neighbors joined up and I thought I’d come see for myself what these people were really like. Now I get that my fears about them were well founded.”
“So why tell me?”
“Because,” she said, “you seem like a nice guy, and a gentleman.”
“Thank you. I-”
“Never mind. I’m just being silly. You’ve got the right to do what you want. I’m sorry.”
Disappointed, Healy felt moved to comfort her. “You’re not being silly. And you’ve got nothing to apologize for.”
“I hope you can say the same for yourself, Bob. There’s some kinds of dirt that rubs off on you and you can never get the stain out. Good night.”
“Let me walk you to your car.”
“No, that’s all right. My car’s right over there.”
Bob Healy watched her pull away, making a mental note of her tag number, but he wouldn’t track her down, not yet. Even if he were prepared to explain the real reason for his being at the meeting, there was something else for which he was unprepared. In the wake of his attraction to Barbara came a flood of guilt. Until he dealt with his guilt, he’d be no good to anyone, especially himself.
Tuesday, March 2nd, 2004
J oe had already spoken with Bob Healy, if only briefly. They didn’t discuss Healy’s visit to Jerry’s Joint. Neither man was in a particularly talkative frame of mind. Serpe was too preoccupied with Frank’s plight to ask about every detail concerning Healy’s handling of the Reyes matter. Besides, he trusted that Healy would tell him if there was anything worth telling. For his part, Healy couldn’t get Barbara off his mind, or the guilt that came with her.
Bob did have some information for Joe, most of it bad. Frank had lawyered up, but hadn’t chosen to be represented by any of the criminal attorneys Joe had suggested to Tina. He’d been arraigned at the Cohalan Court Complex in Central Islip. At the arraignment, Frank pled not guilty and was denied bail. He was remanded to the Suffolk County Jail in Riverhead. The one positive note was that George Healy had arranged for Joe to visit with Frank in a more private setting at the jailhouse than was usually permitted.
“Don’t get too excited,” Bob Healy had warned Joe. “George told the D.A. you’re going there to try and convince Frank to plead out.”
Frank, handcuffed to the table, was already seated when Joe came into the room escorted by a sheriff’s deputy. He looked terrible-pale, gaunt, unshaven. He was dressed in his own clothes, including jeans and a western style shirt with the Mayday logo embroidered on the left breast. Joe had one just like it. It didn’t escape his notice that Frank’s belt and shoelaces were missing. If it was possible for a room to be simultaneously sterile and grungy, then this room was. Everything about the place was hard: the steel, the edges, even the air. The stink of the pine- scented cleaner burned the lining of Joe’s nostrils. Still, just being there made Joe want to shower.
In our daily lives, Joe thought, we’re used to concessions made for aesthetics. No such compromises are necessary in modern jails or prisons. Function, function, function; that’s the driving force.
Joe remembered a street corner dealer caught up in a neighborhood sweep, begging him and Ralphy to let him go. The guy offered to roll over on his own mother, he’d do anything to not go back to Rikers again. When asked for a reason, the guy said he couldn’t stand the ugliness of the place, that he’d kill himself. Joe wondered whatever became of that guy.
The deputy went over the rules, said they had up to a half an hour, and that he’d be just outside the door. Joe thanked him. Frank was mum.
“What are you doin’ here, Joe?” Frank asked as soon as the door clicked shut.
“What do you think I’m doing here? I’m here to help.”
“Go away, Joe. You can’t help me.”
“Frank, you pretty much saved my life and I’m not about to turn my back on you.”
“I’m not askin’ for any favors. You don’t owe me any. So just get lost.”
“Sorry, buddy. I’m not a deserter.”
“I bet your ex-partner’s wife wouldn’t see it that way.”
Joe stayed calm. He got that Frank was trying to get rid of him any way he could.
“What about Tina and the kids?”
Frank looked nauseous. “They’re taken care of no matter what happens to me.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Frank. There’s no taking care of this kinda shit. They’re gonna be scarred by this forever. Money won’t make this right. Nothing will. I know. So if you didn’t kill Toussant, stop this crap now while you can salvage things.”
“Fuck you, Joe. Get the fuck out!”
The deputy knocked on the door. “Everything all right in there?”
“Just five more minutes,” Joe shouted before Frank could answer. Then he got back to the business at hand. “Okay, Frank. You did it and I can’t help you. You wanna get rid of me?”
“Yeah.”
“Convince me. Tell me where you found Toussant, how you got him to the beach, why you were so stupid as to leave a refrigerator magnet behind and your gun in the office. You convince me and I’m outta here. You might as well practice now, because if you cop to a plea, you’re gonna have do elocution before the judge.”
Frank shifted uneasily in his metal chair.
“Come on, Frank. Just tell me where you found Toussant and I’ll get outta your hair.”
“He was hiding out in. He was hiding out in Wyandanch.”
“Yeah, and how did you find him there?”
“You said you’d get out if I told-”
“Just tell me how you found him.”
“I went looking for him there.”
“You’re full a shit. I know it and you know it.”
“Deputy!” Frank screamed. “Deputy, get me outta here, now!”
“Listen, Frank, I don’t know what you’re hiding, but it isn’t worth it. You’re gonna ruin a lot of people’s lives. Let me help-”
“All right, that’s it! Party’s over,” the deputy barked, pushing in the door. He pointed at Joe. “You, outside now.”
“Think about what I said.” Joe said in parting. “Leave it be, Joe, please. I’m beggin’ ya.”
“Now, fucko!” the deputy insisted, slapping his hand down on Joe’s shoulder.
Healy had called Serpe five times since they’d spoken earlier and had gotten nothing except familiar with his new phone message. On the fifth try he simply hung up. Now not only was he waiting for Joe’s call, but for George’s as well. Last night’s bout of insomnia had been a productive one. His mind constantly drifted back to the sight of the younger Strohmeyer’s battered hand.
You didn’t have to be a retired detective to know that stabbing someone to death can be a dangerous proposition for both parties involved. The person wielding the knife is often cut in the process. The more stab wounds, the greater the chance that the attacker will be injured. He had called George right after getting off the phone with Serpe. George wasn’t happy.
“Are you nuts? You want me to ask the lab to retest all the blood samples at the Reyes murder scene to check for a second contributor. This isn’t even my case, for fuck sakes! What are you playing at here, big brother?”
“It’s not playing.”
“And it’s not police work either. In case you’ve forgotten, you’re retired. And this is Suffolk, not Kings County. You’ve got no standing here.”
