Too Quiet In Brooklyn (A Fina Fitzgibbons Brooklyn Mystery Book 1) Read online

  “Do we have to talk about this tonight?” I was hugging my stomach and rocking only because it made me feel better. “I mean, what does Mom have to do with Mary Ward Simon? I’m sick of you both trying to think up ways to get me to talk about my mother. Sick of it. I thought something was going on between you two. This afternoon I noticed it. Just now I watched you exchanging looks. How dumb do you think I am? You aren’t shrinks, you know, and you don’t know what the hell you’re doing or how it feels to be me. You don’t have a clue.”

  I could feel it building and there was nothing I could do. My voice was getting higher, louder, out of control.

  “I’m just a god-damned orphan, ok? In the end everybody leaves me—my parents, my gran, but it wasn’t her fault, no. She got cancer and had to die. And what did I do? Sell her piano, that’s what. I’m such a god-damned slut. All alone, and I don’t need to be reminded of it or how my mother died on the street and left me and her mother alone and me to take care of my grandmother, ok? Mom went through hell, but I know she’d never, ever kill herself.” I was screaming now, I knew it, the veins in my neck sticking out like entrails. “She’d never do that to me or to Gran. Now just leave me alone. Get out. I knew I shouldn’t have gotten involved in this, Never, Never, NEVER! Just let Jane handle it.”

  Who was this woman inside of me, screaming and balling like a spoiled brat? I sat alone in my study, breathing hard, a heap of wasted human while Denny and Cookie opened the door and without glancing back, walked out on me.

  Suddenly I stopped crying. No audience, I guess. I’m such a fake. I got up and wiped the snot off my chin and swallowed the last of my coffee. I turned out the light. My temples throbbed. I sat in front of the window, seeing the black buildings wobbling like jello and the lights on the bridge winking back at me like they got the joke. My mother lying in the casket flashed back at me, then I pictured me in the casket with everyone crying. What a glutton for sleaze sorrow I am. No wonder everybody leaves me. I’ll say one thing, though, I felt better. Which was real good because my phone was having an orgasm.

  The Fight

  Jane’s name flashed across my screen.

  “Yes?”

  “What happened to you—swallow the wrong way?”

  “Very funny.”

  “Listen, I’ve got news. That torched van we found off the Belt? We found the VIN on a piece of the frame. And I’ve got some other news, too. Are you available? Willoughby and I are headed your way now.”

  Was this the good fairy doing a poor imitation of Jane? “How do you know where I live?”

  “How could I forget?”

  “But I don’t live there. That’s my cleaning service.” I gave her our Vinegar Hill address.

  That was the easy part. Now I needed to do something about the broken mess between me and Denny. I stood in the dark, not really thinking, more like a ten-year-old delinquent holding my eye, which by now was a pulsating bongo drum.

  “Denny?”

  Nada.

  The dining room was empty, the kitchen, too. I paced from room to room, stood in the hallway, the circle of fear closing in on me, forming knots in my stomach until I swallowed them away. I looked in the mirror and scared myself until I realized it was me. I was a disaster. In the dining room, the TV was on and the deceased’s laptop had a red blob in the battery indicator. I looked out the living room window. Denny’s squad car was taking up two spaces and his jeep was gone. A lump formed in my throat. He’d left me, just like everyone else had, and Jane and Willoughby were on their way. I walked back into the dining room, or the fairies carried me there, I can’t tell you which, and shut down the TV and closed the laptop lid. I was about to turn on the hall light when I heard footsteps, a key in the lock, and the door opened.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Driving Cookie home, where do you think? Some friend you are. She’s been busting her chops and she’s hurting because her current boyfriend cancelled a date tonight, and you all but ignore her. You didn’t even thank her for all the work she’s done. You shoved her out the door with your stupid hissy fit. When are you going to grow up? When are you going to start treating your friends with respect? When are you going to get off your Poor Sad Me throne, and realize that other people have lost, too?”

  “Spare me the sermon.”

  “Fine. My father was right. He said I deserved much better than you.”

  “What are you, some kind of papa’s boy?”

  He stopped and looked at me. I’d never seen him so angry. I felt the monster rise up and punch me in the stomach. We’d never gotten this far.

  He calmed down, his voice soft. “I’m outa here. You can take your life and shove it where the sun—”

  The doorbell rang.

  Needy

  “That’ll be our next tier of guests. A hundred bucks says you’ll never guess who.”

  I thought Denny was going to cry, staring at me like he’d lost everything.

  I went to answer the door.

  “Sorry to barge in on you like this, but as you know the first twenty-four are critical.”

  Jane needed something, I could smell it. I looked at Denny who was trying to get my attention. I knew he felt awful about what he’d just said. And I felt my normal miserable self—ripped apart—but I smiled and led them into the living room where Denny stood in the middle, a goofy grin on him, the saddest clown I’d ever seen. I’m a shithead.

  “You knew we lived together, right?”

  “Of course,” Jane lied, looking down to hide the surprise screaming all over her face. She slid into our best chair, an overstuffed, deep-seated affair we’d bought at an estate auction in the Hamptons for five times what it was worth.

  Willoughby looked around as if he was enthralled with the decor. “Nice place you got here, Denny. Close to work, too.”

  “Have a seat. What can I get you?” Denny asked. “Coffee? Soda? I guess alcohol’s out?”

  Jane smiled and looked at me. “We won’t be here long. I just wanted to give you this. You might want to do something with it. I can’t, other than pass it on.”

  I looked at the sheet she handed me. They’d done a search and gotten the complete history of the VIN. Last known owner of the van was a James S. Arrowsmith with an address on High Street in Allentown, New Jersey.

  New Jersey. I didn’t say anything for a moment, trying to sort stuff out until, bingo, it hit me like shit bricks and I punched myself in the thigh for being so slow on the uptake. Jane was worried about the help she’d get across the river and she’d seen my New Jersey license hanging on Lucy’s wall. She needed me. Needed me bad. That’s why she was being so nice. She wanted me to hunt this guy Arrowsmith down. I knew I could, too. The guy could be important. And she needed something important, needed it bad. But not just for the press or for her boss. For Charlie. The first forty-eight are critical and time was streaming through our fingers like tiny grains of sand.

  In my hands I held all the information I’d need, all the particulars if they were accurate, complete with address, phone number, and New Jersey plates. The VIN report listed an accident some nine months ago. Six months after that—three months ago—Arrowsmith switched insurance companies and had the vehicle checked and photographed, as per New Jersey state law. The shop that did the work was Allentown Auto Body on North Main Street. Policy number with the new insurer was also listed.

  “How about prior arrests?” I asked.

  “Yes. In 2002 he was arrested and convicted of armed robbery, first degree. Served eight years of a ten-year sentence. Paroled for the remainder.”

  “So you got a mug shot and prints?”

  She nodded.

  “But you haven’t lifted his prints from anywhere near Mary Ward Simon yet or you’d have told me. That means at least two men are involved.”

  Jane nodded again.

  “What I don’t understand is why they moved the body, why they chose the heart of the Heights to dump it when they were going to torc
h the van? It doesn’t make sense. There’s got to be some explanation, unless these guys are morons.”

  “It doesn’t take brains to be a killer,” Willoughby said.

  “Maybe they wanted the body found,” Denny said. “Maybe they were told where to dump it.” He slid his eyes to mine.

  I said nothing, chewing on that thought, not saying anything until it hit me. My mother, a vice-president at Heights Federal Bank, was found with her wrists slashed in the same place as Mary Ward Simon was today. And Mary Ward Simon was in the midst of auditing Heights Federal, the mortgage division. There had to be a connection. I shot a glance at Denny who opened his mouth to say something, but must have decided to say nothing because he shut it again.

  “We think there’s a connection,” Jane said.

  I looked from Jane to Willoughby who stood there nodding.

  “But right now—”

  I didn’t let her finish. “I’m with you,” I said. “Let’s get these guys alive and hope they lead us to Charlie.”

  Jane smiled. She reached into her bag and pulled out Arrowsmith’s photo.

  I stared at it. “I swear I saw him at the site this afternoon. Right before I talked to you. The FDNY ambulance had just arrived and a crowd was gathering on the other side of the street. Denny and his partner were busy taping when all of a sudden this guy’s breathing into my face. It looked like he had been talking to some of them and he walked across the street. Nosey guy, he got too close to me, him and his bad case of beer breath. He was dressed like a gardener or a painter. Had bits of grass on his shoes. Cookie saw him too. I wish she was still here.” I shot Denny a look. He had the grace to say nothing, just glanced at me with his haunted baby blues.

  I gave Jane back the photo and dialed Arrowsmith’s phone number. I got an answering machine with a canned recorded message, so I left one of my own. I told him I worked for an attorney who was attempting to trace parties named as beneficiaries in a will and asked him to return my call at his earliest convenience.

  “Allentown. Isn’t that in Pennsylvania?” Willoughby asked.

  Jane shook her head. “This one’s on the western edge of Monmouth County in Central New Jersey.”

  “Sure you don’t want something to drink?” I asked. “I need to get up anyway, my computer’s upstairs.”

  “Why do you need your computer? Are your search engines are better than ours?”

  Denny got his licks in. “That’s Fina. She was passed over when the trust gene was doled out.”

  Upstairs I searched and got Arrowsmith’s cell phone number and dialed it, but Verizon told me the phone was no longer in service. So I called a buddy I worked with at Brown’s and in a minute he emailed me Arrowsmith’s mobile service records for the last three months. It was probably a mortal sin against the privacy laws, but a little boy’s life was at stake. Looking up the numbers would give me something to do tonight, or early tomorrow morning while we drove to New Jersey. I would have suggested my driving out there, but I wanted to hear Jane beg a little longer.

  When I got back, Jane was talking. It was clear her head was still in the Garden State. “We’ve issued an APB, but I personally called the local police chief and asked for his help tracking down Arrowsmith in conjunction with a murder and abduction. I called him a person of interest, but, hell, he’s our prime suspect.”

  “Isn’t local law on the FBI’s radar?” Willoughby asked. “They should have sought their help hours ago. After all, the feds are supposed to be leading the investigation.”

  “Maybe, but it doesn’t hurt to call,” Denny said.

  I kept my mouth shut, but I admired Jane for her communication skills. She’d reach out to Satan himself if she needed help. Then I remembered what Cookie told me about the neighbor with the nose.

  “Did you do a neighborhood around College Place?” I asked Jane.

  She nodded. “We didn’t turn up much. Most folks said they weren’t home. But it’s a matter of priorities. Neighborhoods take time. You got to keep going back. I just don’t have the manpower or the hours right now, and ever since those damn CSI shows, it’s forensics, forensics, forensics. Got to have it for the trial.”

  Like I didn’t know. “I might have something.” I told her about Cookie talking to Hector Pool and what he said about Mary Ward Simon’s handymen, and that I scheduled a meeting with him for tomorrow morning.

  “He saw two men?”

  I looked at my notes just to make sure and nodded.

  Jane was on it like a shark eating a guppy. She called him on the spot. “I could come over now or tomorrow morning, whatever’s more convenient,” I heard her say.

  “It fits, doesn’t it?” I said. “Have you done a neighborhood yet of the scene on Henry Street?” I asked.

  “What’s with you and these neighborhood things?” she asked. “We’ll get to it, don’t worry.”

  I told her what we’d discovered from talking to a couple of people on Henry Street, what they’d seen or thought they’d seen shortly after eleven this morning and gave her phone numbers and addresses from my notes.

  Jane listened, took notes and started in again about New Jersey. I could tell she’d rehearsed it. “I suppose I could work with New Jersey’s state cops and the Allentown police, but I don’t know about their workload.” She paused for effect. “Of course when they hear that a child’s life is at stake, they might do me a solid, blue to blue, and slide my case to the top of their pile, but I can’t take that chance.” She stopped talking and looked at me long and hard but I looked back at her all innocent and clueless and said nothing so she kept it up. I’ll admit it, I wanted to hear her grovel.

  So she yapped on. “To tell you the truth, you’ve been such a great help, giving me all sorts of leads and I owe you one, I realize that. If you’d like our help with anything, anything at all, not that we don’t have lots of work left to do.”

  Right.

  “The FBI knows about this?” I asked.

  She paused a beat too long. “Of course,” she said, her second lie of the evening. “They’re working it, too, but you know them. I figured you wouldn’t mind checking things out. I trust you.”

  I nodded. “I’ll take a ride out there myself.”

  Jane visibly relaxed.

  “And I’ll go along. I’m off duty tomorrow,” Denny said.

  I leaned into him and kissed his shoulder. I felt like making up for my earlier behavior right there in the middle of the floor, but restrained myself.

  I knew a couple of New Jersey people from my years at Brown’s but I hadn’t talked to them in a while, so I was out of touch. Besides, they worked in Newark, not in central New Jersey. I couldn’t think of anyone to call in Allentown who could help. I felt like I’d struck out until it occurred to me that except for the information about the van, all the detail had been flowing in one direction, big time, from me to her.

  “Not to change the subject or anything,” I said, “but I didn’t hear the results of the autopsy.”

  To her credit, Jane said, “And you texted me about that, too, didn’t you? I apologize.”

  Geez-a-loo.

  She looked at her watch and Willoughby loosened his tie.

  “Mind if I get my laptop from the car?” he asked.

  “And I need to use the facilities,” Jane said.

  “Gotta walk through the kitchen and it’s on your right,” I yelled after her. “An afterthought in these old houses to have a john on the first floor.” I told them I’d make a fresh pot of coffee, and suggested we sit around the table. I fetched some power cords and handed one to Denny.

  When Jane was out of earshot, I said “They don’t know I have the vic’s laptop. Barbara gave it to me today before you guys arrived.”

  “No time like the present to break it to her. After all, Barbara’s your client. She’s entitled to give you anything.”

  When we were reassembled, sipping fresh coffee, a box of chocolate chip cookies in the middle and laptops all plug
ged in, I stole a glance at Denny who sat next to me. His hand squeezed my knee and slowly made its way up my thigh. I didn’t disabuse him, but what with minor stroking going on under the table and my eye doing a fresh throb, my hair in knots and the results of my recent bout of sobbing, I must have looked a sight.

  Into a slight lull, Jane said, “Cause of death was asphyxiation on account of strangulation. Hyoid bone broken.”

  Willoughby bit into a cookie and sprayed crumbs on himself and the table. He began swiping at his crotch, or at least at whatever was in the spot where his legs came together. Jane and I watched. Denny watched us watching Willoughby.

  “This happens a lot,” Jane said. “Can’t keep the car clean with all the crumbs.”

  Willoughby raised an eyebrow. “And she has trouble steering when it happens, too.”

  The tension in the room took a breather.

  “And you must have gotten prints,” I said. “I saw orange goggles on one of your guys.”

  She shook her head. “A lot of good it did. Nothing in AFIS.”

  “I thought everyone wore gloves. Who’s naive enough not to wear?” I asked.

  “Someone who knows he’s not in AFIS. Someone who’s never been in the military or held any type of government job. Someone who never crossed the border,” Denny said.

  “Did the techs pick up any other trace?” Denny asked. “That old coat must be loaded with stuff.”

  “Good question. They found a few wood chips sold just about everywhere including the mega groceries and home improvement stores, a few blades of your ordinary grass, some spider eggs indigenous to this area, some strands of hair not belonging to the vic. They’re culling for DNA now, and once we have a suspect, it’ll all come in handy and the D.A.’s office will be happy when it comes time to prosecuting.”

  “Did your guys go through the shed in the back?” I took a sip of java. It was just what I needed. My low-grade headache shot up a notch.

  “They must have,” Jane said, taking a gulp of coffee. She turned to Willoughby. “Did you get the report yet?”