Compromised (13 page)

“But why, Jack? What’s the big secret?”

“I just don’t want any more pity is all. The way people look at us since Serafina died. I just can’t take it anymore.”

“How do you expect them to look at us? Our daughter was murdered. You expect smiling faces? My God, Jack, what’s happened to you?”

“Nothing. Look, I’ll go to the hospital, but when we get there, I’m saying it was an accident. I’ll say I was cutting a piece of wood and the saw slipped. No police. Agreed?”

“Yes, all right, Jack. Give me two minutes to throw on my clothes.” She hurried off.

Burns pressed on the bandage with added strength, hoping to stem the bleeding and avoid a trip to the hospital, but it didn’t help, and he knew that one way or another, more blood would spill.

Lido looked in the bathroom mirror, trying to determine if he could get away without shaving.
He rubbed his chin and felt his whiskers prickle the pads of his fingers. Premature five-o’clock shadow would raise questions. “What’s with the chin whiskers, Lido? You moonlighting as a porn star?” On and on it would go, one snide comment followed by another and another. His eyes burned from a night of fitful sleep, yet somehow he found the reserve to lather and drag a razor across his face.

Everything around him was a reminder that his wife was gone: the fragrance that still lingered on her pillow and the conspicuous absence of undergarments he routinely found on the floor in the morning. He saw her in Max’s smile when he fed him breakfast and when he tucked him in at night. Even his gun was alone when he retrieved it from the lockbox, where the two firearms normally rested side by side.

Ma had been a rock, caring for Max, cooking, shopping, cleaning, and keeping the family together during a very difficult time. She’d temporarily moved in to help during Stephanie’s recovery and then stayed to help during her absence. She had breakfast ready for him the moment he sat down, not just breakfast, but a hearty meal, purposefully prepared to imbue the senses and lift the spirit—eggs, bacon, toast, and freshly brewed coffee that filled the apartment with aromatic heaven.

“You don’t have to do all this, you know,” he told her. “Taking care of Max is a full-time job on its own.”

“The hell I don’t,” she said as she sat down with a mug of coffee. “You’re up all night trying to figure out the case. The least I can do is load the furnace so you’ve got the energy to make it through the day.” She angled her head to examine him more carefully. “You did a hell of a job shaving this morning. Your beard looks like one of those sculpted English labyrinth gardens.”

He grinned. “That bad, huh? I’ll touch it up before I go.”

Max was in his high chair picking up Cheerios and putting them on his tongue one at a time.

“Your daddy forgot how to sleep,” Ma said. “Your mommy made him crazy.”

Max played with his lips before placing the next piece of cereal on the tip of his tongue.

“Who’s on your hit list this morning?”

“Reginald Coffer.”

A smile overtook her face. “Oh my God, little stuttering Reggie. Why do you think he can help?”

Lido speared a cluster of eggs with his fork. “I’m not sure he can help at all, but I don’t know where to focus and I figured additional background on Jack Burns might be helpful.”

“I see,” she said halfheartedly. The investigation was moving along at a snail’s pace, which meant that in all likelihood her daughter wouldn’t be coming home anytime soon. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Well, yeah, sure. The bathroom could use a fresh coat of paint and there’s an intermittent drip under the kitchen sink,” he quipped. “Aren’t you doing enough already?” He smiled sadly and then got choked up. “I don’t know what we’d have done without you.” He rose with a piece of toast in his hand and gave her a quick hug. “You really are the best, Ma, the absolute best.”

“Bah. We’re family. This is what family does.” Tears began to well in her eyes in the next second. “My wonderful, beautiful daughter—I just don’t understand her sometimes. How she could . . .” She glanced at Max and quickly wiped away her tears. “I really wonder,” she began in a whisper, “if the bullet changed her in some way—you know, affected her wiring. She’s always been overzealous, but this . . .” She glanced toward heaven. “God, please help me to understand my daughter,” she implored.

“We’ll get through this,” Gus said, giving her a reassuring pat on the arm. “Stephanie’s tested us before, hasn’t she? It always works out in the end.”

Ma pulled a tissue out of the box and blew her nose. “I know, but . . . don’t ask me why, but I started thinking about her father last night. Not Frank . . . her biological father.”

He frowned. “Clovin? Don’t do that to yourself, Ma. There’s no reason to believe—”

“That mental illness is hereditary? I looked it up on the computer, and they say it is . . . At least it can be.”

“The Internet will make you crazy—you read up on any illness long enough and you’ll end up convinced that you have it. Besides, Clovin’s psychopathy came about as a result of hallucinogen abuse. Remember?”

“Thank you,” she recalled with relief. “Yes.”

“He was a guinea pig in an army testing program, for Christ’s sake. They experimented on him with LSD, BZ, and God knows what else. He became dependent and ended up substance-abusing the rest of his life.”

Ma was still sniffling. “I’m sorry I brought it up, but at least now I can put the worry out of my mind.”

He smiled and said, “Anytime,” but had to take a couple of deep breaths in order to calm down.
God, I wish she hadn’t said that.
They’d been through so much already, and the idea that Stephanie might’ve inherited a mental illness from her biological father . . . He pushed his plate away. “I can’t finish.”

“Oh, signore.
What?
When was the last time you didn’t have appetite enough to finish your breakfast?”

“I have to get my day started. The idea of sitting around while Stephanie’s out there running around like a vigilante and all . . . She’s a damn good detective, and I shudder to think about what she’ll do if she finds the shooter first. I know that
I’d
have trouble with that decision.” He stood up, reached for Max’s hand, and kissed it. “Make her smile, Max. Your
nonni
is under a lot of strain.”

Her expression brightened. “I can shovel your breakfast into a sandwich, and you can take it with you.”

“All right, Ma, anything to make you happy. No doubt my appetite will return.”

A precious day had come and gone without making any material discoveries.
Staring at a computer screen all day long had exhausted me and sent me to bed earlier than I would’ve liked.

I sensed movement outside my hotel room door. My first instinct was to grab my gun, but then I thought,
Don’t be so jumpy. It’s probably some drunk trying to get into the wrong room.
I could see a shadow in the space beneath the door.
Harry?
The shadow drifted away and then returned.
Screw this. Like they say, an ounce of prevention . . .
I grabbed my LDA and made a move toward the door, advancing silently on the carpeted floor.

I took a position to the side of the door and listened closely, but my visitor was silent.
Are you ready for this, girl?
I hadn’t seen any real action in months. Sure, I’d fired a lightweight gun at the range, but there was no danger in shooting at a paper target. I silently unlocked the door, took a deep breath, and pulled it open.

An older man jumped when he saw me spring into the corridor and land in a combat stance with my gun pointed at him. For a split second it appeared that he might be entertaining the notion of attacking me, but then his hands went straight up, signaling surrender.
Good move,
I thought.
You might be fast, but faster than a speeding bullet? You don’t look like Superman to me, fella.

Instead of saying, don’t shoot, he blurted, “Haruki. Haruki.”

“You’re waiting for Haruki?”

He nodded. “Yes. Are you Chalice?”

“What other half-crazed woman would be running around with a gun drawn in the middle of the night?” He seemed to be having difficulty interpreting my rhetorical query. Knowing Haruki’s name was one thing, but my training had taught me to be more thorough than that. I continued to hold my gun on him. “Yes. I’m Chalice. Who are you?”

He bowed politely. “I am Tiru, an old friend of Haruki-san.”

“You have ID?”

“Yes.”

“Show me.”

He reached into his pocket.

“Slowly,” I warned.

He cautiously removed his wallet and opened it. I viewed his driver’s license through the clear plastic window and was able to confirm that he was, in fact, who he said he was. He slid a business card out for me to see. It read, “Tiru’s Traditional Tattoo and Body Piercing. Tiru Kondo, Proprietor.” The card also noted the store address in lower Manhattan.

“Thanks,” I said as I reached for the card. “I’ll hold onto this if you don’t mind.”

He nodded and handed it to me.

Harry suddenly appeared in the corridor behind Tiru, saw us, and came running. “He’s cool, Chalice. He’s a friend.”

I lowered my gun. “
You’re
out late. I fell asleep waiting for you.”

“Unavoidable,” Harry said quickly. “Let’s get out of the hallway.”

“Yeah. Good idea.” I closed the door after they entered the room, and flipped on the lights. “All right, boys, what’s the deal?”

Harry slung his backpack over the chair. “Tiru is an old friend of the family. Yana and I have known him since we were young. He’s volunteered to help us find the shooter.”

I didn’t want to sound skeptical, but that’s the way it came out. “It’s two o’clock in the morning—he’s one hell of a volunteer,” I said, “Does he plan on tattooing the perp into submission?”

The quip was completely lost on Tiru, but Harry knew what I was getting at. “Tiru is far more than a tattoo artist, Chalice. He’s very highly trained in the martial arts. We have a lead we want to follow up on as soon as possible.”

“That’s such a relief,” I said sarcastically.

Tiru quickly glanced at Harry. There was something in the older gent’s gaze that told me Harry wasn’t exactly on the up and up. I wasn’t sure why he felt the need to be dishonest, but probe him I would.
Okay,
I thought,
I’ll help you dig your own hole.
“What did you find out?” I asked, picking up on another of Tiru’s worried glances. Apparently he was far less comfortable with dishonesty than his old family friend.

“We understand that Rodrigo Sanchez might be leaving the country. It’s not out of the question to suppose that he may be trying to flee before he gets pinned for the shooting.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“No,” Harry replied. “I have someone else running down that lead. It may take another day or so until we have that information.”

“Can I meet your contact?”

Harry remained cool, but I could see that Tiru was still sweating it out.

“That may not be a good idea,” Harry said. “Our contact . . . he’s not a very trusting person. I’m afraid that if he sees a gaijin, he might spook and take off.”

“What’s a gaijin?”

“It’s slang for foreigner.”

I’m a foreigner? Me? He has got to be kidding?

Harry bowed his head. “I didn’t mean to insult you, Chalice. Surely you can understand that you’d be considered an outsider.”

Whatever. This is a cock-and-bull story anyway.
It was clear that Harry had his own agenda and that it was now them against me. “Stay in touch, Harry,” I said in an offhand manner. “I’m going back to bed.”

He slipped his key card out of his pocket and laid it on the small desk. “Tiru and I will find another place to stay. This room is far too cramped for the three of us.”

“Will I hear from you again, Harry?”

“Why, yes, of course. I’ll keep you up to speed on everything, Chalice.” He held up the burner phone I’d given him as a symbol of open communication.

There was no hiding the sarcasm in my voice. “Marvelous.” I locked the door after they were gone and got back into bed, but I didn’t sleep. All of Harry’s cagey ninja shit was really starting to get to me.

Prior to the shooting, I had searched the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crimes database for murders with similar MOs to that of Serafina Ramirez.
I had gotten two hits but was only now ready to revisit those cases. One of the hits was a student at Rutgers University in New Jersey.The second was a housewife from Queens. Serafina had been raped and murdered, which is a somewhat common MO, but what made her case unique was the way in which she had been strangled and posed.

She’d been found in an unoccupied loft with her wrists tied to the footposts of a standard double bed. The medical examiner had assessed that Serafina had been raped repeatedly over the course of a few days. Her stomach was empty at the time of autopsy, demonstrating that she hadn’t eaten for at least forty-eight hours prior to her death. She was found naked, on her knees, and bent over a unfinished blanket trunk with her wrists firmly secured to the footposts of the bed. A pillow separated her face and tender skin from the raw wood panels.

Woven straps, like the ones used by movers to hoist heavy appliances, were used to bind her wrists to the bedposts, and a long length of strap was looped around her neck and knotted. A broomstick had been broken in half. The broken broomstick had been passed through the strapping material and tightened like a tourniquet. Variations in the ligature patterns indicated that the tourniquet had been tightened and released multiple times during her period of her captivity. The ME had postulated that the tightening of the tourniquet might have coincided with the multiple rapes that had taken place until her death finally ended the torture.

And the bed?

A strand of the perp’s hair was found under the pillow, but Serafina’s DNA was not found anywhere on the sheets or pillowcases. Presumably, she’d spent days on her knees, repeatedly raped and choked, and at night she was forced to watch while her assailant slept peacefully.