Slow Burn (15 page)

I drove close behind a milk truck before darting over to the left lane. It was clear sailing for five blocks after that, and I gunned it. Loomis and O’Hara held on.

O’Hara pulled himself upright in the back seat. “What the hell is the big rush? And where are we going, anyway?”

“Your boys brought Rachel over to the Twelfth Precinct, so that’s where we’re going. I want to lean on her now while she’s still shook up about Jack’s kidnapping. I want to question her before she snaps out of it.”

I was driving too fast to take my eyes off the road, but I felt a change in Loomis. “What is it? What did you find?”

“This kid’s written all sorts of stuff in here,” Loomis told me. “Poems, notes for stories, quotes. And an entry from July thirty-first of this year that looks like it talks about his own kidnapping.”

I pulled over to west side of Fifth Avenue and killed the engine before I crashed the damned car.

Loomis handed me the notebook so I could read it for myself. O’Hara looked over my shoulder from the back seat.

It took me a few passes to make sense of all of Jack’s cross-outs and scribbles and arrows. But when I was able to finally make sense of it all, it hit home and hit hard. It read: 7/31.

1. Rachel calls father and gives instructions.

2. Hole up on Perry Street until Jessica brings the money.

3. Give Jessica the note and put her in a cab.

4. Take car and head out. Philly first, then out West.

O’Hara reached over and took the book from me. I let him. I was too numb to stop him, anyway. “That little son of a bitch,” was all I could manage to say. “That miserable little son of a bitch. He planned his own goddamned kidnapping.”

“Planned it,” Loomis noted, “but I don’t think he carried it out. What’s written in the notebook is similar to what happened, but the details are different. Remember, Mr. Van Dorn said a man called in the ransom demand, not Rachel. And the ransom drop happened at The Chauncey Arms, not at Jack’s apartment.”

“Small discrepancies,” O’Hara said as he handed the notebook back to me, “but discrepancies nonetheless.”

I took the book from him and put it back in my pocket. “Discrepancies that it sounds like Rachel might be able to answer for us. At least I hope she can.”

I started up the engine and pulled back out into traffic. “She’s the only lead we’ve got.” I saw a clear opening in the middle lane, and fed it some gas.

I
WASN’T
surprised to see Detective Steve Hauser already waiting for us in front of the Twelfth Precinct station house. Word had it that Hauser had become Carmichael’s right hand since I’d been put out to pasture. Since Carmichael couldn’t keep an eye on us personally, sticking us with Hauser was the next best thing.

Hauser was younger than me by a few years. Taller and stockier, too. He kept his hair close-cropped like mine, but his was blond and he had more of it. He had a rare combination for one of Carmichael’s boys: he was a tough guy with a good head on his shoulders. A thoughtful thug with a badge. Carmichael loved oddities.

I gave Hauser the high sign as the three of us got out of the car, but Hauser ignored it. He’d never been one for pleasantries.

“Chief called,” Hauser said. “Told me to extend you every courtesy once you got here, whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean. Didn’t sound too happy about it, either.”

I didn’t expect him to be. “I guess he told you to shadow us every step of the way, too.”

“He told me to extend you every courtesy,” Hauser repeated. “And that includes being available to assist you at a moment’s notice.”

I couldn’t help but smile because I knew it would annoy him. “Good boy. How about you start being helpful by taking us to the two people O’Hara had run over here a few hours ago.”

Hauser led the way while O’Hara, Loomis and I followed him into the station house. The air was hotter and thicker inside. A sweat stain on the back of Hauser’s shirt looked something like a butterfly, which was the last thing I expected to see in a place like this.

“We got names on both of them,” Hauser yelled as we passed two women crying in Italian to the desk sergeant. “Rachel Rosen and her brother, Sol.”

“You mean that ape who attacked me is her brother?” I asked.

“That’s what he says,” Hauser replied. “He’s been apologizing to everyone in earshot since we brought him in. Says he didn’t know you were a cop. Says he slugged you because he thought you were the guy who’s been ruining his sister’s life, whatever that’s supposed to mean. I planned on asking him what he was babbling about, but when the Chief called and said they were tied in with the Van Dorn thing, I figured you’d handle it.”

“You figured right. What about the girl?”

“Nothing. Hasn’t said a damned thing, and judging by the way she’s acting, I’d say she’s a dope-fiend.”

Loomis perked up. “What makes you say that?”

“She’s got all the signs,” Hauser told him. “Looks like hell, pale, shakes pretty bad. She even asked for a blanket, if you can believe it.” I watched sweat streak down the side of his face. It was at least ninety-five humid degrees in the station house. “Only a junkie would be cold in this kind of weather. We were going to bring her to the hospital, but they’re full up on account of this damned heat. We’ve got a doctor from the neighborhood coming over to take a look at her just to be safe, but she doesn’t look too good.”

Hauser kept talking as we took our time getting to the top of the stairs. Given the heat, no one was in a real hurry. “Matron’s been with her since we brought her in. She cuffed your girl to the chair on account of her shaking so bad, but the girl hardly noticed. She just sits there, whimpering every once in a while, staring off into space.”

When we got outside the interrogation rooms, Loomis asked, “How do you want to handle it, Charlie?”

“I’ll take a run at the girl. Then we’ll see if we have to bother questioning the brother.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Loomis asked. “No offense, Charlie, but this girl sounds sick and scared. And now she just might be an accomplice, based on what we found in Jack’s notebook. Maybe she needs a gentle touch, gentler than you’re used to.”

Floyd tried a smile, but it didn’t look good on him. “We might only get one chance at getting her to open up. If you push her too hard, you might spook her into clamming up. Why don’t you let me take a run at her first?”

I didn’t know if Loomis was trying to insult me. I didn’t care, either. I took the notebook from him and put it in my back pocket. “Thanks, but I’ll handle the girl. Alone.” I could tell Loomis didn’t like it, but he didn’t have to. I was in charge, not him.

To O’Hara and Hauser, I said, “I want all three of you listening in while I question the girl. Knock if you think I should ask her anything.”

“You’ll find her in Room One with the matron.” Hauser nodded at my gun. “But lose the hardware first. Department regulations.”

I took my .38 from my shoulder holster and handed it to him. “Happy?”

Hauser pocketed my gun. “Not yet. I’ll take the sap and the knife, too, Charlie. And the drop piece on your ankle.”

I smiled at him as I handed it all over. “Carmichael told you a lot, didn’t he?”

“Not everything,” Hauser said as he pocketed my whole stash. “Found some things out for myself. You know how the Chief likes his boys to be thorough.”

I tried to think of a snappy comeback. I just handed him the .22 I kept on my ankle instead.

R
OOM
O
NE
wasn’t any better or worse than any other sweatboxes I’d seen. Four gray, scuffed walls. No windows. A musty smell, like a mix of dead mice and fear. A couple of creaky wooden chairs. A wooden table that had more nicks and dings in it than you could count. A couple of naked yellow bulbs high up in the ceiling made the whole room look a lot more depressing than it already was. The two-way mirror on the wall wasn’t fooling anyone, but then again, it wasn’t supposed to.

The matron they’d posted to guard Rachel had five inches and about fifty pounds on me. She was a ruddy, stonefaced bruiser with a thin line for a mouth and mean eyes. Her square jaw looked like it could take a better punch than mine could.

Rachel looked worse than when I’d seen her back at the apartment. She was slumped forward in her chair, staring down at the table as if she might find something in the wood swirls and gouges. Her dark, curly hair hung like a damp curtain in front of her face, hiding the swollen eyes and gaunt face I’d seen back at the apartment. Her left hand gripped the far edge of the table like her life depended on it.

She had a thin blanket around her shoulders, and her dirty white shirt looked like she’d sweat through it a few times. Her right hand was curved limp onto her lap, cuffed to the chair’s wooden arm. A small puddle of sweat had pooled on the table beneath her. I would’ve taken the blanket off her if she wasn’t shivering so damned much.

I’d seen dozens of dopers suffer like this. Their bodies crashed while the shit they’d poisoned themselves with left their system. But then I noticed her left arm didn’t have needle marks. Her right arm looked clean, too. She also could’ve sniffed it, or injected it elsewhere for all I knew, but most junkies weren’t that concerned about appearances.

Suddenly, Hauser’s doper angle didn’t fit so well. That — and the stuff Jack had written in his notebook — complicated things.

I threw my jacket across the back of a chair and sat on the edge of the table, I lit a Lucky, then slid the pack and matches across the table to Rachel.

The girl didn’t budge. She didn’t even flinch.

“I’m Detective Doherty. You might remember that we met back in Jack’s apartment a little while ago. I’d like to talk to you about a couple of things.”

The voice that came from behind that wet mess of hair was surprisingly strong and clear. “How do you know my name?”

“Same way I knew about the apartment: Jack Van Dorn.” I waited for a reaction, but didn’t get one. I nodded toward the Luckies. “Light one up if you want.”

She didn’t even look at them. “Why did you arrest me? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You’re not under arrest. You’re free to go whenever you want. But we’d appreciate it if you could answer a couple of questions first.”

Rachel jiggled her chained right wrist. In the close, humid room, it sounded like a ship’s anchor dropping. “Sure feels like I’m under arrest.”

The matron caught my eye and shook her head slowly. She wouldn’t unchain her and I wouldn’t ask her to.

“I’m sorry, Rachel, but that was done for your own protection.”

“Protection?” She laughed, and it wasn’t a nice laugh. “Protection from what?”

“From yourself, maybe. You’ve been sweating and shaking like a leaf since we brought you here, but you won’t tell anyone what’s wrong with you. What do you expect us to do?”

“I expect you to let me go. And I don’t want to answer any of your goddamned questions. Not about Jack, or about anything else.”

She was getting worked up, but I stayed calm. I took a long drag on my cigarette and let the smoke drift across the table towards her. “Why not? You don’t even know what I want to talk to you about. Or do you?”

I watched a quick shudder go through her. “I want a lawyer.”

I looked at the matron. “Now she wants a lawyer. Why would she need a lawyer if she’s done nothing wrong?”