Dead Red (26 page)

“You slowing down on me?”

“Just a little tired. I saw you chatting with Blake. You give him a card?”

“Of course. His wife enjoys her martinis, also, by the way.”

“I noticed. You want me to introduce you to Golden?”

She took a sip and shook her head. “Not if you want to leave. I do have to be at work in the morning, and the more I look at you in that suit…”

“Drink up.” I touched my glass to hers. “I might give you a chance to see how I look out of the suit.”

“See? That’s how you get a guy naked.”

“How’s that?”

“Just mention the possibility.”

Chapter 22

I WOKE TO ALLISON’S ALARM at six thirty the next morning with Allison’s head on my shoulder, a big smile on my face, and the recently acquired knowledge that three hundred dollars for a suit is money well spent. Then I remembered the main reason we had to sleep at Allison’s apartment—the two bullet holes in my bedroom wall—and my smile faded. I slipped my arm out from under Ally’s head and went to the bathroom. After splashing my face with water, I went into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. While waiting for it to brew, I found Ally’s laptop and fired it up. I figured I’d check out the
Times
Web site before she got up and caught me cheating with the competition.

I clicked on the Style section, and it didn’t take long to find the photos from last night’s benefit. Among the pictures of the many well-dressed attendees I did not know, I found a shot of Tony Blake with his arm around Greg Ericsson. Under the photo was a quote from Blake: “The government needs to be doing more for our returning veterans. Greg’s an example of how heroes are heroes, no matter where they are.”

I wondered how much Charles Golden had to do with those two tightly written and extremely quotable sentences.

I got myself a cup of coffee, plopped down on the couch, and searched the rest of the Web site. Not much going on around the world during the last few weeks of August: the usual political unrest in countries I’d never go to, Congress gearing up for the first battles of the fall, some parts of the country getting too much rain while others were not getting enough, and the usual politicians on both sides of the aisle blaming it on—or denying the existence of—global climate change.

I switched over to Allison’s paper’s website for two reasons: she was going to be up soon, and their sports section. The Yanks had won again the night before, continuing their late-season optimistic surge to make the playoffs. Football season had snuck up on me again and would be starting in less than three weeks. There was no use denying it: summer was coming to a close, and another school year was almost upon us.

“I assumed you checked the
Times
first?” Allison asked as she came out of her bedroom and kissed me on the head.

“Why do you say that?”

She reached over and clicked on the History tab, exposing my poorly hidden tryst with the enemy.

“It’s okay. I do it, too. What are your plans for the day?”

“Not sure. I have to call the precinct, see if it’s okay for me to go back to my apartment. Royce still needs a more complete statement from me, too. I was supposed to call him yesterday.”

“I don’t know, Ray. I’d rather you stay here for a few days.”

“I still gotta swing by and pick up some clothes, Ally. I can’t just walk around in that suit the whole time.”

“Mmmm,” she purred. “That might be interesting, Ray.”

I stood up and put my arms around her. “I have a brain, too, you know.”

“Which,” she said, “thanks to the suit, I screwed out last night.”

I kissed her. “You talk dirty for a journalist.”

“Is that a complaint?”

“It is certainly not a—”

My cell phone rang. I found it on Allison’s coffee table and didn’t recognize the number, but the 845 area code told me it was from upstate New York. I looked at Ally, shrugged, and answered.

“Hello?”

“Ray?” a hurried voice said.

“Yeah?”

“It’s Robby Torres.”

I looked at Ally’s cable box. It wasn’t even seven o’clock yet.

“What’s up? Everything okay?”

“I just got a call from my aunt. Mom’s house was broken into last night. I’m on my way down.”

I could hear he was calling from a moving vehicle. “Is your mother okay?”

“Yeah. She was staying in Maspeth last night with my aunt. The cops called her an hour ago to let her know about the break-in. Where are you?”

“I’m at my girlfriend’s. In the city.”

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” Robby said, “but could you head over to my mom’s until I get there?”

I wasn’t sure what good that would do, but he was Ricky’s brother.

“Absolutely. When do you think you’ll get there?”

I waited a few seconds as he put together an ETA. “Nine thirty maybe?” he said. “I don’t know what traffic’s gonna be like when I hit the Bronx.”

I could hear the increasing panic in his voice. This was all getting to be too much for him.

“Just take it easy, Robby. Your mom’s okay, and you’re not going to make things better by rushing down here. I’ll call Jack, and we’ll meet you at your mom’s when you get there. Drive carefully.”

“Okay, Ray.” I heard him take a deep breath. “Thanks.”

“See you in a few, Robby.”

After I hung up, I explained the situation to Allison, who had gotten herself a cup of coffee while I was on the phone.

“Jesus,” she said. “Like the family hasn’t been through enough.”

“Yeah.”

I dialed Jack’s number and got his voicemail. I went over the details as I knew them and said I’d be there in less than an hour. When I put the phone down, Allison was giving me a strange look.

“Why do you have to go over there?”

“Because Robby asked me to. The place’ll be crawling with cops, and his mom could probably use some support.”

“Your uncle would say you’re—”

“You’re right,” I said, stepping over to the closet where I’d recently started keeping some of my clothes. “And I can’t tell you enough how much I appreciate your
not
saying that.”

She gave me the exasperated look that I was getting used to. “You think there’s a connection between the break-in and what happened to Ricky?”

“More than likely. I mean, there are thieves out there who check the obituaries and try to hit houses during times of personal crisis. But between Ricky’s death, the shooting at my place, and now this … I don’t see how they’re not connected.”

I put on my shirt and jeans. Allison handed me a pair of sneakers.

“I heard you telling Robby to be careful.”

“Yeah?”

“I hope you take your own advice.”

“I will, Allison. I’m a careful guy.”

“And still, your bedroom wall has two bullet holes in it.”

“I’ll be careful,” I repeated. “Besides, the cops are probably all over the place, and whoever broke in is long gone.”

She stepped over and put her arm around me. “Call me.”

“Absolutely.”

*   *   *

The subways were running well, and I got to Ricky’s mom’s house in a little more than thirty minutes. When I arrived, the front door was open, and a uniformed cop stood on the front steps. I walked over and said, “Good morning.”

“Can I help you, sir?” he asked.

“Yeah, I hope so. Is Detective Royce inside?”

“He is, sir. Is he expecting you?”

“No. He’s not. Could you tell him that Raymond Donne is here?” I saw the look on the young cop’s face. “Tell him it’s the
other
Raymond Donne.”

That seemed to do little to lighten his confusion, and he went inside as I stepped back to the sidewalk. The last time I got too close to one of Royce’s crime scenes, he made sure I knew it
was
the last time. After a few minutes of waiting on the sidewalk, and not answering questions from Mrs. Torres’s neighbors, I saw Royce exit the house. He came over to me with a smile that contained little joy, but I did detect a slight sense of amusement.

“I don’t see any coffee in your hands, Mr. Donne,” he said. “So I’m not sure what brings you here so bright and early. Unless it’s that statement you owe me?”

“Robby Torres called me. Asked me to meet him here.”

“For what purpose?”

“Maybe so his mother would see a friendly face.”

“You implying my face isn’t friendly?”

I took in Royce’s face. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Detective.” I looked past him at the front door. “She in there?”

“Doing an inventory. Seeing if she can figure out what was taken.”

“How’s that going?”

“It’s going,” he said. “And no, you may not enter the house.”

“I wasn’t going to ask.”

“Right.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out some bills. “Since you
are
here, Mr. Donne, would you mind running over to the avenue and getting me some coffee? I didn’t have time on the way, and the responding officers failed to plan for my arrival.” He held out a ten-dollar bill.

“It’s on me. Just one?”

“Yeah. Large and black. Like me.”

“That should be easy to remember.”

*   *   *

When I got back five minutes later, I saw Jack Knight talking with the cop stationed on the front steps. Jack saw me, handed the guy a card, and patted him on the back. He came down the steps and walked over.

“That was thoughtful,” he said, looking at the three cups in my hands.

“It was,” I agreed, holding up the cups for the uniform to see. He came over. “For the detective. The other’s yours.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

After he left, I took a sip of my own coffee and gestured with my chin toward the cop. “Friend of yours?” I asked Jack.

“He is now. And thanks for calling, Ray.” He looked at the house. “You know when the break-in happened?”

“No. I was going to ask Royce, but he sent me for coffee instead.”

“And you went for it?”

“I figured a fully caffeinated Royce would be more forthcoming.”

Jack smiled. “That’s the kinda shit you’re good at. Wish I could do that.”

“What? Think of others?”

“Smoothing the way.” He made a sliding motion with his hand. “Me? I gotta flash a little green to get what I need from folks. There’s something about you that people like.” A thought crossed his face. “Fuck me! I almost forgot. What the hell happened at your place the other night? Someone take a shot at you and your girlfriend?”

“Not quite. And thanks for waiting thirty-six hours to check in on me.” I told him about hearing the thuds and finding the bullet holes in the wall above the bed. “If Allison and I had been lying there…”

He considered that. “And the curtains were pulled?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Means the shooter knew the layout of the apartment. He cased your place when the curtains were open and was probably up on the roof across the way when you and your girl got home.” He let that sink in. “Cops match the slugs to the one that got Ricky?”

“They haven’t told me anything yet. And
my girl
’s name is Allison.”

Jack nodded. “That’ll work.”

We both turned back to the house as we heard the sound of a woman crying. Mrs. Torres was being escorted outside by Detective Royce and another older woman, who I took to be her sister. I started to head toward her when Royce held up his hand like a traffic cop. He walked both women to the parked squad car and opened the back door for them. He then said something I couldn’t hear to a uniformed cop, who got into the car and drove off. Then Royce walked over to Jack and me.

“Thought I saw the last of you when you retired, Jack,” Royce said.

“I figured you missed me, Detective.”

“Like I miss my favorite hemorrhoid. Why are you here?” He turned his glare to me. “Why are either of you here?”

“Friends of the family,” Jack said. “Ricky’s brother called and asked us to swing by.” Jack looked at his watch. “Should be here in a little more than an hour.”

Royce nodded. “I understand Torres was working for you.”

“He was. Part-time. Interviews, accident scene photos. Minor stuff.”

The detective took a sip of his coffee. “So you’ve gone private, huh?”

“Best decision I ever made,” Jack said. “Self-employed is the way to go.”

Royce smiled. “You gotta be careful with that, though, I would imagine.”

“Why’s that?”

“Sometimes when you’re self-employed, your boss can be a real asshole.”

Jack gave Royce a smile. “That’s good. I’m gonna remember that next time I wake up at ten in the morning, make myself a big pot of coffee, turn on my computer, and start billing my clients by the hour.”

“What did Mrs. Torres say was taken, Detective?” I asked, tired of the back-and-forth between these two.

“Nothing,” he said. “At least not that she could tell.”

“How’d they get in?”

“Back basement window, sometime after nine when she left for her sister’s in Maspeth, Queens. No home-security system, and none of the neighbors heard a thing. One of them noticed the front door open this morning when they were walking their dog. Any other questions,
Mister
Donne?”

I did have more questions, and I figured it was to my advantage to ask them before Royce got truly bothered by my presence. And Jack’s.

“You think there’s a connection between the break-in and Ricky?”

“I try not to think about such things until I have time to detect,” he said. “But with nothing missing—according to the victim—it does make one think there’s another reason the house was broken into.”

“Someone was looking for something,” Jack said.

“That’s a possibility we’re looking into.”

“It’s like a real mystery, huh, Royce?” said Jack. “How do you figure out what the thieves were after when they either got what they wanted or it was never here to begin with?”

“That’s a good question, Jack. Was kinda thinking along the lines of checking in with Ricky Torres’s employer. See if he could tell me anything. It’s called detective work.”

Jack nodded. “Employ
ers
. Plural,” he said. “Ricky worked for me
and
his cousin.”

“I’ll start with you.”