Rizzo's Fire

play.”

He touched lightly at Priscilla’s cheek.

“There ain’t no coincidences like that, Partner,” he said.

Then, reaching for the last of his cigarettes, he dropped the play back into the open suitcase.

“No fuckin’ way,” he said.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

RIZZO AND JACKSON GAZED THROUGH the windshield at the choppy, white-capped waters of Jamaica Bay. The Impala sat parked in the sprawling, nearly deserted parking area of the Canarsie Pier. Rizzo had sat silently as Priscilla Jackson gave the play a fast, careful reread.

Having given the reluctantly cooperative Mrs. Carbone a written receipt, they had removed the suitcase from the garage, and it was now secured in the Impala’s trunk.

The car’s heater blew warm air against their legs, chilling winds howled softly outside the tightly closed windows. Light snow flurries danced across the gray hood.

“Now I’m sure of it,” Priscilla said quietly, coming to the last page and resting the manuscript on the steering wheel. “With a few changes this is the play I saw on Broadway. What are the possibilities here, Joe?”

“Top of my head? Mallard somehow plagiarizes the play from Lauria. Lauria calls him on it, and Mallard goes to Lauria’s place, strangles him, searches the apartment, and takes every copy of the play he finds.”

“So you honestly figure this Pulitzer Prize winner was capable of strangling somebody to death?” Priscilla asked.

Rizzo laughed. “Yeah, well, think about this. Yasser Arafat won a fuckin’ Nobel Peace Prize.” He paused. “You think maybe he had any blood on his hands, Partner?”

“Okay, so then who kills Mallard?”

Rizzo shrugged. “Somebody who knew the situation, somebody who knew about the play and figured Mallard whacked Lauria. Somebody close to Lauria.”

She shook her head. “There was nobody close to Lauria, ’cept Carbone. You can’t figure her for a murderer. She just wasn’t the type.”

“Yeah, well, Carbone’s husband looked clean, too. Maybe this brother she claims is in Kuwait.” He shook his head. “That’s unlikely, though. It would have to be somebody else, somebody we don’t know exists yet. Everybody’s got somebody. Maybe even this guy Lauria.”

“I don’t know, Joe,” she said. “Sounds pretty freakin’ weak to me.”

“Don’t it, though?” said Rizzo, reaching for a Nicorette. “But you never know. We gotta dig deeper into the vic’s life. Turn up an old buddy, maybe a butt-buddy, or some screwy writer Lauria hung around with. Somebody.”

Priscilla wrinkled her brow. “How ’bout this?” she speculated. “Lauria was frustrated and bitter from years of failure. He sees Mallard’s play, writes almost a carbon copy, changing it just enough to make it look legit. He types it on some old paper, dates it three years ago. Then he tries to run a swindle on Mallard, says Mallard plagiarized his play. Tries to get Mallard to use his connections and get Lauria published somehow.”

Rizzo followed through. “Yeah, they have an argument and Mallard kills the guy. Okay. But then who kills Mallard?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Your phantom butt-buddy, I guess.”

Rizzo placed the gum in his mouth, chewing it slowly before responding.

“Or maybe it is just some coincidence-not the murders, the plays. Maybe each guy wrote his play in de pen dent of the other, but Lauria figured Mallard stole his idea, and it all led to the murders.”

“No way,” Priscilla said. “The two plays are absolutely the same. I’m tellin’ you, not in a million years could two strangers write two such similar works. No freakin’ way.”

Rizzo nodded. “Okay, so maybe they weren’t strangers to each other. We gotta look at Avery Mallard’s life. See where it intersects with Lauria’s. Look for someone they both knew.”

“If their lives intersect,” she said. “Do you remember any of the details of Mallard’s murder, Joe?”

“Not really. I only read one news article about it. I’m pretty sure it happened in his apartment. And, now that I think about it, it mighta been a stranglin’.”

Priscilla sat back, facing Rizzo, her shoulders against the driver’s window.

“Jesus Christ, Joe, if that’s true, and the murders are connected, we got us some doozy here-and just one killer.”

Rizzo smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “A real doozy.”

“We can check online for the articles. Get more info on the Mallard case.”

“Fuck online. You forget we got us a pal over at the Plaza? Pretty Boy McQueen? Mike could run inside access computer checks and pull up the whole Mallard investigation. We can look over Manhattan South’s shoulder, see what the college boys and girls been doin’ with the case. Get all the contact info we need.”

Priscilla’s lips compressed tightly before she spoke again.

“Yeah. I forgot about Manhattan South.” She paused. “What’s the protocol here? Are we supposed to tell them about this Lauria angle?”

Rizzo shrugged. “Probably. If we develop it any further, definitely.”

“Shit,” she said dejectedly. “They’ll grab the two cases and send us both out for coffee.”

Rizzo raised his brow. “Not if I don’t let ’em, they won’t.”

“What you got in mind, Partner?” Priscilla questioned.

He reached out and gently patted her arm. “Makin’ you a star, kiddo-and me, too. If this Lauria case is related to Avery Mallard’s murder, we can run with this ball pretty far before we gotta worry about any ‘protocol.’ Pretty damn far.”

“How smart is that?” she asked.

“Well, you know it could backfire, bite us real bad if we fucked it up. But we’re too sharp to fuck it up.”

“It can do more than bite us, Joe,” she said. “We sit on this link and get found out, we could be looking at an obstruction charge. That’s no joke.”

“Obstruction? Who are we obstructin’? We are the fuckin’ cops, Cil. We can’t obstruct ourselves.”

She shook her head. “Please, don’t fuck with me. You know what I’m sayin’ here. We deliberately conceal this link between the two homicides, they can nail us for obstruction and official misconduct.”

“Relax, okay? Nobody’s nailin’ us for nothing. Hell, if you hadn’t seen that play with Karen, we never would’ve made the connection. And besides, it’s nothing but speculation so far. Let’s take a look, nose around a little, that’s all I’m saying. A couple of unlikely misdemeanor charges shouldn’t right away put our tails between our legs. Let’s just look into it.”

She considered it. “How about this, Joe? How about while we’re ‘considering’ it, the killer strikes again? Suppose it is the same guy who whacked Lauria and Mallard? We don’t know why, other than maybe something connected to the play. There could be a third party somewhere, some other big shot like Mallard or another schmo like Lauria, and the killer decides to get rid of them, too. That makes us accessories. Accessories to fuckin’ murder. Think about that.”

Rizzo shrugged. “Million-to-one shot. Besides, if the killer had a third target, it’s already too late. He took out Lauria and Mallard within a day or two of each other. I don’t think he’s been sitting on his hands for two fuckin’ weeks to take out a third guy. If there was another party, he’s dead already. Done deal.”

She sat silently fingering the pages she held.

“It’d be blood on our hands if it did happen, Joe,” she said after a moment. “Even if we never got jammed up for it, it would still be blood on our hands.”

Rizzo turned in his seat and faced his young partner. A tired smile came to him. “Cil, listen to me. I’ve been