Four Walls

the farthest removed from the lifetime of Jesus Christ and that Mark was the most likely to be an eyewitness. That's a very old-fashioned viewpoint you have, Fischer.'

'Well, I'm an old-fashioned kinda guy. I'm surprised to hear an officer of the law espousing knowledge of scripture, particularly from a scholarly perspective.' He smiled, an expression that was wholly without warmth. 'But then, you were a Marine, weren'tcha, Detective? I guess it's true that there are no atheists in foxholes, huh?'

Cursing himself for allowing Fischer to direct the interview, Mac saved Flack the trouble of getting them back on track. 'What did you see?'

'I'm afraid that I was sufficiently engrossed in my spiritual discourse with William to see much of anything. I only noticed something was going on when the, ah, gentlemen in the weight yard started screaming obscenities. I noticed that there was a considerable amount of blood on the fence, but beyond that, I'm afraid I didn't notice any particulars.'

Ursitti stepped in for the first time. 'So Mulroney didn't come to you? Asking permission?'

'I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about, Lieutenant. Nobody in this prison needs my permission to do anything. I'm just an inmate hereabouts.'

'Cut the crap, Fischer,' Ursitti said, 'everybody knows you run the white people here.'

'That's an unsubstantiated allegation, Lieutenant. And I'd say it's slanderous besides. Within the confines of the regulations of this facility, Jack Mulroney is free to do whatever he wishes with or without my consent.'

'So the fact that he talked to you in the mess right after he stole his razor blade is just a coincidence.'

Fischer looked studiously thoughtful. Mac felt nauseated all of a sudden.

'I do recall,' Fischer finally said, 'that Jack and I had a conversation over breakfast. I believe it was about the unfairness of Mr. Vance Barker's takeout slide during yesterday's baseball game.'

Flack asked, 'Did Mulroney mention retribution?'

'In fact, he did, but I cautioned him against it. Such retribution, as you call it, very rarely has any kind of good end. It would seem he didn't follow my advice-assuming he was the one who stabbed Mr. Barker. As I said, I didn't see it.'

This was getting them nowhere. Besides, Mulroney had confessed, and they had physical evidence to back it up. While trying to nail Fischer on conspiracy to commit murder would have given Mac great joy, he doubted someone who'd finagled remanding to medium security while appealing a murder charge would have any trouble sliding out of additional charges here. So Mac moved on to the other case. 'What about Malik Washburne?'

'What about him?'

'Did you see who killed him?'

'Again, Detective, he was in the weight yard. I wasn't. And I don't much pay attention to the comings and goings of heathens. They'll all get theirs when the Kingdom of Heaven arrives, worry not.'

'I wasn't worried,' Mac said.

Flack asked, 'Were you aware of any disagreements Washburne may have had with any of the other inmates?'

'Far as I could tell, folks seemed to like him well enough. So did I, truth be told. He was a decent sort of fella-for a heathen, leastaways. Whoever killed him will surely burn in the fires of hell for his sin.' Again, the smile. 'Not that most of those imprisoned here were likely to avoid that destination in the first place.'

'Except you, of course,' Mac said, 'being innocent and all.'

'Perfection is God's prerogative, Detective Taylor. We mortals can only aspire to it, and that means that sometimes mistakes will be made, such as my incarceration. It is a mistake that I will rectify, worry not.'

'Still not worried.' Mac looked at Flack. 'We're done here.'

'Definitely.'

Fischer stood up. 'I'm sorry I couldn't have been more help, gentlemen. I hope you find both of the murderers in our midst.'

After Fischer left, Flack started looking at the floor on either side of the table.

'What're you looking for, Don?'

Flack looked up at Mac. 'I figure after all the manure that was being shoveled, we oughta be seeing a rose pop out of the floor any second now.'

Mac chuckled. Ursitti didn't. The lieutenant said, 'Fischer's no laughing matter, Detective. I really hope his appeal finishes, one way or the other, soon, 'cause the sooner he's out of here, the smoother everything'll go around here.' He sighed. 'It's no coincidence that our first DIC in two decades is while that asshole's here. El- Jabbar's bad enough, but at least he keeps things together, y'know? Fischer's just bad news. Usually the white guys here keep their heads down, but he's got 'em all riled up. And I'll tell you something else, no way Mulroney even thinks about doing what he did without runnin' it by Fischer first.'

'Unfortunately,' Mac said with a sigh, 'the only evidence we have points to Mulroney acting alone.'

'Yeah.' Ursitti shook his head and looked at his clipboard to see who the next interview was.

12

SERVING THE WARRANT ON Jack Morgenstern's house hadn't been nearly as painful as Stella had feared it would be.

Bracey was present, as promised. Morgenstern wasn't, which was something of a relief. Then again, Stella knew how invasive the execution of a search warrant could be, and so, probably, did Morgenstern, from his previous experience with the NYPD. She couldn't blame him for not wanting to be around for it.

Stella had made a list of what they needed from the house-the clothes from the night before and Maria's necklace, if it was there-and the uniforms from the five-oh knew their stuff, so she figured they'd grab anything they thought would be suspicious. A lot of them patronized Belluso's and knew Maria, so they were motivated to find her killer. As Angell had said on the drive up, you didn't mess with a cop's source of caffeine. They'd be thorough.

So once Bracey read over every word of the warrant and let them into the house on Cambridge Avenue, Stella and Angell left the uniforms to it and walked over to Riverdale Pinan Karate, which was located in a modest storefront on Fieldston Road, off Riverdale Avenue.

As they walked over, Angell asked, 'You get anything from the love letters?'

Stella sighed. 'No epithelials, and the only usable print hits were DelVecchio and our vic, but we know they both touched them. The paper itself was Georgia-Pacific eight-and-a-half-by-eleven printer paper that's readily available at every Staples, Office Max, CVS, Duane Reade, and Hallmark store in town. The printer looks to be a Hewlett-Packard laser jet, which is only the most popular printer on the market.' She shook her head. 'Hell, it's what we use. For all we can prove, Danny wrote those letters.'

Angell smiled. 'Somehow, Messer doesn't strike me as the type to write a haiku. Dirty limerick, maybe.'

Stella chuckled. 'The point is, though, we're nowhere. We might-might-be able to match it with a specific printer, but it's a long shot. Best we could do is use it as an interrogation tool-throw it in the perp's face and hope he doesn't realize how weak the evidence is.'

'I don't see that happening with Morgenstern as long as he has Shark Lady by his side.'

They walked down Fieldston Road, the late-afternoon sun blazing at Stella's back. The dojo had just opened when they arrived. Based on the schedule, which was on a brochure that Stella grabbed on the way in, they only taught classes in the late afternoon and evening. Most of the dojos Stella knew of in Manhattan had early morning classes, but the later schedule tracked with the more residential nature of Riverdale. Stella bet that the majority of their students were kids who came after school.

Coming inside, Stella saw a small reception desk, several chairs in front of a waist-high divider, and a bench. Beyond the divider was the polished wood floor of the dojo, which extended back several dozen feet. A floor-to- ceiling mirror along the north wall made the place look bigger than it was; the south wall had both an American and Japanese flag hanging from it.

Behind the reception desk were several shrink-wrapped uniforms, T-shirts, and pieces of fighting equipment