MURDER TAKES TIME

Chapter 61

 

Call from Cleveland

 

Current Day 

Frankie woke in the middle of the night, thinking about Nicky, once again wondering what this was all about. What the hell had happened? The missing package bothered him too. Why would Nicky call, say he’s sending something, then not do it? 

He wouldn’t. 

So that meant something happened to Nicky. Cleveland never turned up anything regarding the material witness request. So where was he? Had Tito killed him? 

Where are you, Nicky? Anxiety kept Frankie up for another hour or so, but he finally went to sleep, catching a few hours before the alarm went off. After an invigorating shower, he made coffee, grabbed a bagel, and headed out the door. 

It took him longer than usual to get to the station, and that put him in a foul humor. He got a good parking spot and rushed into the station, taking the steps two-at-a-time to the second floor. “Hey, Carol, anything on that report yet?”

“I already called and put pressure on them. They said I’ll have it this morning.”

“Bring it in as soon as you get it.”

Carol walked in before his coffee even got cold. “Here you go, Detective. Six possibilities.”

Frankie grabbed the report from her hand. “Thanks. I owe you.”

“You keep saying that, but I never see anything.” 

He sat back down, eying the papers instead of her. “Yeah, well…”

Carol walked out, smiling. “You’re welcome, Detective.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks,” Frankie said, but he was already deep into the report. 

Six murders fit the description. There had been thirteen shootings, but seven had already been solved. He scanned through the remaining six, but nothing jumped out at him. Muggings, jealousy, domestic violence…none of them fit. He threw the papers down on the desk and walked back out to see Carol. “I need you to go back further. Maybe a year. And I only want unsolved cases.”

This time didn’t take as long. She returned within half an hour with new reports. There were four.

The first one was from Utah, and it looked like a family feud of some type. Some guy from an off-shoot Mormon sect shot one of his wives for having sex with another man. “What the hell?” Frankie said aloud. Didn’t seem right that this guy could have multiple wives, but she couldn’t have some fun on the quiet. Oh well… 

This case definitely wasn’t what he was looking for. 

Next one was from Portland, Oregon. Young woman, maybe early thirties, shot in the back of the head and the chest. Boyfriend was missing. He scrambled through the papers. Boyfriend was reported to be about average height and weight. Brown or black hair. 

Could be Nicky, he thought, but then he couldn’t picture Nicky in Portland. Still…so far things fit. He laid that aside to check up on later. Too early to call the west coast.

The third one was from Cleveland. Frankie came to full alert. He never got to case number four. He looked at the case closer. Young woman killed at a church. Victim shot in the head with multiple chest wounds. He popped his head out the door. 

“Carol, get me a number for Cleveland homicide.” Carol loved it when cases were breaking. She thrived on the challenge and the excitement that ran through the office when a detective was closing in on something. Damn good, Carol was. Within minutes, she came in with the number. 

After three calls, Frankie got hold of the right guy in homicide, Eddy Pollard, Detective First Class. 

“Pollard.”

“Detective Pollard? This is Frankie Donovan, Detective with Brooklyn homicide.”

“What’s up in the Big Apple?”

“A lot of goddamn killing. How about you?” He didn’t know if Cleveland had a nickname, but if it did, he felt certain they weren’t proud of it.

“About the same. What can I do for you, Detective?”

“I’ve got reason to suspect one of our cases has ties to Cleveland. You have any murders in the last six to ten months that involve a female victim, early to mid-thirties?”

A long pause. “Which doll do you want, Detective? You just hit my number one pain-in-the-ass case on the head.”

“What have you got?”

“It was about seven months ago, maybe eight. Right in front of a church. Female, age thirty-four. Mary Simmons-Krasner.”

Krasner. They went to school with a guy named Krasner, and he was sure the guy’s first name had been Richie. Didn’t he die in a car wreck? Did Nicky take his name?

“You there?” Pollard asked.

“Yeah, sorry. I was thinking.” A short pause, then, “Detective, how was she killed?”

“Shot.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“Combination of .38’s and 9 mm. Multiple gunshots to the head and chest.”

Frankie nearly fell off the chair. Once in the head. Once in the heart. How many times had he said that to himself? How many times had he wondered why these guys were killed that way? Now he had an answer. Nicky was killing them that way because of her. 

“Any witnesses?”

“None.”

“That’s it? You got nothing else for me?”

“Not a damn thing.”

“All right. Thanks.” 

Frankie made a note to have Carol search everything for Richie Krasner. Car rentals, hotels, plane flights. If Nicky was using Richie’s name, maybe they could track him that way. Frankie grabbed his smokes and headed for the door. It was time to see Tony. No matter what goddamn lies he spit out, Tony knew what was going on and Frankie intended to find out.