Doug Allyn - v108 n03-04_1996-09-10

“Wait a minute! He killed a cop — and walked?”

“Nobody could ID Tommy as the shooter. But D’Amato swore it was Tommy, that he saw him waste his partner before taking off.”

“D’Amato’s upset,” I mused, “... feels guilty over his partner’s death... He needs to fixate the blame somewhere else...”

“Spare us, willy a?” Mark rolled his eyes.

“Yeah,” said Bill impatiently. “Besides, this is all just back-story, right?”

“You could call it that,” Mark said. “Anyway, all this week, the precinct’s humming like a live wire... D’Amato’s got Tommy’s main squeeze Carla in the strike zone—”

“What?”

“He was grilling her, as they used to say,” Fred explained. “She must have a lousy public defender.”

Mark shrugged. “Carla’s no deb queen herself. Juvie hall at thirteen, soliciting and dealing charges — real nice career track, if ya know what I mean... Anyway, D’Amato’s been pushing her hard. A big deal is rumored to be going down, with Tommy behind it. D’Amato’s been wanting to take him down big-time, and figures this’ll do it.”

“But why would Carla help him?”

“Turns out she’s furious at Tommy ’cause she heard he was cheating on her.” Mark leaned in. “Anyway, two nights ago, I’m in the patrol car with Vince and Harry, and a call comes in requesting backup. Seems the girl’s taking D’Amato to where Tommy’s holed up—

“We hit the siren and red light, and go jammin’ over to this rundown place on Walnut. D’Amato’s in his car with Carla, who’s wailing and crying. We run up to them, Vince and Harry carrying the heavy artillery. Just then, a window smashes above us, glass showering down, and a couple of Tommy’s guys are shooting at us.”

“Jesus Christ,” said Bill.

“Yeah, that name came up,” Mark said. “I mean, all of a sudden it’s a goddam shootout. Vince is yellin’ at me to stay down— Hell, I’ve got more combat experience than he does!

“Finally, after about ten minutes of this, D’Amato tells Carla to stay put and goes chargin’ into the place. Vince and Harry got no choice, they go crashing in after him, with me bringing up the rear.”

“What are you, nuts?” Fred stared at Mark, wide-eyed.

“It gets worse,” Mark said. “Carla bolts outta the car, and the next thing I know, all of us, including her, are scurrying up this darkened stairwell inside the building — Carla screamin’ her head off, trying to warn Tommy—

“Bullets are flying everywhere, and then we’re upstairs, in Tommy’s place. One of his gang is heading out the window. Vince yells, ‘Freeze!’ and the perp drops his gun. The other perp is in a heap by the bed, covered with blood...”

“Where the hell was Tommy?”

“That’s what D’Amato wanted to know. We’re all crouched in the doorway, guns drawn, Carla and me pushed behind the cops. Vince is covering the perp, still frozen halfway out the window...

“ ‘Where’s Tommy, dirtball?’ D’Amato yells at this guy. He doesn’t say squat. Suddenly, D’Amato lifts his piece — ‘I’m sprayin’ the walls, Tommy!’ — Vince is grabbing for his arm. Just then, Carla breaks free, runs into the middle of the room. D’Amato roars like a banshee, goes right in after her.

“Suddenly, a door flies open — it was a special hiding place, no bigger than a closet... Anyway, this door flies open and Tommy’s body falls out — right into Carla’s arms! She reels back, screaming, as the body hits the floor. There’s a knife sticking out of his chest, blood seeping through his shirt.”

“A knife?” Bill asked, his voice a whisper.

Mark nodded, eyes narrowing. “Carla takes one look at it and yells up at D’Amato, ‘You bastard! You killed him!’ Before anyone could stop her, she pulls the knife from Tommy’s body and lunges at D’Amato! It takes me and Vince to restrain her, Vince finally knocking the knife loose... We all stand there, staring at it on the floor. Even stained with blood, there was no mistaking the pearl handle. It was D’Amato’s knife.”

“What?” Fred and I exchanged looks.

“Yeah. It was his knife that killed Tommy Slick. I glanced instinctively at his belt, where he keeps the knife — it was gone.

“So Vince says to him, ‘How’d ya do it, D’Amato?’ But D’Amato just keeps staring down at Tommy, his face hard as stone.”

Mark sat back, took off his glasses.

“What happened?” I asked.

Mark shrugged. “Homicide and Internal Affairs are all over it. Vince figures D’Amato did it, but nobody can dope out how.”

“What does D’Amato say?”

“ ‘Prove it,’ is all he says. ‘Maybe my knife wanted to kill the bastard more’n I did.’ ”

“He’s crazy,” said Bill.

“Not so crazy,” Fred replied. “I mean, if he did it, how did he do it?” He turned to Mark. “You say this hidden closet was closed the whole time?”

“Like a drum. Apparently Tommy had had it constructed as a hiding place just in case of a raid or something... a little one-man bunker, just for him.”

Bill looked thoughtful. “Maybe somebody else stabbed him... ya know, earlier, before you guys got there...”

“Vince thought of that. Like maybe one of the other perps on the scene... Tommy goes in to hide, leaving his two men to shoot it out with the cops. So one of the gang stabs him. The only problem is, where did he get D’Amato’s knife to do it with?”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “We’re making this way too complicated. You said D’Amato grilled Carla for two whole days. What if she spilled the beans earlier? What if he got the hideout’s address from her, goes over earlier in the day, gets Tommy alone and stabs him, and stashes him in the secret closet?”

“How would he know about it?” Fred asked. “Unless Tommy conveniently told him, just before getting stabbed.”

“Carla told him about it,” I said. “So D’Amato kills Tommy, getting revenge for his dead partner—”

“And where were Tommy’s two men while this was going on, out getting a pizza?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Anyway, D’Amato comes back, then he radios for backup and does the big raid charade. Meanwhile, Tommy’s already dead.”

“Interesting theory,” Mark said, smiling. “Stupid, but interesting. For one thing, the coroner puts the time of death at roughly when we broke in there. And, hell, I saw the knife in his chest — that wound was fresh.”

“Okay, let’s be logical,” Fred said. “It was nighttime, gloomy... probably the lights were shot out anyway...”

“That’s right,” Mark said. “And it all happened kinda fast.”

“So who’s to say D’Amato didn’t somehow get into the room ahead of you, the cops, and Carla... It would just take seconds to slip the knife through a door slot, killing Tommy in that hidden closet.”

“I’m telling you, that closet was airtight,” Mark replied. “Built flush with the wall, so that you couldn’t even see a door without looking closely. I didn’t see it until it fell open and Tommy tumbled out. — Besides, we all got into that room about the same time. I don’t believe D’Amato could’ve stuck a knife through the doorjamb, even if he’d known where it was.”

“Then what are we left with?” Bill asked.

Mark smiled. “D’Amato’s knife magically left his belt, found its way into a sealed hidden closet, and stabbed Tommy Slick to death. This in a matter of seconds, in front of witnesses.”

“I still think one of Tommy’s men did it,” said Bill. “Didn’t you say one guy was down but the other one was trying to go out the window when you broke in?”

“That’s right. But according to him, Tommy jumped into his special hiding place as soon as the shooting started. The guy swears Tommy was in there the whole time — he never came out, and nobody went near the door — until Tommy fell out dead...”