Bobby shot out a laugh. ‘I got a few chapters of my own I might like to add to that.’
‘Really?’ said Joe. ‘What can I-’
‘Actually I’m calling because I think I’ve got something you might be interested in. The Upper West Side homicide you got? Your vic – Ethan Lowry. Was there a phone by him when they found him?’
‘Yeah. There was. Why?’
Bobby sucked in a breath. ‘Sounds a lot like this case I caught in SoHo back in December. Guy’s name was Gary Ortis, badly beaten about the face, gunshot to the head, phone in the hallway beside him. We never got the guy.’
‘Jesus. And it looks like we’re already linking this one to a case a year back. Was your guy gay?’
‘He was single and he dated women,’ said Bobby, ‘but who knows? Yours?’
‘Ethan Lowry was married with a kid,’ said Joe. ‘William Aneto was gay.’
‘Hmm.’
‘I know where you’re coming from,’ said Joe, ‘it has that feel about it. That was some hardcore facial damage and I don’t know about you, but last few times I saw shit like that, it was two guys, lovers’ spat. No-one died, but…’
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Bobby.
‘Look, why don’t you call in to the Two-Oh, bring what you got.’
Joe put down the phone and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket hanging on the back of his chair. He pulled out two pills and took them with a can of Red Bull.
‘Guys,’ he said. ‘That was Bobby Nicotero from the 1st. Looks like he got a third vic, happened back in December. He’s on his way over.’
‘Holy shit,’ said Danny.
‘On Lowry’s records? said Blazkow. ‘The last call at 10.58? Was to a woman – Clare Oberly. Lives on 48th Street between 8th and Broadway.’
‘OK,’ said Joe. ‘Danny and I’ll go check her out this evening.’
Half an hour later Bobby Nicotero walked into the twentieth precinct with his partner. Bobby was thirty-nine years old with a thick neck, broad shoulders, short legs and suits too cheap to flatter any of them. He had close-cut black hair, a heavy brow and a range of facial expressions that stretched to pissed off.
‘Hey,’ said Joe. ‘Good to see you.’
‘You too,’ said Bobby, shaking his hand. ‘This is my partner, Roger Pace.’
Pace was shockingly gaunt with eyes set deep into dark sockets.
‘Nice to meet you,’ said Joe, shaking his hand. ‘Thanks for coming in.’
‘No problem,’ said Pace, slipping back behind Bobby.
‘OK,’ said Joe, walking over to the others. ‘Bobby, you know Danny Markey. And this is Aldos Martinez and Fred Rencher from Manhattan North. Tom Blazkow and Denis Cullen from here at the Two-Oh. Everyone, Bobby Nicotero and Roger Pace from the 1st.’
Everyone nodded.
‘Do you want to tell us what you got?’ said Joe.
‘Sure,’ said Bobby. ‘I read the paper and I just saw our friend, the “source close to the investigation” saying that the vic was found naked and his face was severely beaten. I figured there could be something to it, could be nothing.’ He opened the file.
‘Our vic’s name was Gary Ortis, DOB 07/10/69, cause of death – GSW to the head from a twenty-two. There were signs of oxygen deprivation, you know, petechial hemorrhages. He was found naked in his apartment on Prince Street in SoHo.’
‘Body behind the door,’ said Joe.
‘Yup.’
Everyone nodded. ‘That sounds like our guy,’ said Joe. ‘Any leads?’
Bobby shook his head. ‘Nothing. We thought it was a gay thing, but the guy had lots of girlfriends-’ He shrugged. ‘Not that that means anything.’
‘Yeah,’ said Martinez looking at Danny.
Danny rolled his eyes.
‘Looks sexual to me,’ said Blazkow. ‘They’re all found naked like that, beaten so bad.’
‘We got the ME talking about a homosexual motive,’ said Joe.
‘Makes sense when you look at the physical damage,’ said Rencher. ‘When I was in the 17th, I caught this case – a high school junior, one of those small, pretty boy types, hooked up with this forty-year-old guy, they had a thing going on for a while. Then we’re called out, the boyfriend has beaten the crap out of the poor kid, totally smashed up his face and, I mean, like our vics, he was unrecognizable. The boyfriend was out of his mind with grief, crying and saying he just wished the kid hadn’t spent so much time talking to that cute barman, that he would have been still alive if he had. Unbelievable.’
‘And remember that guy in Jersey who shot his boss?’ said Cullen. ‘He’d been arrested for beating the crap out of his boyfriend with a hammer a few years before that.’
‘But then, there’s no damage to the genitals with our vics,’ said Joe. He shrugged. ‘That usually goes along with it.’
‘Also – on the sex thing,’ said Rencher. ‘According to Lowry’s wife, the DVDs and whip and shit were just theirs, they liked to watch porn together, no big deal. She figures he was just going to watch some that night while she was gone.’
‘OK. But what else was left lying around the other scenes? What was in the bedrooms?’
‘There was a sexual element at the Aneto and Lowry scenes,’ said Blazkow.
‘Yeah, same for Ortis,’ said Bobby. ‘Toys, DVDs. Some of them were a little dusty, I remember, but they were out there on his bed. But there was also work papers, diaries, photos.’
‘Yeah, we got photos at Aneto’s too,’ said Danny.
‘There were love letters from Lowry’s ex-girlfriend by his bed.’
‘Oh, there were boxes of wax strips at Aneto’s,’ said Martinez.
‘And Preparation H at Ortis’s place,’ said Bobby.
‘It’s kind of like they were all looking for something,’ said Blazkow. ‘Pulling out drawers, looking through closets. Do you think maybe the perp was after something?’
‘Maybe,’ said Bobby. ‘Maybe they could have all ripped him off.’
‘Let’s take a look at what they’ve got in common,’ said Danny. ‘We got a Wall Street guy, an actor, a graphic designer…’
‘Faggoty jobs?’ said Martinez.
‘Yeah, I see that sensitivity training worked out well for you,’ said Danny.
‘It’s cool, I’m dating the guy who gave the talk,’ said Martinez.
‘You’re such a dickhead,’ said Danny.
‘What about success?’ said Blazkow, ignoring the interruption. They all nodded. He continued, ‘Perp could have a chip on his shoulder. All these guys were successful… at least, on the surface, like if you saw them on the street.’
‘The Wall Street guys are all about surface,’ said Danny. ‘Why else do they freak out so much when they’re caught with their pants around their ankles burying it in some ten-dollar whore? My neighbors, my clients, my wife…’
‘Yeah,’ said Bobby. ‘And then the pricks tell us they’re paying our salary, like that’s going to help their situation. How to win cops and influence whatever.’
‘OK – phone calls,’ said Joe. ‘All the vics made calls the night they died. Looks like while the perp was in their home. William Aneto calls his mother – she says it was just to say goodnight.’
‘Gary Ortis calls his former business partner just to say hi, he says, see how he was doing,’ said Bobby.
‘Hmm,’ said Joe. ‘Maybe not. We need to go talk to these people again. And how is he choosing the vics? Is he following them home? If so, from where? If not, how is he meeting them – on line, at work, in a bar, at the
