To Kill Upon A Kiss: Dead Cold Mystery 10 Page 6

  I said, “I’ll talk to my inspector. If he agrees, we’ll come and get you tomorrow.”

  He smiled and narrowed his eyes at me. For a moment he looked like a large snake. “I know,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Detective Stone Cold. Say hi to Detective Dehan for me. She is one cute babe.”

  I stood and went to the door. It rolled open with a loud, metallic echo. His voice stopped me.

  “Tell me something, Detective.”

  I turned and looked at him.

  “You getting any of that? I figure she likes it rough. Am I right?”

  I left.

  I found Dehan sitting in the car with the doors opened, listening to English Tudor music. She turned it down as I got into the car, and looked at me. She said, “What?”

  “We talk to the inspector and arrange to take him to the crime scene tomorrow. He is going to show us where her purse and her ID are hidden. After that, if we are satisfied, he wants a guarantee from the DA that if he gives us the name of the killer, he will get his sentence reduced to the time he has already served.” I drummed my fingers on the wheel. “Effectively he gets released in exchange for giving us the name of the killer.”

  “That’s some deal, but it’s a fair price to pay for getting a serial killer off the streets.”

  I looked at her for a while. “I just hope we aren’t helping to put one back on the streets.”

  “You still think he might have done it?”

  “It doesn’t make any sense. I don’t know what I think, Dehan. Let’s see what the inspector says and talk to the DA.” I fired up the engine and sat listening to it rumble for a moment. Finally I shrugged.

  Before I could speak, Dehan said, “Let’s see who he fingers, Stone. If it makes sense it’ll make sense. If he’s playing us, it won’t stand up. All we can do is play it by ear and see where it leads.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I know. Trouble is, we’re playing his tune, and that is what I don’t like. I don’t like his tune.”

  SEVEN

  The inspector sat staring at me with no expression. Then he blinked and turned the same stare on Dehan. Eventually he said, “What I like about you two is that nothing is ever simple with you.” He paused a moment to think about what he had just said. “Still, I suppose the Westchester Angel case was never going to be simple, was it?” He sighed, scratched his left eyebrow and then straightened it. “Let me ask you this, I’m talking about your gut feeling…” He clenched his fist to express the idea of a gut feeling. “These other girls, Rosario and Sonia, are they…? Is it…?”

  I nodded. “We’ll know more when Frank gets back to us, sir, but right now my gut tells me it’s the same case. The coincidence is too great. They all disappeared within a week of each other, and within a stone’s throw of Teddy’s Late Night Bar, and where Angela’s body was found.”

  He placed one hand on his desk and drummed his fingers. “And of course you have to go back to that bar and talk to the owner.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He spread his hands, still staring at his desktop, as though he was having a private discussion with an invisible advisor who was sitting there. “We have no choice.” He looked at me, then at Dehan. “We have no choice,” he said again. “If you are right and this is the work of a serial killer, he may well still be at large. He probably is! His method of disposing of the bodies means he may have been active for years, and is probably still active. We cannot afford to take the risk merely to keep a cocaine user behind bars.”

  “That’s about the size of it, sir.”

  He looked at Dehan. “Carmen?”

  “I don’t see we have any other choice, sir.”

  He stared at her for a moment. “Of course, as John said, he may well be the killer, himself, and then we would be releasing the killer instead of locking him up.”

  “We have to take care that doesn’t happen, sir. I suggest we take it one step at a time. Let’s see what he gives us tomorrow and then take it from there.”

  He nodded for a long moment and said, “That’s right… yes…” Then he turned to me. “Good, John, I’ll call Rikers and arrange it. You go and talk to this, um, Teddy. See what he can tell us.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  We went down the stairs in a somber mood and stepped through the doors into a late afternoon that had dusk on its mind. It was a short drive, a mile and a half down Soundview and Lafayette, with the sun glaring off the blacktop, and the warm breeze reaching in through the open windows and slapping us around the head. It should have been agreeable, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that, folded in somehow, behind all that sunshine and brightness, there was a darkness: a darkness that was watching us and smiling an unpleasant smile.

  Dehan looked at me suddenly through the big, reflective lenses of her shades. “I don’t like this case,” she said. “You ever get that?” I glanced at her but didn’t say anything. “I mean, you never like a homicide, but most cases, you get a handle on them and you get a feel and…” She trailed off, shook her head and looked out of the windshield. “I’m talking crap.”

  “No, you’re not. I can’t put my finger on it, but there is something… wrong. I don’t like it.”

  She nodded, big slow nods. “Yup.”

  We pulled into the lot at the side of the bar and stepped inside. The Australian bartender was still behind the bar doing something at the cash register. There was only one table occupied, by a couple deep in conversation. The bartender saw us, gave a thumbs-up and called into the back, “Yo! Teddy! Someone to see you, mate!”

  Teddy emerged a moment later. He had gray hair that had once been blond, tied back in a ponytail, and a long, forked beard that looked like it once belonged to a Druid, and had seen a lot of use since then. He had friendly eyes and hands the size of boiled hams, which he offered us with a smile when we told him who we were.

  He pointed at a table in a corner and said, “Let’s sit. What does the NYPD want with me? Can I offer you anything?”

  We told him he couldn’t, we sat and he sat with us.

  “How can I help you?”

  Dehan pulled out her phone and found the picture of Rosario. “Do you remember this girl? She would have come in here back in May 2016. Ring any bells?”

  He stared at her for a long time, but there was no recognition in his face. Finally he shook his head and said, “No. I mean, you know, she’s a pretty, young Latina. You’d notice her, right? But that said…” He shrugged and spread his hands. “I don’t mean to be inappropriate, but there are so many pretty, young Latinas in this neighborhood…”

  She took the phone, swiped the screen and handed it back. “How about this one?”

  He shook his head again. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ve seen her, but if I have I don’t recall. A lot of people come through my bar, they would have to be either regular or very remarkable. One thing I can tell you is they were not regulars here.”

  I nodded. “How about Pam? You know Pam? She’s pretty but she’s not Latina.” I smiled and he looked a little uncomfortable. “She lives in the neighborhood.”

  He flapped his fingers at his hair. “Blonde, mid twenties, blue eyes?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah, I know Pam…” His face changed and he frowned. “Wait a minute, let me see that first one again. Pam used to come in here sometimes with a cute friend…” Dehan swiped the screen and handed him back the phone. He looked at it, frowning. “Yeah, maybe, could be. Pam had a friend, used to visit her sometimes and they’d come in here for a drink. That could be her. Nice kid, bright. They both were. But that is going back a bit.”

  Dehan said, “Last time she was here was two years ago.”

  “Seriously?” He made a face. “I guess that’s about right, yeah. The other girl, I don’t know.”

  I rubbed my chin. I needed a shave and suddenly wanted to be home with this case behind me. I sighed. “OK, this is a long shot, Ted, but I need you to try and remember. Third week of May, two years
ago, Pam and Rosario…”

  “Rosario! That was her name!” He leaned back, smiling, and slapped his forehead. “Rosario!”

  I paused, then went on, “Yeah, Rosario. They came in here mid week. They’d have been sitting, having a drink, and some guy started trying to hit on Rosario. Ring any bells?”

  He frowned. He looked unhappy. “I run a nice establishment. People come in here, they feel safe. This is a nice, safe neighborhood. OK, we have the PJs down the road, but it’s like a different world.” He shook his head. “A woman, or a young lady, wants to come in here alone, read a book or shoot the breeze, nobody is going to give her trouble here. Anyone tries that, they get kicked out on their ass. Excuse my language.” This last was directed at Dehan.

  “Don’t worry. I hear worse at the station house. So maybe it wasn’t a problem? Maybe he was just talking to them? Perhaps Rosario was open to it…?”

  He spread his hands and shook his head. “I’m open every day. That’s seven hundred and thirty nights since what you’re asking me to remember. That scenario must have happened seven hundred times in those two years.”

  I sighed. “Sure. OK, how about a guy who frequented your bar at that time. He would have been here most nights, maybe had a habit of talking to young women, particularly Hispanic girls, who were either alone or at least not with a man.”

  He started chewing his lip and raised a hand like he was telling me to wait and be quiet. He stared over at the bar, but not seeing it, trying to see or hear something in his memory. “There was a guy,” he said. “What the hell was his name. Casual…”

  Dehan frowned. “You mean he was a casual kind of guy?”

  He shook his head, almost impatient. “No, no. He worked here, like Pete.” He gestured at the Australian bartender. “Casual labor, he was from Arizona or New Mexico, or maybe it was southern California. Hell, I can’t remember. But he was always talking to the girls. He especially liked the Puerto Rican girls and the Mexicans and the Cubanas. We used to make fun of him, but he didn’t like that.”

  She pulled out her pad and pen. “What was his name?”

  “Damned if I can remember! Just give me a minute. It’ll come to me. If it don’t, I got to have it written down somewhere.” He frowned suddenly. “But he was a nice kid. He was never offensive to nobody. He never upset the clients or he would have been out before he could say Viva Mexico!!” He glanced at Dehan. “No offense.”

  She raised an eyebrow and made a face of confusion. “None taken, Ted. We are going to need his name, and any contact details you have for him.”

  “Also,” I added, “the days he worked.”

  “Oh, I can tell you that. He worked Monday through Friday. I remember that because, though he was a nice kid, we wasn’t what you might call energetic. He just about got by on Friday, but Saturday and Sunday are busy days for us, and he just couldn’t keep up. So I used to give him Monday through Friday.”

  Dehan glanced at me and I nodded. “OK, we are going to need his name and details. Can you get them for us now?”

  He looked from me to Dehan and then back again as realization dawned. “Are those girls OK? I’m pretty sure I saw Pam only recently.”

  I drew breath to answer, but instead I said, “How about Angela?”

  “Angela?”

  “About the same time. Again, pretty, well educated, used to wear a very beautiful cross around her neck…”

  He went pale. “You’re talking about the Angel.”

  I nodded.

  He pointed at Dehan’s phone. “They were killed?”

  “We don’t know.”

  He looked a little sick. “I never thought… Nobody ever asked me. It never crossed my mind. You think Jimmy…” His face cleared. “That was his name! Jimmy! Give me a second and I’ll tell you… Fillmore. Jimmy Fillmore.” He stopped dead, confused by his own verbiage. “You think Jimmy could have done that?”

  I shook my head. “We don’t know.”

  “If he did, he was picking up the girls here…”

  “We don’t know, Ted.”

  “So the Angel, Angela, she would have been in here.”

  “It’s possible. Can you give us whatever information you have on him?”

  He was quiet for a long moment. “I’ll have to look for it. That has really shaken me up.” He paused, staring down at the floor. “I’ll have to look for it,” he said again. “Have you got a card? And e-mail? I can scan what I have and send it to you. Won’t be much. Tomorrow morning?”

  I patted him on the shoulder. “That’ll be fine. Thank you, Ted. If it can be sooner so much the better. You have been very helpful.”

  He remained seated and watched us stand. “He was a nice kid. I mean, I hardly remember him. He just wasn’t the sort of person you noticed…”

  I paused, hesitated. “Do you know Wayne Harris?”

  He frowned, made a face, shook his head. “Wayne Harris? Not by name. What does he look like?”

  “Big, built like a quarterback, six five, solid muscle, short fair hair, blue eyes. Kind of guy you’d notice.”

  He spread his hands, stood and smiled. “Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful, Detectives.”

  We stepped out onto the sidewalk and I paused, with my hands deep in my pockets, to watch the long procession of headlamps moving steadily through the gathering evening. The cool air from the river touched my face, and through the trees I could see trails of yellow light warping and breaking on the black water of the river. I felt Dehan’s arm slip through mine and squeeze.

  “Enough for one day, Sensei. Let’s go home. I’ll make spaghetti.”

  I looked down at her face. She was smiling, but it was a sad smile. I was suddenly overwhelmed by an awareness of my own good fortune and, for a moment, I was terrified at how much I had to lose: what Rosario Clemente’s mother had lost, what Sonia Ibarri’s parents had lost, what we must all lose sooner or later in this world. I squeezed her arm tight, not wanting her to let go, and smiled. “That sounds just about perfect.”

  She gave me a tug toward the parking lot. A small gust of wind pulled a strand of her dark hair across her face. She smiled, with no trace now of sadness. I held her back a moment. “Carmen?”

  She looked surprised and stopped. “Yes?”

  “Would you…?”

  I stopped, hesitated, unable to go on. She frowned. “What is it, Stone?”

  I took a deep breath and blurted out, “Would you mind if we stop on the way and get some fresh Parmesan?”

  She raised an eyebrow and laughed. “Of course not. Weirdo! Come on, let’s go. This case has me exhausted.”

  I climbed in behind the wheel and she got in beside me. The doors closed and we sat for a moment in the warm cocoon of old leather and walnut. I put the key in the ignition and paused. “Jimmy Fillmore. The invisible man. Mr. Cellophane.”

  “It’s not an unusual type among serial killers. Withdrawn, shy, quiet, concealing a deep, passive-aggressive rage at the fact that nobody ever notices them.”

  I nodded. “I guess.” After a moment I asked, “How did Pam describe him?”

  “Uh… six foot, dark hair, jeans, normal.”

  Those weren’t the words I was thinking of, but I didn’t say anything. I fired up the engine, pulled out of the lot and headed toward Morris Park. All the way I was thinking about Jimmy Fillmore from Arizona, and the way Pam had described him. What had she said? “I didn’t notice him… I was trying not to notice him.” And Teddy had said, “He’s just the kind of guy you don’t notice…”

  But Rosario had noticed him, and gone back to see him again on Friday night, and probably arranged to meet him Saturday morning. She had definitely noticed him.

  I pulled up outside what I had come to think of as ‘our’ house, killed the engine and turned off the lights. I turned and smiled at Dehan. She was watching me carefully. I said, “What?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “What happened to the fresh Parmesan?”

  “Oh…” />
  “What were you going to ask me?”

  I shook my head. “I have no idea what you mean, and also, I need a martini, muy seco!”

  I opened the door. She said, “Stone!”

  “Muy seco, Carmencita! Ahora!”

  I climbed out, she climbed out after me and slammed the door. “You’re a dork, Stone.”

  “Martini, Carmencita! Ahora! Muy seco! Ándale! Ándale!”

  She made her way to the door, pulling the key from her pocket and shaking her head.

  EIGHT

  The phone rang at five thirty in the morning. Dehan covered her head with the pillow and I fumbled on the bedside table. I finally found it, pulled myself to a sitting position and pressed green. Frank’s voice said, “Did I wake you?”

  I frowned as much as I was able and looked at my clock. “No,” I said malevolently. “I was doing my tax returns.”

  “Good, because I haven’t been to bed yet. My wife’s attorney just left. He delivered the divorce papers.”

  “You’re lying, Frank. How can she divorce you if she doesn’t remember who you are?”

  “You’re funny, deep down funny…”

  “Yeah, I know, where it’s not like funny anymore. Why are you calling me at five thirty in the morning Frank?”

  “Because, you son of a bitch, you were right. I got a hit on each one of them. Sonia Ibarri and Rosario Clemente.” He sighed like a man who finds life depressing and death poor consolation.

  I sighed back at him and sat up a bit straighter. “Ah, hell! I had half hoped I was wrong, Frank.”

  “I know, John. So did I. They were found within a few days of each other, end of June 2016. From what I can tell the MO was pretty much the same. They had been in the water a long time, but the wrists were still tied with silk and there was a lot of bruising on the mouth and throat.”

  “Where were they found? Mouth of the creek?”

  “Rosario was washed up on Ferry Point Park, Sonia had drifted right out to Kane’s Park, Shorehaven. You have a serial killer, Stone. He could be out there killing still.”

  “I know. Thanks, Frank. I appreciate it.”