Compromised (22 page)

I noticed that his knuckles were swollen and red, no doubt from the pounding he’d given Coffer. “And that, Jack, is why you came into the station house today, to file a complaint. Your bandaged arm and bruised knuckles will corroborate your complaint. Isn’t that right?”

He examined his hand, apparently surprised that I had mentioned his knuckles. “Look, Chalice, that’s not why I’m here, and you know it.”

“The only thing I know is that your
dear
old friend Reggie Coffer was beaten to death today, and darn, wouldn’t you know it, there was no visible DNA evidence left behind to tie his assailant to the murder . . . No witnesses either. I tell you it’s a goddamn miracle, a one-in-a-hundred scenario.” I glared at him in an effort to drive home my point. “So would you like someone to come in to take down your complaint? I can’t promise that we’ll pick up those kids, but at least the complaint will be on file.”

“Chalice, look, I found—”

“You found the courage to come forward? Believe me, I understand—you live in the neighborhood, and you don’t want any more trouble from these kids than you already have.”

“
No
. I—”

“I have one last thing to say before you tell me something that will change your future forever.”

“Yeah?”

“We found five ID cards in the space behind Reggie’s medicine cabinet, and we found lumber and blueprints for a blanket trunk in a storage facility he rented. Reggie was a serial killer, Jack. We’re still doing our due diligence, but it appears that he raped and murdered at least five women, including your daughter, Serafina. He was a demented wad of scum, and I’m thrilled that he got what he deserved.”

Jack studied my face intently. He was apparently still unsure of what was happening.

“You know, gee, did I mention to you that I’m out on medical leave?”

“But I thought . . .”

“I don’t know how I forgot to tell you, but I’m a civilian at this moment, no different than you. We’re just two friends shooting the breeze . . . like you and my dad used to do.”

He sniffled and a tear popped out of his eye. “Chalice . . .”

“I don’t know what prompted the crime scene unit to pull that medicine cabinet from Coffer’s bathroom, and I guess I never will. Just happenstance, I guess.”

“But I told you that—”

“That you fixed a broken pipe? Don’t you do that every day?”

“But I told you that I pulled the medicine cabinet to get access to the pipe.”

“Did you ever tell me whose bathroom you fixed?”

“No.”

“So?” I put my hand on his. “As a friend, I will tell you that you’ll be questioned about Reggie’s murder because it appears that he took Serafina’s life and you’ll be considered a person of interest because of that. But I don’t think they’ll press the issue.”

“I don’t know. That new detective they assigned, Lido . . .”

I squeezed his hand. “Oh, I forgot that you met my husband. It’s such a small world. You do know that with me being on leave, he can’t share any details of the investigation with me.”

He gave me a small smile. “Or you with him?”

I winked at him. “Or me with him.” I stood and walked to the door. “I’ll get someone to come in and take your complaint. Sound good?”

He nodded, but looked extremely emotional.

“One last piece of advice,” I said. “If you are charged, don’t make it easy for the DA. The next time you feel like you just have to get something off your chest, talk to a lawyer first. Prison is nothing but a world of hurt, Jack, and I don’t think you need or deserve any more pain than you’ve already had. It’s time you turned your life around.” I smiled at him, hoping that he’d finally gotten the message. I thought about something he’d said to me,
“And then some monster had to come along and attack my daughter, just like those two animals attacked me. Shouldn’t things balance out? Shouldn’t Serafina have had a better life because of all the crap I went through? You’d think so, right? But no, some people have all the luck and others . . .”
There was nothing I could do to reverse the tragic events that had befallen him and Serafina, but at least I could try to balance right and wrong—right and wrong the way I saw it.

“Oh, by the way, we were able to contact your wife, and she’s on her way down here right now. She said that she was looking for you, and was relieved to hear that you were all right. You’ve got a good woman, Jack. She loves you a lot, and I’m sure she’ll help you get over whatever it is that has a hold on you. Maybe it’s time to let it go . . . if not for you, for Sofia’s sake. She’s been through a lot too.”

“No one has ever done anything like this for me before, Chalice. I owe you so much more than I can ever repay.”

“My dad always wanted to find the two assholes who hurt you so badly. As a matter of fact, I think he became a cop because of it, and I became a cop because of him. So if you ask me, Jack, in a manner of speaking it’s my dad and I who owe you and not the other way around.”

I walked back over to him and took his hand. “So can you suck it up for now so that I can go find the guy who killed my partner and put a bullet in my head? Because as much as I like hanging out with you, I just can’t shoot the shit forever.”

My phone buzzed. It was Tully, the ME. I excused myself and took the call. “Tully?”

“What are you up to,
Cha-lee-see
?” he asked in his heavy Jamaican accent. He was a dear friend, a man I liked and respected.

“Tully, why are you bothering me, mon?” I kidded him in a cliché Jamaican accent. “Don’t you know I need to be convalescing?”

“You can fool some of the people some of the time, but there ain’t no fooling this Jamaican boy. You’re about as indisposed as a hungry gator about to wolf down a plump little muskrat.”

“Thanks, but is that the way you see me, Tully, as some manner of fierce reptile?”

He answered with a chuckle. “Better than being the plump little muskrat.”

“I love you too, doc, but I’m trying to wrap up an interview. What’s shakin’?”

“I tried to get ahold of Lido but couldn’t get through to him. I thought you’d want to know that Coffer’s back was covered with scars. Some were fresh, but the bulk of them were mature. Some of them could be decades old.”

“Do you think he was abused as a child?”

“No question, Chalice, but like I said, some of the scarring was fresh as well. I think that he used to flog himself.”

“Come again?” I asked in disbelief.

“I think it’s a type of religious sacrament practiced by some highly devout Catholic sects. They call it the practice of corporal mortification.”

“Self-mutilation? You’re sure about this?”

“Definitely? No. I’m a doctor not an oracle, but I would say most likely. We recovered a thick, knotted rope covered with dried blood from his apartment. It looked like Coffer used to whip the rope over his shoulder, hard enough to draw blood. We also found a cilice belt.”

“And that is?”

“It’s a coarse fabric belt worn under the clothes and around the thigh. In practice the belt is tightened to the point of extreme discomfort as a sign of repentance and atonement.”

“So the creep felt guilty about what he did.”

“Yes. Presumably so.”

“As things stand now, it looks as if he raped and killed five women. I don’t think he atoned quite enough. You?”

“Not hardly,” he again answered with a chuckle. “Anyway, that’s all I have for now, so get back to it, Chalice. I’ll catch you around.”

“Thanks, doc.” I disconnected and turned back to Burns. “Hey, Jack, was Reggie the religious type? Was he a churchgoer?”

“I don’t know about Reggie, but his mother was a religious fanatic. She had bibles and rosary beads all over their apartment. Never missed Sunday mass.”

“The ME said his back was scarred. You know anything about that?”

“Yeah, he used to scratch something awful. He always had this ugly rash. His back was covered with red skin and welts—kind of gross-looking if you ask me. He never took off his shirt, not even at the beach.”

“Oh,” I responded casually, but knew the explanation lay elsewhere. Reggie never had a rash—it was merely an excuse he used to cover up his lashed and bloody skin. He had been taught to flog himself for religious repentance, a practice he likely continued the rest of his life. I knew there was a factor well beyond his low self-esteem that had motivated him to become a killer. I knew that there had to be a trigger, and was willing to bet that the start of his murder streak coincided with his mother’s death. If I was right, the next question to be asked was, had she died of natural causes, or had she been his first victim?

I felt happy and renewed as I left the interrogation room.
I didn’t know whether the medical review board would allow me to continue on as an NYPD homicide detective, but what had just transpired renewed my faith in the universe. It was nothing short of a miracle that Jack had left no evidence at the crime scene tying him to Coffer’s murder. There were no absolutes and nothing said that evidence or a witness connecting him to the murder wouldn’t surface later on down the line, but for the moment at least the man had a chance. Had I taken the law into my own hands? Definitely. Was it wrong to do so? Of course. Did I give a damn? No. Not in the slightest. With any luck, it wouldn’t come back to bite me in the ass. In my gut I felt that my father would’ve been happy with my actions. Maybe somewhere in heaven he was smiling down on me, and maybe the guilt he’d carried with him a lifetime had finally been washed away. I peered through the station house window, turned my gaze to the sky, and smiled back.

I had to be a law enforcement officer and was determined to do so in any manner I could. It was in my blood and engrained in my make up. Nothing was going to stop me from being a cop. If I couldn’t work the streets for the city, I’d find another way to participate.

I pulled a GPS tracker out of my bag the moment I sat down at my desk, turned it on, and waited for it to pick up a signal. A red dot began to pulse after a few seconds, a red dot that indicated Harry’s location.

I caught Gus coming out of the men’s room. “You taking a cold shower in there?”

“Three times a day. It’s the only way I can keep my testosterone level below the boiling point.”

“Dear God, I know what you mean. I’m having a love affair with the handheld shower. I’ll call the doc as soon as this is over.”

“That’s a really good idea,” he responded, looking down his nose with a look of entitlement on his face. “This celibacy thing isn’t gonna cut it much longer.”

“Not what it’s cracked up to be? Have you considered hormonal castration? I hear it can turn the stiffest pasta into a wet noodle.”

“Yeah, right. Like I would ever . . .” he scoffed. “Anyway, how’d you make out with Burns?”

“Jack got into a scuffle with a couple of kids. That’s how his arm got sliced up and his knuckles bruised.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

I took him by the arm and led him toward the station house’s front door. “I’ll explain it along the way. Right now I’ve got a craving for sushi.”

He wrinkled his nose. Gus was not a fan of raw fish. “For real?”

“Yes, for real. I’ve got a hunch. You can eat some teriyaki or tempura or anything else that pleases your man-palate.”

He shook his head. “How can I argue? Besides, you do your best work with your mouth full.”

I flipped him the bird. Just saying.

Ever the chowhound, Gus was devouring a plate of beef negimaki and seemed to be quite pleased with his dinner selection.

“Enjoying that?” I asked.

“Uh-huh,” he happily replied.

“Careful inhaling those beef rolls. I don’t want to have to give you the Heimlich maneuver.”

“I thought you’d be happy to wrap your arms around me after such a long period of abstinence,” he said with grin.

“Real funny. Don’t even think about coming near me with your tear-gas breath after you’ve eaten an entire plate of those scallion-stuffed stink bombs.”

“Oh really? You think I want to kiss you after you’ve wrapped your lips around those slimy gelatinous noodles.”

“The shirataki noodles? They’re yummy.”

“Yeah, well, maybe, but from here they look like worms.”

“Try some.”

“No way,” he scoffed. “I’m just getting familiar with chopsticks. Don’t push your luck.”

I grinned at him, then sucked a long one out of the bowl and followed it with a sliver of bright red tuna. “You’re not going to try the sashimi?”

He shook his head vigorously.

“You’re an embarrassment. You’re like the guy who eats gummy bears at the opera. Show some sophistication for the art of sushi, for God’s sake.”

He flipped me an inconspicuous bird and went back to devouring his beef.

I’d looked up the records on Reggie Coffer’s mother while we were on our way to the restaurant, and she had, in fact, passed away roughly five years ago, which supported my theory that her death had been the catalyst for her son becoming a killer. It was my guess that he was mocking his mother and desecrating her memory with every woman he defiled and killed. I’m not a profiler by any means, but I liked the way the theory rang, and with both mother and son dead, we’d never know for sure anyway. Records indicated that she had died of natural causes, but she was elderly and no autopsy was performed. So the jury was still out on that one, and would stay out indefinitely. The exhumation process is tedious and costly. With Coffer already expired, there was no compelling reason to exhume his mother’s body other than to satisfy my own macabre sense of curiosity, and life is way too short to waste time on such a frivolous activity.

I’d briefed Gus on my session with Jack Burns. Gus was going to follow through and interview Burns on Coffer’s homicide. How far he’d take it? That was his decision. I couldn’t put his career with the NYPD at risk over a decision I had consciously made. Only time would tell if I’d become the subject of an internal affairs investigation, but for now my conscience was clean.

“So why the sudden hankering for sushi,” Gus asked. “As if I didn’t know where this was heading.”