'What sorta case we talkin' about here?'
'Happened thirty-six years ago. A junkie killed my father. Ninth caught the case but never caught the guy. I come out to visit my father's grave. I find these. Thing is, everyone in my family's dead. There's no friends, no family that coulda left these. So who did? And why? If you're a cop, what's your first idea?'
The old man scratched his chin. Flakes of skin speckled his leather jacket. 'You thinkin' the skel left these?'
Frank shrugged. 'Or someone who knows the skel, knows what he did.'
' 'At's a stretch, ain't it?'
'You never stretched a lead?'
The old man chuckled again, patting his chest and pulling a pair of glasses from a jacket pocket. After adjusting them he read the note Silvester gave him. He dropped it in his pocket.
Frank continued, 'I want to print these. See what's on them. Can we do that?'
'Yeah, sure, kid. We can do that. But first things first.' Mercer shuffled over to the coffee machine. He sniffed the half-full pot, made a face. 'Murphy's Law, ain't it? You ever notice no matter what time of day it is the pot's either empty or old? I'm gonna dump this, make us a fresh pot.'
'I'm good,' she insisted.
'Well, good for you,' he said. 'I'm not, and I'm too damn old to drink bad coffee. Been doing it all my life.' He carried the pot from the squad room, telling her over his shoulder, 'Sit tight, kid. I'll be right back.'
Mercer ambled down the hall, pausing to talk to everyone he knew, which sounded to Frank like everyone from the janitor on up to the captain. She heard him joking, showing off pictures of his new granddaughter.
Frank flicked her wrist, wondering about her date. Pacing the room she thought how homicide desks looked the same everywhere. Files, binders, scratched notes on scraps of paper, which turn into reams of scraps, all set off by institutional walls tattooed with memos, bulletins, wanteds, rules and regs.
She checked her phone, made sure it was on. No messages from Bobby or anyone else. Alone in the quiet room, Frank studied Silvester's computer. She leaned over and joggled the mouse. The screen saver disappeared and Frank zipped around the desk. Finding an Internet icon she Googled
Mercer wandered back in, the coffeepot clean and filled with water. 'Here we go.' Dumping fresh grounds into the basket, he asked, 'Now what did you say your name was?'
'Frank.'
The old man peered over his shoulder in disbelief. 'Frank?' he shouted.
'Yeah. Short for Franco. It's a nickname.'
'Frank,' he repeated. 'I remember when girls were named Lucy or Kathy or Linda—now you're all Franks and Keyshondas, Sky and Brie.' Mercer wagged his head. 'My youngest daughter just had a baby. Named the poor kid Brie. How would you like that, huh? To be named after a cheese.'
With the coffee burbling and trickling into the pot, Mercer reached into his jacket again, producing a stack of baby pictures. He handed them to Frank.
'That's her. Isn't she a cutie?'
Frank pretended to study each one. 'Adorable,' she told him.
'Nine days old today.'
She passed the photos back and Mercer displayed the school pictures in his wallet.
'That's John. He's twelve. He's my oldest grandson. My son Richard's boy. And those are his sisters, Michaela and Kathleen. This is Cory and Eileen. Eileen's my oldest granddaughter. She's thirteen. No. Fourteen, now. Yeah. Fourteen in November. We went up to Schenectady for her birthday. That's where my boy Danny lives. Oh, his wife's a sweetie. We didn't think he'd ever settle down, but he finally did and thank God with Sue. She's been so good for him. This is my daughter Linda. She just had Brie. She has a boy, too, Michael. Got a Michael and a Michaela.' He chuckled. 'How 'bout that? I don't have a picture of Michael. He's a devil. Almost two and givin' his mother fits. Or is he two already? No. Almost. He was born in February, that's right.'
Frank sang an entire Cole Porter standard while gulping her impatience. 'Nice family. You're a lucky guy. Think we could get this evidence booked now?'
'Yeah, sure.'
Padding to the desk he took Silvester's chair. He felt around, found a pen and said, 'Okay. Whadda we got here?' She started describing the candle again but Mercer interrupted, 'Speak up. I can't hear so good outta my left ear.'
As she described the containers Mercer gave them a slow once-over. He did the same with her when he finished filling out the forms.
'So your old man, huh?'
'Yeah.'
'How old were you?'
'Ten.'
He nodded as if watching one's father get popped by a crashing junkie was a rite of passage for all ten-year- olds. Getting up stiffly, he poured coffee. Handing Frank a cup he tipped his head toward the pot. 'There's cream and sugar there.'
'Black's good. So how soon do you think we can get these printed?'
'No telling,' he answered. 'Old case like this. Could be a while.'
'Any idea who'd handle it?'
Mercer shrugged, casting an eye around the empty room. 'It's assigned to one of these guys. Even if it's thirty-six years old somebody's gotta submit a Five on it once a month.' With pride he added, 'We never close a homicide, even if it just gets stamped 'Negative Results' every month.'
Frank nodded. 'Someone from the Ninth called me about twelve years ago. He was looking into it but I couldn't tell him anything new. Then this stuff appeared. May not be anything, might lead to a clearance. Who knows?'
Mercer leaned back, picking at his chin with a long nail. 'It's worth a try.'
'So you retired, or what?'
'Yeah. They kicked me out two years ago, but I still hang around, keep my hand in, help out where I can. But those forty-eight-hour days? Kid, let me tell you, I don't miss 'em at all.'
'They get harder, don't they?'
'Christ!' He slapped at air. 'You don't know the half of it. You're still a whelp.'
'Yeah,' Frank allowed. The gulf between twenty-five and forty-five was rough enough; she couldn't imagine pulling a forty-eight at his age. 'You know what, though? I'm in kind of a bind here. I've got to be back to work tomorrow morning but I'm afraid to leave this evidence just lying around. I've been waiting over thirty years for an answer to this case and right when there might be a clue I gotta leave it. So I'm wondering if you could do me a favor and pull the file for me, so I know who's in charge and who to contact about it. Could you do that for me?'
'Kid, don't worry about it. If it's on Annie's desk, it'll get taken care of. She's a stand-up cop. She's just got her hands a little full right now.'
'Yeah, I know. And we got off on the wrong foot. My fault. This has just... I wasn't expecting this, is all. Just came out to pay respects to my father and I find this. After all this time . . . kinda rattled me and I took it out on her.'
Mercer stretched and got up. 'Don't worry about it, kid. Annie's good people. She'll take care of it for you. You got my word on that, okay?'
Frank stood, too. 'I appreciate it.'
Mercer nodded, lifting a hand as he left the squad room.
CHAPTER 10
Walking to Rockefeller Center, Gail asked, 'How did it go this morning?'
'It was interesting. I'll tell you when we get to the restaurant. How about you? Tell me about your morning.'
Frank listened to Gail, her eyes darting left and right, back and forth. Even on vacation she checked the crowd, tuning in to the pulse of the street. She did the same when they entered the cafe. There was one table
