Ed McBain_87th Precinct 22 (21 page)

“Okay, Dom, let’s get away from the music business for a little while, okay? Let’s talk about
other
kinds of business, okay?”

“Yeah, let’s talk about why I’m in here, okay?”

“You’d better read him the law,” Kling said.

“Yeah,” Meyer said, and went through the Miranda-Escobedo bit. Di Fillippi listened intently. When Meyer was finished, he nodded his blond locks and said, “I can get a lawyer if I want one, huh?”

“Yes.”

“I want one,” Di Fillippi said.

“Have you got anyone special in mind, or do you want us to get one for you?”

“I got somebody in mind,” Di Fillippi said.

While the detectives back at the squadroom fuzzily and fussily waited for Di Fillippi’s lawyer to arrive, Steve Carella, now ambulatory, decided to go down to the fourth floor to visit Patrolman Genero.

Genero was sitting up in bed, his wounded leg bandaged and rapidly healing. He seemed surprised to see Carella.

“Hey,” he said, “this is a real honor, I mean it. I’m really grateful to you for coming down here like this.”

“How’s it going, Genero?” Carella asked.

“Oh, so-so. It still hurts. I never thought getting shot could hurt. In the movies, you see these guys get shot all the time, and they just fall down, but you never get the impression it hurts.”

“It hurts, all right,” Carella said, and smiled. He sat on the edge of Genero’s bed. “I see you’ve got a television in here,” he said.

“Yeah, it’s the guy’s over in the next bed.” Genero’s voice fell to a whisper. “He never watches it. He’s pretty sick, I think. He’s either sleeping all the time or else moaning. I don’t think he’s going to make it, I’ll tell you the truth.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know. He just sleeps and moans. The nurses are in here day and night, giving him things, sticking him with needles, it’s a regular railroad station, I’m telling you.”

“Well, that’s not so bad,” Carella said.

“What do you mean?”

“Nurses coming in and out.”

“Oh no, that’s
great?”
Genero said. “Some of them are pretty good-looking.”

“How’d this happen?” Carella asked, and nodded toward Genero’s leg.

“Oh, you don’t know, huh?” Genero said.

“I only heard you were shot.”

“Yeah,” Genero said, and hesitated. “We were chasing this suspect, you see. So as he went past me, I pulled my revolver to fire a warning shot.” Genero hesitated again. “That was when I got it.”

“Tough break,” Carella said.

“Well, you got to expect things like that, I suppose. If you expect to make police work your life’s work, you got to expect things like that in your work,” Genero said.

“I suppose so.”

“Well, sure, look what happened to you,” Genero said. “Mmm,” Carella said.

“Of course, you’re a detective,” Genero said.

“Mmm,” Carella said.

“Which is sort of understandable.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you expect detectives to get in trouble more than ordinary patrolmen, don’t you? I mean, the ordinary patrolman, the run-of-the-mill patrolman who doesn’t expect to make police work his life’s work, well, you don’t
expect
him to risk his life trying to apprehend a suspect, do you?”

“Well,” Carella said, and smiled.

“Do you?” Genero persisted.

“Everybody starts out as a patrolman,” Carella said gently.

“Oh, sure. It’s just you think of a patrolman as a guy directing traffic or helping kids cross the street or taking information when there’s been an accident, things like that, you know? You never figure he’s going to risk his life, the run-of-the-mill patrolman, anyway.”

“Lots of patrolmen get killed in the line of duty,” Carella said.

“Oh, sure, I’m sure. I’m just saying you don’t
expect
it to happen.”

“To
yourself
, you mean.”

“Yeah.”

The room was silent

“It sure hurts,” Genero said. “I hope they let me out of here soon, though I’m anxious to get back to duty.”

“Well, don’t rush it,” Carella said.

“When are
you
getting out?”

“Tomorrow, I think.”

“You feel okay?”

“Oh yeah, I feel fine.”

“Broke your ribs, huh?”

“Yeah, three of them.”

“Your nose, too.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s rough,” Genero said. “But, of course, you’re a detective.”

“Mmm,” Carella said.

“I was up the squadroom the other day,” Genero said, “filling in for the guys when they came here to visit you. This was before the shooting. Before I got it.”

“How’d you like that madhouse up there?” Carella said, and smiled.

“Oh, I handled it okay, I guess,” Genero said. “Of course, there’s a lot to learn, but I suppose that comes with actual practice.”

“Oh, sure,” Carella said.

“I had a long talk with Sam Grossman …”

“Nice fellow, Sam.”

“… yeah, at the lab. We went over those suspect notes together. Nice fellow, Sam,” Genero said.

“Yeah.”

“And then some kid came in with another one of those notes, and I held him there till the guys got back. I guess I handled it okay.”

“I’m sure you did,” Carella said.

“Well, you’ve got to be conscientious about it if you expect to make it your life’s work,” Genero said.

“Oh, sure,” Carella said. He rose, winced slightly as he planted his weight, and then said, “Well, I just wanted to see how you were getting along.”

“I’m fine, thanks. I appreciate your coming down.”

“Oh, well,” Carella said, and smiled, and started for the door.

“When you get back,” Genero said, “give my regards, huh?” Carella looked at him curiously. “To all the guys,” Genero said. “Cotton, and Hal, and Meyer and Bert. All of us who were on the plant together.”

“Oh, sure.”

“And thanks again for coming up …”

“Don’t mention it.”

“… Steve,” Genero ventured as Carella went out.

Di Fillippi’s lawyer was a man named Irving Baum.

He arrived at the squadroom somewhat out of breath and the first thing he asked was whether the detectives had advised his client of his rights. When assured that Di Fillippi had been constitutionally protected, he nodded briefly, took off his brown Homburg and heavy brown overcoat, placed both neatly across Meyer’s desk, and then asked the detectives what it was all about. He was a pleasant-looking man, Baum, with white hair and mustache, sympathetic brown eyes, and an encouraging manner of nodding when anyone spoke, short little nods that seemed to be signs of agreement. Meyer quickly told him that it was not the police intention to book Di Fillippi for anything, but merely to solicit information from him. Baum
could see no reason why his client should not cooperate to the fullest extent. He nodded to Di Fillippi and then said, “Go ahead, Dominick, answer their questions.”

“Okay, Mr. Baum,” Di Fillippi said.

“Can we get your full name and address?” Meyer said.

“Dominick Americo Di Fillippi, 365 North Anderson Street, Riverhead.”

“Occupation.”

“I already told you. I’m a musician.”

“I beg your pardon,” Baum said. “Were you questioning him
before
I arrived?”

“Steady, counselor,” Meyer said. “All we asked him was what he did for a living.”

“Well,” Baum said, and tilted his head to one side as though considering whether there had been a miscarriage of justice. “Well,” he said, “go on, please.”

“Age?” Meyer asked.

“Twenty-eight.”

“Single? Married?”

“Single.”

“Who’s your nearest living relative?”

“I beg your pardon,” Baum said, “but if you merely intend to solicit information, why do you need these statistics?”

“Mr. Baum,” Willis said, “you’re a lawyer, and you’re here with him, so stop worrying. He hasn’t said anything that’ll send him to jail. Not yet.”

“This is routine, counselor,” Meyer said. “I think you’re aware of that.”

“All right, all right, go on,” Baum said.

“Nearest living relative?” Meyer repeated.

“My father. Angelo Di Fillippi.”

“What’s he do?”

“He’s a stonemason.”

“Hard to find good stonemasons today,” Meyer said.

“Yeah.”

“Dom,” Willis said, “What’s your connection with Tony La Bresca?”

“He’s a friend of mine.”

“Why’d you meet with him today?”

“Just friendly.”

“It was a very short meeting,” Willis said.

“Yeah, I guess it was.”

“Do you always go all the way downtown just to talk to someone for five minutes?”

“Well, he’s a friend of mine.”

“What’d you talk about?”

“Uh music,” Di Fillippi said. “What about music?”

“Well uh he’s got a cousin who’s gonna get married soon, so he wanted to know about our group.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“I told him we were available.”

“When’s this wedding coming off?”

“The uh sometime in June.”

“When in June?”

“I forget the exact date.”

“Then how do you know you’ll be available?”

“Well, we ain’t got no jobs for June, so I know we’ll be available.”

“Are you the group’s business manager?”

“No.”

“Then why’d La Bresca come to you?”

“Because we’re friends, and he heard about the group.”

“So that’s what you talked about. His cousin’s wedding.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“How much did you tell him it would cost?”

“I said uh it uh seventy dollars.”

“How many musicians are there in the group?”

“Five.”

“How much is that a man?” Meyer asked.

“It’s uh seventy uh divided by five.”

“Which is how much?”

“That’s uh well five into seven is one and carry the two, five into twenty is uh four, so that comes to fourteen dollars a man.”

“But you didn’t know that when you asked for the seventy, did you?”

“Yes, sure I knew it.”

“Then why’d you have to do the division just now?”

“Just to check it, that’s all.”

“So you told La Bresca you’d be available, and you told him it would cost seventy dollars, and then what?”

“He said he’d ask his cousin, and he got out of the car.”

“That was the extent of your conversation with him?”

“That was the extent of it, yes.”

“Couldn’t you have discussed this on the telephone?”

“Sure, I guess so.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Well, I like to see Tony every now and then, he’s a good friend of mine.”

“So you drove all the way downtown to see him.”

“That’s right.”

“How much did you lose on that championship fight?”

“Oh, not much.”

“How
much?”

“Ten bucks or so. How do
you
know about that?”

“Wasn’t it more like fifty?”

“Well, maybe, I don’t remember. How do you know this?” He turned to Baum. “How do they know this?” he asked the lawyer.

“How do you know this?” Baum asked.

“Well, counselor, if it’s all right with you,” Meyer said,
“we’ll
ask the questions, unless you find something objectionable.”

“No, I think everything’s been proper so far, but I
would
like to know where you’re going.”

“I think that’ll become clear,” Meyer said.

“Well, Detective Meyer, I think I’d like to know right
now
what this is all about, or I shall feel compelled to advise my client to remain silent.”

Meyer took a deep breath. Willis shrugged in resignation.

“We feel your client possesses knowledge of an impending crime,” Meyer said.

“What crime?”

“Well, if you’ll permit us to question him …”

“No, not until you answer me,” Baum said.

“Mr. Baum,” Willis said, “we can book him for Compounding, Section 570 of the Penal Law, or we can book him for …”

“Just a moment, young man,” Baum said. “Would you mind explaining that?”

“Yes, sir, we have reason to believe that your client has been promised money or other property to conceal a crime. Now that’s either a felony or a misdemeanor, sir, depending on what the crime is he’s agreed to conceal. I think you know that, sir.”

“And what’s this crime he’s agreed to conceal?”

“We might also be able to book him for Conspiracy, Section 580, if he’s actually
involved
in this planned crime.”

“Do you have definite knowledge that a crime is to take place?” Baum asked. “We have reasonable knowledge, sir, yes, sir.”

“You realize, do you not, that no agreement amounts to
a conspiracy unless some act
beside
such agreement is done to effect the object thereof?”

“Look, Mr. Baum,” Meyer said, “this isn’t a court of law, so let’s not argue the case right here and now, okay? We’re not going to book your client for anything provided he co-operates a little and answers …”

“I hope I didn’t detect a threat in that statement,” Baum said.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Meyer said, “we know that a man named Anthony La Bresca and another man named Peter Calucci are planning to commit a crime, misdemeanor or felony we don’t know which, on March fifteenth. We also have very good reason to believe that your client here knows
exactly
what they’re up to and has demanded money from them to keep such knowledge or information from reaching the police. Now, Mr. Baum, we don’t want to pull in La Bresca and Calucci for conspiracy because (a) it wouldn’t stick without that ‘act’ you were talking about, and (b) we might end up with only a misdemeanor, depending on what they’ve cooked up. As I’m sure you know, if they’ve planned the crime of murder, kidnaping, robbery One, selling narcotics, arson or extortion, and if they’ve committed some act other than their agreement to pull the job, each of them is guilty of a felony. And as I’m sure you also know, some very big officials in this city were recently murdered, and the possibility exists that La Bresca and Calucci are somehow involved and that this crime they’ve planned may have to do with extortion or murder, or both, which would automatically make the conspiracy a felony. As you can see, therefore, we’re not after your client
per se
, we’re merely trying to prevent a crime. So can we cut all the legal bullshit and get a little co-operation from you, and especially from him?”