Should Have Looked Away (16 page)

THIRTY-THREE

Roberts instructed Alvarez
to accompany Mitchell Breed in the ambulance; she had to remain on the scene to liaise with the forensic teams and with the two uniformed officers, who were now taking statements from the various witnesses. The paramedics gave the semi-conscious Breed a large dose of pain killers, secured his arm, leg, and head, and headed off to the Bronx-Lebanon Medical Center, back down Grand Concourse. Roberts also called Officers Frazer and McNeill, who were still with Breed’s mother, to tell her and drive her to the hospital.

She watched the ambulance disappear from view as it made a left, still hearing its siren for several more minutes. Turning, she watched the other officers at work. A chalk line had been drawn around where Breed had fallen, and a CSI was taking photographs of the scene. The uniformed officers were talking to one of the barbers and to the women with grocery bags.

She took one final drag from her cigarette and threw the butt onto the pavement. Standing near the kerb, she looked up at the fire escape. Mitchell had been injured, but it could have been much worse: had his fall not been hampered by the metal stair rail and the canopy, he might well have been taken to the morgue.

The paramedic had told her that Breed had been lucky, only suffering the injuries that he did after falling four floors. The arm and leg were definitely broken, and there may be some rib damage, but he should survive. Roberts was much relieved at this: it was not good to have a suspect die while being chased, the amount of paperwork tripled and that would have been the end of that line of enquiry.

She took out another cigarette: she was unable to smoke in the car, and clean, healthy, fitness fanatic Alvarez always gave her grief when he was around and she smoked.

Roberts’ smoking habits were also on her partner’s mind right now. Having accompanied the semi-conscious Mitchell Breed in the ambulance, he was now standing outside the hospital main doors. Although he had been allowed to ride in the ambulance, once they arrived at the hospital, he was told by the medical staff he could not come into the ER, and would have to wait until Breed was settled. After all, as one of the doctors pointed out, he could hardly make a run for it, could he?

And so Alvarez had been hanging out in the parking lot for the past twenty minutes, eschewing the waiting room for the fresh air outside, hopefully avoiding the exhaust fumes from the ambulances and cars out here. As he stood on the corner, he watched a small group of white-coated men walk from a side door down to the sidewalk on Franklin Avenue. Curious as to where they were headed, he took a few steps towards the door they had exited, laughing as he saw them gather on the street and light up. It was against State law to smoke on hospital premises, including parking lots, so this was how they got round it. He always found it rather incongruous to see doctors smoking, but in all the numerous contacts with them, Alvarez reckoned at least half of them still did. A case of do what I say, not what I do, he guessed. Just like Roberts.

A loud
whoop
from an arriving ambulance brought Alvarez out of his reverie; turning away from the smoking doctors, he returned to where he had first been waiting, outside the main doors. Just then, Roberts called.

‘How’s our boy Breed?’ she asked.

‘Still in the ER,’ Alvarez replied. ‘They told me to wait outside.’

‘Where are you, then? I can hear traffic.’

‘Waiting outside, in the parking lot. Didn’t want to sit in the waiting room.’

‘Okay. Look, we’re just wrapping things up here. I’m getting one of the uniforms to give me a ride. Which centre are you at?’

‘Grand Concourse,’ he replied.  The Center also had premises on Fulton.

‘See you in fifteen,’ she said, and hung up.

Alvarez was still waiting outside when Roberts arrived.

‘Anything yet?’ she asked, as he followed her inside.

‘Negative.’

‘I’ll go check.’ She strode up to one of the nurses on duty behind the reception desk and spoke to her. The nurse checked her screen and replied. Returning momentarily to Alvarez she said, ‘He’s finished in the ER; now he’s in a room on the second floor.’

They took the elevator up to the floor. ‘Room 211,’ she said as they ascended. Once at the floor, the doors slid open. Across the whitewashed corridor from the elevator was a sign indicating which way to turn for which room. With Alvarez two steps behind, Roberts hurried down to the room.

‘I wonder if he’s conscious yet,’ Alvarez said quietly as Roberts slowly turned the handle on the door.

There were four beds in the room; a doctor and a nurse were standing at the foot of one of the beds by the window. The bed was clearly occupied by Mitchell Breed. He was asleep. The doctor turned round to Roberts and Alvarez.

‘I’m sorry, Detectives,’ she said quietly, ‘but he’s sleeping right now.’

‘What’s his situation?’ Roberts asked, looking at the prone figure in the bed.

The doctor looked at her notes. ‘Broken left arm and left leg. Two broken ribs. May be some concussion: not sure yet. We’re doing an MRI later. There’ll be a lot of bruising later on.’

‘Has he said anything?’

‘Just a few words. Two of your colleagues brought his mother in a while back, while he was in the ER.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Roberts had forgotten his mother. ‘Where is she now?’

‘She’s in the cafeteria. She was quite hysterical when she arrived. One of your officers has taken her down there for a coffee or something. Do you need to speak to her?’

Roberts shook her head. ‘No, not right now.’ She turned back to Breed. ‘I need to talk to him.’

‘He’s sleeping.’

‘Can’t you wake him?’

The doctor fixed Roberts with a stare.

‘No, of course not,’ Roberts said. ‘Look, how long do you expect him to be asleep for?’

‘How long’s a piece of string?’ the doctor asked. ‘What he needs now, apart from the medication, apart from the MRI, is rest. Lots of it. I can’t honestly say when he’ll be well enough to talk.’

‘I need to speak with him as soon as I can. Is it okay if I leave a uniformed officer here?’

‘I’ve no problem with that.’

Roberts looked around. ‘What about his stuff?’

‘Er – it should be in that locker there.’

‘Mind if we take a look?’ Roberts asked as Alvarez crouched down to open the locker door.

‘Be my guest. But let him sleep, okay? You’ll need to excuse me; I have other patients to see.’

‘No problem, Doctor. Thanks for your help.’

As the doctor left, she said something to the nurse, who nodded. The nurse began checking the charts for the three other patients.

Breed’s effects were in a small clear plastic container. Alvarez put the box on the small wooden table suspended over the bed. At that point Breed murmured: both detectives looked up at him, as did the nurse; however, he remained asleep.

‘She’s been told to make sure we don’t wake him,’ Roberts whispered as she took out the contents of the box. ‘Policing the police. Now, let’s see what’s in here.’

Breed had been carrying very little: an imitation leather wallet containing a MetroCard, a Chase bank card, and three $5 bills. There was also $1.63 in change, a match book, and an opened pack of Camel cigarettes. Roberts picked up the match book, white with a green logo and border.

‘What is it?’ Alvarez asked.

‘Look at the logo on this.
Comfort Zone Hotels
,’ she read. Roberts looked at her partner. ‘Comfort Zone Hotels – that was where DiMucci was staying.’

THIRTY-FOUR

The Hotel Association
of New York City trade organization had, at the turn of the century, 257 hotels registered. 32,000 people are working in these hotels for 69,587 rooms. The largest hotel in New York City is the Hilton. This 47 floor hotel comprises 1980 rooms and 47 suites.

In terms of quality, as the name would suggest, the Hilton is high up on the list. There is also the Waldorf Astoria, the Park Central, and the Stalybridge. The choice of hotels ranges from establishments such as these, through less ostentatious and more modest places, or simple bed and breakfast, to hostels, to rooms for rent.

The Comfort Zone hotel chain offers lower cost, but comfortable, clean places; just a bed for the night and maybe a breakfast voucher for the local diner. The one on 173
rd
Street was no exception; probably about halfway between the Hilton and a seedy room for rent.

Roberts and Alvarez both leaned on their car and looked up at the five floor building.

It was the following morning. The previous afternoon, when they had found the Comfort Zone matchbook, had they not been in the hushed surroundings of a hospital ward, they would have both punched the air.

‘Yes!’ exclaimed Roberts, under her breath. ‘Finally a break.’

‘It can’t be a coincidence,’ Alvarez said to her.

‘Of course not. This guy’s not going to mug DiMucci just for a fancy match book. He’s
been
there.’

‘You want to go back there?’

She shook her head. ‘Nah. No point.’ She nodded over to Breed. ‘He’s going nowhere; in any case, I’ll arrange for a uniform to stay with him, maybe those two rookies we spoke to. I’ll talk to Dobson. He owes me plenty. I think we ought to go back to the station house. There’s a ton of paperwork to do for this guy here; let’s get it done and out of the way, then we can head to 173
rd
in the morning.’

In the morning, as they stared at the front of the hotel, Alvarez said, ‘Well, it’s not exactly the Hyatt.’

‘I’ve seen worse, Eric.
Much
worse. Come on.’

She led Alvarez into the hotel and up to the reception desk. A clerk was finishing off checking out a guest; once he had left, she looked up at them.

‘Welcome to the Comfort Zone in Queens. How -’

Roberts showed her badge. ‘Is the manager in? I spoke to him earlier. I need to ask him a few more questions.’

‘I’ll just see.’ The clerk disappeared into a back room, followed out momentarily by the hotel manager, a middle aged man with a receding hairline and his hair far too long for his age.

‘Oh, Detectives. You’ve come back,’ he said in a camp voice.

‘Just a few more questions, sir,’ Roberts said. ‘Can we…?’ She indicated over to the empty lounge area.

‘Surely.’ The manager led them over to a set of three sofas. ‘How can I help you today?’ he asked, sitting down. Alvarez noticed an emphasis on the
today
.

Roberts sat down and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her legs. ‘We spoke to you earlier about Carmine DiMucci, who died after an attack near Columbus Circle.’

The manager said nothing, just eagerly nodded.

‘Now, you told me that Mr DiMucci was booked in to stay here.’

‘But he hadn’t checked in.’

‘I know that; you told me that. Just to recap: he arrived too early to check in, so he deposited his bag for your safe keeping, and said he’d come back later.’

‘Well, not
exactly
.’

‘What do you mean, not exactly? That’s what you told me the other day.’

The manager squirmed slightly. ‘I mean, we say check in time is after two, to make sure the room’s prepared, yes?’

‘I get that. Go on.’

‘Well, in cases like that, where a guest arrives before two, even though the room may not be ready, we still let them check in. We then look after their bags until the room is ready.’

Alvarez asked, ‘So, you knew which room he was going to have?’

‘Surely we did.’

Roberts was getting irritated by the man’s manner. ‘Which room was it?’

‘I’ll go check.’ He stood up and stepped over to Reception. While he was away, Roberts looked over at Alvarez and shook her head.

‘What?’ Alvarez asked.

She was about to reply when the manager returned.

‘It was Room 205,’ he said, unnecessarily adding, ‘On the second floor.’

‘205,’ Roberts repeated.

‘Correct. And I have a note here that he requested that room.’

‘He requested it?’ asked Alvarez.

The manger nodded. ‘The booking was made online as most are, but he added a request for Room 205.’

‘Why would he do that?’ Alvarez asked.

‘Some guests do that,’ explained the manager. ‘They like to stay in the same room each visit.’

‘He was a regular?’

‘Five or six times this year.’

Roberts stood up. ‘I need to see the room, please.’

The manager prevaricated. ‘I don’t know…  Another guest is -’

‘As you know, we don’t need a warrant,’ said Roberts. Please…?’

The manger nodded and reluctantly led them to the second floor. He knocked a couple of times; there being no reply, he used his master key to open the door. The detectives stepped inside, the manager following.

It was a standard hotel room; housekeeping had not reached here yet, as the bed was unmade, and there were clothes on the floor. A white towel was lying on the bed. Roberts wandered over to the window, looking around as she did so. The view from the window was of a small park across the street. Alvarez checked the bathroom.

Roberts turned back to the manager. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Thank you for your co-operation.’

The manager appeared relieved, and almost ushered them out into the corridor, past the maid with the trolley of linen and bathroom accessories, to the elevator.

In the elevator, Roberts looked up at the red floor indicator counting down. Once more, she thanked the manager for his time and co-operation. She and Alvarez strode round the corner from the two elevators to the main lobby and stopped dead in their tracks.

Alvarez opened his mouth and eyes wide.

Roberts said, ‘What the hell?’