastic-aggressive attitude about the subject. My son happens to be gay so I’d appreciate it if you put your personal feelings aside during the rest of this conversation. Do you think you can do that?”

“No problem,” I said, wondering why Himoto seemed to have it in for me.

Himoto let out a deep breath then said, “Detective Scott tells me you saw Gary at the bar on Monday night. Do you remember what time he left?”

“Jesus, lemme think,” I said. “It must’ve been a little after six o’clock.”

“And what did you do after that?”

“I stayed till closing time, then I caught some shut-eye. Tuesday morning I went to Vegas.”

“Was this a planned trip?”

“No, not really,” I said. “But I had a couple of days to kill so I figured I’d go away.”

Himoto looked at the other detectives, then he stood up and said, “I think that’s all we need from you for right now, Mr. Russo. Thanks for coming down.”

“I want you guys to know something,” I said.

Himoto turned back toward me. The other detectives were looking at me too.

“Gary O’Reilley hates my guts,” I said. “He thinks his father likes me better than him, which he probably does, and he’s pissed that Frank wants to let me manage the bar when he moves to Arizona. When you find him he’s gonna say all kinds of shit about me. I just wanted you guys to know that.”

“Thanks again for your time, Mr. Russo,” Himoto said, and he left the room.

The other detectives walked out too, except Mike.

“So what’s the deal with Himoto?” I asked.

“Don’t worry about him,” Mike said. “You just hit a sore spot with him, that’s all. His kid’s a major-league homo, an AIDS activist, the whole nine yards.”

“So they really think Gary did it, huh?” I said.

“Maybe,” Mike said. “They have some DNA evidence they’re gonna run by the lab—see if it brings a match.”

“What kind of evidence?” I asked.

“They found a couple of pubes on the body,” Mike said. “Some guy was probably balling her before she died.”

Mike walked me to the front of the precinct, updating me about the rest of the case. He said that the cops still didn’t know much about Debbie’s whereabouts before she was killed. She was last seen at a Chinese restaurant on Second Avenue at around 4:30 Wednesday afternoon, but they had no idea where she went after that or how her body wound up in Brooklyn. At the door, Mike thanked me again for coming down and he said he doubted he’d need to talk to me again. We shook hands goodbye.

Things at work seemed to be going back to normal. There were no cops or reporters around—just the usual cronies, finishing up getting drunk before they went home to their wives. Kathy had the night off, but Gil was sitting on a stool, writing in his little notebook, and even Frank was there, sitting at a table alone, nursing a beer. It kind of surprised me to see Frank at the bar, after the way he was last night, but it made a lot of sense too. Maybe he finally realized that Debbie was just a big headache and he was a lot better off with her out of the way.

“Hey,” I said, sitting down across from him.

“Hey, Tommy,” he said, looking up. He seemed happy to see me.

“You look a lot better than you did last night,” I said.

“I look like shit and you know it,” he said. “I wouldn’t have come in, but I didn’t know what else to do with myself. I was up all night on the phone with Debbie’s relatives. Now I’ve got a funeral to plan.”

“Hey, if you want me to take care of that I can,” I said.

“I appreciate it, Tommy, but that’s all right. My sister’s coming up from Maryland and she’ll help out. It’s just hard, you know?”

“You just gotta hang in there—be strong,” I said. “I was by the police precinct before.”

“Yeah, they had Gil and Gary there too.”

“Gary? I thought they—”

“That’s the good news. The police said Gary isn’t a suspect anymore.”

“Why not?”

“He had an alibi for Wednesday, the time they think Debbie was killed. He was at his friend’s house in Astoria.”

“That
is
good news,” I said. “Lemme go hang up my coat.”

It turned out to be the slowest Friday night I’d ever seen at O’Reilley’s. By eight o’clock there were only two customers in the bar, then they left and the place was empty.

I was back by the bar, playing a Queen CD, when Rodrigo walked in. He glared at me with dark, pissed-off eyes, then he sat down at the table across from Frank. Over “We Will Rock You” I couldn’t make out what Rodrigo was saying, but I didn’t like the looks of it. A few times, Frank looked over at me, and I knew Rodrigo was telling Frank about the robbery. I couldn’t understand why he was telling him now, after he’d kept the secret for so long.

Rodrigo sat at the table with Frank for a while longer—Rodrigo doing all the talking, Frank just sitting there, looking over at me once in a while, taking it in. Then Rodrigo got up and, without looking at me, went toward the kitchen. I was going to follow him, find out what the hell was going on, when Frank got up and came over to me, sitting down on a stool across the bar.

“Let me guess,” I said before Frank could say anything. “Rodrigo was trying to get me back.”

“Get you back?” Frank asked.

“We had a little incident here the other night when you weren’t around,” I said, smiling. “His wife came into the bar and I didn’t know she was his wife—I just thought she was a good-looking Mexican girl. And you know how I am when I see a pretty face. I started talking to her, just polite talk, and Rodrigo saw us and flipped out. You know, Mexicans with their
machismo
. The fuckin’ guy thought I was trying to pick up his wife.” I laughed. “Anyway, he got all hot-headed, started calling me names and I said something about his mother. I guess now he’s getting me back by telling you shit about me. Am I right?”

“He said you robbed the safe.”

“I knew it. You’d think the guy could’ve come up with a more original way to get even than to start making up rumors about me. What does he think this is, high school?”

Frank was staring at me.

“What?” I said. “Don’t tell me you believe that bullshit?”

“You went to Vegas Monday night?”

“Yeah,” I said, figuring the cops must’ve told him so there was no point denying it. “So what?”

“I was gonna say something about it before, but now it all makes sense. Where the hell did you get the money to go to Las Vegas?”

Frank was screaming. I’d never heard him scream before, at anybody, but I decided not to take it personally. He was probably just pissed off about all the shit that was happening lately and he was taking it out on me.

“I hit at the track,” I said calmly.

“I thought you told me you weren’t gonna bet anymore?”

“What can I say?” I said. “I’ve got a problem. And if you wanna know the truth I’ve signed up for Gamblers Anonymous.”

“Rodrigo told me he saw you leave here that night, carrying a big garbage bag.”

“Rodrigo’s a liar.”

“I’ve been through too much the past twenty-four hours to put up with any more bullshit,” he said. “To be honest, I don’t really care about the robbery anymore, but I just want to know the truth now, once and for all—”

“I told you the truth. Come on, I don’t even know the combination to the safe, remember?”

“Maybe you saw me or Gary going into it one time.”

“That’s crazy. Don’t listen to Rodrigo. If Rodrigo saw me steal the money why wouldn’t he’ve told you right away?”

Frank took a deep breath. “He said he would’ve told me about it right away, but he was afraid to get involved with the police because he was working here illegally.”

“So why is he telling you now?”

“His green card just came through this afternoon.”

“Come on,” I said. “The guy’s lying—he probably took that money himself and now he’s just trying to cover his own ass.”

While I was talking, Gary stormed into the bar. He looked crazy. His hair was a mess and he looked tired, like he hadn’t slept since the last time I saw him. Swinging his arms, he walked around the bar and came right up to me.

“He did it,” Gary said to Frank. “I told you right away, but you didn’t believe me. First he robbed you, then he killed Debbie.”

“Hey, watch your fuckin’ mouth,” I said.

Now Gil came over and he was standing behind Gary.

“Why don’t you just cool it?” Gil said.

“Stay the hell out of this,” Gary said. “This is between me and this killer right here.”

“Hey,” I said to Frank, “if you don’t tell your kid to shut up—”

“She was flirting with him all the time,” Gary said to Frank. “If you didn’t know about it you were blind, because everybody knew about it.”

“Look,” I said. “If you don’t just shut the hell—”

Gary sucker-punched me below my left eye and I stumbled backwards into the liquor bottles. Glass crashed onto the floor. Frank and Gil were screaming and Queen was singing “We Are The Champions.” I was okay, though. I didn’t fall down and I wasn’t dazed. My eye hurt and I knew it was going to swell up if I didn’t put ice on it. But the ice would have to wait.

“That was for Debbie,” Gary said, “and for my father.”

Frank was yelling at us and Gil was trying to hold Gary back. Then Gary got loose. He took another swing at me, but this time I was ready. I stepped back and the punch missed wildly. I saw my opening. I pushed him off me then I hit him with an uppercut to the jaw. His head snapped back first, then his whole body went. As he was falling backwards, I caught him again—right in the mouth. It was probably the hardest I’d ever hit anybody. I got all my strength behind it and he didn’t have a chance to duck. He fell straight back on his ass like somebody pulled a rug out from under him.