Murder Takes Time (26 page)

“Ah, here we go, the male genital response mechanism.”

“Fuck you twice now.”

Kate laughed. “Now you are into
extreme
fantasizing.”

Lou laughed until his sides hurt. “You’re getting awfully close to Donnie’s dick, aren’t you?”

“Jealous?”

“I could show you better.”

Kate turned to him wearing a smirk. “Even burnt and shriveled up, I think I’ve got a better specimen here.”

“Ouch. That’s cruel. I give up.”

Kate looked up at Frankie. “I better not find any of your semen down here, Donovan.”

“I ought to kick your ass,” Frankie said.

“You ought to do
something
with my ass, but
kicking
is not what I had in mind.” She paused. “Rhymed with it, though.”

Lou coughed. “I didn’t know this was an X-rated investigation. If you two need the bedroom…”

“I’ve tried keeping Donovan in bed before, but he won’t have it.” Kate reached down and pulled something off the floor. “Gum anyone?”

Frankie looked closer and shook his head. “Did he set Donnie’s balls on fire?”

“Everything.” Kate stood up, eyes rolling. “One sadistic son-of-a-bitch. Set his feet on fire. His genitals. He also stuffed a cloth soaked in some flammable in his mouth and lit that.” She nodded. “Look at the face.”

Frankie winced. He’d seen it, but only as a glimpse.

“Sick fuck,” Lou said.

“Guy must have done something really wrong,” Frankie said.

Kate looked at him as if he were nuts and gestured toward the body. “
He
did something wrong?”

Frankie nodded. “For someone to do this. Whoever did it must have been pissed.”

A
FTER HER CREW GOT
there, Kate finished up and left the scene to Frankie and Lou. There was the usual assortment of random evidence, including rat shit. Frankie looked in every room, went out back, even searched the basement, but there was no dead rat.

Lou was in the kitchen, leaning on the counter, when Frankie came down from the attic. “Hey, Donovan, we got a shitload of reporters outside.”

“Don’t tell them anything.”

“I know that, but more importantly, you want to tell
me
what’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing, my ass. You come into Nino’s place and go ape shit over rat shit, then clam up on me. Now you’re running around here looking for something that ain’t here.” Lou walked right up to him, face to face. “I’m asking as your partner. What’s going on?”

Frankie raised his voice. “I said
nothing
, Detective. Got that?”

“I’ll tell you what I got,
Detective.
According to Kate, we have your DNA at crime scenes where you didn’t investigate. We got DNA underneath blood, which means it was there
before
the vics were killed.” Mazzetti poked Frankie’s chest with his finger. “You want to explain that to me? Because if it’s not you leaving this evidence, who has
your
DNA?”

Frankie was silent for a few seconds. “All right, Lou. But this is you and me.”

“Convince me.”

Frankie told him about Nicky, about how he used to leave rat shit as a joke to let people know they were the ones who did the crime. And he told him about how Nicky and Tony put the rat in Tommy Flannagan’s fridge. “If Nicky thinks someone betrayed him, he could do this. Maybe. And he could easily have my DNA.”

Lou stood there, arms crossed, staring at him. “That’s it? Rat shit?” He laughed so hard, he started choking. “There’s rat shit in every home in New York. I got it in my house.”

Frankie stood still, lips pursed, fist clenched. “There was also a dead rat in the fridge at Nino’s.”

“You’re basing your hunches on dead rats? You’re too stupid to be a detective.”

“Hey, Mazzetti, remind me not to eat at your house. I don’t like rat-shit pasta.”

“Try it sometime,” Lou said, and headed for the door. “I’m outta here.”

Frankie double-checked everything, but there were no dead rats. He leaned against the kitchen counter, pondering.

Suppose Lou is right. What if all this is just bullshit? Then Frankie thought of the crime scene and how Tony had squirted lighter fluid down Timmy Benson’s pants one time to scare him. Frankie didn’t want to tell Lou about that. No sense in bringing Tony Sannullo into the picture—not yet.

F
RANKIE WALKED OUT OF
Donnie Amato’s house and into a wall of reporters.

Tom Mason, Channel Three, shoved his mic forward. “Detective Donovan, is this a mob hit?”

“No comment,” Frankie said, and kept walking.

“Does this have anything to do with Nino Tortella’s murder?” That question came from Megan Simms.

“Can’t say.”

A flurry of shouts hit him, but Frankie held his ground. “Not now. When we’re ready, we’ll make a statement. Everyone will get a fair shot.” He ducked into his car, locked the door and started the engine. He wanted nothing more than to get away from these leeches.

It took thirty minutes to get home, and ten more to find a parking spot. As he trudged along the sidewalk toward his apartment he saw a familiar face on the stoop—Shawna Pavic, a good Irish girl who had the misfortune of marrying an ill-tempered Russian. Frankie had a thing with her once, but he knew she was here to get a story, and that pissed him off. Even so, he might as well be civil. “Hey, Shawna. How’s it going?”

“Hi, Frankie. Been waiting for you. Figured you’d be pissed when you saw me.”

“No shit?”

“Yeah, no shit. Way I figured it, you would tell those other reporters to fuck off, and then you’d head home. About now I figure you’d want a bottle of wine—which I happened to bring—and maybe even some company.” She stood, pulling a bottle of Chianti from a brown paper bag.

It brought a smile to Frankie’s face. “Only one other thing would have gotten you an invite into my apartment.”

“And I ain’t doing that, Donovan. Excuse my pissy grammar.”

Frankie laughed. “Come on up.”

After settling in, they shared the bottle of Chianti, along with a few smokes. Frankie filled her in on the details. He kept back the parts no one knew, like how the killer spread mounds of DNA evidence at each scene. And he held back on the burning of Donnie’s balls, but she still got some gory stuff. Enough to make her salivate.

“You tell anybody where you got this and I swear I’ll hang you.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“Don’t go that far. I’d like—”

She tensed. “Screw you. This is fair play.”

“Don’t worry. I work with you because I trust you. That’s all.”

She relaxed. “Thanks. You don’t know how tough it is nowadays. When you’re a sweet young thing just coming up, you’re the star, but at my age, things start going bad.” She took a long sip of wine. “That’s the difference. Guys age and get promoted. Women? We disappear.”

Frankie held up his glass. “To your health and long lasting beauty.”

They tapped glasses. “And yours.”

Shawna finished the last of her wine a few minutes later, then stood. “I’ve got to go. I hope you don’t think…”

“Don’t give it a thought. Go write your report.”

She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “You’re the best, Donovan.”

“You got that right.”

After Shawna left, Frankie refilled his glass and lit another cigarette. Another night alone. He took a long drag, then blew a few smoke rings. What was tomorrow—Thursday? He made a vow that tomorrow would be a new day for him. A day for change. If he changed something each day, he might even become the person he wanted to be. With that in mind, he called Kate Burns and asked her to dinner.

T
HEY MET AT A
small Chinese restaurant by her house. Frankie asked for a table near the back. Throughout dinner he talked mostly of cases they had worked, but he never let it get personal. Kate refused dessert. He ordered a piece of carrot cake, and she got tea.

“It’s been a long time, Frankie. This invite have anything to do with the DNA stuff we’re facing?”

He held up his hand to stop her. “No way I’d do that to you.” Her question hurt, but she had a right to wonder. It
had
been a long time. “Nothing to do with it; I promise. I just felt like going out, and I didn’t want to ask Mazzetti.” It was a weak attempt at humor and it didn’t work.

Kate shifted in her seat. “Look, Frankie, I know we kid a lot, and I like you, but…”

“But you don’t want to go to bed with me, is that what you’re saying?”

“In a kinder, gentler way. Yes.”

“Don’t bother being kind, Kate.”

She looked at her teacup for an inordinately long time, took a sip then stared. “The way you said that, I was waiting for the ‘no one else has’ line to follow.”

He laughed. It was a cover-up laugh, but he did it well. “That line was there. I stopped myself before the words came out.”

Kate sipped her tea, looking at him over the rim of the cup. “How’s your little friend?”

Frankie’s face lit. “Alex? He’s great. That boy’s a survivor.”

“You really like him, don’t you?”

“Somebody’s got to love him.”

“So Frankie Donovan has a heart after all.” She smiled when she said it.

“Yeah, well…”

Kate reached over and took his hand. “You want to go somewhere and talk?”

“Why, you a good listener?”

“I’ve gotten to be. Remember, I work with dead people all day, so when I get someone who actually speaks, I pay attention.”

Dessert came, and Frankie ate it in silence, then remained silent as Kate finished her tea. When he was counting money to pay the bill, he looked her in the eyes. “Kate, I think I’ll pass on the offer to talk, but I do appreciate it. It’s just…”

She nodded. “You’re not a talker.”

“Something like that, yeah.”

They stood, and before leaving the table, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “The offer stands. No expiration date.” She looked at him with warm eyes. “Okay?”

“Sounds good,” he said, and took her arm to walk her out.

Alex wasn’t around when Frankie got home, so he watched a movie alone, but mostly, he thought about Donnie Amato. He was convinced that these killings had something to do with Tito Martelli, and Tito had a connection with the mysterious girl Nicky called about, and Tony worked for Tito. But what did Nicky have to do with Tito? Frankie knew from the FBI surveillance tapes that he didn’t work for Tony. Nicky had been seen a few times going to the union hall, but he didn’t believe for a minute that he worked there. He was going to see Tito about something. And what did Nicky have to do with the girl? The names kept rolling around in his head—Tito, Nicky, Tony, the girl. Frankie had to figure it out, and he had to do it fast. The bodies were piling up.

CHAPTER 40

MOTIVES

Brooklyn—Current Day

T
he day after Donnie Amato’s body was discovered, Donovan was called into Morreau’s office. “You wanted me, Lieu?”

Morreau picked up a piece of paper from his desk and held it before him. “I got a report from Kate Burns that your DNA is at the scene of several of these crimes.”

“Lieu, I can explain—”

Lieutenant Morreau got up and shoved the door shut, his voice raised a level or two when he continued. “What is there to explain? We’ve got your DNA at a scene you never investigated. Give me one good explanation.”

Frankie laid his gun on the desk, then set his badge beside it. “Here you go, Lieu. I’m done.” He headed for the door.

“Donovan. Get your ass back here.”

Frankie turned but kept his hand on the doorknob. “I’ve had it up to my ass with all of you. First the FBI and their goddamn wires, then all the bullshit you run. Now I’m a suspect on my own case. Fuck you.”

“If you’ll sit for a minute, I can explain,” Morreau said.

Frankie was hesitant, but he sat.

“I’m sorry about the way I approached the DNA thing, but I had to see your reaction. You’d have done the same thing, and don’t deny it.”

Frankie nodded, and Morreau went on. “Kate
did
tell me about finding your DNA, but she also told me that my DNA was found too—and I know I wasn’t on the scene. So unless you planted mine, or I planted yours, someone is fucking with us.”

Frankie leaned forward. “And doing a damn good job of it.”

Morreau held out his hand. “So, we good?”

“Yeah, Lieu, we’re good. I guess.”

“So tell me how this killer is getting our DNA to spread over crime scenes. And after that, tell me the real reason why you want off this case. You dumped that badge on my desk like it was hurting you.”

The last bit took Frankie by surprise. He sat silent for a moment, thinking.

You’re either a cop or a gangster. Make up your mind.

“I don’t want off the case. I just want to get it solved. So if that’s all you got, I’m heading out.”

“No, that’s not all,” Morreau said. “I didn’t want you on this to begin with, but the captain insisted on you as the lead. I’ve backed you even though I haven’t seen shit. And you’re walking around here like the goddamn Lone Ranger hoarding data on the case as if you’re the only one that matters.” He slammed his fist on the desk so hard the glass rattled. “That’s not the way things work around here, Detective. Not in
my
fucking house they don’t.” Morreau looked ready to go ten rounds with someone.