Murder in Greenwich Village (6 page)

8

DOWNSTAIRS, JANE STEERED her to a small restaurant that in a couple of hours would be serving dinner to Village regulars and tourists. “Just coffee,” Jane said as they entered. The maître d' looked unhappy, but led them to a table near the kitchen.

“What do you want from me?” Franklin said. “I just got home. I haven't even unpacked yet. The refrigerator is empty and Sal's hungry. He's a guy that can't wait when he's hungry.” She looked as though she was afraid he might eat her if she didn't come up with a satisfactory meal.

“Ms. Franklin—may I call you Judith?”

“Judy. Just try to make it fast so I don't come back to a fight.”

“Judy, I want to ask you about the night Det. Micah Anthony was shot.”

“That thing? It happened ten years ago. They tried to pin that on Sal and he was acquitted. You can't get him for that. He was just in the wrong apartment at the wrong time.”

“I'm not trying to ‘get him.' I'm trying to figure out what happened that night. The detective was shot a few blocks from here. Sal is the only one of the three men who had a connection to the Village.”

“He didn't have a connection. He lived with his mother. He visited me sometimes but he didn't live with me.”

“But you lived here and he had a relationship with you.”

“A relationship,” she repeated, as though she wished it were more of one. “Yes, we had a relationship.”

“Did he come to you that night?”

“You expect me to remember ten years later?”

“That was a big night in your life, Judy. Your boyfriend, whom you now refer to as your husband, got himself involved in the killing of a cop.”

“I told you, Sal didn't do it, they never proved he did, and they can't try him again for it. And I don't remember if he came over that night. I think he didn't. I think he called me the next day and told me he was in trouble.”

“Was he driving a car in those days?” Jane asked. None of the three men had had cars registered to them.

“I don't think he's ever owned a car.”

“I didn't ask you if he owned one. I asked you if he was driving one.”

Franklin's nervousness was increasing with each question. She was a thin woman with dark hair, wearing a light blue blouse and black pants, her traveling clothes. Silver hoop earrings pierced her ears, and her fingernails looked freshly polished. She kept herself looking good for Sal.

“If he was driving a car, I don't know about it,” she said. “I've never had a car. You have to be crazy to have one if you live in the Village. You know what parking's like down here?”

“I have a good idea. What about his mother? Did she own a car? His brothers or sisters? His friends?”

“His mother never learned to drive. Look, I can't answer questions that I don't know anything about. Can we finish this?”

“Soon.”

Coffee had been served, and Franklin put sweetener and milk in hers and sipped it. “Good coffee,” she said.

“I only take people to nice places,” Jane said with a smile.

Franklin smiled back. “What else can I tell you besides about the car?”

“Did you ever meet Curtis Morgan or Carl Randolph?”

“You mean the men who . . . ?”

“Yes, the men who were arrested with Sal.”

“I never laid eyes on them till the trial. Sal never mentioned their names. I only went to the courthouse one day. Sal said I should keep a low profile; he didn't want anyone to know I existed. So I went on my day off and sat in the back, and I left at lunchtime. It was boring. The lawyers kept arguing and nothing happened. That's the only time I saw those men. That Randolph, he was a big guy. Curtis coughed a lot. That's all I can tell you.”

“What did Sal do when the trial was over?”

“He got a job. I can't remember what. He's had a lot of jobs. Most of them don't interest him, so he doesn't stick with them long. And it's not easy to find work when you've got a record.” She looked pained, as though the world had slighted Manelli when he deserved a fair shake.

“He got out of jail recently,” Jane said.

“That was so unfair. He was meeting someone in a bar, a guy who owed him money. The guy didn't have it and they started arguing. Sal got so mad, he threw a punch, and the bartender called the police and had Sal arrested for assault. It was a trumped-up charge, believe me.”

“You've been on vacation the last week or so. Where did you go?”

“We got a little cabin in the Catskills. It's so nice up there, cool at night. You can do a lot of walking, even fishing if that's your thing.”

“Were you together all the time?”

“You mean like did we stick together like glue? No. Sal likes to walk early in the morning and I'm not a morning person. I'd rather go after breakfast. I need my coffee first thing.” She had finished her cup and Jane signaled for refills.

“He get any calls while he was there?”

“Phone calls? I don't know. He has a cell. I don't remember if he used it. The cabin didn't have a phone. If you wanted to make a call you had to hike a mile to a grocery store.”

“Did he meet anyone while you were up there?”

“You mean like a friend? I didn't see anyone. Why are you asking? This was a vacation. We didn't do any entertaining. We just wanted a rest and some peace and quiet.”

“Did you know that Sal quit his job at the shoe store?”

Franklin's face became fearful. “That's not true. He just took unpaid vacation. He didn't work there long enough to get time off. He's going back to work on Monday.”

Jane said nothing. Sal would keep up the hoax as long as he got away with it. It was the way he lived. She looked at her watch. They had been at the table for half an hour. If Defino had been as successful talking to Sal, together they wouldn't have one untainted piece of information.

“All right, let's get back. It's after four.”

“I hope I've been helpful,” Franklin said.

“I hope you've been truthful.”

“Why should I lie to you?” She used the voice of an innocent.

Jane dropped some bills on the table and said, “Let's go.”

9

JUDITH FRANKLIN RANG the doorbell to alert Sal, and put the key in the lock. Inside, she called, “We're back,” in a lilting girlish voice. When no answer came she cooed, “Hello?”

Jane moved past her to the empty living room, where, she saw, a floor lamp had been knocked over. She unholstered the Glock, feeling a chill. Hurrying, she checked the kitchen— empty—and the bedrooms in the rear of the apartment, also empty. “Gordon?” she called. The apartment was silent.

“They must've gone out,” Franklin said.

In the larger bedroom the window that opened onto a fire escape was closed and locked, and dust had accumulated on the horizontal surface. A smaller bedroom was made up as a guest room, and no one was there. Jane opened the closet door but found nothing but clothes. She passed the bathroom on her way to the kitchen, feeling adrenaline moving through her and hoping it would outweigh the beginnings of panic. Except for the two women, the apartment was empty.

“Any note from them?” she asked Franklin.

“I don't see any. Maybe they went out for a beer.”

Jane pulled her cell phone out and dialed Defino's number. He didn't answer. She called McElroy's number at 137 but he was apparently gone for the day. She tried Annie, then MacHovec, which was a joke. Finally she keyed the number for Graves.

Everyone was gone. She called McElroy's cell number. He was probably on his way home, somewhere between 137 and a train, or already on a train.

He answered quickly.

“Lieutenant, Jane Bauer. We may have a situation here.” She gave him the details quickly.

“A lamp overturned?”

“Yes.”

“Anything else?”

“Not that I've seen. I've only looked quickly. But that lamp is his message to me. He didn't leave voluntarily.”

“Give the Six a call. He could be interrogating Manelli in the house. And keep me informed.”

“Yes, sir.” She dialed the Six and gave her name and shield number to the sergeant, and then on his request, her tax registry number, which he could use to confirm her identity. Finally, she asked if Defino was at the precinct with a suspect. As she waited for an answer, she watched Franklin, who had become pale and tense during the phone calls.

“Sorry, Detective,” the sergeant's voice came back at her. “No outside commands in the interview rooms.”

She left a message for Defino, in case he showed up, then turned to Franklin. “All right, Judy. My partner is missing and Sal is with him somewhere. You are now going to talk to me truthfully. You lie and my partner is hurt, you are an accessory to a violent crime.”

“How could I know anything? I was with you.”

“Were you or Sal expecting anyone this afternoon?”

She shook her head. “I wasn't, and he didn't say anything.”

“During your vacation, did he meet anyone? Did you see him talking to anyone?”

“Um . . .”

“Judy, a police officer is missing and I have to find him before something terrible happens. If you know something, you tell me now.”

“One day, maybe yesterday, maybe two days ago, I thought I saw someone through the trees talking to Sal.”

“Was there a car?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Did you recognize this person?”

“I couldn't even see them clearly. It was a man, I'm sure of that. That's all I can tell you. They were standing and talking. I thought maybe Sal met someone from one of the other cabins and they were just being neighborly.”

“What did he look like?”

“A man, I don't know.”

“Was he black or white?”

“White, thinner than Sal, not much hair.”

“You ever see him before?”

“I don't
know
. He was just a man through the trees.”

“Stay here. I'm going downstairs. Don't touch that lamp.” She went down to the street and wrote down the plate numbers of the cars parked on both sides. Then she went into the dry cleaner across the street and asked if they'd noticed two or three men getting into a car or van in the last half hour.

“There was a blue van parked illegally across the street for a while,” the woman said. “I noticed it because a car was honking at it to move. They should know better but they never do. Then I looked over and it was gone.”

“Any lettering on the side?” Jane asked.

“Nothing. Just blue. Could've used a paint job.”

“Thanks.” She dashed back, went upstairs, and rang the bell to Philip Sklar's apartment.

“You,” he said. “Didn't I just talk to you a little while ago?”

“Mr. Sklar, did you see anyone go in or out of the Franklin apartment this afternoon?”

“I didn't see but I heard. Remember you asked about men's voices ten years ago? I don't know about ten years ago but this afternoon, just a little while ago, I heard them, men's voices. How do you like that?”

“How many voices did you hear?”

“Two anyway. And people going downstairs. But I didn't look out so I can't tell you who it was.”

“Thanks.”

She banged on Franklin's door and, once inside, made a careful search of the apartment, checking her watch as she moved. Time was passing too quickly and she had accomplished little. Aside from the lamp, nothing else seemed awry. She asked Franklin several times if things were correctly placed and she said yes each time.

“You're sure nothing's missing? Sal's suitcase is here?”

“I'll look again.” Franklin went to the master bedroom. “It's here,” she called. “It's in the closet. Mine's on the bed where I left it.”

A blue van parked illegally. That meant another person in addition to Sal. He knocks on the door, Defino stands back and lets Sal answer while Defino watches. The other man—or two men—come in, enough to overpower Defino, who might not have had his weapon out, as he wasn't expecting trouble.

How did they get him to go downstairs without making the kind of racket that would motivate Phillip Sklar to call 911?

“His raincoat's gone.”

“What?”

“Sal's raincoat. He walked in the apartment with his suitcase and went into the bedroom to take off his raincoat. It was on the bed the last I saw it, and now it's gone. Maybe he put it on when he left with the other detective.”

Or maybe they threw it over Defino while they took him down the stairs, and told him they'd kill him if he made a sound. Jane looked at her watch again. They could be in any of the five boroughs by now, in New Jersey through the tunnel, or on their way to Long Island. She pulled out her cell phone to call McElroy when the phone rang.

“Lieutenant McElroy. What's going on?”

“He hasn't been seen in the station house. The store across the street saw a blue van parked in front of this building about the time Gordon disappeared. No ID on it. A man's black raincoat is missing from this apartment.”

“I see. Describe the building.”

She told him it was a brownstone, two apartments on a floor, Franklin's on three. She described her search of the premises, and the lack of any message except the lamp lying across the sofa.

“OK. I think it's time to call in the Borough Detective Task Force. Let them get started canvassing. I'll get back to Centre Street as soon as I can. I'll leave a message for Inspector Graves. I don't like the look of this. We've got a murder in Rikers Island, a weapon missing from an armory for over ten years found in Riverside Park, and now a detective missing along with one of the original suspects in the Anthony case.”

“Right on all three.”

“Get yourself back to Centre Street as soon as the borough detectives arrive. Don't hesitate to call.”

“Yes, sir.” She hung up and called the task force, going through the identification process once again and explaining the situation. She spoke to a lieutenant who promised two detectives ASAP and as many as might be needed later. Off the phone, she called back the Six and asked to be connected to the sector car that covered Minetta Street.

The car was only a block away, and they drove over rather than talk on a staticky line. Officers Piedmont and Glover pounded up the stairs, something exciting finally happening on their watch.

“A blue van?” Piedmont said. He looked at Glover for confirmation. “Yeah, we saw it.”

“Yeah,” Glover agreed. “It was pulling out when we came up Minetta.”

“You remember anything about it?” Jane asked.

“A Ford maybe. Double doors in the back.”

“Can you give me a time?” Jane asked.

“Right near the beginning of our tour. Could've been four thirty.”

“Shit, we just missed them. You didn't see anyone get into it?”

“They were moving when I saw it,” Piedmont said.

“OK. Thanks, guys.”

“Anything we can do?” Glover asked.

Jane shook her head. All she could do now was wait for the borough detectives to show up, then go back to Centre Street and put in a hellish weekend.

When the sector cops had gone, she made the call she had left for last. They needed MacHovec on this. MacHovec was the best researcher she had ever known, even if he rarely got off his ass or put in a second of overtime.

He answered on a cell phone she knew he carried but that never rang in the office, not that hers or Defino's did during the workday.

“Sean, it's Jane. We've got a problem.”

She had anticipated trouble from him, excuses for not working at night or over the weekend. The brief pause between her explanation and his answer was the only hesitation.

“I'm almost home. I'll take a shower and come back. It sounds like a long night.”

“A long weekend.”

“Yeah. See you later.”

After the detectives came, she did the same thing.