Third Victim (6 page)

“Okay.
Goodnight
, Tay,” I said sweetly. “I have work to do.”

“Work to do,” she muttered just before hanging up. “Hopeless.”

Chapter 11

Okay, so the peekaboo blouse was out of the question, but I did wear a tight sweater, a Lana Turner sweater-girl sweater, one that left practically nothing to the imagination.
It was tight and clingy, so tight in fact that I was afraid to take off my blazer in the station house.

Damn you, Tay!
I couldn’t get her and her fevered diatribe out of my head. It distracted me as I pored through the files of perspective interviewees, and I was acutely aware of the chemistry between Lido and Lorna, the office admin, when they bumped into each other at the coffee bar. She was a civilian and dressed like young women do in a casual work environment. She was wearing leggings and a long fisherman knit sweater. It covered her young Macintosh apple derriere but not her long legs. It killed me when Lido watched her walk off.

I could hear Tay in my ear. “This is war, girl. Whip off the blazer and come out with the big guns
blazing.
”

Lido brought a cup of coffee back for me and the gesture kind of extinguished my ire. “So look, I’m thinking that our John Doe was murdered at the temple. Perhaps not where the body was found but maybe somewhere else in the building. If the murder took place off site, it would’ve been difficult to smuggle the corpse into the building unseen.”

“You think we might find the murder weapon in the building?”

“I think there’s a good chance. It would’ve taken something heavy to bash in the victim’s face the way it was, a sledgehammer or maybe a bat.”

Sonellio approached with his hands folded behind his back. He looked bored, aching to be silly. “Lido, Chalice, you’ve got a visitor,” he grumbled.

“Thanks, boss. Who?”

“The Bride of Frankenstein, for Pete’s sake. When did I become the receptionist?”

“Really?” I asked with a puerile grin. “Elsa Lanchester is here?”

“Yes, Detective Ball Breaker.
Here.
” He shoved a business card at me. It read Henry “Hank” Green, News Correspondent,
The Jewish Press
. “Fourth estate, kiddo. Speak softly and carry a big stick.” Translation: Keep your mouth shut and stay out of trouble.

“Yes, President Roosevelt.”

“Wiseass,” the Rough Rider groused before walking off.

“You want to do this with me?” I asked Lido. “I know you haven’t worked with the press yet.”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Okay, but listen and keep your lips sealed.”
Those full rich red lips, the ones I—
“Reporters have a nasty habit of twisting around everything you say.”

“Taking shit out of context?”

“Exactly.”

“I’ll behave.”

Do you have to? Can’t you just like, peel off your shirt? God, listen to me. I really am a desperate hot mess.
“Great. Let’s see what this guy wants.”

I grabbed Green and escorted him into the interview room where Lido was waiting. Green was tall and stocky. His head was shaved and he wore a yarmulke. He was in a suit and tie, which was atypical garb for a modern-era reporter.

I introduced the men before addressing Green in a serious tone. “How can we help you?”

His response was unexpected. “You have to ask?”

“Yes. That’s the way we do things around here. Questions are asked and then they’re answered. If I had psychic powers, I wouldn’t be chasing murderers for a living.” I took a moment to consider what I’d just said. “Check that. This is exactly what I’d be doing.”

“The bombing at the chabad. You found the son of a gun who did it?”

“It’s an open investigation, Mr. Green, and barely twenty-four hours old at that.”

“Who are you looking at?”

“Everyone and anyone,” Lido replied, contributing intentionally useless information.

“It’s a hate crime, no?”

“Is it? Do you know something that we don’t?”

“Apparently I do. You don’t know how popular anti-Semitism is these days. My nephew attends public school here because my cousin married a
shiksa
. The non-Jewish children treat him like he has a disease, and the Moslems … I can’t tell you how cruel they are to him. Such moxie these little ones have. They’re upset because the schools close for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. What do they want him to do, be marked absent because he worships the high holidays? I have to tell you, I don’t know what America stands for anymore.”

“I think we’re getting off the subject, Mr. Green. I sympathize with you, but this is a homicide investigation. That’s all we’re here to discuss.”

“You mean to tell me that a Jewish house of worship was bombed and you won’t even consider the possibility that this was a work of anti-Semitism?”

“I never said we wouldn’t consider it, but to date there’s been no evidence to suggest that it’s true. The bomb was located upstairs in the kitchen, far away from where congregants worship, and the explosion took place early in the morning when the temple was practically empty. I can tell you that of the two victims we’ve positively identified as kitchen help, only one was Jewish.”

“Hmm, I see.”

Are we done here?
I appreciated the reporter’s concern for his people, but I wasn’t getting paid to patronize him. I was getting paid to apprehend the guilty.

“You know that they’re trying to build a mosque on the corner, down the block from the temple, don’t you?”

“No, I wasn’t aware of that.”

“Sure. They purchased a brownstone and have filed permits to convert it. I don’t have to tell you what that will do for local tensions if it comes to pass.”

Green’s agenda and mine were widely discrepant. I just couldn’t waste any more time with him. I was about to end the meeting when his cell phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket and began reading a text. “Oy!”

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three—
“You know there’s a new app for people who inconsiderately read texts instead of paying attention to the people they’re speaking to. It’s called
Respect
.”

He apologized. “I’m sorry, but this is big. Rory Singer was a no-show for the Zero Mostel Tribute last night, and he was the guest of honor.”

“I hate to sound cynical, but unless his body is found …”

“I get it, you don’t care.” He slipped his phone back into his pocket. “I’ll get out of your hair, Detective. I’ll stop by the Golden Theater where Singer’s headlining to see if I can get an exclusive. You
will
give me a call with any news about the chabad, won’t you?”

“I’ll put your number on speed dial.”

“I see you’re a
kibitzer
, but please …” He picked up his coat, stared me defiantly in the eye, and left.

“Ouch,” Lido said with a pained expression. “‘I’ll put your number on speed dial.’ That was harsh.”

“Write this down and let it guide you all your years on the force,” I said as I rose from my chair. “We get paid to save asses, not kiss them.”

Chapter Twelve

“How are we doing?”
I asked as I came upon Jack Tallmadge sifting through debris in the chabad kitchen. He was the ranking crime scene investigator and an expert on explosives.

“All of the crucial bomb elements are at the lab, Chalice. Our on-site work is just about done here.”

“What kind of an IED was it?”

“From what I saw, it was an Internet special.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that anyone with half a brain could run a Google search and figure out how to make it: A novice-blended gunpowder mixture and a remote car starter.”

“How do you know a novice formulated the gunpowder?”

“Way too much aluminum powder. Aluminum is great for fireworks because it detonates with a bright flash, but as far as its destructive potential … that’s why the blast was contained within the kitchen and there was no real damage to the rest of the building or the supporting structure.”

“What if the high aluminum percentage was intentional?”

“Why would someone do that, Chalice? Because they like pretty colors?”

“Nooo,”
I chided. “Because the perpetrator was in the building and didn’t want to lose his life. Maybe the perp was waiting a safe distance away and deposited John Doe here after the blast.”

“I’m not sure I dig your theory, Chalice. The bomb maker would have had to be pretty savvy and there are far more precise ways to coordinate a contained blast.”

“Maybe he only wanted to look like an amateur, but wasn’t.”

“You’re a hoot. You’ve got an answer for everything.”

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”

“Which, inflation-indexed, amounts to roughly … porter’s wage?”

“Precisely. Any fingerprints or DNA on the bomb?”

“Yeah. Sure, but you know how much that’ll do for us. There were some partials and a good thumbprint on the outside of the coffee can, which are being run through the computer, but the likelihood of us getting a match on it … It was probably a residual print left by the supermarket stock boy.”

“I wasn’t counting on a match. All I’m hoping for is enough to make our case in court when we find the perpetrator.”

“Case in court? Ha! Listen to you. I heard your MO was shoot first and ask questions if the perp is still breathing.”

I jabbed him in the chest lightheartedly. “You heard wrong—I don’t leave
anyone
breathing. So look, I’m convinced that victim number three was murdered in the building prior to the explosion and placed here after the bomb went off. I want to search the building from top to bottom for blood traces and a blunt object that could’ve been used to bash in the victim’s face.”

“Sure. Whatever you say, but the rabbi isn’t too happy with us. He says we’re defiling his sanctuary.”

“The bomber did that
way
before we ever stepped foot in the building, my friend. In a case like the criminal code preempts religious worship.”

“Yeah. I know. A full building search was next on our list anyway, but I’ll bring in additional staff to move the work along as quickly as possible. Considering the delicate nature of the case, I think my CO will approve the additional outlay of manpower.”

“Atta boy.” I patted Tallmadge on the shoulder. “Keep up the good work,” I jibed.

“Where’s your protégée?”

“Lido? He’s upstairs interviewing the rabbi in his apartment.”

“That’s some terrific gig these clergymen get, a job for as long as they want it
and
free room and board.”

“Not too late for you to find God, Tallmadge.”

“Oh, trust me, it
is
too late, it’s
way
too late.”

“Where would the perp be safest from the blast, somewhere he could wait unseen?”

“Got to be the basement. The basements in postwar buildings like this are built like—”

“Yeah? Like what?”

Tallmadge smiled. “Like bomb shelters.”

Chapter Thirteen

“The rabbi is a very serious dude,” Lido reported.
“He’s very focused and very solemn.”

“Sure. A wise man like that has to feel the weight of the world on his shoulders, especially after something like this happens. Too bad his hearing isn’t better.”

“Come again.”

“He had no idea a bomb was detonated right beneath his bedroom?”

Crime scene personnel were checking the elevator for evidence, so we took the stairs down to the basement. Tay’s credo was still resonating in my ears as Lido marched down the stairs in front of me. I was eyelevel with his broad shoulders. I wanted to grab hold and wrap myself around him.
Calm down, Stephanie, you’re working. Focus on the case, you sex-crazed maniac.

“The rabbi was out for the evening.”

“The entire evening?” I asked with surprise.

“I’m afraid so. He was at Lenox Hill Hospital all night with a congregant who expired just before nine in the morning.”

“What about his wife? I assume he’s married.”

“She’s in Boynton Beach, Florida, for the winter. Apparently she can’t tolerate the cold.”

Lido’s statement had reminded me of my own father’s final hours at the hospital. Ma and I had waited hours for the priest to give him last rites, and I remembered that he hadn’t stayed with us more than fifteen minutes. It awakened my suspicious nature. “Kind of a strange coincidence, don’t you think?”

“What’s a coincidence?”

“Him being out all night just when a bomb was detonated.”

“You don’t think?”

“Not likely. Maybe it was just the good Lord looking out for one of his more devout subjects, but verify his alibi anyway, just to be on the safe side.”

“You got it.” Lido made a notation on his I’m-a-good-student notepad before hitting the basement floor. “Shit. It’s cold down here.”

I had dreamt one of my lustiest dreams in recent memory last night. Come to think of it, I had cornered Lido in the hold of a pirate ship. He was a swashbuckling seadog and I was his lusty wench.
So this is what déjà vu is like … and imagine me in a skintight sweater, for God’s sake—perhaps this is an apropos time to whip off my blazer and bare my womanly contours to the lamplight. Snap out of it and focus, you horny slut. Get a hold of yourself and apply your mind to the task at hand.
“Keep your eyes peeled for a heavy object or any sign of blood. This could be where Koufax was attacked.”

“Don’t that beat all,” he said in a spunky manner.

“What’s up? Basements turn you on?”

“No. Just trying to stay upbeat, Chalice. Searching a cold damp basement looking for blood and a murder weapon when just a couple of weeks back I was sunbathing on Miami Beach.”

I pictured him lying on the sand in a skimpy little Speedo.
Oh Christ. How am I supposed to concentrate now? Play it cool. Follow Tay’s advice.
“I thought you looked tan.”

“Funny, I was going to say the same thing about you.”

“That’s because I was there too.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Not a chance.”