“Yep. Figure about three o’clock.”
“Good. I’m off that day, I’ll pick you up at Grand Central.”
“Great,” she said. “Saves me a subway ride.”
“Okay,” he answered. “I’ll tell you why I called, honey. I need a favor.”
“Really? What?”
“Well, I’m on a case and I need something. A copy of a play. I stopped at Barnes and Noble this morning, and the guy told me it hasn’t been put into general release yet, since it’s new on Broadway, but it went out to some of the universities. It’s that new play by Avery Mallard,
“Yes, I’ve heard of it.” Marie paused. “Are you working on his murder, Daddy? The graduate lit majors are totally bummed about it.”
Rizzo shook his head. “No, not exactly. It’s somethin’ else, it’s complicated. I’ll tell you about it when you come home for Thanksgiving.”
“Okay, Dad, I’ll stop by the English department and try to track one down.” She paused. “You know, if Jess gets it at Hunter, you can have it sooner. She could give it to you by Monday.”
“I know, I asked her yesterday. Hunter doesn’t have it yet. I figured maybe Cornell does.”
“Okay, Daddy, I’ll call you later and let you know.”
“Good, thanks.” He hesitated. “And Marie, one more favor: Don’t mention this to Carol, okay?”
“Why not, Daddy?” she asked flatly.
Rizzo answered with a sigh. “The last thing I want right now is for Carol to start helpin’ out with police work. No matter how superficial. And if she finds out I asked you and Jessica and not her, I’ll have more trouble with her than I already got. So it’s our secret, okay?”
“Sure, Dad,” Marie said. “Stay in denial. That’ll help.”
“Okay, kiddo, back off. Just get me the friggin’ play, okay? Please?”
“Of course, Dad. But as far as Carol is concerned after that blowup you had, you really have to just-”
“Okay, honey, thanks,” Rizzo said. “Your mother’s callin’ me, I gotta go. See you on the twenty-sixth.” He hung up gently.
Everybody’s got an opinion, he thought. Everybody.
MONDAY MORNING, as Rizzo stepped into a point at the police range during his annual firearms qualification cycle, Priscilla Jackson sat at her desk in the Six-Two squad room, a full day of work before her. The fingerprint team was on its way to dust the suitcase, its contents and some other items she and Rizzo had secured in the precinct property office on Thursday.
Priscilla needed to prepare and finalize DD-5 reports for her confirmation of the unbroken Air Force deployment of Lauria’s cousin in Kuwait and the apparent noninvolvement in any aspect of the case by Lauria’s Long Island and New Jersey relatives.
She also needed to update Vince D’Antonio with carefully worded half-truths on their continuing investigatory work on Lauria’s possessions. When the print team was finished, she would then have to inventory, label, and resecure the confiscated items, carefully preparing a paper trail, detailing the chain of possession for what might eventually develop into key pieces of evidence-evidence which must maintain its integrity throughout any courtroom challenges that might be raised by a competent defense attorney.
Priscilla dropped her eyes to the faxes on her desk. Some additional reports from the Medical Examiner’s Office put Lauria’s time of death as not before Wednesday, October 29, nor later than Saturday, November 1. Priscilla learned that Avery Mallard’s date of death had been established as Sunday, November 2.
Samples taken from Robert Lauria’s clothing and the kitchen floor revealed blood from only one human source. If, as Rizzo had indicated, the killer’s hands had been cut by the garrote, traces of his blood would probably have been found at the scene. The absence of blood tended to confirm that the killer wore gloves, helping to eliminate possible DNA evidence.
Police lab results provided by CSU indicated that a blue fiber strand found on Lauria’s T-shirt was an imported blend of high-quality cotton mix. Concentration levels of water repellent chemical substances indicated a strong probability that the fiber came from an expensive, top-of-the-line raincoat. Further cross-referencing had found the fiber and chemicals to match both Burberry and Theory brand coats at the uppermost end of their product lines. None of the samples of Lauria’s wardrobe matched the blue fiber.
Next, Priscilla turned to the DD-5 reports prepared over the last three days by various detectives from the Six- Two squad. As Rizzo had predicted, they showed meaningless results for license plate runs on vehicles parked in the vicinity of the Lauria apartment on the day the body was discovered. Follow-up neighborhood canvasses were equally unproductive for leads or significant information, as were field and squad room interviews with known local drug addicts. A computer scan of criminal records indicated none of the private homes surrounding Lauria’s apartment housed any known criminals. An additional interview of the Annasias and subsequent criminal background checks had failed to produce a potential suspect within the circle of family and friends of Lauria’s landlords.
Beneath the DD-5s Priscilla found a computer printout of the prior month’s phone calls made to and from the number registered to Robert Lauria. She scanned it quickly, noting its sparseness and repetitive pattern, and put it aside for later analysis.
The print team arrived and approached her desk. She rose to greet them, making a small note to revisit the shoe store manager and workers where Lauria was last employed. She was hoping to develop a lead to someone who might fit the role of Lauria’s phantom friend and thus be considered an avenging copy cat murder suspect in the Avery Mallard homicide.
As she shook hands with Detective Cynthia Morrow, fingerprint technician, Priscilla silently wished that Joe Rizzo hadn’t been absent on this of all days.
The weight of the investigation, she was finding, was too great to be borne by one set of shoulders. Although she was appreciative of the team effort mounted by the squad, she felt Rizzo’s absence more keenly than she would ever care to admit.
TUESDAY MORNING, Priscilla greeted Rizzo.
“Never thought I’d be so glad to see you, Joe. I had myself a hell of a day yesterday.”
“Well, if that ain’t the most half-assed compliment I ever got,” he said cheerfully. “But, what the hell, I’ll take it.” He shook his head. “My day wasn’t much better. Two hundred friggin’ rounds through my Colt, a twelve-year-old cop on each side of me on the line, blazin’ away with those goddamned Glocks. I swear, Cil, I ever get shot on this job, it’s gonna be at the friggin’ range by one of those kids.”
“I hear you. They’re gettin’ younger every year.”
“Yeah,” he said, “and stupider, too.”
He dropped his eyes to the reports Priscilla had given him. He sighed. “Don’t make me have to read all this crap. Tell me.”
Priscilla quickly filled him in, responding to an occasional question, pointing to a DD-5 or lab report when necessary.
“And Vince?” he asked.
She shrugged. “He seemed okay with what I told him.”
“Which was?” he asked.
“What we talked about, that Lauria was a closet writer, had a buncha stuff in his apartment we figured maybe we could use to turn up a lead to a friend or somebody who might have more info or somebody we could make as a suspect in his killing.”
Rizzo nodded. “Good. Vince is no dummy, though. He may start smellin’ Mallard eventually, but, for now we can leave him outta this.”
Rizzo picked up the sparse telephone record obtained by Detective Bobby Dellosso. “Guy barely needed a friggin’ phone. You I.D. these numbers?”
Priscilla leaned inward, pointing a finger to the computer printout.
“This is the shoe store where he worked, that one’s his cousin, MaryAnn Carbone. This one here’s his bank’s automated line, the other two his doctor and a pharmacy. I checked it out, he had a sinus infection back in early October.”
Rizzo nodded. “No cell phone, right?”
“None that I could find,” she said. “But see that one incoming call on October thirtieth at eight-o-five p.m.?
