Stuart Woods - New York Dead

Leary, sitting next to Stone, was becoming restive.

Stone hurried. “Ms. Morgan, when Sasha told you she was seeing a man – at the same time she was making love to you – how did you feel about that?”

“I didn’t like it much, at first, but, as we became closer, I realized that Sasha’s sexuality was truly dual – not like mine. When you’ve gone through what most lesbian women go through to live their lives openly, you become more tolerant of other people’s desires. There was a part of Sasha that liked sex with men, and I soon knew I couldn’t change that. I told her I understood that, and the subject ceased to be a sore point between us.”

This simple, rational explanation stopped Stone. He turned to Leary. “Lieutenant, do you have any questions for Ms. Morgan?”

Leary shook his head slowly. His face was red.

“Detective Bacchetti?”

“Yes, I have a question,” Dino replied. His voice was cold and hard.

Stone wanted to stop him, but he knew he could not.

“This is the way it happened, Miz Morgan,” Dino spat at her. “You fell madly in love with Sasha Nijinsky, and then you found out she was screwing a man, and that drove you crazy, didn’t it?” He continued before she could answer. “So then, to get back at Sasha, you started blackmailing her, didn’t you? Demanding money not to talk to the tabloids about her swinging both ways. And when she got tired of paying and told you so, there was a fight, and you heaved her off that terrace, didn’t you? Isn’t that the way it happened, Miz Morgan?”

Hank Morgan leaned forward and looked directly at Dino. “You’re insane,” she said.

Carlton Palmer spoke up, his deep voice resonating around the room. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I think that will be all.”

Leary kept Stone and Dino in the conference room. His face was very red now. “I thought you told me we were going to get a confession,” he said, glaring at Dino.

Dino spread his hands. “Boss, how could I know for sure? It felt that way when Palmer said she’d talk to us.”

“It did feel that way, Lieutenant,” Stone interjected.

“That’s a completely unusable tape,” Leary said. “Palmer might as well have written and directed it himself.”

“She’s dirty, Lieutenant,” Dino said. “She did it. I can feel it.”

“I think so too,” Leary said, “but you’re going to have to fit her up for it.”

“What?” Stone said, alarmed.

“I mean, you’re going to have to prove it, get some evidence,” Leary said, correcting himself.

“We’ll get it,” Dino said firmly. “I mean, shit, Lieutenant, we just got on this bitch. Give us a little time, okay?”

“Okay,” Leary said. “I’ll give you twenty-four hours to come up with one piece of evidence that will put her in Nijinsky’s apartment on that night.”

“Lieutenant,” Stone said, worried now, “that’s unreasonable. Morgan is a whole new development in this case – a promising one, I’ll grant you, but we’re going to need some time.”

“You got it,” Leary said. “Twenty-four hours.” He turned and walked from the room.

Dino flopped down in a chair. “What now?”

“We’d better get going, don’t you think?”

Dino nodded. “Okay, I’ll check Nijinsky’s records for the promissory note from Morgan.”

“I’ll check out Morgan’s address, see if anybody saw her that night. What are you going to do after you check the records? It won’t take you very long.”

Dino thought for a minute. “Shoot myself, if the note is there,” he said.

Stone drove downtown faster than he usually drove, resisting the temptation to using the flashing light and siren. He parked in front of a fire hydrant on West Tenth Street and put down the visor to ward off tickets.

Hank Morgan lived in a handsome brownstone that had been divided into two duplexes; he wondered how she could afford it. Well, hell, he was only a cop and he lived in a whole brownstone in Turtle Bay. Must be her daddy’s money. He rang the second bell, the one that said VINCENT.

“Yes?” a woman’s voice said over the intercom.

“Good morning, I’m Detective Barrington, NYPD. May I speak to you for a moment, Ms. Vincent?”

A pause. “All right, but I want to see a badge through the peephole.”

“Of course.”

She buzzed him through the outer door, and he held his badge so she could scrutinize it.

She opened the door but kept the chain on. “How about some ID with a photograph?” she said warily.

Stone handed his ID wallet through the opening.

She closed the door, unhooked the chain, and let him in. “Sorry about that, but you can’t be too careful,” she said.

Ms. Vincent was a pleasingly plump woman in an apron. “I was just about to have some coffee. Can I offer you some?”

“Thanks,” Stone said. “I’d like that.” He welcomed the opportunity to stretch out his visit.

She led him into the kitchen and gestured for him to take a seat at the breakfast table. When she had poured them both a cup, she joined him.

“What can I do for you?” she said.

“I want to talk with you about your upstairs neighbor,” Stone said.

Ms. Vincent’s eyebrows went up. “Really? Is Morgan in some kind of trouble?”

“She’s helping us with an investigation, and the credibility of witnesses is always important. Also, I wanted to see if there was anything you could add to her information.”

“Sure.”

He took her back to the night of Sasha Nijinsky’s fall. “Did you see Ms. Morgan at all that evening?”

Ms. Vincent thought for a moment. “We were in Bermuda,” she said. “My husband’s sister lives there, and we go at least once a year.”

“Did anyone stay in your apartment while you were gone?”

She shook her head. “Nope.”

“How well do you know Hank Morgan?”

“Not very well. We set up this place as condominiums four years ago with some friends. Then the friends got transferred, and they sold the place to Morgan about three months ago.”

“Did you know Hank Morgan before that?”

“Nope. Neither did our friends; a real estate agent found her. I was a little worried at first. Shit, I’m still worried.”

“Why?”

“Have you met Ms. Morgan?”

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t have to tell you she’s a lesbian.”

“No. She was quite frank about it.”

“Well, it’s not just that she’s a lesbian – hell, I don’t have anything against gays in general – it’s that she’s so… involved .”

“Involved in what?”

“Well, she’s apparently in two or three organizations about gay rights, and something to do with AIDS – you know those people who did that sit-in in St. Patrick’s Cathedral?”

“I know the group.”

“Well, she’s always doing things like that; she’s a real activist, which is, all too often, another way of saying ‘pain in the ass.’”

“Why does that bother you?”

“She’s always having meetings upstairs, and, believe me, there are some pretty weird people at those meetings. My God, there have been women in this house who should be playing pro football! It gives me the willies. I’m here by myself a lot; my husband travels in his work.”

“Have these people behaved oddly toward you?”

“No, it’s not that. I’m not really afraid of being raped, I guess. It’s just that I’m an Italian girl from Queens, a Catholic, and I’m nervous about things like that. I was brought up to be nervous about things like that.”

“Did you ever recognize any of Ms. Morgan’s visitors?”

Ms. Vincent grinned. “Yeah, I recognized Sasha Nijinsky, once.”