Seven Ways to Die (24 page)

Farrell returned to his car and Cody joined Annie who was shooting a picture of Tony’s feet. She was using her kit to prop open the door of the freezer.

“We have some impressions here in the frost in front of the corpse,” she said.

“Sole prints?”

“No. My guess is surgeon’s booties.”

“Like on Handley’s carpet?”

“Uh huh.” She handed the camera to Cody and leaned closer, took a pair of tweezers and a small test tube from her kit and plucked a small fiber from the side of the one of the impressions and put it in the tube. She held it up so they both could get a better look.

“Light blue. Probably cotton. You’re right, the killer was suited out, just like at Handley’s. Roughly the same size feet. So far no fibers, no semen, no prints, and I’m guessing the only DNA will be Crosetti’s.”

“Why is he naked?”

“My guess? Make him freeze faster.”

“And the clothes?”

“Killer wasn’t taking any chances. Maybe something incriminating on them. Notice that brown stain on the corner of his mouth? Some food particles in his hair and on his chin. I’m guessing maybe something he ate and some of that wine. Maybe he threw up. There are some abrasions on the back of his throat but I couldn’t pry his jaws apart to get a good look.”

“How long will it take to thaw him out?”

She shrugged. “He’s frozen solid, Cap. We’ll have to move him out as he is. We try to straighten arms or legs out, they’ll break like twigs. When we get him back to the lab maybe we can speed things up with a heated blanket or a portable heater. Wolf’ll know. I’ve never had one quite like this.”

“D
éjà vu
. We had to take Handley out in the sitting position.”

“And naked.”

“Yeah. And they probably both died about the same time of night.” 

“He was undressed before he was put in here and he didn’t put up a fight. Except for those bootie prints there’s nothing on the floor. No signs of a struggle.”

“I think I can answer that for you. You finished here?”

“Yeah. I’ve got all the pictures I need. Gotta bag that wine bottle and glass. I also picked up some brownish-red fibers in front of the freezer door.”

Cody looked around. “Where’s Charley?”

“He was here a minute ago.”

“Charley?” Cody called. He heard a low “ruff” from the hallway leading away from the kitchen. They followed him around a corner and the dog was sniffing at a door. It led to the private dining room. When they opened it, Charley walked straight to the head of the table, sniffed around. All the chairs were in place except one.

“That chair Crosetti’s sitting on came from the head of this table,” Cody said. “Charley’s picked up another scent.”

Charley left the room, his nose leading them down the hallway toward the main dining room. He sniffed at the door to the men’s room, kept going and then stopped at the entrance of the women’s rest room. He scratched at the door.

Rothschild reached under her arm and drew her .38 as Cody opened the door. She looked through the crack in the door, then shoved it open and flicked on the lights. She knelt down, looking to right, left, and under the three stalls to their left. Charley walked to the third stall, nosed it open and went in.

“Room’s clear,” Rothschild said as Cody followed the dog to the stall. He was sniffing the toilet seat, then he turned to the wall of the stall and gave it the once over and looked at Cody.

“Good boy, keep going,” Cody said.

They followed Charley out of the rest room and down the hall to the main dining room. He stopped, sniffing at the corner of the hall, then walked straight across the room to Tony’s office, went in, sniffed the edge of the Oriental rug and sat down. Cody laughed.

“Son of a gun,” he said. “Still the best nose in the business.”

Cody and Rothschild followed him into the office and Cody petted Charley, roughing up his ears.

“You’re beautiful, boy. Good job, Charley. Good job.” He looked at Annie and smiled. “He just showed us how the killer got in here. He tracked the perp backwards. First, from the office to the freezer. Then he picked up the perp’s scent, probably from the chair or fresh prints to the private dining room and from there to the rest room. Our killer was standing on the seat in the lady’s room waiting for the coast to be clear so he could go about his dirty work on Tony.”

Cody activated his headset.

“Hue?”

“Yes sir.”

“Send the van now. Who’s driving?”

“Bergman.”

“Tell him to take it easy, don’t attract attention. Take Grand to Mott and come down to the parking lot and come to the back door of the Venezia. Bring Si with him.”

“Gotcha.”

“Annie is coming back with the package. Tell Si he’s gonna take over the grid. How about Bergman?”

“He should be in the lot about now.”

“Tell him to wait until the van leaves, then I want him and Kate to enter through the rear entrance.”

“Copy that.”

“How about Rizzo. How’s the interrogation going with Ricky?”

“They got him calmed down. He was pretty frazzled when they started.”

“Tell Frank I’ll be joining them after the van splits.”

“Right.”

Cody signed off and looked at Annie who was checking the messy dinner plate and the spot of food on the rug. She ran her fingertips over the surface of the rug.

“Follow me,” Cody said. Annie and Charley followed Cody to the door to the kitchen. Charley followed his original path to the freezer and sat down.

“Check these out,” Cody said, squatting down and pointing to the fibers in the tile grout.

“I get the message,” she said. “Looks like Mister Crosetti passed out—or was kayoed—and fell forward into his dinner. Then the killer wrapped him in the rug and dragged him back to the freezer.”

Cody nodded. “Then brought the rug back to the office. There are no bruises on Tony’s skull, are there?”

Annie shook her head. “The bottle of wine and the glass in the freezer may provide the answer to that.”

“The question is, how did the perp get in the restaurant and when? Ricky can help us there.”

“And why? Uncle Tony doesn’t look like the type to be hanging out at sex clubs.”

“I think that’s a safe assumption. It certainly opens the door wide for motive.”

“Well, Charley just earned himself a big, fat marrow bone dinner.”

“At the very least,” Cody answered with a smile.

27

Cody got in the front seat beside Rizzo and sat sideways, looking back at Farrell and Ricardo Crosetti, a man fighting shock, his sorrow etched in the seams of his face, his swollen brown eyes glistening with unwept tears. He was unshaven and had obviously dressed in a hurry. The forty-four-year-old chef was wearing white sneakers, a pair of weathered jeans and a brown wool sweater over a white t-shirt—but his socks did not match: One was blue, the other black. He was leaning forward in his seat, elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together as he tried to cope with reality: The man who had adopted him as his son was dead.

Jimmy Farrell did the introductions. Ricky had a hearty handshake but his palm was wet.

“I’m sorry this has happened, Mister Crosetti,” said Cody.

Crosetti nodded, thought a moment or two, and said, “Maybe I should see Uncle Tony.”

“Look, Ricky, I think we should stick to the plan,” Farrell said. “Let the Captain and his squad do the autopsy. Then I’ll go with you and get him to the funeral home. Tell her exactly what we said, no signs of violence and we won’t know his cause of death until the autopsy is complete. Right now that’s the truth.”

“I’ve got a timeline from 11 p.m. until Ricky left at about 1:10 a.m.,” Rizzo told Cody.

“I’ve got a couple of questions for Ricky,” Cody answered.

Crosetti looked at him and said, “Okay.”

“What time did all the work staff and cleaning people leave?”

“I signed out the last one, that was my sous chef, the assistant master chef Tom Poggi, at 12:20.”

“Did they all leave by the rear entrance?”

He nodded.

“And just the two of you were left at that point? You and Tony?”

“Right.”

“Then what happened?”

“I re-mopped around the back door, some of the boys had stuff on their shoes. Uncle Tony finished doing the books and took the cash and checks down to the ATM. He left right at 12:30, way he always does. Jimmy, here, always has a squad car down at the corner of Canal Street to keep an eye on him. I went outside and had a smoke. Tony doesn’t like smoking in the place. Then I got the electric polisher and went in to do my uncle’s office, polish the floors, that is. That’s the last thing on the itinerary.”

“How long does it take you to do the office? What’s your procedure?”

“Fifteen minutes. The rest of the place is spotless. I personally check the whole restaurant before the cleaners leave. I do the polish when he’s down at the corner. He usually stops in to have a quick cup of tea with Mister Chow—he owns the Shanghai Palace—he’s never more than ten minutes with Chow. I put the rug on the desk, polish the floor—move the chair and computer desk around. Put it all back the way it was. When he comes back he locks the front door behind him, comes straight to the kitchen, I give him his glass of wine, and he sips while he checks every square inch of that kitchen. What I mean, there better not be a spot of grease on a stove or the oven or any of the pots and pans. He’s really freaky about that.”

“Where’s the wine kept?”

“He breaks open a new bottle every night from down in the wine cellar. What’s left after he has his couple of glasses goes out to the bar as bar wine the next day. First thing I do before the polish is uncork the bottle and pour him a glass, let it sit while I do the rest of the job. He likes to let it breathe. So, when he comes back he checks out the kitchen and sips his wine, then he goes to the office and I take him his supper—it’s always the special of the day—and a bottle of water. Sometimes a salad but he didn’t order one last night.”

“Do you leave the door ajar while you’re doing all this?”

“Yeah, air it out. It’s always pretty hot in there.”

“And the wine?”

“On the counter with the glass. I take the whole thing in on a tray, set it out for him, ‘
Buona notte, Padre
,’ kiss him on the cheek, bring the tray back, close the shutters on the kitchen windows, lock the door as I leave.”

“The wine and water stay in there?”

“Right. He has another glass with his dinner, brings the plate, glasses, the bottle into the kitchen when he leaves, puts the dirty dishes in the sink, leaves the bottle on the counter, throws what’s left of the water in the garbage.”

“Always the same?”

“Every night. Rituals. That’s the way he is.” The dam broke as he said it. Ricky lowered his head and tears showered down his cheeks.

Cody shook his head. He looked at Farrell and nodded. “That’s all I have,” he said, and to Ricky, “I’m sorry we had to put you through this. Thanks, Ricky.” And Cody returned to the restaurant.

Δ

“Yeah,” Cody said. “Vinnie and Winters are waiting in their car in the parking lot until the van leaves. They’ll assist Si running the grid.”

“Any signs of a struggle?” Si asked.

“No,” Annie answered. “Just some smudged footprints in front of the chair. I’m guessing they’re O.R. booties. Eight inches long, which is rather small. I pulled some blue fibers from the frost on the floor. It frosts up when you open the door; the temperature in there is zero Fahrenheit. There were also some red droplets on the floor. I assume they’re drops of wine. I’ve tubed everything from inside the freezer except the wine bottle and glass.”

Hardy returned with the gurney and a blanket.

“Brung a blanket,” he said. “He’s gonna be kinda slippery, don’t wanna drop the poor guy.”

“I’ll help you get him on the gurney,” said Annie. “We’ll lay him on sideways and cover him with the blanket.”

“Good,” Cody said. “I’ll give Si a quick tour back to the office. Meet us back there. You’ll wanna take the rug and plate with you.”

“Right.”

Cody led Si to one side. “Here’s what you need to know. Crosetti lived by rituals. Everything was done his way, every day. Everybody that works here is out by quarter after twelve. That leaves the old man and Ricky here alone.

“I think our killer knows all this. Follow me. He comes in, spikes the wine bottle and glass, walks down this hall, to the ladies rest room, comes in, comes back here to the third stall, and stands on the toilet seat. And waits. He’s in and safe. He waits until he hears Ricky give Tony his dinner, hears him close the window shutters in the kitchen, lock the door and leave, then he comes out, comes down here to the main dining room and waits in the dark. Watching. Watching Tony Crosetti eating his late night supper, sipping his wine. He waits and watches and…” Cody led Si across the darkened dining room to the office, “…at some point, Uncle Tony passes out and falls face forward into his dinner.”

Si stared at the plate and started to say something but Cody cut him off.

“Let me finish. Uncle Tony’s out cold. Our killer drags him out of his chair, lays him on the rug, wraps it up and drags him through that door to the freezer. You’ll find fibers in the tile grouting in the kitchen. Then he goes into the private dining room, takes a chair from the table, and puts it in the freezer. He undresses Tony, props him in the chair the way we found him, takes the rug back to the office and brings the wine bottle and glass back, puts it beside Tony, closes the door, and leaves. The whole trick doesn’t take more than twenty, thirty minutes. Look at the plate. Crosetti wasn’t half way through his meal when he took the dive.”

“That’s pretty good, Micah. Two questions. Why the clothes? And why put the wine and glass in the freezer?”

“You tell me, Si.”

“First of all, he froze faster naked.”

“Okay.”

“And second, there was something on the clothes, maybe some fibers, DNA, something the killer was worried about, so he copped the clothes. Why take a chance?”

“How about the bottle of wine?”

Si smiled. “He’s talking to us Micah. He’s telling us something. I told you, sooner or later they all have to mark their work, like a dog peeing on a fire hydrant. And I’ll make you a ten dollar bet.”