MURDER TAKES TIME

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

More Evidence

 

Brooklyn—Current Day

“Oaths.” Frankie got out of bed and thought back to his youth. Friends were all that mattered back then. Frankie hated life with his parents, and Mick’s didn’t have time for him. Tony had the best mom and dad anyone could want; he just didn’t get it. And Nicky—no mother, and a father who doted on his dead wife. The four of them were good for each other. 

“Where are you, Nicky?” Frankie asked while he brushed his hair. “Are you still in Cleveland, or are you here?” 

He set the brush on the vanity and went to the closet. He grabbed a pair of olive pants, matching socks, and a beige knit shirt, putting them on in that order. Next he took the shoe trees from a pair of black Moreschi lace-ups, smiling as he slipped them on. The one thing he wouldn’t compromise on was shoes. As he made his way to the kitchen, he thought again about the oath. Friendship and honor were part of the oath, but the unspoken part was betrayal. 

That made him think of Nino—he did something to piss someone off. 

Frankie drank his coffee then headed out. When he got to the station, he parked, grabbed his folder of notes, then walked inside and up the steps to the second floor. “Where’s Lou?” he asked Carol, the all-knowing receptionist perched at her desk and guarding the detectives’ room like Cerberus did Hades. 

“He’s checking on leads. And he said to tell you that he won’t tolerate a partner who’s late. But Vinnie’s here.”

Frankie was already moving away when Carol’s voice caught him. “The lieutenant wants you in the office.”

Frankie knocked before entering. “Hey, Lieu. You wanted to see me?”  

Morreau didn’t look up. “Where are we, Donovan?”

“Same place we were yesterday. We got nothing.”

He stopped writing and stared. “Three bodies and not a single lead.”

“Lieu, I—”

Morreau stood. Stretched seemed more like it. When he was sitting he seemed normal, but once he stood his body parts elongated, like those trick mirrors at the boardwalk. “I don’t want excuses. Find this prick and get the pressure off me.”

“Yes, sir. Is that all?”

“That’s all.”

As Frankie passed Carol, he forced a smile. “Tell Vinnie I’m looking for him. Suggest he bring coffee.” 

She saluted and clicked her heels, then rounded up Vinnie.

Vinnie was a young detective who managed to get a badge through connections. 

“What’s up, Donovan?” 

“How were the bodies found?”

“You got all the pictures. Nobody moved them.” 

He also had an attitude, Frankie now remembered. A real smart-ass attitude. Maybe he didn’t like that Frankie took over the case. “I meant how were they discovered?” Frankie leaned close to Vinnie. “If you screw with me, I’ll make sure you get assigned to the Island.”

Vinnie must have thought Frankie really could do that. “Sorry, sir.” He shuffled through papers, searching. “Let’s see, Tommy Devin, the second vic…neighbor called it in. Said she smelled something rotten coming from the apartment.”

Frankie nodded.

“First…okay, here we go. First one is Renzo…”

“Ciccarelli.”

“Right, so Renzo was called in to 9-1-1.”

Frankie sat up straight. “What?”

Vinnie read more. “Yeah. A neighbor said they were walking by and heard a cat, or maybe a baby, crying.”

“Give me that.” Frankie reached for the report and read it through. “Why didn’t I have these files before?”

“I don’t know, sir. But—”

“But nothing, look at this.” He tapped the folder with his finger. “Cat found in the bathroom with door locked. Food and litter box inside. Toilet bowl open.”

“Guess he kept the cat in the bathroom. So what?”

“You remember that house? Do you think someone could hear a cat crying if they were passing by on the sidewalk? With the cat in the bathroom?”

Vinnie took the report back and frantically went through it.

“Forget about that for now,” Frankie said. “How about Nino?”

“When he didn’t show up for work and they couldn’t reach him at home, somebody called the cops.”

“Somebody?”

“Guy he worked with.” Vinnie scrambled for the name. “John Hixon.”

“And that’s all? You sure there are no other calls?”

“No, sir.” He sat rigid after he said it.

Frankie thought about the cat, lit a cigarette, then laughed like hell. In fifth grade, Nicky found a cat at lunch and kept him in the coat closet all afternoon. He gave it a bowl of water and some food. Every time it meowed, the nun threw a fit trying to figure out where the noise was coming from. Several kids got beaten that day because she thought they were making the noise. 

Judging by the look on Vinnie’s face, the laughter must have taken him by surprise. “Something funny, sir?”

“Nothing,” Frankie said, but chuckled to himself. Nicky always liked cats. Frankie’s smile disappeared as those nagging thoughts returned. Rat shit. Dead rats. Winstons. Now this. 

More proof as far as he was concerned. No way Nicky the Rat was going to let that cat suffer, or be left alone with its dead master. Still, all this was circumstantial. 

But someone called this in, and that someone was probably the killer. Time to see if it was anyone he knew. He poked his head out the door. “Carol, can you get me the 9-1-1 call from the Ciccarelli case? Not the transcript. I need the voice.”

“Might take a while, but I’ll get it.”

“Thanks,” Frankie said, and returned to his files. He called Mazzetti, got another cup of coffee, finished that, then grabbed his coat. “Carol, I’m going to meet Lou. If you get that tape let me know.”

As Frankie drove to meet Mazzetti, another thought hit him. He had been leaning toward Nicky because no one had seen him in months, or even heard from him. Not since he called and said he was in trouble. But what if Nicky’s dead and someone is trying to make me think it’s him? He said a silent prayer, and, as he did, another question arose. When Nicky called he mentioned a girl. Where does she fit in?