Robert Tanenbaum - Outrage

In fact, when news broke of the arrest and he’d been photographed by television crews leaving the Four-Eight, they had sex for the first time in a month. And she even acted like she enjoyed it.

Graziani walked in the door of his home and poked his head in the bedroom, hoping, but his wife was asleep. Doesn’t matter, he told himself as he went to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and took out a beer. It’s going to be all right once the Cassinos are out of the picture.

The detective thought again about Brock and suddenly gagged on the bile that rushed into his mouth. He washed it down with a swig of beer. Forget about it, he thought, wiping his mouth. You got it under control.

Marlene was reading the morning newspaper when Ariadne Stupenagel called and asked if they could meet for lunch. “I’m really busy, Ariadne,” she said, trying to beg off.

“Too busy to talk to me about a call I got from a guy who says he knows the identity of the real Columbia U Slasher?” Stupenagel asked.

Marlene was unimpressed. “As I’m sure you’re aware,” she replied, “everybody in Manhattan who doesn’t like their neighbor, or wants a piece of the Crime Stoppers reward money, knows the ‘real identity’ of the killer. Besides, Felix Acevedo has been indicted for the murders.”

Butch had come home the night before still steamed from his meeting with Davis and Cohn. He explained what had happened and his call to Sam Hartsfield. As hard as he’d been on Davis, she knew Butch would be far harder on himself. He, like his mentor Garrahy, was as committed to exonerating the innocent as he was to convicting the guilty. And there was nothing that he abhorred more than unjustly accusing a citizen.

Marlene sighed. He’ll handle it, she thought, like he handles everything else. He’ll accept responsibility, express his sincere regret, and move on. No excuses. No whining. And no blaming anyone else.

“Yeah, well, rumor has it Acevedo may not be going to trial,” Stupenagel replied.

“Where’d you hear that?” Marlene asked.

Stupenagel laughed. “Don’t worry, Mama Bear, I’m not going to squeal. But that might make it even more important to listen to this guy. I understand lots of people would like to get their hands on that reward money, but what grabbed my attention was that he said his suspect was also connected to the murder of a detective in the Bronx yesterday. Cop’s name was Phil Brock.”

“I saw that,” Marlene replied. She’d just finished reading the small story on page three about his death, which was being described as a possible robbery gone awry, given that the victim’s wallet and wristwatch were taken. The murder had apparently occurred late the previous night and the newspaper had few other details.

“Not that I’m paranoid or anything,” Stupenagel said, “but I’d rather have this discussion face-to-face. I do have my reasons.”

Marlene knew that her flamboyant friend lived for drama. She also knew that Ariadne was a hard-nosed investigative reporter who knew when to be serious, and her tone said she was serious now. If she didn’t want to talk on the telephone, the reasons were valid.

So they agreed to meet at Kaffe 1668, a trendy coffee shop on Greenwich Street in Tribeca. “Bring your truck, we may be going for a drive,” she said, and hung up before Marlene could argue.

Dressed in shorts, a tennis top, and running shoes, Marlene easily spotted Stupenagel standing on the sidewalk outside the shop in a tight-fitting, cleavage-revealing, plum-colored minidress and matching plum lipstick and eye shadow and calf-high black boots with stiletto heels. They took a table in a corner, where Stupenagel told her friend about the call she got from “some guy named Vinnie, no joke. He said that he knows who did the murders and can prove it. But apparently he’s in some hot water with the law and wants a deal out of it.”

“Of course he does,” Marlene responded. “These guys are always working some angle. But what was this about a connection to Brock’s murder?”

“He wouldn’t say much,” Stupenagel replied. “Just that Brock was aware of this new suspect, which I find intriguing following on the heels of your husband going to dismiss the indictment against Felix Acevedo. Then Brock ends up dead? What if this wasn’t a mugging? What if Brock was onto the new suspect and it got him killed?”

“A lot of questions,” Marlene said in agreement. “So what do you propose to do with this information?”

“Well, this guy Vinnie got my name from that story I wrote about you and Butch-the Manhattan crime-fighting family,” Stupenagel said. “And he wants to talk to you, said he also heard that you were working for Acevedo.”

“Why not just go to the cops or the Bronx DA and try to work out a deal?” Marlene asked.

“I asked the same thing,” Stupenagel replied. “He says he’s afraid to go to the authorities without a middleman for ‘insurance.’ He thinks Brock told the, and I quote, ‘wrong person,’ but he thinks you can be trusted. Of course, I tried to get him to meet with me first, so I could get the story out of him. But he said you have to be at the meeting, and I can’t write about it until he gets his deal. So I propose that we go talk to him and see what he has to say.”

“When do you want to do this?”

“There’s no time like the present,” Stupenagel said, getting up from her seat. “Oh, by the way, Vinnie lives in Soundview.”

Marlene rolled her eyes. “Of course he does. Maybe he could have picked someplace a little safer, like Afghanistan. And you are, of course, appropriately dressed for talking to junkies, dealers, and other assorted violent criminals. But who am I to complain? Should we stop by my place first to get bulletproof vests and Gilgamesh?”

Stupenagel laughed. “Nah, vests wreck my look, which takes more and more time every morning to achieve. And we have to drive separately anyway. I’m going to be on a tight time crunch and need to go from there to meet Gilbert. We’re going to check out a few churches around Mount Vernon for our wedding.”

“Churches? You? I thought you were more the justice-of-the-peace type,” Marlene said, surprised and delighted.

“Well, I would have gone for the Chapel of Love in Las Vegas,” Stupenagel said with a giggle. “But Murry wants to do the whole shebang. Oh, by the way, you are my matron of honor, of course, and I think my man wants yours to be best.”

Marlene hugged her friend and kissed her cheek. “I thought you’d never ask. Okay, we’ll take a chance and leave Gilgamesh at home if it will get you to the church on time.”

On the way to the Bronx, Marlene called Clay Fulton at the DAO and asked what he knew about Brock’s death.

“Not much,” he replied. “Apparently the neighbors didn’t see or hear anything. It looks like he was surprised as he was getting out of his car. Officially, it’s being investigated as a robbery/homicide.”

“Officially,” Marlene repeated. “Which means unofficially there’s something hinky about it. So spill it, Clay.”

Fulton hesitated but then made her promise that she had to keep the information to herself. “When I heard about it this morning, I talked to Brock’s sergeant in the Bronx,” he said, “a good guy named Jon Marks. I knew that Brock was working on the Acevedo case up there, so I wanted to see if there was something I should be aware of. They’re keeping it under wraps, but there are a few things that look suspicious. One is that Brock was stabbed and then shot.”

“That usually means two assailants,” Marlene said. “No one stabs someone and then shoots them, or vice versa.”

“Right,” Fulton said. “Not unheard of but rare. Anyway, this happened right in front of Brock’s apartment building on a residential street, and no one heard any shots. Again, it was sometime after midnight, and the two shots were probably fired in quick succession-bang bang-so it could be that no one noticed… Or the killer used a silencer.”