MURDER TAKES TIME

Chapter 56

Who Is Watching?

Current Day 

Frankie’s head pounded as he drove home. He’d been on this case for months and had gotten nowhere. Now Morreau was telling him that the captain put him on the case. Why the hell would the captain want him on it? He turned the music off so he could focus. The captain didn’t know him, so why? 

More than a few miles went by in traffic that looked like a beach weekend, and he still didn’t have answers. He approached the question from another angle. Why would anyone want him on the case? 

To solve it. That was the easy answer, but—and this was important—there was no reason for anyone to think Frankie would make a difference in solving this case when they already had a seasoned homicide detective on it. So why?

It suddenly hit him. They want me on it, not to solve it, but to keep it unsolved. He thought through the case as his foot switched continually from gas to brake pedals. 

Was Tony behind it? Did something go wrong and Tito was cleaning up loose ends, planting evidence to make Bugs think it was Nicky. Jesus Christ, did they kill him? Is that why I never heard from Nicky after the Cleveland call? It’s been nine months.

The logic solidified as he drove home and as he climbed the steps to his apartment, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief to soak up sweat. For June it was unseasonably hot. When he got inside, he poured some iced tea, then turned the fan on and let it blow across his face. 

The killer had to watch from somewhere. Each victim had something in their hands when they came home, and that couldn’t be a coincidence. He and Lou had already checked the obvious places and turned nothing up. Of course, back then he only half-wanted to solve this crime. 

After thinking about it for a while, he realized that plugging Tony into the equation made more sense. These were mob killings, straight and simple. Tito and Tony were just making them look like something else. 

Frankie lit a cigarette. The only question now was whether to bring Mazzetti in or not. Lou was a good cop, damn good, but Frankie didn’t know what he’d find. And he wasn’t sure how much he was willing to share, even with his partner. By the time he got to the end of his smoke, he made up his mind. He dialed Lou.  

 “How about meeting me over by Renzo’s in the morning? Maybe six-thirty or seven.”

“What are we going to find that we didn’t before?”

Frankie paused. He knew this would cause a shit storm. “This time I’m bringing pictures.” He cringed, waiting for the berating.

“You mean pictures of your friends? So you finally decided to be a cop?”

Frankie hadn’t thought of it like that, but Lou was right. “Yeah, Lou. I guess I did.” 

#

Frankie rose early, dressed in a hurry, and took Flatbush Avenue toward Prospect Park, then cut across Washington to Atlantic and out to Renzo Ciccarelli’s address. Renzo had lived in a nice, older neighborhood. It bordered trash, but somehow maintained its integrity. He parked in front of Renzo’s, got out and stretched. Lou was already there.

“There’s a McDonald’s, a small diner, and a Dunkin Donuts. It has to be one of them,” Lou said.

Frankie lit a smoke and started across the street. “Let’s do Dunkin Donuts first.”

The place was busy, maybe eight or ten people sitting in booths, another half dozen at the counter, and three in line. He ordered a plain coffee and a cinnamon roll for himself and a coffee for Lou.