William Diehl - Seven ways to die

Cody gave them a moment to compose themselves before continuing, playing Annie Rothschild’s description of the entire scene.

“I think it’s safe to say we won’t be finding any DNA except perhaps Crosetti’s,” she said. “There’s no blood anywhere. We dusted the office and freezer and picked up some prints but I’m guessing they’re either Tony’s or the nephew’s. We’ll be checking his clothes for fibers, prints, anything that might give us a lead but the team agrees that our killer undressed him in the office, not at the freezer as I originally thought. The killer had more room and could stack the clothes in the closet where we found them and get them out of the way. This was a very carefully planned and executed homicide, just like Handley’s.”

“Rizzo and Bergman are canvassing the area with a team of Farrell’s best detectives,” Cody said. “Hopefully he’ll find someone who saw Androg or his car in the lot. And we’re waiting for Wolf to complete the autopsy. I’m sure he’ll have something to add.”

“Is there any possible connection between Crosetti and Handley?” Kate Winters said.

“Well, we’re pretty sure the killer was in the place at least once before this morning.”

“Not much help there,” Ryan said. “The place is crowded every night.”

“Typical,” said Simon. “Our killer’s hiding in plain sight.”

Before he could continue Wolf and Annie entered the room. He was still wearing blue scrubs and booties but had removed the blouse. The sleeves of his plaid shirt were rolled up to the elbows and he was drying off his hands with paper towels Annie was handing him one at a time from the roll she carried.

“Well,” he said, tossing a used towel into a waste basket, “we haven’t done the toxicology reports yet, but I can tell you how Tony Crosetti was killed.”

The entire crew turned their attention to Wolfsheim, which is how he liked it.

“He was drugged with a dose of chloral hydrate. He was nearly comatose when he died but he was dead before the freezer door was closed.”

“Okay,” Cody said, “what’s the kicker?”

“He was drowned,” Wolfsheim answered.

“We found diatoms, a form of plant life that lives in water,” Annie nodded. “When a person drowns, their lungs fill with water and the microscopic diatoms burst through the lungs and enter the blood stream. They move rapidly through the blood stream and throughout the body and ultimately settle in the bone marrow. Cut a bone and if it contains diatoms, it is a drowning.”

“In short,” Wolfsheim theorized, “the killer slipped Crosetti a mickey in his wine to knock him out. Then held his nose, opened his mouth, and forced enough water down his throat to drown him. That’s why the water glass was empty.”

Although he could have knocked off for what was left of the weekend-Uncle Tony certainly wasn’t going anywhere-Wolf spent the afternoon writing up his autopsy report.

Wolf was intent on comparing Uncle Tony’s murder to Handley’s point by point. Both occurred approximately the same time of night. Both victims were naked, both sitting. Both had no obvious motive. Both killings went out of their way to confuse the cause of death, as though intentionally playing games with the investigators. In both cases, fiber evidence that Androg was wearing surgical booties seemed all too easily discovered, as though the clue had been left on purpose to perplex. The vague imprints were approximately the same in size.

Rizzo and Bergman, for their part, were making plans to interview anyone who might have seen the killer at La Venezia Friday night and planned to sit down with Ricky both to go over his unprompted recollections of the crowd and to jog his memory with the Venezia’s credit card slips-though they found it hard to accept that this particular killer would have used a credit card.

Bergman kept thinking about the woman in red, who looked somehow vaguely familiar as she passed his table leaving in her wake an unforgettably sensual and expensive scent. He made a note to pay a visit to the perfume boutiques at Saks when he had finished the interviews.

“Is there any possible connection between Crosetti and Handley? Could Handley have been a customer at La Venezia?” Kate Winter asked Cody.

“That’s what Larry’s trying to determine,” Cody said. “Right now their only obvious connection is that they’re both dead.”

“I don’t understand why we’ve come up so short on physical evidence,” she said. “Nobody’s that good.”

“I don’t think we’ve come up short at all,” Cody replied. “What I think is that we just don’t understand what we have yet. But we will. Leave that to the gang.”

“I don’t know,” Kate said. “Androg may just be the exception to the rules.”

Cody nodded. “Sure looks like he’s trying to be.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a call from Stinelli. “What’s the latest?” the Chief demanded. “I’m starting to get calls from The Daily News. It’s ruined my Sunday. Even that son of a bitch Hamilton’s on my ass already.”

“How the hell did they get onto this?” Cody wanted to know.

“They have eyes and ears everywhere, even more than we do I sometimes think.” Before hanging up, as though to vent his irritation, Stinelli reminded Cody that his captain’s ass was expected at the Ladies’ Auxiliary Ball Tuesday night come hell or high water.

“I’d hate to have your job,” Cody said, then registered what he’d just heard and tried to slough it off as though it were a casual invitation. “I’ve got my hands full here, Chief. Give me a break. You gotta let me off this friggin’ hook!”

But Stinelli wasn’t having it. It wasn’t an invitation, he pointed out; it was a command performance. Cody better be there, and in proper formal wear, with a proper escort. The idea was a show of force to show the Ladies the brass appreciated their charitable commitment to the general well-being of New York’s Finest.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Cody said. But he was listening to a dial tone.

Who the hell am I going to drag to this circle jerk? he thought. Suddenly a not-altogether-unpleasant thought crossed his mind. He reached for the card still in his pocket, and punched in the numbers.

Amelie Cluett answered immediately, as though she were expecting his call. “I’m fine, Captain. Thanks for checking in on me.”

“Do you think I can ask you to do me an enormous favor?”

When she heard what he was asking she said, “Sounds to me more like a date than a favor.”

“Is that a yes?” he asked.

Monday, October 29

Before he could make it to breakfast, Cody got a call from Kate Winters. She was in a panic.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” she started. “I may not make it in this morning.”

“What’s wrong, Kate? Pressure getting to you already? It’s a little early to be claiming a mental health day…”

“Song didn’t come home from the E.R. this morning. She didn’t even call. It’s not like her to disappear. In all these years it hasn’t happened once. I just-”

He and Charley changed directions and headed for the Loft. “Kate, it’s all right. You stay put. I’m sure there’s a simple explanation.”

“She always comes straight home from her E.R. shift. I’m usually sound asleep,” Kate said, her voice on the point of breaking. “When I called them, no one had seen her this morning-but they’re the day shift. I finally got someone to tell me she hadn’t timed out yet. That makes no sense at all.” She was making a heroic effort to keep her voice steady.

By this time Cody was at his desk. “Look, I’m sending Ansa and DeMarco right away,” he said. “Ansa can stay at your place waiting, and DeMarco can go with you to the hospital to check it out.”