Spectrum (The Karen Vail Series) (7 page)

9

>ASTORIA, QUEENS

Friday, February 23, 1973

Basil emptied his First Astoria savings account and walked to the home of Gregor and Alysia Persephone. Livana met him with the kids a few paces from the front door. They exchanged a long look.

“Why’d you come?” Basil asked as Cassandra took his hand.

Livana’s eyes found the ratty canvas Mets bag he was clutching against his abdomen. “Is that our money?”

Basil tightened his thick forearm around the satchel. “Yes.”

Puffs of vapor escaped his mouth. Livana knew it was not so much from walking to the bank and back as from the stress of living one step away from being unable to feed and house their family.

They stood looking at one another in silence, until Dmitri said, “I’m cold.”

Casandra tugged on Basil’s arm. “Me too.”

Livana wiped away a tear and said, “We have to give something to someone, sweetie. It won’t take long.”

Livana took the bag and stepped up to the door. She felt that it would be less threatening, and seem more genuine, if the offer came from a woman—someone who had not been involved in the fight. Basil told Livana he had no opinion on the matter. He merely wanted to give them the money and leave. As much as he felt it was the best thing to do, he did not want to see Gregor, let alone his wife, Alysia, the instigator and source of his family’s troubles.

With Basil standing just behind and to her right, Livana knocked—and then waited. A moment passed … followed by footsteps on a wood floor, and then the door was pulled open. Alysia looked at Livana, then at Basil, the confusion clear in the scrunching of her brow.

“Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Persephone,” Livana said. “Your attorney, Mr. Tazor, told us about your husband’s medical bills and he said we should give you five thousand dollars to cover the expenses …” She cleared her throat.

But before she could continue, the door opened wider, revealing Gregor. He was wearing a pair of sunglasses and seemed to be looking above Livana’s head, not quite placing where her voice was coming from.

“Anyway,” Livana stammered, “we don’t have that much, but we brought all the money we have. It’s a little over four thousand. I—Basil and I—wanted you to have it with our deepest apologies.”

Behind her, Livana could sense Basil’s breathing quicken, the vapor puffing from his mouth more vigorously.

Gregor removed his glasses, revealing two large pink scars covering his closed eyelids. They had been surgically shut.

Livana had to fight from recoiling. And she hoped to God the kids did not make a comment. But Dmitri was swinging his shoe, as if kicking an imaginary soccer ball, and Cassandra was turning in circles, using her father’s arm as a maypole.

Livana quickly shoved the Mets bag forward, into the doorway.

Alysia took the satchel, her jaw set as she threw a look of disgust at Basil.

Basil looked down at the cement stoop and said, “I’m truly sorry this happened.”

“Can we go now?” Cassandra asked, still twirling.

Livana waited for some sort of reaction from Alysia or Gregor. A thank-you? A comment of contrition? An acknowledgment that perhaps both parties were to blame? Or how about an apology for starting this whole mess?

But the woman merely pushed Gregor aside, stepped back, and slammed the door.

“TAKE MY TRUCK,” Fedor said, “get your stuff. We can put most of it in the garage. I can park on the street.”

“Thank-you,” Basil said. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

Fedor set a glass of water down on the kitchen table, and Basil took it and drank thirstily.

Niklaus and Dmitri had run off to play in the yard and Cassandra sat on her mom’s lap, using crayons to fill in the drawings in the coloring book, studiously staying in the lines.

When Basil and Livana told the landlord that they no longer had the money for rent, he gave them a thirty day eviction notice. They stayed for a week, but Basil did not feel it was right to live somewhere and not pay his fair share.

They had no family in the United States where they could live temporarily, so they looked for a cheap apartment. There was nothing they could afford on the income from his newspaper route.

Fedor invited them to move in with him and Niklaus until either Basil or Livana could find a job. It was not a big duplex, so it made for cramped quarters. But as Livana reminded her husband, beggars could not be choosers.

And as much as they despised the concept, had it not been for Fedor’s offer, Livana and Basil would be utterly destitute.

LIVANA HAD NO MORE luck finding employment than Basil had. Lacking education and formal skills, she was nonetheless good with children and offered her services as a nanny. But no one would certify her, and everyone associated her with Basil. Both seemed to be insurmountable problems. She did some babysitting in the neighborhood, but the jobs were sporadic and the pay was low.

She talked about going to nursing school, but that was a long-term solution, even if she could get into one without a high school diploma. And then there was the cost of tuition.

Basil grew a beard and bought a pair of fake glasses from a second-hand store and offered to mow people’s lawns or make repairs to their houses and cars for five dollars an hour. He had some takers on the outskirts of town in the poorer areas, but he had to work a great deal to make very little.

They offered Fedor a little money for rent, but he refused to take it. Livana, while feeling uncomfortable, was profoundly grateful for his hospitality.

They needed a more immediate solution.

Basil slapped the table. “This is not right.”

“No,” Fedor said. “It’s not, my friend. But my papa used to say that problems define us. We can take control of the situation or we can just accept what life deals us. You’re gonna be fine. You’ll get back on your feet. But sometimes these things take time. Be patient. You and your family will stay with me and Nik. One big happy family, eh?” He gave Basil a pat on the shoulder.

Basil nodded slowly.

Livana knew that her husband’s pride had taken a substantial hit; any man would have the same reaction. It may be old-school thinking, but providing for one’s family was an ingrained instinct, bred into the male of the species going back to prehistoric times. She understood, but that did not ease Basil’s pain.

10

>MANHATTAN

Monday, November 4, 1996

Karen Vail turned to her partner, Leslie Johnson, and gestured at the radio. “Go on, acknowledge. That’s our call.”

Patrol Officer Johnson lifted the transceiver and did as Vail said. “Show us responding. ETA three minutes.”

Vail accelerated as Johnson flipped the switch on the center console and the siren screamed. A sense of self-importance came over you when your car was emitting a shrill alarm and people moved out of your way. It sure made it convenient when you had to navigate midday New York City traffic.

Johnson grabbed the dashboard as Vail swerved around a taxi whose driver must have been deaf because he ignored their noisy approach.

“What do you think, another crackhead beat up his girlfriend?”

“We’ll find out when we get there.”

“You’re no fun today, Karen. What’s your problem?”

Vail hit the brakes and avoided striking a pedestrian who, like the cabbie, appeared oblivious to their presence. “Tired. Not feeling right.”

“Watch it,” Johnson said, throwing her other hand against the dash-board. “The idea is to get there alive. Won’t do anyone much good if they’re scraping us off the pavement.”

“You think you can do better, you’re welcome to drive.” Vail accelerated around the corner at 59th Street, pulled to a stop, and shoved the gearshift into park. Then she held her mouth, fighting back an urge to vomit.

“You okay?”

She swallowed hard, shook her head at the bitter bile that had risen in her throat, and said, “Let’s go.”

“Are you pregnant?” Johnson asked as they hoofed it along the pavement toward the apartment building, perspiration glistening off the brown skin of her forehead.

Jesus. Yeah, that would explain the missed period and nausea. But this wouldn’t be a good time …

They pushed through the front door and were stopped by the locked security entrance. “Well, this is a stupid problem to have. Start hitting buttons, someone’s bound to let us in.” She thumbed the “transmit” button on her radio. “Central, show us on scene. Waiting to get buzzed into the building.”

Johnson had pressed the first dozen doorbells on the wall when the metallic groan of the electronic lock sounded. Vail yanked on the handle and they ran up the stairs toward the apartment from which the 911 call had come.

Before they reached the second-floor landing, however, a man with greasy, stringy black hair started yelling at them. He had a knife at the neck of a woman who did not look well. Her eyes were not focusing and she was swaying like a rag doll, without form or structure, arms hanging and swinging freely.

“Bitch won’t give me my stuff,” the man said.

“My name’s Karen,” Vail said, her right hand resting on the handle of her Glock. “What’s yours?”

“Don’t matter what my name is. Juss want my stuff!”

“I talk to someone, I like to know their name,” Vail said, advancing slowly on the man, climbing the last two steps to the landing. She glanced quickly at the woman, who was clearly impaired; she was struggling in a drug-induced way to stay erect.

“Name’s Alvin. Now how’s that help me?”

Johnson squeezed behind Vail and moved to her right by about three steps, near the door of the apartment where the 911 call emanated from. She was backing away from Alvin and keeping her distance.

To their left, a large metal staircase that spiraled up to the next floor dominated the space. There was only an area of about five feet behind Alvin, so they would not be able to flank him. They would have to talk him down.

“Where is it?” Johnson asked. “Your stuff.”

“Now if I knew where my stuff is, I’d just get it myself, right?”

“What kind of stuff are you looking for?” Vail asked.

Alvin’s expression hardened—he did not like the question. “You gonna help me get it back, or not?”

Vail spread her arms at her sides. “We’re here to make sure you don’t hurt that woman. But if you need help finding something, we’ll do that. You want us to help you out?”

“Yeah. I mean, no. I just—She needs to tell me where it is, but she’s not cooperating. Tell her she gots to tell me.”

“Looks to me like she’s high on something.” Vail took another step closer, now only about six feet away. “Could that be, Alvin?”

“Better not be, because if she was—”

“Who is she? You know her name?”

“’Course I know her name. She’s my sister Destiny.” Alvin shifted his feet, brought the blade against the woman’s throat.

“Stop right there, Alvin.” Vail stood straighter. “If you want us to help you, you need to get that knife away from Destiny’s neck.”

“I’m sick of her usin’ my stuff. Not right.”

“She’s not looking too good, Alvin. We need to get a doctor here to check her out. What’d she use? Acid? Angel dust? H?”

Alvin backed up a few steps, right into the wall. His elbow bumped it and the blade moved, and that’s when Vail noticed the blood on the edge. She ran her eyes up and down the woman’s body but saw no sign of bleeding, so she looked down at Destiny’s feet—and saw drips along the floor, leading into the closed apartment to Johnson’s right.

Vail was certain Johnson saw it too. Without turning around, she said, “Uh, Leslie, you want to check that out?”

“Is that Destiny’s apartment?” Johnson asked.

Just then, the sound of a crying baby emanated from behind the door to Johnson’s right.

Alvin shuffled his feet, again pressing the blade against his sister’s neck. “Juss want my stuff back, is all.”

“There a baby in there?” Vail asked.

“Now how the hell am I s’posed to know?”

“Your sister’s apartment. That’s gotta be your niece or nephew. Am I right?”

Alvin’s eyes widened, and he stuck the tip of the blade into Destiny’s neck. “Leave us alone, okay?”

“But you want your stuff. Take the knife away from her neck and we’ll help you search her place.”

Alvin’s eyes shot back and forth, up and down, and he started breathing rapidly. “I—I juss remembered, my stuff’s back home. I’m good. We’re good here.”

“Then lower the knife,” Vail said. “Now.” She moved her right hand slowly around the grip of her handgun. “Don’t make this worse than it already is. Let us help you out here.” The baby’s cries now bordered on screams. Vail felt the pressure, the child’s pleas grating on her, urging her to take action.
Stay cool, Karen. Shut it out. The kid’s fine. Just scared. Focus on the perp.
She did not take her eyes off Alvin’s as she said, “Leslie, open the apartment door.”

“No!” Alvin pricked Destiny’s neck with the tip of the blade, drawing blood. “I said I don’t need your help no more. Leave us alone!”

Vail cleared leather and had her Glock pointed at Alvin’s face. “Last chance. Drop that knife.”

Johnson turned the knob of the door and flung it open. “Oh, shit. Goddamn. We’ve got us a problem, Karen. Big problem.”

Vail wanted to look but was not about to pull her gaze away from Alvin.

“DOA. White male, thirties. Multiple stab wounds.”

Dead body. Probably the sister’s husband or boyfriend.

“Baby?”

“Next to the DOA.”

Vail had to look. Even though she should not have done it, she swung her head right, over her shoulder. The body was about ten feet into the apartment, blood soaking the carpet and castoff from the knife spattered on the nearby wall.

Oh yeah, Alvin’s going away for a long time.

“You don’t understand,” Alvin said, tightening his grip on Destiny.

Vail nodded. “Okay. Put the knife down. Then we can talk. You can help me understand what happened.”

Alvin shifted his weight from left to right, conflicted as to what to do.

Keep your voice steady, Karen. This can get out of hand very quickly. And there’s a baby fifteen feet away.

“I know what happened here, Alvin. Destiny’s boyfriend attacked you. You stabbed him in self-defense, right?”

A noticeable band of sweat broke out across Alvin’s forehead.

“I totally get it,” Vail said. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Karen—”

“Shut up, Leslie.” To Alvin: “Put the knife down and let me help you explain this. No one’s gonna understand like I do. I had a brother who used to smoke my pot all the time. I kept it in my closet in an old shoebox, but one day he found it. Didn’t even ask. Smoked it all, pissed me off big-time. And he never paid me back.”

Pure bullshit, but I think I sold it. Maintain eye contact. Make him believe it.

“It’s—it’s not right.”

“No, it’s not.” Vail lowered her pistol and took a small step forward, slowly extending a hand. “Give me the knife, then we can work this out. I need to explain it to my boss. Then we’ll go inside and help you look around. Maybe your sister didn’t use all your stuff.” Another step forward; the blade was pressed against the soft flesh of Destiny’s neck—and she was beginning to come out of it. Her writhing was becoming more pronounced, drawing more blood. One wrong move—

Hurry up, Karen. Do something fast.
“What are we looking for? H?”

“And crack.”

Vail was now a couple of steps away. “Okay. We’ll find it. Together.” She wiggled her fingers. Give me the knife, Alvin. C’mon. We’re running out of time if you want my help. Once the other officers get here, it won’t just be me and you.”

The baby had worked himself into a frenzy and started crawling toward Johnson. Vail heard the clippity-clap of hands and feet moving on the wood floor. She desperately wanted to turn to look.

“I’ll get him,” Johnson said as she stepped toward the apartment.

“Stop,” Alvin yelled. “Don’t go in there!”

Vail brought the Glock back up. “Leslie. Kid okay?”

“No wounds, just freaked out. Alvin, I need to go get your nephew—”

“Shut up!” he said, his eyes getting wide. “Don’t go nowhere!”

“Karen,” Johnson said. “I—I’ve gotta get—”

“No!” Alvin slid the blade across Destiny’s neck and opened a gaping wound in the flesh.

He flung the woman at Vail and ran up the steps.

Vail caught Destiny but fell backward and felt herself stumbling down the stairs.
Shit!

In one motion, she dropped her handgun and grabbed for something—anything—and found the railing with her right hand, Destiny nestled in her left. The momentum flung Vail back, and she slammed her head into the bannister.

Johnson was instantly at her side. She grabbed the woman and slapped her left hand against the neck wound. “Go!” she said.

Vail gathered up her pistol and ascended the steps while pulling her radio from her belt. “Foot pursuit of suspect first name Alvin.” She took a breath and ran up another flight. “Armed and dangerous. Send a bus to this location for wounded victim. Knife wound to the neck.”

Vail rounded another three staircases and reached the roof door. She burst through without stopping to think that the suspect could be on the other side waiting for her. Luckily, her mistake did not prove costly, as she saw him running across the tar toward the edge, which abutted that of another building.

“Alvin, stop! Don’t make me shoot you.”

But Alvin kept going, and he leaped onto the raised brick boundary and then jumped to the adjacent roof. Vail followed—and thank God it was not a large drop.

Alvin sprinted across the way, but stopped suddenly at the low wall. He turned and headed for the other side, but Vail already knew the next building over was too far away.

He turned toward her—and that’s when she saw the snub-nosed revolver.

Whoa! How’d I miss that?

There was no place for cover; she was out in the open. She lined up her Glock’s sights and slipped her finger over the trigger.

Make a move, asshole, and I’m going to drill you.

“Drop it, Alvin. Cops are on the way. There’s no way out of this. Just let me take you in. I’m your only friend here. You know that, don’t you?”

Alvin kept his gun out in front of him, but he was moving, shifting his weight, working it through.

“Once the other cops get here, I lose my bargaining power. Throw down your piece and everything’s gonna be fine.”

“That’s my son in there,” he said.

“The baby? In Destiny’s apartment?”

“What’s gonna happen to him?”

Only a year on the job, without experience in this type of situation, Vail could only spout sterile procedure: “He’ll be turned over to Children’s Services.” Realizing she needed to soften the blow—he still had a handgun pointed at her—she added, “They’ll take good care of him till you get out.”

But if things go down the way they should, that’s a long way off. If ever.

“Who knows when that’s gonna be? I killed one, maybe two people. How many years they give me for that? Life? I won’t never see my boy grow up.”

“I can’t help you with that, Alvin. You screwed up. Don’t compound it by making another bad decision.”

He brought his other hand onto the pistol and started walking toward her.

“Stop,” Vail yelled. “Alvin, I’m warning you. Drop that weapon!”

But he didn’t; he started running toward her and Vail fired, twice.

JOHNSON BURST THROUGH the roof door and saw Vail kicking away Alvin’s handgun.

“Get EMS up here. He’s alive.”

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Vail said. “Hurry.”

Johnson grabbed her radio and made the call while Vail pulled hand-cuffs from her utility belt and ratcheted them down.

As she stood up, a wave of nausea boiled up into her esophagus. She ran to the nearest side of the roof. And then she threw up in the corner.

“PREGNANT?” DEACON STARED at her, his attaché case still in his hand, the front door still open. “I can’t believe it.”

Neither can I. We just got married and I’m only a year into my new job. I’m not ready for a child.

Deacon dropped his briefcase and took her in his arms. “I’m so happy. I—I’m in shock, I think. But I’m—this is amazing. I mean, we used a condom
and
a dia—”

“Don’t remind me.”

“What are the odds of that happening?”

Obviously, not good enough.

“Are you happy?”

Am I happy? Yes. No.
Vail paused. “Yeah. I mean, I wasn’t expecting it. The timing isn’t the greatest.”