David Ellis - Eye of the Beholder

“You can probably skip the marriage proposals,” I add, getting a laugh. At least three women proposed to Burgos while he was on death row. I don’t get people. Or maybe my problem is, I do.

“Saltzman, Bax,” says McDermott. “On Fred Ciancio. Follow up with this guy, Wally Monk, that Riley was talking about. The guy at the security company. I want to know where Fred Ciancio was working back then. I want to hear from everyone who worked at Bristol Security with Ciancio. Anyone who worked side by side with him, or had a beer with him, or ever smelled one of his farts. And look at everyone assigned to Mansbury College back then.

“Williams and Covatta, also on Ciancio. Find his daughter. Talk to neighbors. Find his safe-deposit box. Anything that could tell us why he might have some secret. And find out who this goon in the background of this photograph is.” McDermott takes a photograph, which I can’t see, and hands it to one of the cops. “Tell me why Ciancio had a copy of this photo,” he says.

I crane to look at the photo but can’t see it.

“Powers and Peterson, Ciancio used to work at Ensign Correctional. I want to know about him there. I want to know if he was a good guard or a bad one. And take a copy of this photograph”-he hands another copy of the photo to the nearest cop, who hands it down, again avoiding my eyes-“and see if the goon ever did time at Ensign.

“Kinzler,” he adds, dropping the clipboard to his side. “Look at recent releases, especially violent offenders.”

Recent releases from prison, he means. A good thought. That might explain the sixteen-year gap in the murders.

“Look at mental institutions, too,” I add.

McDermott points at the guy who must be Kinzler, who writes it down.

“Yeah, he’s probably a whack job,” says Kinzler.

McDermott winces, like someone swatted him in the face. The room goes silent a moment-why, I have no idea.

“Jann, Abrams, Beatty.” McDermott, his face colored now, checks off another box on his list. “Recanvass both crime scenes. Maybe Evelyn Pendry talked to Ciancio’s neighbors. I want to know what she was asking them.”

“Everyone keeps this quiet,” Stoletti says. “Our anchorwoman out there”-she gestures toward Carolyn, I assume, wherever she is-“is willing to keep a lid on this for now. I don’t think she’ll give us long. But let’s keep it down as long as we can.”

“Go,” says McDermott. “Meet back here at five. Get me some answers.”

The group gets up, eager to move forward. The one detective, Kinzler, approaches McDermott, but he waves him off, pats him on the arm. Something about the “whack job” comment but I have no idea what.

When the place empties, McDermott touches my arm. “Where would you start? Just on a gut call.”

I think about that, and the answer comes surprisingly quickly.

“The nutty professor,” I say. “Frankfort Albany. Cassie and Ellie’s teacher, the class about violence and women. Burgos’s employer back then, too.”

“I’ll do it,” says Stoletti.

“Let me go, too,” I say.

Stoletti looks at McDermott, who has the ultimate call. By the look on her face, I think she would rather share a car ride with a flatulent child molester.

“It’s not a bad idea,” he says. Seems like he enjoys his decision, too.

“What are you going to do?” I ask him.

He tugs at his ear, the corner of his mouth turned up. “I want to see your file on Terry Burgos,” he says.

Head DOWN. Baseball cap, sunglasses. Mustache, beard, eyebrows are fakes, easy to tell it’s a getup, but it’s okay, point is, he won’t see your face, he’ll only see the money.

Not the way to do it, but no time, have to hurry, there he is, parking his bike by the building, fluorescent vest, removing the biker’s helmet, locking up the bike, now, now-

Leo approaches the messenger, a bag of parcels over his shoulder, Leo clears his throat, holds out the package, look at the package, pay no attention to the face-

He does his best, shows the man the package, bearing the name Shaker, Riley & Flemming. Shows him a fifty-dollar bill, too.

“Yeah-they’re up there. You want me-you want me to deliver this?” His eyes focus less on the package, more on the fifty.

Leo nods.

“This”-the kid shakes it-“this is a letter?”

Leo nods. Yeah, a letter.

“Why don’t you deliver it? Is this like a joke or something?”

A joke. He likes that. He tries to smile. He tries to smile a lot but he can’t.

The kid looks at the fifty and shrugs. “Okay, bud.”

Leo watches the boy burst through the revolving doors.

“EVERYTHING,” I say into the phone to my assistant, Betty. “Witness lists and profiles, summaries of evidence, transcripts-whatever we have. I need a couple of copies of everything. Yes, everything. And Betty, if anyone asks, I’m just doing a speech or something. This stays between us. Call Detective McDermott when you’re ready.”

I click off the cell phone. I’m riding shotgun with Ricki Stoletti, with whom I have the privilege of paying a visit to Professor Frankfort Albany. Stoletti looks tired, probably as tired as me. She’s wearing a blouse, under a plaid jacket, and blue jeans. Not clothes recently purchased.

She tells me she’s been McDermott’s partner for over two years. She joined the city police four years ago, after spending fifteen years working the Major Crimes Unit in the suburbs. Major Crimes was a consolidation of several police departments in the northern suburbs, a multijurisdictional detective’s squad. I know of them well, because I had a homicide case that came from there. That might explain her hostility. I walked a guy on a first-degree and made the cops look pretty bad in the process.

“Why this guy Albany first?” she asks, maneuvering her Taurus toward the expressway to take us down to Mansbury College. “Because he knows this song so well?”

“Because if Evelyn was looking into this, she would have talked to him. And because he knows the principals involved. He taught Ellie Danzinger and Cassie Bentley. He was Burgos’s boss. And he was the one who showed these song lyrics to all three of them.”

“And because he’s a creep?” She looks at me.

“You’re about to rear-end that Lexus,” I tell her. She hits the brakes. “Yeah, I was never high on that guy.”

“Why?” she asks. “Anything specific?”

Nothing specific. Just a vibe I always got from the professor. Something about him that always made me wonder.

“He was a big witness for you, right?”

“You could say that,” I agree. “He established Burgos’s attempt at an alibi. Burgos was fudging his time sheets, to make it look like he was at work when he was off abducting the women. His time sheets said he worked from six to midnight, but we know he abducted the girls all around nine or ten o‘clock. His time sheets were a lie.”

I look over at Stoletti, who seems like she doesn’t get it.

“By creating an alibi,” I explain, “he showed that he appreciated that what he was doing was criminal. He was trying to avoid being caught-”

“Yeah, yeah, I get the idea.” She turns toward me for a moment, then seems to think better of whatever it was she was going to say.

“Burgos was given flexible hours,” I say. “He could work as much, or as little, as he wanted, up to six hours. He very deliberately wrote down six to midnight. What about this doesn’t make sense?”

“Well-no, it makes sense.” She makes a noise, an uncomfortable chuckle. “I mean, one way of looking at that is, Burgos did have an alibi for the murders.” She glances back over at me. “Right? He was at work, so he couldn’t have killed the girls.”