8:45 p.m., Wednesday
Manhattan
At first Laurie thought the experience was unique enough to be tolerable, but as the time approached eight forty-five she began to get irritated. Thomas, Jordan’s driver, had shown up exactly at the agreed-upon time, eight o’clock, and had rung Laurie’s bell. But when Laurie got down to the car, she learned that Jordan was not there. He was still in surgery doing an emergency operation.
“I’m supposed to take you to the restaurant,” Thomas had said. “Dr. Scheffield will be meeting you there.”
Taken by surprise with this situation, Laurie had agreed. She’d felt strange entering the fancy restaurant by herself, but she was quickly put at ease by the maitre d’, who had been expecting her. She’d been discreetly ushered to a waiting table wedged among others near to the window. Next to the table stood a wine stand icing down a bottle of Meursault.
The sommelier had appeared instantly and had shown Laurie the label of the wine. After she’d nodded, he’d opened it, poured her a dollop, waited for her OK, then filled her glass. All this had been accomplished without words.
Finally at five minutes before nine, Jordan arrived.
He came into the room with a flourish, and although he waved a greeting at Laurie, he didn’t join her immediately. Instead he weaved his way through the crowded room, stopping at several tables to say hello. Each group of diners greeted him with gusto; animated conversation and smiles followed in his wake.
“Sorry,” he said, finally sitting down. “I was in surgery, but I guess Thomas told you as much.”
“He did,” Laurie said. “What kind of emergency surgery was it?”
“Well, it wasn’t exactly an emergency,” Jordan said, nervously rearranging his place setting. “My surgery has picked up recently, so I have to squeeze standby cases in whenever the operating room can give me a slot. How’s the wine?”
The wine steward had reappeared and gave Jordan a taste of the wine.
“The wine is fine,” Laurie said. “Seems that you know a lot of people here.”
Jordan took a sip of his wine and for a moment he looked pensive while he swished it around inside his mouth. He nodded with satisfaction after he swallowed, motioned for his glass to be filled, then looked at Laurie. “I usually run into a few of my patients here,” he said. “How was your day? I hope it was better than mine.”
“Some sort of trouble?” Laurie asked.
“Plenty of trouble,” Jordan said. “First, my secretary, who’s been with me for almost ten years, didn’t show up in the morning. She’s never not shown up without calling. We tried calling her but there was no answer. So scheduling got all fouled up by the time I came in from the hospital. Then, to make matters worse, we discovered that someone had broken into the office the night before and had stolen our petty cash as well as all the Percodans we kept on hand.”
“How awful,” Laurie said. She remembered how it had felt to be robbed. Her room at college had been ransacked one day. “Any vandalism?” she asked. Whoever had broken into her room had smashed what they couldn’t carry away.
“No,” Jordan said. “But strangely enough the burglar rifled through my records and used the copy machine.”
“That sounds like more than a simple robbery,” Laurie said.
“That’s what makes me uneasy,” Jordan said. “The petty cash and the few Percodans I could care less about. But I don’t like the thought of someone in my records, not with the high accounts receivable I have. I’ve already called my accountant to run a tape; I want to make sure there isn’t some big change. Have you looked at the menu?”
“Not yet,” Laurie said. Her irritation was fading now that Jordan had arrived.
Responding to Jordan’s gesture, the maitre d’ appeared with two menus. Jordan, who ate there frequently, was full of suggestions. Laurie ordered from the daily specials menu attached to the main menu.
She thought the food was wonderful although the frenetic atmosphere made it difficult for her to relax. But Jordan seemed in his element.
While they were waiting for dessert and coffee, Laurie asked Jordan about the effects of acid in the eye. He warmed to the request immediately, going on at length about the cornea’s and the conjunctiva’s responses to both acid and alkali. Laurie lost interest halfway through his discourse, but her gaze remained steady. She had to admit: he was an attractive man. She wondered how he maintained such a fabulous tan.
To Laurie’s relief, the arrival of dessert and coffee interrupted Jordan’s impromptu lecture. As he began his flourless chocolate cake, he changed the subject. “I probably should be thankful those crooks didn’t take any of the valuables last night, like the Picassos in the waiting room.”
Laurie set her coffee cup down. “You have Picassos in your waiting room?”
“Signed drawings,” Jordan said casually. “About twenty of them. It’s truly a state-of-the-art office, and I didn’t want to scrimp on the waiting area. After all, that’s the place the patients spend the most time.” Jordan laughed for the first time since he’d sat down.
“That’s even more extravagant than the limo,” Laurie said. Actually, she felt more strongly than she let on. The idea of such ostentation in a medical setting seemed obscene, especially given the runaway cost of medical care.
“It’s quite an office,” Jordan said proudly. “My favorite feature of it is that the patients move. I don’t go to them, they come to me.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” Laurie said.
“Each one of my five examining rooms is built on a circular mechanism. You’ve seen these revolving restaurants at the tops of certain buildings. It’s kind of like that. When I push a button in my office, the whole thing turns and the examining room I want lines up with my office. Another button lifts the wall. It’s as good as a ride in Disneyland.”
“Sounds very impressive,” Laurie said. “Expensive but impressive. I suppose your overhead is pretty high.”
“Astronomical,” Jordan said. He sounded proud of it. “So high that I hate to take a vacation. It’s too expensive! Not the vacation itself, but letting the office sit idle. I also have two operating rooms for outpatient procedures.”
“I’d like to see this office sometime,” Laurie said.
“I’d love to show it to you,” Jordan said. “In fact, why not now? It’s just around the corner on Park Avenue.”
Laurie said she thought that was a great idea, so as soon as Jordan took care of the bill, they were off.
The first room they entered was Jordan’s private office. The walls and furniture were entirely of teak, waxed to a high gloss. The upholstery was black leather. There was enough sophisticated ophthalmological equipment to outfit a small hospital.
Next they entered the waiting room, which was paneled in mahogany. Just as Jordan had said, the walls were lined with Picasso drawings. Down a short hall from the waiting room was a circular room with five doors on its perimeter. Opening one, Jordan asked Laurie to sit in the examining chair.
“Now stay right there,” he said before leaving the room.
Laurie did as she was told. Next thing she knew, she felt like the room was moving. Then the movement—real or imagined—stopped abruptly and the lights in the room began to dim. Simultaneously, the far wall rose. Its disappearance effectively joined Laurie’s examination room to Jordan’s private office. Jordan was sitting at his desk, backlit, and leaning back in his chair.
“What’s that line about not having Mohammed go to the mountain, but the mountain going to him? Same principle applies here. I like my patients to feel they are in powerful hands. I actually believe it makes them heal more quickly. I know that sounds a bit hocus-pocus, but it works for me.”
“I’m impressed,” Laurie said. “Obviously I’ve never seen anything quite like this. Where do you keep your records?”
Jordan took Laurie through another door that led from his office into a long hall. At the end of the hall was a windowless room with a bank of file cabinets, a copy machine, and a computer terminal.
“All the records are in the file cabinets,” he said. “But most of the material is duplicated on the computer on hard disk.”
“Are these the records that the burglars went through?” Laurie asked.
“They are,” Jordan said. “And that’s the copy machine. I’m very meticulous about my records. I could tell someone had been in them because the contents in some had been put out of order. I know the copy machine was used after we closed because I have my secretary record the number from the machine at the end of each day.”
“What about Paul Cerino’s record?” Laurie asked. “Was that disturbed?”
“I don’t know,” Jordan said. “But it’s a good question.”
Jordan flipped through his “C” drawer and pulled out a manila folder.
“You were right,” he said after paging through. “This one was disturbed as well. See this information sheet? It’s supposed to be in the front. Instead it’s in the back.”
“Is there any way to tell if it had been copied?”
Jordan thought for a moment but shook his head. “Not that I can think of. What’s going through your mind?”
“I’m not sure,” Laurie said. “But maybe this supposed burglary should convince you to be a bit more careful. I know you think taking care of this Cerino character is mildly entertaining, but you have to understand that he is apparently one nasty man. And maybe even more important, he has some very nasty enemies.”
“You think Cerino could have been responsible for my break-in?” Jordan asked.
“I truly don’t know,” Laurie said. “But it’s possible, one way or the other. Maybe his enemies don’t want you to fix him up. There are all sorts of possibilities. The only thing I do know is that these guys play for keeps. Over the last two days I’ve done autopsies on two young men who’d been murdered gangland style, and one of them had what looked like acid burns in his eye.”
“Don’t tell me that,” Jordan said.
“I’m not trying to scare you just to scare you,” Laurie said. “I’m only saying this so that you will think about what you are getting yourself involved with by taking care of these people. I’ve been told that the two major crime families, the Vaccarros and the Lucias, are currently at each other’s throats. That’s why Cerino got the acid slung in his face. He’s one of the Vaccarro bosses.”
“Wow,” Jordan said. “This does put a different complexion on things. Now you got me worried. Luckily I’ll be operating on Cerino soon, so this will all be behind me.”
“Is Cerino scheduled?” Laurie asked.
Jordan shook his head. “Not exactly,” he said. “I’m waiting on material, as usual.”
“Well, I think you should do it as soon as possible. And I wouldn’t advertise the date and the time.”
Jordan put the contents of Cerino’s file back into its proper order and replaced it in the file drawer. “Want to see the rest of the office?” he asked.
“Sure,” Laurie said.
Jordan took Laurie deeper into the office complex, showing her several rooms devoted to special ophthalmologic testing. What impressed her most were the two state-of-the-art operating rooms complete with all the requisite ancillary equipment.
“You have a fortune invested here,” Laurie said once they’d reached the final room, a photography lab.
“No doubt about it,” Jordan agreed. “But it pays off handsomely. Currently I’m grossing between one point five and two million dollars a year.”
Laurie swallowed. The figure was staggering. Although she knew her father, the cardiac surgeon, had to have a huge income to cover his life-style, she’d never before been slapped with such an astronomical figure. Knowing what she did about the plight of American medicine and even the shoestring budget the medical examiner’s office ran under, it seemed like an obscene waste of resources.
“How about coming by and seeing my apartment?” Jordan said. “If you like the office, you’ll love the apartment. It was designed by the same people.”
“Sure,” Laurie said, mainly as a reflex. She was still trying to absorb Jordan’s comment about his income.
As they retraced their route through the office, Laurie asked after Jordan’s secretary. “Did you ever hear from her?”
“No,” Jordan said, obviously still angry about the no-show. “She never called and there was never any answer at her home. I can only imagine it has something to do with her no-good husband. If she’d not been such a good secretary, I would have gotten rid of her just because of him. He has a restaurant in Bayside, but he’s also involved with a number of shady deals. She confided in me in order to borrow bail on several occasions. He’s never been convicted, but he’s spent plenty of time on Rikers Island.”
“Sounds like a mobster himself,” Laurie said.
Once they got into the back of the car, Laurie asked Jordan his missing secretary’s name.
“Marsha Schulman,” Jordan said. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious,” Laurie said.
It didn’t take long for Thomas to pull up to the private entrance of Trump Tower. The doorman opened the door for Laurie to get out, but she held back.
“Jordan,” she said, looking at him in the dim light of the interior of the limo, “would you be angry if I asked for a raincheck on seeing your apartment? I just noticed the time, and I have to get up for work in the morning.”
“Not at all,” Jordan said. “I understand perfectly. I’ve got surgery again myself at the crack of dawn. But there is a condition.”
“Which is?”
“That we have dinner again tomorrow night.”
“You can put up with me two evenings in a row?” Laurie asked. She’d not been “rushed” like this since high school. She was flattered but wary.
“With pleasure,” Jordan said, humorously affecting an English accent.
“All right,” Laurie said. “But let’s pick a place not quite so formal.”
“Done,” Jordan said. “You like Italian?”
“I love Italian.”
“Then it will be Palio,” Jordan said. “At eight.”
Vinnie Dominick paused outside of the Vesuvio Restaurant on Corona Avenue in Elmhurst and took advantage of his reflection in the window to smooth his hair and adjust his Gucci tie. Satisfied, he motioned to Freddie Capuso to open the door.
Vinnie’s nickname since junior high school was “the Prince.” He’d been considered a handsome fellow whom the neighborhood girls had found quite attractive. His features were full but well sculpted. Favoring a tailored look, he heavily moussed his dark hair and brushed it straight back from his forehead. He looked considerably younger than his forty years and, unlike most of his contemporaries, he prided himself on his physical prowess. A high school basketball star, he’d kept his game over the years, playing three nights a week at St. Mary’s gym.
Entering the restaurant, Vinnie scanned the room. Freddie and Richie crowded in behind him. Vinnie quickly spotted whom he was looking for: Paul Cerino. The restaurant still had a few diners since its kitchen stayed open until eleven, but most of its clientele had already departed. It was a good location and time for a meeting.
Vinnie walked to Paul’s table with the confidence of one meeting an old, good friend. Freddie and Richie followed several steps behind. When Vinnie reached the table, the two men sitting with Paul stood. Vinnie recognized them as Angelo Facciolo and Tony Ruggerio.
“How are you, Paul?” Vinnie asked.
“Can’t complain,” Paul said. He stuck out a hand for Vinnie to shake.
“Sit down, Vinnie,” Paul said. “Have some wine. Angelo, pour the man some wine.”
As Vinnie sat down, Angelo picked up an open bottle of Brunello from the table and filled the glass in front of Vinnie.
“I want to thank you for agreeing to see me,” Vinnie said. “After what happened last time, I consider it a special favor.”
“When you said it was important and involved family, how could I turn you down?”
“First I want to tell you how much I sympathize with your eye problem,” Vinnie said. “It was a terrible tragedy and it never should have happened. And right now in front of these other people I want to swear on my mother’s grave I knew nothing about it. The punks did it on their own.”
There was a pause. For a moment no one said anything. Finally Cerino spoke. “What else is on your mind?”
“I know that your people whacked Frankie and Bruno,” Vinnie said. “And even though we know this we have not retaliated. And we’re not going to retaliate. Why? Because Frankie and Bruno got what they deserved. They were acting on their own. They were out of step. And we’re also not going to retaliate because it is important for you and me to get along. I don’t want a war. It gets the authorities up in arms. It makes for bad business for us both.”
“And how do I know I can trust this gesture of peace?” Cerino asked.
“By my good faith,” Vinnie answered. “Would I ask for a meeting like this at a place of your choosing if I wasn’t serious? Furthermore, as another token of my desire to settle the matter, I’m willing to tell you where Jimmy Lanso, the fourth and final guy, is hiding out.”
“Really?” Cerino asked. For the first time in the conversation he was genuinely surprised. “And where might that be?”
“His cousin’s funeral parlor. Spoletto Funeral Home in Ozone Park.”
“I appreciate your openness in all of this,” Paul said. “But I have the feeling that there is more.”
“I have a favor to ask of you,” Vinnie said. “I want to ask you as a colleague to show some good faith to me. I want to ask you to spare Jimmy Lanso. He’s family. He’s a nephew of my wife’s sister’s husband. I’ll see to it that the punk is punished, but I’d like to ask you as a friend not to whack him.”
“I’ll certainly give it serious thought,” Paul said.
“Thank you,” Vinnie said. “After all, we are civilized people. Kids can make mistakes. You and I have had our differences, but we respect each other and understand our common interests. I’m sure that you will take all this into account.” Vinnie stood up.
“I’ll take everything into consideration,” Paul said.
Vinnie turned around and walked out of the restaurant.
Paul lifted his wineglass and took a sip. “Angelo,” he called over his shoulder. “Did Vinnie touch his wine?”
“No,” Angelo said.
“I didn’t think so,” Paul said. “And he calls himself civilized?”
“What about Jimmy Lanso?” Angelo asked.
“Kill him,” Cerino said. “Take me home, then do it.”
“What if it is a setup?” Angelo asked.
Paul took another sip of his wine. “I seriously doubt it,” he said. “Vinnie wouldn’t lie about family.”
Angelo did not like the situation at all. The idea of a funeral home gave him the creeps. Besides, he didn’t trust Vinnie Dominick to tell the truth whether it was about family or business. In Angelo’s opinion there was a good chance this was a setup, despite Cerino’s thoughts to the contrary. And if it was a setup, it was going to be very dangerous to go breaking into the Spoletto Funeral Home. Angelo decided this was a good occasion to let Tony take the lead. And Tony was so eager, he’d no doubt be pleased. He’d been crying for a year that he was never able to do something on his own.
“So what’s your take?” Angelo asked once he and Tony were parked across the street from the funeral parlor. It was a rather large, white clapboard building with Greek columns supporting a small front porch.
“I think it’s perfect,” Tony said. His eyes sparkled with excitement.
“Don’t you feel it’s a little creepy?” Angelo asked.
“Nah,” Tony said. “My uncle’s cousin had a home. I even worked there for a summer when I needed a job for the parole board. The work is definitely not your usual nine to five, but for what we have in mind, I think it’s convenient. We whack him, they embalm him. It’s all done in-house.” Tony laughed.
“You get it?”
“Of course I get it,” Angelo snapped.
“Well, let’s do it,” Tony said. “I can see a light on in the back. Must be the embalming room. That must be where Lanso’s hiding out.”
“You say you worked in a funeral home?” Angelo asked as he scanned the neighborhood for signs of trouble.
“For about two months,” Tony said.
“Since you’re familiar with this kind of place maybe you should go in first.” He hoped it would sound as if the idea had just occurred to him. “Once you get Lanso cornered, you can flip the light on and off. Meanwhile I’ll hang out here and make sure it isn’t a setup.”
“Sounds great,” Tony said. With that, he was off.
Getting up from the cot, Jimmy Lanso stepped over to the tiny TV and turned down the sound. He thought he’d heard a noise again, just like he had the last couple of nights. He listened intently but he didn’t hear anything except his own heart thumping in his chest and a slight ringing in his ears from all the aspirin he’d been taking. Not having slept for sixty or so hours except short snatches, he was a nervous, exhausted wreck. He’d been hiding out in the funeral home ever since he and Bruno abandoned their pad in Woodside after Frankie didn’t return or call.
The last month had been a nightmare for Jimmy. Ever since the stupid acid episode, he’d been living in constant fear. Up until the dirty deed actually went down, he’d been convinced that his part in it would “make” his career. Instead, he seemed to have guaranteed his own death. The first terrible shock was Terry Manso’s getting killed trying to get into the car. And now he’d heard that both Frankie and Bruno had ended up floating in the East River. It couldn’t be long before they got him, too.
Jimmy’s only hope was that his uncle had talked to Vinnie Dominick, his brother-in-law by marriage, and Vinnie had promised to take care of things. But until Jimmy heard that everything was copacetic, he couldn’t relax, not for a second.
Jimmy heard a slight thump in the embalming room. It was not his imagination. With the TV turned down it had been as clear as day. He froze, wondering if he’d hear the sound again. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead. When all remained quiet, he mustered the courage to check it out by stepping over to the door of the utility room he was using to hide out.
Opening the door as soundlessly as possible, Jimmy let his eyes slowly roam around the unilluminated embalming room. There was a series of high windows along one wall that allowed some light in from a streetlamp, but most of the room was lost in shadow.
Jimmy could see the two shrouded corpses that his cousin had embalmed that evening since they were on gurneys pushed against the wall opposite the windows. Their white sheets seemed to glow in the half-light. In the center of the room was the embalming table, but Jimmy could just make out its outline. Against the far wall was a large, glass-fronted cabinet that loomed out of the shadows. On the wall below the windows were several porcelain sinks.
With trembling fingers, Jimmy reached into the room and switched on the light. Immediately he saw the source of the noise. A large rat was on the embalming table. Disturbed in its foraging, it stared at Jimmy with angry, gleaming eyes. Then it leaped from the table and scampered to a grate in the floor and disappeared down a drain.
Jimmy felt disgusted and relieved at the same time. He hated rats, but he also hated hiding in a funeral home. The place gave him the willies and reminded him of all the horror comic books he’d read as a child. His imagination had conjured up all sorts of explanations for the noises he’d been hearing. So seeing a rat was far better than seeing one of the embalmed corpses stalking around the room like Tales From the Crypt.
Stepping out into the embalming room, Jimmy hurried over to a large metal box the size of a small trunk. Pushing it along the floor, he used it to cover the grate where the rat had disappeared. With that accomplished, he headed back toward his room. But he didn’t get far. He heard another slight thump through the door to the supply room.
Thinking the rat had surfaced in the supply room, Jimmy grabbed the broom that he’d been using on his clean-up chores. Planning on beating the crap out of the rat, he threw open the supply room door. He even took a step forward before he froze. Blood drained from his face. In front of him was an upright figure whose features were lost in shadow.
A muffled scream issued from between Jimmy’s lips as he staggered back. The broom slipped from his hands and fell to the tiled floor with a clatter. Jimmy’s wildest fears had become a reality. One of the corpses had come alive.
“Hi, Jimmy,” said the figure.
Panic could not overcome paralysis in Jimmy’s brain. He stood rooted to the floor as the figure in front of him stepped from the shadows of the supply room along with a cold breeze from an open window.
“You look a little pale,” Tony commented. He was holding his gun, but it was pointed toward the floor. “Maybe you’d better climb up on that old porcelain table and lie down.” Tony pointed with his free hand toward the embalming table.
“They made me do it,” Jimmy slobbered when he comprehended he was not dealing with a supernatural creature but rather a live human being obviously associated with Cerino’s organization.
“Yeah, sure,” Tony said in a falsely consoling tone of voice. “But get on the table just the same.”
As Jimmy stepped over to the embalming table with shaky legs, Tony walked over to the wall switch and turned the light on and off several times.
“On the table!” Tony commanded when he noticed that Jimmy was hesitating.
With some effort Jimmy got himself up on the table, sitting on the edge.
“Lie down!” Tony snapped. When Jimmy did so, Tony walked over and looked down on him. “Great place to hide out,” he said.
“It was all Manso’s idea,” Jimmy blurted out. His head was propped up on a black rubber block. “All I did was turn the lights off. I didn’t even know what was going down.”
“Everybody says it was Manso’s idea,” Tony complained. “Of course he’s the only one who didn’t make it from the scene. Too bad he’s not around to defend himself.”
A thump in the supply room heralded Angelo’s entrance. He came into the room warily, looking like a caged animal. He did not like the funeral home. “This place stinks,” he said.
“That’s formaldehyde,” Tony said. “You get used to it. You don’t even smell it after a while. Come over and meet Jimmy Lanso.”
Angelo walked over to the embalming table, eyeing Jimmy with contempt. “Such a little prick,” he said.
“It was Manso’s idea,” Jimmy insisted. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Who else was involved?” Angelo demanded. He wanted to be sure.
“Manso, DePasquale, and Marchese,” Jimmy said. “They made me go.”
“Nobody wants to take any responsibility,” Angelo said with disgust. “Jimmy, I’m afraid you’ve got to go for a little ride.”
“No, please,” Jimmy begged.
Tony leaned over and whispered into Angelo’s ear. Angelo glanced over at the embalming equipment, then back down at Jimmy cowering on the embalming table.
“Sounds appropriate,” Angelo said with a nod. “Especially for such a gutless piece of dog turd.”
“Hold him down,” Tony said with glee. He darted over to the embalming equipment and turned on a pump. He watched the dials until sufficient suction was produced.
Then he wheeled the aspirator over to the table.
Jimmy observed these preparations with growing alarm. Having avoided watching any of the embalming procedures his cousin had performed, he had no idea what Tony was up to. Whatever it was, he was sure he wasn’t going to like it.
Angelo leaned across his chest and held his hands down. Without giving Jimmy a chance to guess what was happening, Tony plunged the knife-sharp embalming trocar into Jimmy’s abdomen and roughly rooted the tip around.
With a stifled scream Jimmy’s face seemed to pull inward as his cheeks went hollow and pale. The canister on the aspirator filled with blood, bits of tissue, and partially digested food.
Feeling queasy, Angelo let go of the boy and turned away. For a second Jimmy’s hands tried to grab the trocar from Tony, but they quickly went limp as the boy lapsed into unconsciousness.
“What do you think?” Tony asked as he stepped away to view his handiwork. “Pretty neat, huh? All I’d have to do is pump him full of embalming fluid with the embalming machine and he’d practically be ready for the grave.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Angelo said. He felt a little green. “Wipe off any prints from that machine.”
Five minutes later they retraced their steps and climbed back out the window. They’d considered using the door but decided against it in case it was wired.
Once in the car, Angelo began to relax. Cerino had been right. Dominick hadn’t been lying. It hadn’t been a setup. As he pulled away from the curb, Angelo felt a sense of accomplishment. “Well, that’s the end of the acid boys,” he said. “Now we have to get back to real work.”
“Did you show the second list to Cerino?” Tony asked.
“Yeah, but we’ll still start from the first list,” Angelo said. “The second list will be easier.”
“Makes no difference to me,” Tony said. “But what do you say we eat first? Sitting around the Vesuvio made me hungry. How about another pizza?”
“I think we’d better get one job done first,” Angelo said. He wanted to put a little distance between the grisly scene at the Spoletto Funeral Home and his next meal.
Embroiled again in the recurrent nightmare about her brother sinking into the bottomless black mud, Laurie was thankful for her alarm’s jangle that pulled her from her deep sleep. Barely awake she reached over to the alarm and turned it off. Before she could retract her arm back into the warm covers, the alarm went off again. That was when Laurie realized it wasn’t the alarm. It was the telephone.
“Dr. Montgomery, this is Dr. Ted Ackerman,” the caller said. “I’m sorry to bother you at this hour, but I’m the tour doctor on call and I got a message that I should call you if a certain kind of case came in.”
Laurie was too bewildered to respond. Glancing down at the clock she saw it was only two-thirty in the morning. No wonder she was having a tough time getting her bearings.
“I just got a call,” Ted continued. “It sounds like the demographics you had mentioned. It also sounds like cocaine. The deceased is a banker, aged thirty-one. The name is Stuart Morgan.”
“Where?” Laurie asked.
“Nine-seventy Fifth Avenue,” Ted said. “Do you want to take the call or shall I just go? I don’t mind either way.”
“I’ll go,” Laurie said. “Thanks.” She hung up the phone and stood up. She felt miserable. Tom, on the other hand, seemed pleased to be awake. Purring contentedly, he rubbed against her legs.
Laurie threw on some clothes and grabbed a camera and several pairs of rubber gloves. She left her apartment still buttoning her coat and dreaming of returning home to climb back in bed.
Outside, Laurie found her street deserted, but First Avenue had traffic. In five minutes she was in the back of a taxi with an Afghani freedom fighter for a driver. Fifteen minutes later she got out of the cab at 970 Fifth. An NYPD car and a city ambulance were pulled up on the sidewalk. Both vehicles had their emergency lights blinking impatiently.
Inside, Laurie flashed her medical examiner’s badge and was directed to Penthouse B.
“You the medical examiner?” a uniformed policeman asked with obvious amazement when Laurie entered the apartment and again showed her badge. His name tag read “Ron Moore.” He was a muscular, heavyset fellow in his late thirties.
Laurie nodded, feeling little tolerance or reserve for what was coming.
“Hell,” Ron said, “you don’t look like any of the medical examiners I’ve ever seen.”
“Nonetheless I am,” Laurie said without humor.
“Hey, Pete!” Moore yelled. “Get a load of what just walked in. A medical examiner who looks more like a Playboy Bunny!”
Another uniformed but younger-appearing policeman poked his head from around a doorway. His eyebrows went up when he saw Laurie. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said.
He had a handful of correspondence in both hands.
“Who is in charge here?” Laurie questioned.
“I am, honey,” Ron said.
“My name is Dr. Montgomery,” Laurie said. “Not honey.”
“Sure, Doc,” Ron answered.
“Who can give me a tour of the scene?” Laurie asked.
“Might as well be me,” Ron said. “This here’s the living room, obviously. Notice the drug paraphernalia on the coffee table. The victim apparently injected himself there, then went into the kitchen. That’s where the body is. You get to the kitchen through the den.”
Laurie took a quick look around the apartment. It was tiny but beautifully decorated. From her spot in the foyer, she could see the living room and part of the den. In the living room two large windows with a southern exposure afforded an extraordinary view. But more than the view, Laurie was interested in the clutter on the floor. It appeared that the room had been ransacked.
“Was this a robbery?” Laurie asked.
“Nah,” Ron said. “We did this. Part of our usual thorough investigation, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m not sure I do,” Laurie said.
“We’re always exhaustive in our search,” Ron said.
“For what?” Laurie demanded.
“For proper identification,” Ron said.
“You didn’t notice all these diplomas here on the foyer walls?” Laurie questioned while making a sweeping gesture. “The name seems to be rather obvious.”
“Guess we didn’t see them,” Ron said.
“Where’s the body?” Laurie asked.
“I told you,” Ron said. “It’s in the kitchen.” He pointed toward the den.
Laurie walked ahead, avoiding the debris on the floor, and stepped into the den. All the drawers to the desk were open. The contents looked as if they’d been roughly gone through.
“I suppose you were looking for identification in here as well?” she said.
“That’s right, Doc,” Ron said.
Passing through the den, Laurie walked to the threshold of the kitchen. There she stopped. The kitchen was as messy as the other rooms. The entire refrigerator was emptied, including its shelves. Laurie also noticed some clothing scattered across the floor. The refrigerator’s door was slightly ajar. “Don’t tell me you were looking for identification in here as well?” she asked sarcastically.
“Hell, no!” Ron said. “The victim did this himself.”
“Where’s the body?” Laurie asked.
“In the refrigerator,” Ron said.
Laurie stepped to the refrigerator and opened the door. Ron wasn’t kidding. Stuart Morgan was wedged into the refrigerator compartment. He was almost naked, clothed only in Jockey shorts, a money belt, and socks. His face was bone white. His right arm was raised, his hand balled into a tight fist.
“I can’t understand why he wanted to climb into the refrigerator,” Ron said. “Weirdest thing I’ve seen since I joined the force.”
“It’s called hyperpyrexia,” Laurie said, staring at Stuart Morgan. “Cocaine can make people’s temperature go sky high. The users get a little crazy. They’d do anything to get their temperature down. But this is the first one I’ve seen in a refrigerator.”
“If you’ll release the body we can let the ambulance boys take Stuart away,” Ron said. “We’re pretty much done otherwise.”
“Did you touch the body?” Laurie asked suddenly.
“What are you talking about?” Ron said nervously.
“Just what I said. Did you or Pete touch the body?”
“Well . . .” Ron said. He didn’t seem inclined to answer.
“It’s a simple question.”
“We had to find out if he were dead,” Ron said. “But that was pretty easy since he was cold as one of those cucumbers on the floor.”
“So you merely reached in and felt for a pulse?” Laurie suggested.
“That’s right,” Ron said.
“Which pulse?” Laurie asked.
“The wrist,” Ron said.
“The right wrist?” Laurie asked.
“Hey, you’re getting too specific,” Ron said. “I can’t remember which wrist.”
“Let me tell you something,” Laurie said as she removed the lens cap from her camera and started taking pictures of the body in the refrigerator. “See that right arm in the air?”
“Yeah,” Ron said.
“It’s staying up in the air because of rigor mortis,” Laurie said. Her camera flashed as she took a photo.
“I’ve heard of that,” Ron said.
“But rigor mortis develops after the arm has been flaccid for a while,” Laurie said. “Does that suggest something to you about this body?” Laurie took another photo from a different angle.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ron said.
“It suggests that the body was moved after death,” Laurie said. “Like perhaps out of the refrigerator and then back. And it had to be several hours after death because it takes about two hours for rigor mortis to set in.”
“Well, isn’t that interesting,” Ron said. “Maybe Pete should hear about this.” Ron went to the door to the den and yelled for Pete to come into the kitchen. When he did, Ron explained what Laurie had told him.
“Maybe this guy’s girlfriend pulled him out,” Pete suggested.
“This overdose was found by the deceased’s girlfriend?” Laurie asked. The torture drug abusers put their loved ones through was horrible.
“That’s right,” Pete said. “The girlfriend called 911. So maybe she pulled him out.”
“And then stuffed him back in?” Laurie questioned with skepticism. “Hardly likely.”
“What do you think happened?” Ron asked.
For a moment Laurie stared at the two policemen, wondering what approach she should take.
“I don’t know what to think,” she said finally. She pulled on her rubber gloves. “But for now I want to examine the body, release it to the hospital people, and go home.”
Laurie reached in and touched Stuart Morgan’s body. It was hard, due to the rigor mortis, and cold. As she examined him, it was obvious that his other limbs were in unnatural positions as well as the right arm. She noticed an IV site in the antecubital fossa of the left arm. Except for the refrigerator, the case certainly seemed uncannily similar to the Duncan Andrews, Robert Evans, and Marion Overstreet overdoses.
Straightening up, Laurie turned to Ron. “Would you mind helping me lift the body out of the refrigerator?” she asked.
“Pete, you help her,” Ron said.
Pete made an expression of annoyance but accepted the rubber gloves from Laurie and put them on. Together they lifted Stuart Morgan from the refrigerator and laid him out on the floor.
Laurie took several more photos. To her trained mind, it was obvious from the attitude of the body that the rigor mortis had taken place while the body had been in the refrigerator. That much was clear. But it was also clear that the position the body was in when she found it was not the position it had been in originally.
As she was photographing the body, Laurie noticed that the money belt was partially open. Its zipper was caught on some paper money. She moved in for a close-up.
Putting her camera aside, Laurie bent down to examine the money belt more closely. With some difficulty, she managed to work the zipper loose and open the pouch. Inside were three single dollar bills with torn edges from having been caught in the zipper.
Standing up, Laurie handed the three dollars to Ron. “Evidence,” she said.
“Evidence of what?” Ron said.
“I’ve heard of cases where police steal from the scenes of accidents or homicides,” Laurie said. “But I’d never expected to be confronted by such an obvious case.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Ron demanded.
“The body can be moved, Sergeant Moore,” Laurie said. “And I am supposed to extend an invitation to you to come and see the autopsy. Frankly, I hope I never see you again.”
Laurie snapped off her rubber gloves, threw them in the trash, grabbed her camera, and left the apartment.
“I can’t eat another bite,” Tony said as he pushed the remains of a pizza away from him. He pulled the napkin from his collar where he’d tucked it and wiped his mouth of tomato stains. “What’s the matter. You don’t like pepperoni? You’re eating like a bird.”
Angelo sipped his San Pellegrino mineral water. Its fizz tended to settle his stomach which was still churning from the Spoletto Funeral Home visit. He’d tried several bites of the pizza, but it hadn’t appealed to him. In fact it made him nauseated, so he’d been impatient for Tony to finish.
“You done?” Angelo asked Tony.
“Yeah,” Tony said, sucking his teeth. “But I wouldn’t mind having a coffee.”
They were sitting in a small all-night Italian pizza joint in Elmhurst, not far from the Vesuvio. There was a handful of customers sitting at widely spaced Formica tables despite the fact it was three-thirty in the morning. An old-fashioned juke box was playing favorites from the fifties and sixties.
Angelo had another mineral water while Tony had a quick espresso.
“Ready?” Angelo asked when Tony’s empty espresso cup clanked against the saucer. Angelo was eager to get going, but felt he owed it to Tony to relax for a while. After all, they had been busy.
“Ready,” Tony said with a final wipe with his napkin. They stood up, tossed some bills on the table, and walked out into the cold November night. Tucking their heads into their coats, they dashed for the car. It had started drizzling.
With the motor running to get the heater up to temperature, Angelo took the second list from the glove compartment and scanned it. “Here’s one in Kew Garden Hills,” he said. “That’s nice and convenient, and it should be fast and easy.”
“This is going to be fun,” Tony said eagerly. He burped. “Love that pepperoni.”
Angelo put the sheet back into the glove compartment. As he pulled out into the deserted street, he said, “Working at night sure makes it easier to get around town.”
“The only problem is getting used to sleeping all day,” Tony said. He pulled out his Beretta Bantam and screwed the silencer on over the muzzle.
“Put that thing away until we get there,” Angelo said. “You make me nervous.”
“Just getting ready,” Tony said. He tried to jam the gun back into the holster, but with its silencer it didn’t quite fit. The butt stuck out of his jacket. “I’ve been looking forward to this part of the operation because we don’t have to be so careful pussyfooting around.”
“We still have to be careful,” Angelo snapped. “In fact we always have to be careful.”
“Calm down,” Tony said. “You know what I mean. We won’t have to worry about all that crazy stuff. Now it’s going to be fast and we leave. I mean, boom, it’s over and we’re out the door.” He pretended to shoot a pedestrian with his index finger extended from his hand, sighting down his knuckle.
It took them a while to find the house, a modest, two-story affair made of stone and stucco with a slate roof. It was situated on a quiet street that dead-ended into a cemetery.
“Not bad,” Tony said. “These people must have a few bucks.”
“And possibly an alarm system,” Angelo said. He pulled over to the side of the road and parked. “Let’s hope it’s nothing complicated. I don’t want any complications.”
“Who gets whacked?” Tony asked.
“I forgot,” Angelo said. He reached over to the glove compartment and took out the second list. “The woman,” he said after locating the name. He returned the list to the glove compartment. “And let’s get this straight so there will be no confusion: I’ll do her. They’ll probably be in bed, so you cover the man. If he wakes up, whack him. You understand?”
“Of course I understand,” Tony said. “What do you think I am? An imbecile? I understand perfectly. But you know how much I enjoy this stuff, so how’s about I do her and you cover the man.”
“Jesus H. Christ!” Angelo said. He took out his gun and attached a silencer. “This is work, not some turkey shoot. We’re not here to have fun.”
“What difference does it make if you whack her or I whack her?” Tony asked.
“Ultimately, no difference at all,” Angelo said. “But I’m in charge, and I’m shooting the woman. I want to make sure she’s dead. I’m the one who has to answer to Cerino.”
“So you think you can shoot someone better than me?” Tony said. He seemed insulted.
“For Chrissake, Tony,” Angelo said. “You can do the next one. How about we take turns?”
“Okay, that’s fair,” Tony said. “Share and share alike.”
“Glad you approve,” Angelo said. Then, looking briefly up at the ceiling of the car, he added: “I feel like I’m back in kindergarten. All right, let’s go!”
They climbed out of the car, crossed the street, and melted into the dense, wet shrubbery surrounding the house in question. Arriving at the back door, Angelo studied it carefully, running his hand over the architrave, peering through the cracks with a small flashlight, and inspecting the hardware. He straightened up.
“No alarm,” Angelo said with amazement, “unless it’s something I haven’t seen.”
“You want to go through a window or a door?” Tony asked.
“The door should be easy enough,” Angelo said.
With his pocketknife Tony made short work of the caulking around one of the glass panes bordering the door. With a pair of needle-nosed pliers, he pulled out the wire brads, then lifted the pane out. Reaching inside, he unbolted the door and turned the knob.
The door opened with only a minor squeak of protest. No alarms sounded and no vicious dogs barked. Angelo silently stepped inside, holding his gun up alongside of his head. He let his eyes roam around the room. It seemed to be a family room with gingham-covered couches and a large-screen television. He listened for a minute, then lowered his gun. After testing for alarms, he began to relax. Everything seemed to be fine; the place was there for the taking.
Motioning for Tony to follow, Angelo moved silently to the front entrance hall. Together the two men crept up a grand circular staircase. The stairs led them to an upstairs corridor with a half-dozen doors opening onto it. Each of the doors was slightly ajar save for one. Trusting his instincts, Angelo made his way straight for it. When he was sure Tony was right behind him, he tried the door. It pushed open at his touch.
Loud snores came from the bed against the far wall. Angelo wasn’t sure who was snoring, but once he was convinced both were still sound asleep, he motioned for Tony to follow him. Together they advanced to the bed.
It was a king-sized bed covered with a down-filled comforter. In the bed were a man and a woman of late middle age. They were both on their backs, their arms at their sides.
Angelo veered to the right to be on the same side as the woman. Tony went to the opposite side. The victims did not stir. Angelo motioned for Tony’s attention, pointing toward his Walther in the half-light of the bedroom, indicating that he was about to dispatch the woman and that Tony should keep his eye on the man.
Tony nodded. And as Angelo brought up his gun to bear on the sleeping, female head, Tony did the same across the bed. Angelo advanced the gun to the point where he’d be unable to miss, aiming at the temple, just above and in front of the ear. He wanted the bullet to penetrate into the base of the brain, approximately where it would end up if he were able to shoot her from behind.
The report was loud in relation to the silence that prevailed in the room, but when compared with normal noise, it was a soft, hissing thump, like a fist striking a pillow.
Hardly had Angelo recovered from the wince he made after pulling the trigger when there was another similar hissing thump. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the man’s head rebound off the pillow, then settle back. A dark stain that looked black in the half-light began to spread.
“I couldn’t help it,” Tony said. “I heard you shoot and I couldn’t help pulling the trigger myself. I like it. It gives me such a rush.”
“You’re a goddamn psychopath,” Angelo said angrily. “You weren’t supposed to shoot the guy unless he moved. That was the plan.”
“What the hell difference does it make?” Tony said.
“The difference is that you have to learn to follow orders,” Angelo snapped.
“All right already,” Tony said. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. Next time I’ll play exactly how you say.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Angelo said. He started toward the door.
“How about looking around for some cash or valuables?” Tony asked. “After all, we’re here.”
“I don’t want to take the time,” Angelo said. At the door to the hall he turned. “Come on, Tony! We’re not here to turn a profit. Cerino’s already paying us enough.”
“But what Cerino doesn’t know can’t hurt him,” Tony said. He picked up a wallet on the night-table along with a Rolex watch. “How about I take a souvenir?”
“Fine,” Angelo said. “Now let’s get out of here.”
Three minutes later they were speeding away.
“Holy crap!” Tony exclaimed.
“What’s the matter?”
“There’s over five hundred big ones in here,” Tony said, waving the bills in the air. He already had the gold Rolex watch on his wrist. “Add that to what Cerino is paying us and we’re doing okay.”
“Just be sure to get rid of that wallet,” Angelo said. “It could finger us for sure.”
“No problem,” Tony said. “I’ll drop it in the incinerator.”
Angelo pulled up to the curb and put the car in park.
“Now what?” asked Tony.
Angelo leaned over and took the list out of the glove compartment. “I want to see if there’s anybody else in this area,” he said. “Bingo,” Angelo said after a brief perusal.
“Here’s two in Forest Hills. That’s right around the corner. We can do both before dawn no problem. I’d say that’d make it a pretty good night.”
“I’d say it’d make it a fabulous night,” Tony said. “I’ve never made this kind of money.”
“All right!” Angelo said, studying a map. “I know where both of these houses are.
Expensive part of town.” He placed the map and the list down on the center console, put the car in gear, and drove off.
It took less than half an hour for Angelo to cruise past the first house. It was a large white mansion set far back from the street. Angelo guessed the house sat on at least two acres. Several leafless elms lined a long, curving driveway.
“Which one this time?” Tony asked as he gazed up at the big house.
“The man,” Angelo said. He was trying to decide where to leave the car. In such a ritzy part of town there weren’t many vehicles parked on the street. In the end, he decided to drive right up the driveway since it looped behind the house. He could park so that the car wasn’t visible from the street. He turned his lights off as he came up the drive, hoping the darkened car wouldn’t attract any attention.
“Now remember,” Tony said as they prepared to move in. “This time it’s my turn.”
Angelo looked to the heavens as if to say, “Why me, God?” Then he nodded and the two went to the house.
The white mansion proved more difficult than the more modest stone house. The white mansion had several overlapping alarm systems that took Angelo some time to figure out as well as neutralize. It was a half hour before they broke out a whole sash in a window into a laundry room.
Angelo went in first to make sure there were no infrared detectors or lasers. When he determined the coast was clear, Tony climbed over the windowsill.
They stayed together and moved slowly through the kitchen, where they could hear a TV playing in a nearby room.
As carefully as possible they moved toward the sound. It was coming from a room off the front hall. Angelo went first and peered around the corner.
The room was a den with a wet bar built into one wall, a giant rear-projection TV in another. In front of the TV was a chintz-upholstered chesterfield. Asleep in the center of the couch was an enormously overweight man, dressed in a blue bathrobe. His stubby, surprisingly skinny legs stuck out from beneath the corpulent mass of his abdomen and were propped up on a hassock. On his feet were leather slippers.
Angelo pulled back to talk with Tony. “He’s asleep and alone. We’ll have to assume the wife, if there is one, is upstairs.”
“What are we going to do?” Tony questioned.
“You wanted to whack him,” Angelo said. “So go in and do it. Just do it right. Then we’ll check on the woman.”
Tony smiled and stepped beyond Angelo. His gun with the silencer in place was in his right hand.
Rounding the corner, Tony boldly strode into the den. He went directly up to the man on the couch. Pointing the gun at the man’s temple just above the ear, he purposefully bumped the man’s thigh with his leg.
The man sputtered as his heavily lidded eyes struggled up. “Gloria, dear?” he managed.
“No, honey, it’s me—Tony.”
The hissing thump knocked the man over onto his right side on the couch. Tony leaned over and placed the muzzle of his silencer at the base of the skull and fired again. The man didn’t move.
Tony straightened up and looked back at Angelo. Angelo waved for him to follow him. Together they went up the stairs. On the second floor they had to search through several rooms before finding Gloria. She was fast asleep with the lights on but with black eyeshades over her eyes and earplugs in her ears.
“Looks like she thinks she’s a movie star,” Tony said. “This is going to be a snap.”
“Let’s go,” Angelo said. He gave Tony’s arm a tug.
“Aw, come on,” Tony said. “She’s like a sitting duck.”
“I’m not going to argue,” Angelo snarled. “We’re getting out of here.”
Back in the car, Tony pouted while Angelo checked the fastest route to the next house. Angelo didn’t care how long Tony brooded. At least it kept him quiet.
The final house was a two-story row house with a metal awning forming a carport in front of the single-car garage. A small chain-link fence demarcated a postage-stamp-sized lawn that contained two pink flamingo statues.
“The man or the woman?” Tony asked, breaking his silence for the first time.
“The woman,” Angelo said. “And you can do her if you want.” He was feeling magnanimous with the evening’s work drawing to a close.
Breaking into the final house was a breeze. They did it from the alleyway, going through the back door. To their surprise they found the husband sleeping on the couch with an empty six-pack on the floor next to him.
Angelo told Tony to go upstairs by himself and that he’d keep his eye on the man. Angelo could see Tony’s eager smile in the half-light, and he thought the kid’s appetite for “whacking” was insatiable.
Several minutes later Angelo could barely hear the silenced report of Tony’s gun, followed quickly by another shot. At least the kid was thorough. A few minutes after that Tony reappeared.
“The guy move?” Tony asked.
Angelo shook his head and motioned for them to leave.
“Too bad,” Tony said. His eyes lingered a second on the sleeping man before he turned to follow Angelo out the door.
On the back stoop Angelo stretched and looked up at the brightening sky. “Here comes the sun,” he said. “How about some breakfast?”
“Sounds great,” Tony said. “What a night. It doesn’t get any better than this.” As he walked to the car he unscrewed his silencer from his gun.