Fourth Victim (10 page)

G
igi Monaco lived in a cramped basement apartment on a generic block of ranches and split-ranches in Islip. The most interesting thing about the area was the street names. That wasn’t saying a whole lot as the streets were named for other towns on Long Island. Although Joe Serpe wasn’t sure what was on the agenda for the evening, he brought two bottles of red wine and some Costco flowers. Gigi smiled at the flowers, kissed him nervously on the cheek, and asked him in.

She looked pretty, prettier than she had looked the other night. She had taken real care with her makeup, softening the cut of her jaw and highlighting her cheekbones. She was dressed in a tight white sweater, a black leather sash that emphasized her breasts and ample curves, and black slacks over high heeled black pumps. In spite of the dress up, she seemed very uncomfortable in her own skin and couldn’t manage to stay in one place for more than a few seconds at a time. Up and down, moving around the apartment, she chatted about this and that, everything and nothing. A few glasses of wine didn’t slow her down at all.

At first, Joe chalked it up to sexual tension. He was a little nervous himself and given Gigi’s stated preferences, it was possible that she regretted inviting him over in the first place. But that’s not what it felt like to Serpe. No, there was something bothering her and he didn’t think it was worry over the prospect of their sleeping together.

“What’s going on, Gigi?” he asked, hooking his hand around her bicep to slow her down.

“What do you mean?”

“Come on. You’re flying around this place like crazy. You mentioned something on the phone about wanting to show me—”

“Wait here a second,” she said, slipping out of his grasp.

Gigi Monaco walked past the tiny eat-in kitchen, disappearing through a flimsy folding door. She re-emerged carrying two plastic grocery bags and plopped them down on the little roundtop kitchen table. She was breathing very heavily, more from nerves than exertion, Joe thought, and a thin bead of sweat on her upper lip was clearly visible under the cool blue flourescent light of the ceiling fixture.

She took a deep breath and then spilled the contents of the bags out onto the table. When she was done, she tossed the empty bags aside, and made a sweeping gesture with her arms like a TV gameshow hostess showing eager contestants the prizes they might win. As she did so, her left forearm knocked a few neatly banded stacks of hundred dollar bills off the top of the pile onto the floor.

It wasn’t the first time Joe Serpe had seen that much cash in one place. In fact, as piles of cash went, this was a pretty small one. As a hotshot narcotics detective in the age of cocaine, Joe had found as much as five million dollars in cash during a bust. It was all carefully stacked in cardboard boxes in a closet in Washington Heights. He’d never taken a dime of the money he’d seized. The same could not be said of his late partner, Ralph Abruzzi.

“Well, at least now I know who’s paying for dinner,” Joe said.

Gigi laughed joylessly, loudly, and too long. She just needed to get it out somehow. When she was done, Joe asked about the money.

“I got a call from Rusty’s lawyer to come for the reading of the will. When I went, Rusty’s bitch ex-wife and their kid, and some older guy named Finn McCauly were there. McCauly said he was—”

“—a detective like your brother, right?”

“You know him?”

“Everyone knows Finnbar fucking McCauly. Guy should’ve been off the job a hundred years ago, but he’s like an NYPD institution. He must’ve been one of your brother’s partners somewhere along the way.”

“Yeah, that’s what he said. Anyways, the whole thing took like five minutes. The bitch got nothing. Their kid got Rusty’s personal cop shit and an insurance policy my brother bought when he was on the job. I got a few grand from Rusty’s bank account and that Finn guy got an envelope.”

“An envelope?” Joe was curious.

“Yeah. When the lawyer handed it to him, McCauly left without a word.”

“How about that condo I told you about?”

“It wasn’t included in the will, not unless that envelope McCauly got had something to do with it.”

“I guess that’s possible. But what about this money?” Joe asked, fanning a stack of hundreds like a deck of cards.

“The lawyer asked me to hang around until the others left. When he was sure they were gone, he handed me a white envelope. When I asked what was going on, he just said that Rusty had left specific instructions that I be given that envelope if he died. Outside in my car, I opened it up and there was a note from Rusty apologizing for being a crappy brother. At the bottom there was an address and a key scotch-taped to the paper.”

“Where was the address?”

“This self-storage place on Hempstead Turnpike in Plainview. There was nothing inside the unit except for a big garbage bag with those two plastic bags inside of it,” she said, nodding at the discarded supermarket bags.

“Did you count it?”

“A hundred and twenty five grand … give or take,” she said.

“Most people would be thrilled to have this fall in their laps, but you’re scared, Gigi. Why?”

“Like I told you before, my brother didn’t have nothing to his name. That means this is somebody else’s money.”

“Everybody’s money starts out as someone else’s.”

“Maybe so, but what if that someone else should come looking for it? I don’t need no bullseye painted on my ass.”

Serpe thought about arguing the point, but Joe knew better than most that cops can have very sticky fingers. It wasn’t difficult for him to believe that a bitter prick like Rusty Monaco could have used his shield to create a little unofficial retirement fund. Joe didn’t think it was the time to discuss that possibility with Gigi.

“You’re smart to be wary.”

“That night when you told me about the condo,” she said, gulping her wine, “I guess I didn’t really believe you. I mean, you’re a nice guy and all, but I don’t know you. I figured you just got it wrong about Rusty having money to buy real estate.”

“So, what are you gonna do with the money?”

“I don’t know. I was maybe thinking of giving it to you,” she said, pouring herself another glass of wine.

“You just said you don’t know me.”

“Who the fuck else am I gonna trust? I got no family to speak of, no friends I’d trust with all that money. What should I do, call up my ex and ask her to keep a hundred grand under her mattress for me? Besides, you said you owed Rusty.”

“Maybe that was just bullshit.”

“Nah. That was the truth. So,” she said, “you gonna take it, the money, I mean?”

“I’ll think about it over dinner. And if I decide the answer is yes, I’ll hold it for you, but I won’t take it. In the meantime, give me that lawyer’s name and address. I think I need to have a talk with him.”

She grabbed her bag, got her wallet, and dug out a business card. She handed it to Serpe. He read the name aloud. “Brian W. Stanfill, Esquire.”

“Esquire my left tit. He’s a slimy storefront bastard, Joe. Watch yourself with him.”

“So, what kinda food are you in the mood for?”

“I should be asking you that. I’m treating.”

“Steak.”

“Cool. But what should I do with the money while we’re gone?” she asked.

“Leave it there. Maybe someone will take it and solve your problem.”

Joe Serpe rolled quietly out of bed and headed into Gigi’s bathroom. As he showered, he half-hoped she would get up and follow him in. The sex had been good, very good, but disconnected from passion, even lust. They had used each other by mutual consent; Joe to exorcise a ghost and Gigi. Serpe wasn’t sure what she’d gotten out of it. If it was merely comfort, then, he supposed, that was enough.

Gigi didn’t stir. Serpe dried himself off, collected his clothes, and got dressed in the kitchen. When he was done, he put the money back into the two white plastic grocery bags, and left. He tied the bags up and put them in the trunk of his car. He thought about putting them in the front seat, but realized he’d have a hell of a time trying to explain that much walking around money to any cop who might stop him.

As he pulled away from the curb, Joe got an uncomfortable feeling. Maybe Gigi was right. Maybe the money was someone else’s or maybe there was somebody out there who knew about it and thought maybe he deserved it more than Monaco’s sister. In any case, he decided he’d be paying more attention to his rearview mirror than he usually did.

S
erpe was already in and had mapped out the routes for the day by the time Bob Healy strolled into the office.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Healy said. “I got something to tell you.”

“I doubt it’s as big as what I’ve got to tell you.”

“Nothing like a pissing contest first thing in the morning to get your blood going, huh?”

“Fine,” Joe said, reaching into his pocket. “Heads or tails?”

“Tails.”

“I knew you were gonna pick tails. You’ve gotta be contrary.”

“Flip it and shut up.”

Serpe flicked his thumb and the quarter jumped. Healy swiped it out of the air with his right hand, smacked the coin down on the back of his left hand, and lifted his right palm.

“Tails, it is,” he said, showing it to Serpe. “But I’m feeling generous today, so you go ahead.”

“Okay. Don’t use truck number four for any reason at all for the next few days.”

“That’s your big news, huh, that number four is out of service?”

“No. The reason it’s out of service is the big news.”

“And that reason would be.”

“There’s a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars in the tank.”

“Get the fuck out—” Healy stopped himself when he saw the expression on Serpe’s face. “Holy shit! You’re not kidding, are you?”

“No. Let me ask you something about Rusty Monaco. From what you said, I take it that you investigated the shit out of him.”

“More than any other cop with the possible exception of you,” Healy said.

“Talk about a dubious fucking honor, but let’s forget that for now. Was Monaco a thief?”

“We never investigated him for—”

“That’s not what I’m asking you, Bob. Was Monaco a thief?”

“I don’t think so, no. In his way, he was like you.”

“Jesus, partner, you’re just making my day.”

“What I mean is, I never got the feeling he was on the job to line his pockets. Don’t get me wrong, as far as I’m concerned, he should have never made it out of the academy. He might’ve beaten the shit outta somebody for putting too much sugar in his coffee, especially if they were black, but he wouldn’t have taken the coffee for free.”

“I thought you were gonna say that. Problem is, for a guy who didn’t take stuff on the arm, he died owning a condo in Florida that neither of us could afford and he left his sister a hundred and twenty five grand. Better yet, neither the money nor the condo was in the will,” Serpe said, noticing a grin on Healy’s face. “What are you smiling at?”

“Nothing, except that maybe what I’ve got to tell you has something to do with what you just told me. Blades—Detective Hines called me. Seems that the people who put the access block on Monaco’s NYPD files work for the city DOI.”

“What would the Department of Investigation want with a retired detective?”

“That’s the same question that popped into my head when she told me. She says she’s got friends inside DOI, so maybe she’ll get back to me today. Somehow, I get the impression that Monaco having a hundred and a quarter large and the DOI blocking access to his files are not unconnected.”

“You’re a suspicious bastard.”

“Just my nature, but I never let my suspicions get ahead of the facts,” Healy said. “I got pretty far by following the evidence where it took me, not by where I thought it should go.”

“One thing, though, before we get too wrapped up in this. I was thinking last night that the money and the condo are all very interesting, but that’s not why Monaco was killed. He was robbed and murdered because he drove an oil truck down the wrong dark street in the wrong neighborhood on the wrong night, not because he owned a condo he couldn’t swing or had a bag full of cash.”

“Maybe.”

“What do you mean,
maybe
?” Serpe asked.

“I mean maybe. You weren’t the only one doing some thinking last night. After I spoke with Blades, I tried to get some things straight in my head. Look, Alberto Jimenez was killed because he had cash in his pocket and he was a target of convenience, but his murder wasn’t directly connected to the other four, not really.”

“Yeah, okay, I’m with you so far.”

“I was thinking that maybe the other four murders were connected, but not in the obvious ways. Sure, on the surface they all seem like robberies where the perpetrator killed the victims so there’d be no witnesses. But I got this crazy idea in my head that maybe they were homicides first and—”

“—robberies second,” Serpe said.

“Right. That there was only one intended target and that the other robberies and homicides were window dressing done just to throw off the cops.”

“Like that sniper asshole from a few years back who killed the guy through the diner window in Commack and who shot that kid in the fast food joint in order to set up another murder. That’s a pretty big leap there, partner. What happened to following the evidence?”

“I said it was a possible, that we should keep it in mind, not that I was sure about it. Besides, you’d have to be some sick calculating bastard to kill three innocent men just to kill a fourth.”

“Sick, yeah, or desperate. After the shit I saw in narcotics, Bob, I have no trouble believing that desperation could drive a person to do anything. How far someone will go can be a function of how desperate they are, but let’s follow your prescription and follow the evidence where it goes.”

“Sounds nice,” Healy agreed, “but until we get the Suffolk PD reports on the homicides, we won’t have much evidence to follow.”

“Leave that to me,” Serpe said. “I think I’ve got an idea how to lay our hands on ‘em.”

“This I gotta see.”

“Forget that for now. You know Finnbar McCauly?”

“I was in Internal Affairs, not shipwrecked with Gilligan and the Skipper, for chrissakes. Everyone in the department knew McCauly. Why you want to know that?”

“He was at the reading of Monaco’s will. I guess they musta been partners once.”

“A very important once.”

Serpe screwed up his face. “You just lost me.”

“When that black kid took the tumble off the roof in Brooklyn, McCauly was Monaco’s partner.”