Dead Red (6 page)

“Excuse me?” asked Rachel.

“I need to talk to my nephew, and it needs to be in private.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out some money. He peeled off the first two bills—twenties—and handed them to my sister. “It’s a bit early, but go downstairs and order us some dinner. Anything but that crap with cashew nuts.” He took out another twenty. “Take your time. Have a cocktail. I’m going to need a half hour. Maybe less.”

“This couldn’t wait?” Rachel asked.

“It
has
waited,” Chief Donne said. “And the sooner you two scram, the sooner my official business will be over, and we can all have a nice dinner.”

“I already had plans with Dennis, Uncle Ray. I was hoping to spend another half hour with Ray and then head out.”

“We all have hopes, kiddo. Call Dennis and tell him you might be late. If he gives you any shit, mention my name.”

Rachel thought about arguing, but then seemed to remember the last few decades of losing arguments to Uncle Ray and thought better of it.

“Come on, Allison,” Rachel said. “Let’s go have a drink while the menfolk talk.”

Allison gave me a kiss on the cheek. “See you in thirty, Ray.”

“I’ll be here,” I said. “Get me that spicy broccoli, okay?”

She gave my uncle a look. “With or without the crappy cashews?”

“Whatever you want. Thank you.”

After the door shut, my uncle sat down on the futon—leaving no room for anyone else—and took a sip of ale. “I mean it, boyo. That reporter lady is too good for you.”

“Thanks, Uncle Ray.” I sat back in my chair. “What do the cops know about the other shooting?”

“How’d you find out about that?”

“I have a reporter lady on payroll,” I lied, not wanting to bring up Jack yet.

“Right. So far the only connection is they both involved automatic—or semiautomatic—weapons and cabs owned by the same corporation. We’re doing a background check on the other driver and the partners of the corporation.” He took a sip of beer and added, “Sometimes police work is like performing colonoscopies, Ray.”

I knew the rest, so I finished it for him. “Look up enough assholes and you’re bound to find something.”

“I love it when a student remembers the little things.” He gave me a proud smile. “Now, as to your role in all this excitement.”

“How’re we going to do this?”

He reached behind him and pulled a mini-recorder from his jacket pocket. He held it up to me. “I’ll tape your statement and have it transcribed in the morning. You remember how shitty my handwriting is.”

I nodded. Poor penmanship was one more dysfunction I’d inherited from my dad’s side of the family. Uncle Ray placed the recorder on the coffee table and pressed a button.

“Okay,” he said. “Here we go.”

Chapter 5

“THIS IS NYPD CHIEF OF DETECTIVES Raymond Donne.” My uncle spoke loud enough to be picked up by the voice recorder. “The time now is”—he looked at his watch—“four forty-seven.” He went on to give the date and the location of the interview, and instructed me to identify myself for the record.

“My name is Raymond Thomas Donne.”

“You understand that you are here of your own volition and are not at present being charged with any crime?”

“Yes,” I said. “I also live here.”

My uncle gave me his stop-being-a-wiseass look. “And as such you have waived your right to have a lawyer present?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, Mr. Donne. Can you tell me where you were at approximately two-fifteen this morning?”

“I was sitting in a parked taxicab just off the corner of North Seventh on Kent in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn.”

“And were you alone?”

“No. I was with Ricky T—Richard Torres.”

“How did you come to be at that location with Mr. Torres?”

“He called me and picked me up at my apartment.”

“Which is the same location as this interview?”

“Yes.”

“Was Mr. Torres in the habit of calling you early in the morning and picking you up to drive to various locations?”

“No. This was the first time.”

“When had you last seen Mr. Torres?”

I gave that some thought. “About three years ago. Right before he was deployed to the Middle East.”

“And you’ve had no further contact with him until this morning?”

“We talked on the phone shortly after he returned. That was about six months ago. But we never got together.”

“What did you think when he called you and asked you to meet him so early in the morning?”

“He said he was in trouble and needed to speak to me. I asked what the problem was, and he said he had to tell me in person. When I asked him if it could wait until morning, he sounded agitated and said it had to be right away.”

“And you agreed to meet with him?” That question was asked more by Uncle Ray than NYPD Chief Donne.

“A friend said he needed to talk to me. I wasn’t going to wait until a more convenient time to help him.”

Uncle Ray nodded, pleased with my response.

“Did there come a time after he picked you up that Mr. Torres explained what this trouble was?”

“No. We never got to talk about it.”

“And the reason for that?”

I gave my uncle an icy stare. “Because,” I said, “Mr. Torres was shot and killed before he got the chance to tell me.”

My uncle leaned forward and turned the recorder off. “Don’t give me the look, Raymond. If I don’t ask, someone else will.”

I shook my head. “I know. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Be clear, be concise, and just answer the questions asked.” He turned the recorder back on. “Interview was interrupted for two minutes while the witness went to the bathroom. Can you describe the shooting, Mr. Donne?”

“I’m not sure. It all happened so quick.”

“Just state for the record what you do recall.”

I closed my eyes and tried to remember what had happened. If I started at the beginning, maybe some of the blank spaces would get filled in along the way.

“As I said, we were parked just off the corner of Kent Avenue and Seventh.”

“Did you or Mr. Torres choose that parking spot?”

“Mr. Torres.”

“Did Mr. Torres give any reason for parking at that location?”

“No. I asked, and he said he’d explain everything. It took him a while to get started. We were sitting in his cab for about ten minutes, and I remember him telling me that he had made a mistake.” I closed my eyes again. “He handed me his cell phone and said I’d understand.” I paused. “Oh, shit. That reminds me, Uncle Ray…” I pulled Ricky’s cell out of my pocket and handed it to him. “The EMTs must have thought that was mine and put it with my personal belongings.”

Uncle Ray turned off the machine again.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m going to ask you if Ricky gave you anything, and you’re going to say yes and then identify his cell phone, and I will acknowledge receiving the phone from you. Got it?”

“Yes.”

He cued the interview back to pick up earlier and started again. “Interview was interrupted as the witness excused himself to get a glass of water. Mr. Donne, at any time during your meeting with Mr. Torres did Mr. Torres give you anything?”

“Yes,” I said, trying not to sound rehearsed. “He gave me his cell phone.”

“Do you have that phone with you at present?”

“I do.”

“Let the record state that the witness has just turned over the victim’s cell phone to this interviewer. Interviewer has placed the phone into a plastic baggie provided by Mr. Donne.” He looked at me and shook his head, meaning “not now.”

“What happened after Mr. Torres gave you his phone?”

“The next thing I remember is the sound of the driver’s side window breaking. When I looked over, Ricky—Mr. Torres—was lying facedown on his steering wheel. I didn’t hear anything … I didn’t know what…” I closed my eyes against a sudden urge to get up and run into my hallway. I willed myself to breathe slowly.

“Are you okay, Mr. Donne? Do we need to take a break?”

“No.” I took a deep breath. “I leaned over to see what had happened and then more shots were fired—a lot more shots. Like from an automatic. Pretty much the next thing I remember was waking up in the emergency room.”

“Can you state how much time elapsed between the shooting of Mr. Torres and the next series of shots?”

“Not exactly. But my best estimate would be less than ten seconds.”

“Did you sustain any injuries during this shooting?”

“Just a concussion. The driver’s air bag went off, causing his head to crash into mine. That’s when I became unconscious.”

Uncle Ray thought about that for a few seconds. “Have you anything to add at this time, Mr. Donne?”

“No. That is all I remember at this point.”

“Thank you.” He picked up the recorder. “This concludes the initial interview with witness Raymond Donne.” He turned the machine off. “Not bad, Nephew. Pretty much what you told me at the hospital. Except for the phone.”

“I didn’t know about the phone until I got back here, Uncle Ray.”

Uncle Ray picked up the phone and pushed the button that lit up the screen. He pressed another button. “Shit.”

“I know. Unknown caller. I tried that myself.”

He pressed another button. “Shit. All the recent calls, same thing.” He turned the phone to me. “Who’s the girl?”

I cleared my throat and told the truth. “I have no idea.”
Most of the truth.

My uncle imitated me by clearing his throat. “But…”

“You remember Jack Knight?”

It took him a five count. “Jack the Whack?”

“That’s the one.”

“What about him? I heard he put in his papers a while ago. Big loss,” he snorted.

“He was here this morning. When I got home from the hospital.”

“You running a home for wayward ex-cops or something, Raymond?”

I decided to skip the beginning. “Jack’s a PI now and Ricky’s been picking up some hours for him. Doing some building incident reports, stuff like that.”

“What’s that got to do with the girl on the phone?”

Time for a little more truth. “Jack said it was something to do with a case Ricky was working on. A missing kid thing.”

My uncle looked at the picture. “This girl’s gone AWOL?”

“You gotta talk to him about that. He didn’t go into much detail.”

“So what the hell was Jack Knight doing here this morning?”

“Same thing you are, I guess. Just in a less official capacity. He got a call about Ricky and me, went to the hospital, and followed Rachel and me back here. He wanted to know why I was hanging with Ricky at two in the morning over on the Southside. I told him what I told you. He didn’t like it and went home.”

“And that’s all?”

“That’s all I can tell you, Uncle Ray.”

“That’s not exactly what I asked, Raymond.”

I nodded. “Have someone talk to Jack.” I reached into my pocket and handed Jack’s card to my uncle. “You know Jack. He’s not gonna tell me shit. But if you send a detective over…”

“That’s what I need right now. Someone telling me how to do the job.”

“Not what I meant.”

“I know,” he said and rubbed his eyes. He leaned his large frame back into my futon. “It’s just been a long twenty-four hours, kiddo.”

“For both of us.”

“Right. Anyway, one thing I was able to find out was that your boy, Ricky Torres, put in his papers for reinstatement a few days ago.”

That seemed to go with Ricky asking Jack for more hours.

“Any idea why he waited as long as he did, Uncle Ray?”

“Nope. But I’ve got someone down in Human Resources making sure that paperwork goes through last week.”

“Why? What good will—?” Then I got it. “The benefits. You don’t think they’d deny his family the benefits, do you?”

“We both work for the city, Ray. You have to ask that question? I’m not taking any chances with that kid’s bennies going back into the city’s coffers. I checked. His mom’s still around, and I’ll be damned if some four-eyed city bureaucrat is gonna tell her that her son—who did two fucking tours over there—died without benefits.”

“And you can make this happen?”

“I can and I did. My girl over in HR knows what buttons to push to make sure the paperwork is dated last week and that it was approved yesterday.”

“Which just happens to be the day Ricky was killed?”

“Actually, he was killed today, remember? Life’s full of ironies, isn’t it? At least this one’s gonna help out the kid’s mom and his brother.”

I’d forgotten Ricky had a brother. Must be in college by now.

“That’s good, Uncle Ray. I hope this doesn’t blow back into your face.”

He laughed. “That would mean some civilian Poindexter in front of a computer actually gave a damn, Raymond. Anybody wants to give me shit, I’ll sic your girlfriend on them, and they can explain to the people of this city who still read newspapers how the family of Ricky Torres—a true goddamned American hero—should be denied his well-deserved taxpayer-funded benefits.”

“Allison’s not a cop. She’s not going to bark just because you say so.”

He smiled as if to say, “Yes, she will,” but had the decency not to. “She hit you up for a story yet?”

“No. And I don’t expect she will. She can’t write about me objectively, we’re dating.”

“Then you can expect a call from one of her cohorts. Soon.”

“And now that I’ve given my official statement, I won’t have a problem with that.” I found myself almost believing my own spin. “It’s a big story. I was there and can help put a human face on it.”

“Damn, boy,” Uncle Ray said. “You’re starting to talk like a member of the press. Best be careful before she puts a leash around your neck.”

I shook my head very slowly got up from my chair. “You kill me, Uncle Ray. You got everybody figured out. Everybody fits into your little boxes.” I gave him a mock-serious look. “How’d you ever get so cynical?”

“Years and miles, Nephew. When you got enough of both behind you, you’ll see how wise a man your old uncle was.”

“I see it now. I grew up seeing it. You’re a good man, Uncle Ray. Probably the best I’ve ever known.”

“That’s the concussion talking.”

“No, it’s not. You are a good man. But that doesn’t make you right about everything.”