Spectrum (The Karen Vail Series) (10 page)

16

>ASTORIA, QUEENS

Wednesday, May 16, 1973

Livana felt obligated to relate Officer Kennedy’s remarks to Fedor; after all, the decision to provide a description of the killer impacted all of them—if what Kennedy had told her was true. And she had no reason to question his veracity.

The detective assigned to the case, Isidore Proschetta, made no mention of the Mafia connection when he arrived. He reviewed some of the information Kennedy had collected and assured Livana he would give the case his full attention.

Now, as they walked to the police precinct to meet with the sketch artist, Livana gave him one more chance to change his mind.

They stopped in front of a storefront restaurant and Fedor faced her, then placed both hands on her shoulders. “This man killed my best friend, your husband, Cassie’s and Dmitri’s father. I saw him—” He took a breath and looked up at the gray sky. “I saw him beating Basil, Livana. I can’t let that go. I couldn’t sleep knowing that man, and his friends, are out there. Who knows if he wouldn’t come after us no matter what I do? If I don’t help the police, they’ll feel they can just keep doing things like this.”

They continued on to the station. Fedor spent forty-five minutes with the sketch artist, who produced a likeness that Fedor felt accurately represented the man he had tackled on the lawn.

Two days later, Detective Proschetta paid a visit to Fedor’s duplex. Livana cracked open the front door. “Detective. Fedor’s at work.”

“Actually, I’m here to see you. Can I come in?”

Livana stepped aside and Proschetta stopped in the entryway, his hat in his hand, his trench coat dripping from the heavy rain falling outside.

Proschetta looked to be about her age, which Livana took to mean that he must have proven himself to have risen to the rank of detective at such a young age. Then again, she did not know how the police department worked, so perhaps she was engaging in wishful thinking.

“I heard back from the medical examiner, so I thought it’d be better to talk to you in person, if you’re up to hearing his preliminary findings.”

Livana dipped her chin, indicating for him to continue.

“The autopsy didn’t show any surprises. Cause of—well, uh, cause of death was blunt force trauma, delivered by several round objects from a multitude of angles. Judging by the force and number of blows, it looks like their intent was to kill, not merely injure. Or they were enjoying themselves and got carried away.”

“Enjoying themselves?”

Proschetta shifted his feet a bit. “It’s a tough concept for people like you and me, I know.” He glanced around at the modest, homey surroundings. “Small wood fibers were extracted from your husband’s—uh—his head wound, but the best, and most solid, evidence was the matchbook the officers found in the jacket your friend pulled off one of the attackers. The lack of other useful forensics—and the fact we don’t have other eye witnesses, means there’s a tremendous amount of weight on the statement that you two gave the police the night of the murder—and, obviously, the sketch that was drawn and circulated to officers across the city. And its boroughs.”

Livana absorbed all of this calmly. “Thank-you, Detective Proschetta.”

“I’ve also got some good news. Based on that sketch, we’ve identified the suspect as Dominic Crinelli, a twenty-three-year-old enforcer for a New York City Mafia crime family. But I want you to have reasonable expectations.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that guys like this, they don’t roll on their associates.” He stopped, appeared to realize that Livana did not understand his cop slang. “Sometimes you can get a perpetrator to tell you who was working with him, or who ordered him to commit the crime. In exchange, the prosecutor gives him a more lenient sentence for his cooperation. Because of who these people are, that’s not likely to happen here. I’ll try, but realistically Crinelli’s the only one we’re gonna be able to put away—with Fedor’s help, of course.”

“I guess it’s better to have one in jail for killing my husband than for all of them to go free.”

Proschetta looked down at his brimmed hat and said, “You know, I think your friend’s exhibiting tremendous courage taking a stand against the mob.”

“He’s just trying to do the right thing. For Basil.”

“Well, tell him we respect him for that. And let him know we’re looking for Crinelli right now. Once we bring him in, we’ll need Fedor to come down, pick him out of a lineup.”

“I’ll tell him. He should be home in an hour or so.” She hesitated a second, then asked, “You sure he’s doing the right thing?”

Proschetta’s serious expression exuded wisdom and experience exceeding his years. “Let me put it this way, ma’am. The mob thinks they run the city. If we don’t give ’em a bloody nose once in a while, it starts to look like they really are in charge. We can’t let that happen. This is not just how I feel, it’s the orders we’re getting from our lieutenants, captains, chiefs. The commissioner.” He handed her his business card. “You see anything unusual, strangers near the house, cars that don’t belong, whatever, you call me. You or the kids feel unsafe, same thing. You call me. I’ll drop by from time to time, update you on where we’re at. If that’s okay with you.”

“I’d like that.”

“You got any questions before I take off?”

“Yeah.” She fiddled with the card, her fingers tracing the edges. “When do you think I’ll be able to bury my husband?”

Proschetta cleared his throat. “As soon as the medical examiner has finished his work, and we’re sure it’s safe to release the body to you. There are legal considerations. The arrest, that kind of thing.” He studied her eyes and then said, “I’ll do my best to get the ball rolling on that.”

PROSCHETTA HAD NOT been gone an hour when Fedor walked in the door, his face glistening with raindrops.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as she helped him with his coat.

“Nothing. Why do you think something’s wrong?”

“I see it on your face. Tell me.”

He waved a hand as he bent over and then began pulling off the rubber galoshes covering his shoes. “It’s no big deal. There was just … a note in my mailbox at work.”

“What’d it say? Who was it from?”

“It wasn’t signed.”

“And? What’d it say?”

He hesitated. “It just said, ‘Forget what you saw. Or you and your son will be sorry.’”

“Forget what you saw. About Basil?”

“About Basil’s
murder
.” Fedor turned and went into the kitchen, where he took a seat at the table.

“The detective—Proschetta? He came by a little while ago. He said they know who it is: Dominic Crinelli. A kid. He’s only twenty-three.”

“Sounds about right.”

“He told me to tell you that they’re out looking for him and that you’ll need to pick him out of a lineup.”

“A lineup? The only lineup I know is Rusty Staub, Bud Harrelson, Cleon Jones.” He grinned. “The Mets.”

“Not funny, Fedor.”

“No.” The smile vanished. “Sorry.” He shrugged. “I’ll do whatever they need me to do.”

She pulled Proschetta’s card from her pocket and looked it over, as if it gave her the strength to tell Fedor what she needed to say. “The detective said that Crinelli’s with the mob. Same as the officers told us.”

“What else did Proschetta say?

Livana set the card down and picked up a napkin from the table. She began rolling its corner. “Just that he thought what you’re doing is brave, and they think it’s the right thing to do.”

“And you? What do you think?”

Livana looked away. “Please don’t ask me that. I—I can’t make that decision for you.”

“Hey. Look at me.” He waited for her to meet his eyes. “I’d be lying if I said it didn’t scare me. But we can’t let them go free, either. I think they’re just trying to scare me, intimidate me. But I don’t intimidate easily, do I?” He leaned back in his chair. “Did he say when I have to do the lineup?”

“As soon as they find that bastard. They’re looking right now.”

Fedor scooped up the business card and walked to the phone. “I’m going to call Proschetta, see if they can give us some protection for Nik until all this blows over. That seems reasonable to me.”

Several minutes later, he set the handset back in its cradle. “Detective Proschetta’s gonna arrange for a patrol car to keep a watch over Nik during his walks to and from school and when he’s out in the playground—at least until the trial’s over.”

“That’s great.”

Fedor headed back to the entryway and started to pull on his galoshes.

“Where are you going?”

“They just brought him in. Crinelli. I’ve gotta go do that lineup thing.”

“Good luck.”

He forced a smile and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna hit it out of the ballpark.”

17

>DOMINIC CRINELLI CRIME SCENE

284 E 32nd Street

Manhattan

Monday, November 4, 1996

Vail borrowed a pen and pad from Russo and began writing down notes and observations, questions for follow-up and reminders for things she wanted to check in the Manos case file.

As she sat there staring at the page, wondering if she had forgotten anything, she heard a commotion coming from the direction of the front door.

She headed into the hallway, where Russo was shaking hands with a man sporting a well-trimmed salt-and-pepper Afro. At first she pegged him as an undercover. But he was dressed in a dark suit and when he moved his arm, his badge swung into view, affixed to his belt.

“Karen, come over here. I want you to meet Detective Timothy Thorne. Timmy, Karen Vail.”

Thorne turned fully and as he locked eyes with Vail, his pupils dilated.

“How you doing?” she said, giving his hand a shake. “Timothy or Timmy?”

But Timothy, or Timmy, was enraptured by the redhead and he did not release his grip. Instead, he placed his free hand over hers and held it there.

“You can let go,” Vail said. “Now.”

Thorne laughed, a belly laugh, as if she had just made a very funny joke. But Vail was not smiling.

“This yours?” he said, turning toward Russo. “Carmine, you dog. You been holding out.”

“‘Yours’?” Vail asked, looking to Russo for clarification.
If he thinks what I think he means, I may have to kick him in the balls. Probably not the best move, but he’s asking for it.

“I sense some Irish blood in there,” Thorne said, eyeing Vail, making a show of appraising her. “I can smell it.”

“Yeah. Some,” she said. “But I
smell
something else.”

“Karen,” Russo said. “Do me a favor and take another look at that marking on the vic’s neck, will you?”

Thorne’s gaze bounced between Vail and Russo. Russo was communicating nonverbally, urging her to leave the room.

Vail frowned and headed down the hall. Thorne reeked of alcohol—either he had been out partying, not on call and not expecting to be called, or he was an alcoholic. Not unheard of in the police ranks, even though department procedure was explicit that a cop was on call 24/7 and he always had to be of sound mind, especially when handling his firearm. No exceptions. It was a good rule, even though it was not pragmatic. What cop didn’t drink when he was off duty, particularly after a stressful shift?

Vail did not walk all the way into the other room, preferring to listen to the interplay between Russo and Thorne. Evidently Thorne was going to be the case detective—and that meant she would need to work with him, closely. Their relationship did not begin auspiciously.

“Are you kidding me? She’s on patrol? How many years on the job? Can’t be more than five.”

Russo mumbled something and Thorne, clearly not getting the concept of keeping the volume of his voice low, said, “She’s a looker, Carmine. She should be in my bed, not in my office, sharing a case with me … No, that’s just bullshit.”

Bullshit? Yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking.

She walked back into the hallway, her face flushed and her pulse thumping in her temples.

“I should be in your bed, not in your office? I earned my badge, Timmy. You got a problem with that?”

Russo covered his eyes. “Karen, please—”

“Matter of fact, I do. I like my women between my legs, not anywhere near my cases.
You
got a problem with that?”

Vail advanced down the hall, headed toward Thorne. “What did you just say?”

“Karen.” Russo stepped in front of her and stared her down. Between clenched teeth, he said, “Go wait in your car.”

“I don’t need you to fight my battles, Russo.”

“This isn’t your battle and no one’s fighting anything. Now go. That’s an order.”

Don’t let this idiot sabotage your career.

Vail brushed her hair away from her face and said, “Yes sir.”

She took a long, hard look at Thorne, then headed down the hall, pushing past him and brushing his arm ever so slightly, sending him a three-pronged message: You’re an asshole; I know you’re an asshole; and I don’t let assholes push me around.

TEN MINUTES PASSED. Vail was sitting in her car, as Russo had ordered. She wished she had one of those cell phones to call Deacon and tell him she hoped to be home soon. He probably wouldn’t wait up for her because he had to leave early for work. But she wished he would, because for the first time, she was starting to feel excited about having a child.

So much had to be reconciled—like Russo’s mentoring of her. He seemingly had taken her under his tutelage, first by calling her out to this crime scene, and then by assigning her to work on the case. How long it lasted—Russo’s special treatment and the time she would spend working the case—she had no idea. But it was not the ideal time to take maternity leave. And at some point she would start showing, and that could stop everything as effectively as a deployed parachute on a free-falling skydiver.

Vail did not want to get ahead of things. She decided to take it a day at a time and see how it went. That was probably the prudent course of action. There were so many variables that it was senseless to get wrapped up in potential scenarios.

She looked up and saw Russo heading toward her. He pulled open the passenger door and sat down heavily.

“Look. Timmy’s not a bad guy, but he’s got some issues. ‘Women’ are issues one through five. You don’t gotta like the guy, just work with him, learn what you can, contribute what you can, and get along best you can. Avoid confrontation. Can you do that?”

There’s only one right answer here.

“Of course.”

“Okay, then. Just remember, your future’s bright and it’s not worth letting a guy with problems bring you down. You’re better than that. Right?”

“Right.”

“Now, that said. Off the record. You were right to stand up for yourself. Don’t you let any guy walk over you. You’re as good as any of the men doing the job.”

“Well, I’m only a year—”

“No, listen to me. This is the time when you just shut up and listen. Because I’m complimenting you. I’ve been doing this a long time, and I’ve seen a lot of cops come and go. Some stay in patrol their whole career—and there ain’t nothing wrong with that. Some go on to detective, or captain, or chief—whatever. But to do that, to move up the ladder, you gotta have certain qualities. Some keep taking tests and getting the promotion but don’t know shit about the street and wouldn’t know instinct if it hit ’em in the ass. But you got it all, Karen. And more. I know this.”

“This is the part where I agree with you, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Then I agree.”

“Believe in yourself, Karen. Be open to learning, because you know shit right now. You’ve got good instincts, and they’ll carry you till you learn enough to make informed decisions. But at some point you’re gonna be able to put it all together, and I’m lookin’ forward to that day when you know more than me, when you tell me the way things are. And when that day comes, I’ll be proud. Like a dad sending his daughter off to college.”

“I agree.”

“That wasn’t the part where you’re supposed to agree.”

“Russo, I’m pregnant.”

He studied her face, disbelief etched in his expression.

Oh, shit. Why’d I say that?

After a long moment, he turned away. “You wanna be off work for nine months?”

“No, absolutely not.”

“Then I didn’t hear you say that.” He let that ride a minute, then said, “You gonna have the baby?”

“I—I just found out today. Actually, I didn’t find out anything. I just have a feeling—”

“Fine. Then you’re
not
pregnant. And don’t tell me anything until your doc tells you that you have to stop working.”

Vail squinted. “Okay.”

“Ever watch
Hogan’s Heroes
?”

Vail laughed.
Is he serious?
“Yeah, of course. Well, the reruns.”

“When Sergeant Shultz says, ‘I know nothing! I hear nothing.’” Russo gave a chuckle, then got serious. “That’s what I’m saying here. I didn’t hear what you said. Now—go home and report to Detective Thorne in the morning at the homicide squad.”

“I will.”

“Meantime, no cigarettes. No alcohol. And keep me posted on this case. We got us a serial killer here and that’s never a good thing. Plus, he’s stirred up a hornet’s nest with the mob. As if I didn’t have enough agita, I’ve now got a case that’s gonna make my life a living hell.”

Through the windshield, Vail saw Thorne step out onto the brown-stone’s porch, shield his hands against the gentle breeze, and light a cigarette.

Russo opened his door. “Timmy used to be a really sharp detective. Let’s hope he leaves the booze behind and brings his A game to this case.”

Vail reached for the ignition as the passenger door slammed shut.
Amen to that.

VAIL WALKED INTO their Rosedale house—the same one in which she once rented a basement room—and tiptoed upstairs so as not to wake Deacon.

But when she reached the top of the stairs, she saw a crack of light beneath the wood door.

Vail pushed into the bedroom and saw Deacon sitting up in bed, Robert Ludlum’s
The Apocalypse Watch
open in his lap.

“You’re still up?”

He set the book aside and tapped the area next to him. “I wanted to see you.”

“But you’ve gotta be up early.”

“So I’ll be tired. I only saw you for a few minutes and then you were off. How’d it go?”

Vail kicked off her shoes and crawled into bed, cuddled into Deacon’s arm and rested her head against his chest. “Good, I think. It’s a really interesting case.”

“Did Russo explain why he called you?”

“I’m not sure. I think he likes me, and he seems to be mentoring me.”

“For what?”

“Well, to become a detective.”

“That’s—wow, I didn’t realize that’s how it worked. Then again, I don’t know anything about how any of that works. It’s a totally foreign world to me.”

“It’s not how it works. This is, well, I’m not sure what it is. Lucky, I guess. I’m certainly not complaining.” After a moment, she said, “I’ve been doing some thinking. About the baby.”

“And?”

“I picked up a pregnancy test at Duane Reade on the way home. If it’s positive—”

“If? I thought you were sure.”

“It’s going to be positive. I’m sure, I can tell. Anyway, assuming it’s positive, I want to have the baby. I mean, I really want to have it. I just—earlier, I didn’t know what to make of it. It kind of hit me by surprise. And this thing with Russo, how he’s taken me under his wing, I was just confused.”

“And now you’re seeing it more clearly?”

“You were right. There’s never a perfect time. So this happened for a reason. It was meant to be. We’ll have the baby and it’ll change things. It’ll change us. It’ll probably change my career to some degree. But I’m okay with that.”

Deacon kissed her head.

“Now put the book away and kill the light. I’m gonna wash up and get undressed. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Vail walked into the bathroom and as she removed her bra, she looked at herself in the mirror. Here she was, twenty-two years old, and she was going to be a mother in nine months.

Am I ready for this?

If I can carry a gun and chase druggies across building roofs, I can raise a child. How hard can it be?

Vail finished washing up, then slid under the covers. She scooted against Deacon’s warm body and draped her arms around him. She felt safe and content, ready to enter a new phase of her life.