Too Quiet in Brooklyn (24 page)

“And you took them down of course?”

“I’ll text them to you, don’t worry.”

“What kind of Mercedes?” Jane asked.

“Sorry, I’m not good with cars,” Cookie said. “It was a little one with two doors. The guy had to fold himself in half to squeeze behind the wheel.”

I told Jane about the man I’d seen Barbara with yesterday morning and described him. “Weekend sleepover. It must be serious,” I mumbled and wrote the tag in the back of my book.

“What do you mean she’s on a leave?” Jane asked.

I told her what I’d found out yesterday morning.

Jane said nothing.

“Maybe you should start following her,” I said. “But she’s my client so I didn’t say that.”

“Don’t worry, we have been following her,” Jane said.

My mouth opened but no sound came out.

“You guys still there?” Cookie asked.

“Yes. And I could kiss you,” I said to Cookie.

“Don’t, please.”

“Well don’t use up all your studying time. I’d feel terrible if you didn’t do well on the test because of me.”

Jane pulled out her phone and made a call, asked for the lab results, and sighed. Turning to me, she said, “This time they told me to sit on it, they’d call me. And it’s been way longer than ‘soon’. They all lie.”

“So? We’ll go to Teresa’s for breakfast.”

She shook her head. “Let’s camp out in my office. I’ve gotta sit on latent prints.”

I deleted emails while Jane did paperwork and called the lab every two minutes with another rant. Finally her phone rang and she listened and hung up. Folding her hands she looked at me. “They lifted prints, not a full set, but what they got matches prints on Mary Ward Simon’s neck.”

I swallowed.

“You okay? You’re pale as all hell,” Jane said.

I didn’t speak for a minute. I couldn’t, just stared straight ahead, thinking.

“Where should we be spending our time, at some horse farm way the hell out in New Jersey or doing a door to door in Dumbo?” Jane asked.

“Here’s the way I see it,” I began when I found my voice. “They got rid of Mary Ward Simon and—”

Jane held a finger in the air. “Just like they got rid of Carmela Fitzgibbons,” she said, looking at me hard, daring me to say something. But she didn’t have to worry because she’d just knocked my socks off. When I said nothing, she finished it for me.

“Just like they got rid of Cooper and they’re trying to get rid of you.”

“Cooper?”

“He’d been working on the Heritage Bank case for years. It involved suspect loans, misappropriated funds, the death of bank officers, including your mother. I inherited the case.”

I had to control myself, so I did some slow breathing and waited for the white spots in front of my eyes to disappear, but they just kind of circled and swam slow while I tried to remain calm and think.

“Looks like there’s a concerted effort to get rid of anyone who snoops around this case, including you.”

“What about you, Willoughby, and Denny?” I asked. “You’re in danger, too.”

“They don’t know about us. Not yet.”

“How’d Cooper die?” I asked.

“They’re not sure. Sudden heart attack, they thought at the time.”

“Did he have a history of heart problems?”

She shook her head.

There was something wrong with the words, they got stuck in my throat. My mind was moving in slow motion. Part of it was still on Mom and what Jane said about Detective Cooper’s sudden death. I couldn’t believe that being a cop and all, they wouldn’t have tried getting to the bottom of it, wouldn’t have investigated the pants off his death, but there it was.

As if she could read my mind, she said, “Life intervenes and other things get hot. Old cases just get colder. And at the time of Cooper’s death we didn’t have a high enough index of suspicion to test his body for toxins. Life’s not like it is in CSI. Toxicology tests take time, manpower, money. The upshot? The coroner ruled that he died of natural causes.”

I nodded and pictured Mom’s body on the sidewalk. So that was it, her death wasn’t important enough to investigate. But I talked to myself real good and thought of Charlie and moved on.

“What do you mean by ‘They don’t know us, not yet’? If they know about me, they know about Denny and maybe even Cookie.” I reminded Jane about our shoot-out with the Ford pick-up last night and Denny so proud at himself for spinning into a perfect turn and throwing the guy off our tail.

“If I can run tags, so can they, and maybe Mr. Ford Pick-Up got his plates last night and by now they know who Denny is and where he is.”

I watched her reach for her phone and saw her lips move.

I texted Denny asking him to call me. Thank the Baby Jesus my phone started vibrating. My head pounded and my voice trembled even though I was talking to him and he was fine. I told him what happened to Jane and me this morning. Silence on the other end while he digested my news. I told him we were in Jane’s office and asked him where he was.

“In Willoughby’s office. We’re going over spreadsheets,” Denny said.

“Good. Stay there. Order in.”

“Let me talk to him,” Jane said.

The old Jane was back, all business, and I was glad.

She grabbed the phone from me and spoke to Denny. “I’ve got a call in to the chief. Did Willoughby tell you about the Heights Federal case? … Good. Ask him to call me. More important—both of you, stay right where you are until you hear from me.”

When she hung up, I said, “You’re canning New Jersey and doing the door to door looking for this bozo, right?”

She nodded. “I suggest you stay in town. I’m putting a watch on your Vinegar Hill home, twenty-four seven.”

“Don’t worry about me, I can handle him. But I’m worried about Denny and Cookie. I can’t stand to think that one of them might get hurt because of this whole thing.”

After all, it was one old and long piece of shit, wasn’t it, starting a long time ago when Mom was alive. But murder always starts way back in the crazed part of a looney, keeps eating up all the sane parts of his brain, festers and grows for years. What’s more, murder begets murder. I slammed a fist against my thigh and stood up.

“Where you going?” Jane asked.

“Not sure yet.” I looked at my watch. It was still early, plenty of time to plan, to think, make a few calls before I decided how best to spend my time. Cookie. I’d forgotten about her, I called her cell, the only phone Cookie has, but there was no answer. I left a message. I wasn’t all that worried about her, though, probably studying hard for her test.

“I’ll give you a lift,” Jane said, getting up.

I waved her off. “Takes me two minutes to get home from here. Besides, you’ve got plenty to do.”

Alf’s Car & Truck Towing

I pulled away from the curb and decided I needed to see Mr. Baggins. It being the weekend and all and no Minnie for him to bother, I parked in the hydrant space across the street, unlocked Lucy’s, and called out to him. The little bugger appeared in a flash, jumping from the trash can he was currently inspecting and onto the spare desk. He pawed the treat drawer. I palmed him a few Feline Greenies and watched as he ate, his tongue sandpapering me while he made his grunting, slobbering noises. I filled his water bowl and gave him a kiss which he returned by giving me his solemn look, and I whispered goodbye, flashing in my head to the time when Mom was the only one he’d go to.

I’d made sure I had everything with me this time—laptop, power cords, flashlights, binocs, you name it. Remembering the importance of disguises from my days at Brown’s, I’d taken the Stetson from Denny’s study and wore it low on my head along with my Kathryn Hepburn shades. My eye had stopped its throbbing and just a few red curls poked out around my ears.

I made incredible time over the bridge and through the Holland Tunnel. Soon I was on the Turnpike. My eyes took in the speedometer and saw it was hugging eighty-five, but a few cars were passing me, so I settled back. Besides, I told myself, I had to compensate for all the traffic I’d be running into up ahead, maybe.

I called Denny, told him I’d taken the BMW for a look around his favorite farm, just to check out a hunch. Silence on his end for a second.

“I don’t blame you. Your case. You’ll be glad you took the BMW. Did you tell Jane?”

“Not really.”

“Don’t worry, I will. She’s busy now setting up the parameters, and I’ve been assigned to the door to door in Dumbo.” I heard the excitement in his voice. “Got uniforms and plain clothes in on this one. Chief’s got our helicopters up there doing their thing. Place is swarming, but they keep telling us to be low key.”

“Right up your alley,” I said. “Got your vest?” I asked.

“Got it.”

There was a pause. I should have told him how much I loved him and needed him while my heart flipped and the blood pounded in my ears, but the words stuck in my craw like the idiot I am. Another missed opportunity and if anything happened to him … I couldn’t finish the thought, but I didn’t want to hang up. Not now, not ever.

“Denny,” I began. “I just wanted to say … please take care. I’d feel awful if ….” God, I was pathetic.

“I love you too, Fina.” Then he switched into his operations mode. I could tell he was psyched, but I was glad we finally talked. That’s what we’d done, wasn’t it?

He was speaking fast now. “Feds in on it too. Word is they’re working New Jersey with local law enforcement units. Going to get a court order, send a couple of agents and uniforms to the farm and poke around.”

The scenery was blurred as I neared the exit off the turnpike into the bowels of Central New Jersey. “Before I forget, I’ve called Cookie a couple of times. She’s not answering. You got her cell?”

“Yes. I’ll try her, too. Feds tell you anything about it yet?”

“I haven’t heard from Tig,” I said. “They probably don’t want to send choppers in because of the noise. In Brooklyn, nobody notices, it’s the usual, but around that farm you can hear grass grow. DHS says they can do satellite surveillance for local law enforcement, but I have trouble with that from a privacy standpoint unless it’s a matter of life and death.”

“That’s what this is,” Denny said. “The life of a child’s at stake.”

“You’re right. But you gotta ask yourself, whatever happened to ‘A man’s home is his castle’?”

“About time we do something for kids. This is a four-year-old we’re talking about.”

We hung up and I turned onto 195 heading east at a respectable clip, took the 16B exit, and checked the total time. Less than fifty minutes from Vinegar Hill to wherever I was in New Jersey. Maybe there was something good about this BMW.

The sun was hitting my eyes in the wrong place, so I decided it was time for a fill-up with some New Jersey gas. After all, the price was right. I got out and stretched and was hit with the smell of fumes and hay. I remembered they don’t let you pour your own here. Fine by me. A tall guy with no teeth and a turban smiled at me, hose and nozzle in one hand.

“Fill it,” I said. With the gas still guzzling into my tank, my phone started buzzing. It was Jane.

“Got news. The blocked number belongs to Winston Connors but it’s linked to an address in Brooklyn Heights.”

“His old address,” I said.

“Right, an apartment now owned by his wife.” She segued into the Brooklyn operation. “Denny’s working with us on the Dumbo search and we got heavy lift from the FBI on this one. Nothing solid yet, but I’ll let you know the minute we get him. By the way, the press is calling him the Brooklyn Strangler. But the chief thinks he’s an assassin hired by Connors who’s driving this whole thing, responsible for fraud, embezzlement, whatever you want to call it, to say nothing of murder and kidnap. He might own a horse farm in New Jersey, but Connors is the bridge to Brooklyn, make no mistake, responsible for ordering the death of at least three people and the abduction of Charlie. You’re in his sights so be careful and keep in touch. Text if I don’t pick up.” The phone clicked in my ear.

I smiled, paid for my gas, and pulled back onto the road. Things were good between me and Jane. Best way, this working together stuff. But she made it clear it was a two-way street. I called Tig Able, my Fed contact, and left a message. Before I could put away my phone, he called me back, so I pulled over to the shoulder of whatever road I was on and killed the motor.

“You didn’t hear this from me, but we got surveillance on the farm.”

I swallowed. Did Tig mean satellite surveillance? If the Feds can peek inside a farm, they can peek inside my house.

“Someone with a small frame, probably a woman and someone smaller with her on the second level of the main house. We’ve been watching a while. The two stay together, sometimes on the upper level, sometimes in the pool, most of the time in the kitchen and what could be the family room. Connors’ kids are grown, no grandkids, so we think it might be the abducted child. There are three men in the horse barn. Two others on the main floor of the house—we think that’s Connors and his body guard—another two or three on the track and a bunch in the paddocks strewn around the place. The farm is big. Miles of fence.”

“Cars?” I asked.

“Three black Mercedes are parked on the drive leading to the main house. There’s a work area with separate entrance, and it’s got a Plymouth Neon with New Jersey plates.” He read the tags to me.

“You sure it’s a Plymouth Neon?” I asked, flipping to the last page of my notebook and double-checking my memory. “Those are the plates from the torched van.”

“You got it.”

I breathed out slowly and my eye throbbed.

“Do you have tags for the cars in the Connors’ drive?”

“We do. Hold on a sec, got to find them.” I heard the rustle of paper and a click. Dead. In a few seconds I got another call.

“Gotta go. I’ll email you the tags when I have more time, but you ought to be able to get them if you’ve got binocs. We’ve got probable cause and just as soon as the court order comes through, we’re going to pay Connors visit. Probably this afternoon after three.”

I called Jane. “Better call your FBI guy,” I said, but she couldn’t talk, so I said I’d text her everything I’d just heard.

I sat there, absorbing what I’d learned.