Stuart Kaminsky - Dead of Winter

There was no way there could be a match with the weapon Louisa Cormier had shown them. Mac was certain it hadn't been fired in at least two or three days, probably much longer. The chances of there being a third.22 were very slight. If there was a third gun, the murder weapon, and he didn't rule it out, Louisa Cormier had almost certainly gotten rid of it by now. For now, however, Mac would take what he could.

"Thank you," said Mac.

"And I'll need forensic evidence that, should you find it, the weapon in question proves to have been fired. If the.22 at the firing range is not the murder weapon, you can then run gun fire tests on any.22 you find in Louisa Cormier's apartment to determine if the bullet that killed Charles Lutnikov came from that weapon."

A look of conspiratorial cooperation passed between Mac and the judge.

"If in search of the specific items indicated, you come up with further evidence that Louisa Cormier has been involved in the crime under investigation, that evidence must be discovered during a search for the gun. Is that clear?"

"Yes," said Carasco, Witz, and Taylor in chorus.

"Then it's done," said Meriman.

Meriman picked up his phone and punched a button. He told someone to come into his office.

"One more thing you should know, Your Honor," Carasco said. "We have a confession from another party."

The judge sat back with an irritated sigh.

"Detective Taylor believes the confession is false," Carasco added.

"When you have evidence that the confession is false, then I'll issue the warrant for Louisa Cormier's apartment," Meriman said. "Now leave. You've wasted enough of my time."

The three visitors left the office, hearing the click of a radio being turned on behind them.

"MR. MARCO HAS NOTHING TO SAY TO YOU," said Helen Grandfield when Stella and Danny entered the office with two uniformed officers behind them. "And this is private property so if you don't have a warrant- "

"This is a crime scene," said Stella.

The smell of baking bread had to be strong but Stella smelled nothing. She controlled her urge, her need to wipe her nose.

"What crime?" Helen Grandfield said, rising.

"We have evidence that strongly suggests a police officer was murdered in your corridor," said Danny.

Helen Grandfield looked at Danny and the two uniformed cops who had come in with them and then glared at Stella.

"This is bullshit," she said.

"Mrs. Contranos," Stella said.

"I use and prefer the name Grandfield," the woman said.

"Except at the door to your apartment building," said Stella. "And you were born Helen Marco. Lots of names."

Helen Grandfield tried not to glare. She failed.

"We'd like to know if any of your bakery employees didn't show up for work this morning and we'd like to interview everyone working in the bakery and we'll have to insist on talking to your father again."

The use of her real name and her relationship to Dario Marco stopped the woman who was about to launch another protest.

"You live on President Street in Brooklyn Heights. Anybody from the bakery visit you last night?" asked Stella.

"No, why?"

"Someone bled on your doorstep," said Stella. "And someone vomited." Stella felt more than a little queasy. "We can match the blood when we find the bleeder. We can match DNA in the vomit when we find the person who threw up."

The woman stood, arms at her side, quivering slightly.

"Your cooperation will be appreciated," said Stella.

"My father isn't here yet," she said. "I'll need his permission to…"

Stella was shaking her head "no" before the woman finished.

"Steven Guista," Stella said.

"One of our delivery-truck drivers," Helen Grandfield said, pulling herself together.

"We'd like to talk to him," said Stella.

"I don't…"

"He assaulted a police officer and is wanted in connection with the murder of Alberta Spanio, who was scheduled to testify today or tomorrow against your uncle," said Stella.

Helen Grandfield said nothing and then, after a deep breath, spoke very calmly.

"Steve Guista has the day off. Yesterday was his birthday. My father gave him two days off. I can give you his home address."

"We've got that," said Stella. "Now, who else isn't here today who should be here?"

"Everyone else showed up for work," said Helen.

"We'll need a list of all employee names and a room where I can talk to them one by one," said Stella.

"We don't have anyplace you can do that," said Helen.

"Fine," said Stella. "We'll do it in the bakery." Stella could stand it no longer. She fished a thick tissue out of her pocket and wiped her nose.

Jordan Breeze once again sat across from detective Mac Taylor in the interrogation room. Both men had cardboard cups of coffee in front of them.

Mac turned on the tape recorder and opened the folder in front of him. It was thicker than the last time the two men had talked.

"You didn't kill Charles Lutnikov," said Mac.

Breeze smiled and drank some coffee.

"Your hand is trembling," said Mac.

"Nervous," Breeze said.

"No," said Mac, shaking his head. "Multiple sclerosis."

"You had no right to get that information from my physician," said Breeze.

"Didn't need your physician," said Mac. "We have one of our own who observed you. Jerky eye movements. Internuclear opthalmoplegia, lack of coordination between your eyes. You stuttered when I talked to you. Noticed you had trouble picking up your coffee cup, and your hands shook. You work hard and speak slowly and distinctly to keep from slurring your speech, but you can't completely control it. You can't sit up straight. You keep slouching. When I touched your hand it was abnormally cold. And twice when you were pacing your cell you almost fell. There's no way you could have walked to the river and back in the snow."

Breeze slowly sat up.

"Are you having double vision?" asked Mac. "Muscle weakness. Jerking and twitching muscles. Facial pain. Nausea. Incontinence?"

Breeze went pale and put the paper cup on the table, trying not to spill it.

"Memory problems?" Mac went on.

"You can't get my medical records," Breeze said.

"You confessed to murder," said Mac. "We put you in jail and have the prison doctor examine you."

Breeze said nothing.

"How much time do you have before full onset?" asked Mac.

"A year, two," said Breeze.

"Have a family to take care of you?"

"No one," said Breeze, his right hand visibly trembling now.

"You never had a gun," said Mac.

Breeze didn't answer.

"We found the trunk in the locker three doors to the left of yours," said Mac. "It was filled with books autographed by Louisa Cormier. You took them out of your apartment after you heard about the murder, heard we were talking to Louisa Cormier, heard that she was a suspect."

"She signed them for me," he said. "I'm a big fan. She's going to dedicate the next book to me."

"You didn't kill Charles Lutnikov. He never harassed you."

"I did."

"Was Lutnikov carrying anything when you shot him?"

"No."

"No newspaper, books…?"

"Nothing."

"Is Louisa Cormier paying your medical bills?" asked Mac.

Breeze didn't answer. He turned his head away. Mac thought he detected a hint of pain.

"We'll find out," Mac said.

"She's a good person," Breeze said.

Mac didn't answer. Finally, Jordan Breeze looked down.

"Everything I touch turns to shit," said Breeze.

"Did Louisa gave you the details about the shooting?" asked Mac.

"I think I want a lawyer now," said Breeze.

"I think that's a good idea," said Mac.

One hour later, after listening to the tape of the conversation between Mac and Jordan Breeze, Judge Meriman issued a search warrant for the apartment of Louisa Cormier.