Compromised (8 page)

“Not a chance,” he said, and blew out the door.

It took Lido about two hours to read through the Serafina Ramirez file and schedule an appointment to visit her parents.

He had been to the crime scene before, yet the spot where his wife had been shot still filled him with dread. He couldn’t stop his imagination from replaying the event—Stephanie and Yana walking toward their car, the crack of two rifle shots, and the two detectives lying on the ground. A shiver raced through him as the scenario tortured him yet again. Just ahead of him was the apartment building they had visited on that fated night and the rooftop upon which the sniper had stood. It took a moment for Lido to pull himself together, after which he walked determinedly toward the building.

Wearing a flannel shirt and a vinyl trooper cap with the earflaps pinned at the top, Jack Burns opened the door to his apartment before he knew who had rung the bell. “Can I help you?” he asked in a trusting tone.

Lido flashed his detective’s shield. “Detective Gus Lido. We have an appointment.”

Burns nodded. “Oh yeah. Come on in.” He walked back into the apartment, leaving Lido to close the door and follow him into the kitchen. “Sofia’s not home yet, but she should be back soon.” A package of bread was open on the kitchen table along with Ziploc bags filled with cold cuts and sliced cheeses.

Lido passed through the small living room along the way. The local news was on, and the meteorologist was announcing a storm. It was an old-world TV, an RCA portable built in the days before flat screens replaced antiquated cathode ray technology.

“They say it’s going to snow,” Burns said. “About time.”

Lido glanced at the heavy winter hat atop Burns’s head.
Guess you’re all set for the storm,
he mused. Although Lido thought of snow in the city as nothing but an inconvenience, the announcement was a relief for him as well. He pictured the sidewalk covered with early spring snow, the soft white layer masking the bloodstained concrete where his wife had been shot. “Hasn’t been much of a year for skiing.”

“I imagine not. Say, have you had lunch? I make a mean sandwich.”

Lido shook his head. “No. I’m good. Thanks.”

“I grew up on bologna,” Burns said as he pulled slices off a stack of meat. “I’m a man of simple tastes.” He spread mustard on the bread and closed the sandwich. “Mind if I eat while we talk?”

“No. Go right ahead,” Lido said, despite finding that the aroma had in fact aroused his appetite.

“Sure you don’t want coffee or something?”

Lido shook his head. “No. I’m good.”

Burns sat down at the table. “What do you want to know? The police haven’t sent anyone around in weeks. You some kind of mastermind detective they haul out when the case has gone to shit?”

“No. I’m just a fresh set of eyes the department has recently assigned to the task force. I know this may be redundant, but if you don’t mind answering a few questions . . .”

“I guess that would be all right.” He glanced past Lido to the TV. “Anything to help bring my daughter’s murderer to justice. Not that it will bring her back.”

Lido sat down at the kitchen table and opened his notebook. “You’re her adoptive father. Is that correct?”

“I adopted Serafina right after I married Sofia. It’ll be five years this coming June.”

“What happened to her biological father?”

“Ernesto?” he huffed. “What a jerk. The poor guy was a hopeless alcoholic—drank himself to death before he was forty.”

“Did you know him?”

“Yeah. He was from the neighborhood. Lived in this apartment, as a matter of fact.”

“How’s that?”

“I started seeing Sofia about a year after he died. She asked me to move in, and the rest . . . well, I guess you can figure it out.”

“I see. Well, look, I went over the file in detail and there’s no point asking you the same questions you’ve already answered. Serafina didn’t have any obvious enemies. Robbery wasn’t a motive. Looking at the file objectively, it appears that the killer’s MO was sexual assault and murder.”

Burns was chewing on his sandwich when Lido’s final sentence hit him. He closed his eyes and arched his neck until he was facing the ceiling. Several moments passed before he finished chewing the food in his mouth. “I loved that child, Detective Lido. Shit, but your words just ripped the scab off the wound. Please. Please don’t say anything like that when Sofia comes home. She’s hanging on by a thread and you’ll put her over the edge with a comment like that.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s all right. It’s just that we’re both pretty fragile these days.”

Lido paused for a moment before continuing. “So your daughter left home just after the Super Bowl began to go to her friend Ginger’s house and never made it there. Is that right?”

“Yeah. It makes me sick to think about it. She’d made that walk a hundred times, so often that you never stop to think . . .” He pushed away his plate and took a drink from a bottle of beer. “It’s just heart-wrenching—she was such a good kid.” He shook his head woefully. “Sofia just started going back to work. We figured it would be better for her to keep busy.”

“What does she do?”

“Housecleaning. Babysitting. Shopping. Whatever she has to do to make a buck.”

“And you?”

“I’m a handyman. I do plumbing, electrical, and a little woodworking. Same kind of thing. Anything to make a buck.”

“Are you in debt to anybody?”

“I’m in debt to everybody—twenty here, fifty there. No one killed Serafina over a few bucks, Detective.”

“No. It sounds unlikely. Just looking at every angle. What about you and your wife?”

Burns wrinkled his brow. “What about us?”

“The revenge angle. Piss anyone off lately? Anyone who’d want to hurt Serafina to get back at either of you?”

Burns cocked his head to the side and squinted at Lido. “
What?
You’re kidding, right?”

“Revenge is a common motive for—”

Burns looked strained. “No. I get that, but do you really think . . .” He stood and began pacing around the kitchen.

Lido could see that he’d touched a nerve. “Something come to mind?”

“Come to mind? Uh. No.”

“The question seems to have gotten you pretty upset. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Nothing. Nothing. I’ve just never been asked that question before.”

“Really? I’m surprised none of the other detectives explored the revenge motive with you. Someone wants to lash out at you or your wife and figures the best way to do it is to go after your daughter. Some people are real SOBs. It’s coldhearted, but it happens all the time.”

“Oh shit. Really?”

“I can see by your reaction that you’re upset. What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing. You just made me think. That’s all. You’ve got me thinking about every argument I’ve gotten into in the last five years. Do you know how I’d feel if . . . Jesus, you’ve got me feeling guilty over nothing. Maybe you ought to go before Sofia gets home. A question like that might kill her.”

“I don’t understand why. Anything either of you thinks of might help me apprehend Serafina’s murderer.” Lido placed two business cards on the table. “Well, if anything comes to mind.”

“I think you should go.”

“You look jumpy, Mr. Burns. Are you sure you don’t have something to share with me?”

“No, but thanks for stopping by,” he said and ushered Lido out of the kitchen. “I’ll kick it around with Sofia, and we’ll call you if anything comes to mind.”

“I hope you will. We only want to see justice served and take a monster off the street. You wouldn’t want something like this to happen to someone else’s daughter.”

“Of course not.” Burns was practically pushing Lido out of the apartment. He closed the door, leaving Lido standing alone in the hallway.

Lido knew that he had touched on a sensitive subject and wondered what Burns was hiding. At the same time, he felt guilt of his own. Not only had he struck out with Burns, but he had also failed to learn anything valuable about his wife’s disappearance. He had a long list of questions that would have to go unanswered for the time being. He was too frustrated and impatient to wait for the elevator. The burden of those two disappointments weighed heavily upon him as he gripped the bannister and hustled down the stairs.

It was late afternoon.
The lettuce in Lido’s salad had wilted. He stared at the brown lettuce for a moment.
Jeez. Some lunch. I would’ve been better off with the bologna sandwich Burns offered me.
It hadn’t been sitting in front of him for very long, but all that had been left at the corner deli’s salad bar were the dregs, the leftovers from lunch, the crap that had been picked through and pushed to the side. At his desk, he’d picked the grilled chicken out of the salad, leaving the soggy greens behind. For all intents and purposes, he was done with it, yet he continued to pick bits of food out of the plastic tray, nibbling on them, trying to fill a void that could not be filled.

He was pecking at the computer keyboard when a dust-covered evidence box was placed on his desk. “Lido?” the delivery officer asked.

He nodded and reached for a pen.

“This box was buried so deep I found it next to evidence recovered from the
Titanic
.”

Lido grinned. “Glad I could spice up your day.”

“Sign here . . . Thanks. It’s all yours. Call me if you’re looking for the Declaration of Independence. I think I spotted it nearby.” The delivery officer grinned and turned away.

Lido pushed the keyboard aside and placed the dusty box dead center on his desk, noticing that the dust had recently been disturbed.
Interesting,
he thought.
Who’s been looking at this?
After reading the label, he removed the lid, careful not to get dust all over himself or his desk. The box was from the archives and contained records from the days before all case documents were digitized and stored on computer mainframes. He opened the top folder and began scanning documents that had long since yellowed with age. It didn’t take long for him to get drawn in by the particulars of the case, the lurid details, interviews, and notes chronicling a child’s abduction and abuse. The victim was Jack Burns.

He was still reading when light fell outside the precinct house. As he worked his way down to the bottom of the box, colleagues sitting at nearby desks went home for the evening and the office clamor he was so accustomed to diminished and became an inconspicuous undercurrent.

He’d found the case shocking, but it wasn’t until he reached the last folder that a notation stole his breath. It was a late addition to the documentation, information contributed long after the case was initially declared cold. A detective’s signature at the bottom of a request form stunned him and set the wheels in his head into motion.
No. It can’t be.
He scrutinized the signature a second time and then a third, until he was absolutely sure that the form had been signed by his deceased father-in-law, Frank Chalice.

Lido tiptoed out of Max’s bedroom and shut the door.
“Sorry I got home so late.”

“I didn’t hear from you all day,” Ma complained. “Any leads? Any idea where my crazy daughter is?”

He shook his head and let go a pent-up sigh. “I’m afraid not. The thing is . . . I know she’s okay. Despite the head wound and despite everything she’s done to make us nuts, I know that Stephanie can more than take care of herself. It’s not the worry that has me bent out of shape. It’s—”

Ma interrupted him. “I know. I’m disgusted with her too. She can’t be thinking straight and that’s what troubles me the most. Being committed to the job is one thing, but this . . . it’s just too much,” she huffed. “I’d like to put her over my knee and spank the daylights out of her.”

“Yeah? Well, get in line.”

“Yeah,
right
. I’ve got dinner on the table for you. Take a load off, and we’ll bellyache about my darling daughter while you eat.”

“Best offer I’ve had all day.” Gus plopped into a kitchen chair and twisted the top off a cold beer. “So, listen, this is going to sound completely weird, but . . .”

“But what?” she asked as she set a skillet on the table.

“I interviewed Serafina Ramirez’s father today.”

“The family Stephanie was investigating just before she was shot?”

“Correct—the girl who was raped and murdered on Super Bowl Sunday. I asked to be added to the task force investigating the case.”

“Hoping it would help you find Stephanie,” she deduced.

“Well, yeah, I guess that’s obvious. I mean I hope to contribute to the murder case as well, but my main motivation is finding your wacky daughter.”

“You mean your wacky wife, don’t you?”

“Forget about it. I’ve only been married to her a short period of time. This one’s on you, Lisa Chalice. You’re the one who made her the nut job she is today.”

“Bah. Whatever. So what’s this weird thing you want to tell me about? You’ve got a strange expression on your face.”

Lido sucked down another swig of suds. “So this guy, the girl’s father, he weirded out on me during the interview, got real tense and basically kicked me out of his apartment. I was exploring the premise of the crime being a revenge killing and—”

“Sounds like someone has a troubled conscience. Is that why you were so late, because you checked him out?”

Lido nodded. “He was the victim in a really old case. Child abduction and abuse. I had the case file retrieved from archives.”

“Jesus. What happened to the poor man?”

“Nothing good. The thing is, the case went cold and was reopened more than a dozen years later.”

“I’m not following you, Gus. What does this have to do with the girl’s murder or finding Stephanie?”

Lido placed his beer bottle on the table and looked at her directly. “The case was reopened by Frank.”

Her mouth opened wide. “
My
Frank?”

Lido nodded. “I thought maybe you might know something about—”

“Wait a minute. This guy you interviewed. You said that his last name is Ramirez, didn’t you?”

“No, actually. It’s Burns. Jack Burns. He’s the girl’s adoptive father.”