Murder in Alphabet City (23 page)

Defino was a good cop, a sharp detective. She didn't expect to find that he had overlooked anything, but she went through the items in the carton anyway. A cookbook for singles had several torn strips of paper as bookmarks. She checked each one and leafed through the book. A recipe for pepper-crusted rare tuna caught her attention and she wrote it down, thinking it might offer some diversion in her boring culinary routine. The pa-pers were just what Defino had described and they were worthless. She flipped each one over to make sure there wasn't anything written on the back.

Finally, she emptied the bag of material they had taken with the warrant and repeated the process. Taxes. Rinzler owned stocks and bonds that paid dividends and she had to list them on her return and pay taxes on them. Otherwise, it was straightforward. She was salaried, as cops were, and owned no real estate, had no mortgage, no moonlighting job that she reported.

The stocks had familiar names: AT&T, IBM, GE. It was an area in which Jane had no expertise but she recognized them. One of the older detectives she had known along the way had once told her to buy Campbell's soup; she would become rich. She hadn't, and she hadn't, but he had retired early and moved to Florida, presumably thanks to his liquid diet.

Rinzler had noted when each of the stocks paid its dividend and how much it was. The money wasn't big but it was four times a year and it added up. A separate sheet listed bonds. These also paid dividends and were identified by long numbers. Unlike stocks, which were traded, the bonds came due, presumably paying back the principal, which could be reinvested. Each one was marked with a yield in the form of a percent. Compared to what banks were paying today, the yields of eight years ago weren't bad, Jane thought: 7.14 percent, 6.9 percent, even 8 percent on one. Surprisingly, the bonds weren't marked with prices. Probably Rinzler cared only about the dividend. Eight percent was 8 percent whether you paid a thousand for the bond or ten thousand.

She was about to turn to the next page when something caught her eye, the dates the bonds came due. They were scattered throughout the year but two of them were labeled 10/20. October 20. Jane could feel her heart pick up its beat.

“Guys,” she said. “I think we've got something.”

33

G
RAVES HAD THAT
little smile that he wore when he was listening to something that made him happy. “Go on, go on,” he encouraged Jane, who had paused in her less than coherent narration.

“The dates the bonds were due were the dates the babies were born. The spiral notebook is before; the bonds are after. She kept records of pregnancies in the notebook, when the girls were due. When she found an adoptive couple, she made an entry for a bond. She kept the pregnancies separate from the deliveries. I suspect she filed them in different places so no one going through her records would put them together. But Judy Weissman had to decide what to keep and what to toss and these things all ended up in the same place, the storage box in Queens.”

“Do we have names for the adoptive parents?” Graves asked.

“Not that I've found so far, but we have phone numbers. See the numbers of the bonds? Here's one that starts with 201. That's New Jersey. Here's 617. Sean says that's Boston. All the numbers are ten digits long and they end with two or three letters. Those could be the initials of the parents, or some other identifier.”

“How did she keep together which birth mother and which adoptive parents were a match?”

“I'm not sure yet, but the dividend may be the baby's birth weight. Gordon, didn't Jackie Warren say this morning that her son weighed almost eight pounds?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, here's an eight and here's a seven-fourteen. That's close to eight if we figure the number to the right of the decimal point is ounces. And that bond came due on October twentieth, the day Jackie gave birth. The number of the bond starts with 609. That's somewhere in New Jersey.”

“Fletcher may have the names. They may have divvied things up so no one would be caught with everything.”

“Well, let's use Cole's,” Graves said, “and see if those numbers are still viable and whose names are attached.”

“I'm on it,” MacHovec said, standing.

“Nice going,” Graves said.

“Thanks, Cap.”

“How'd you do at Rodman's Neck?”

“I qualified.”

“Keep that Glock in your pocket.”

First MacHovec checked the numbers in the newest Cole's, the directory that listed numbers and gave associated names and addresses. Then he checked the numbers for the year of the adoptions. The one in south Jersey was still the same name and address and one in California also. He handed the sheet of information to Jane, suggesting a woman's voice might be better in this circumstance.

She called the New Jersey number and got no answer. “I'll take it home. I'll take them all home. Easier to get people at night. Meanwhile, let me go through all that stuff from the storage box and see if I can dig anything else out of it.”

“Good job,” Defino said. “Shit, I really thought those were her tax notes.”

She liked him for not being jealous, or at least keeping it to himself. She doubted she would have figured it out the day they came from the storage, considering how little they knew at the time. It showed the necessity of continued review, even when it seemed that the last drop of information had been squeezed out of the material.

On her way home, she stopped at a post office and got an application for a passport.

After a dinner of Hack's fabulous leftovers, she called the number in south Jersey. The name was McCall, Douglas and Amy. A woman answered and identified herself as Mrs. McCall.

“This is Detective Jane Bauer of the New York Police Department, Mrs. McCall. Nothing's wrong. I'm part of an investigation of a woman you had some dealings with about eight years ago.”

“Oh.”

That meant she knew what Jane was calling about. “We're not investigating you, ma'am. We'd just like some information. Did you and your husband attempt to adopt a baby around that time?”

“Yes, but I don't know if I should talk about it.”

“You're not in any trouble and you won't be. We're investigating a woman named Erica Rinzler who may have arranged the adoption.”

“That name doesn't ring a bell.”

“Was it a woman you worked with?”

“Yes, but she called herself Alice Jacobs. A dark-haired woman in her thirties. She was no fashion plate but she wore gorgeous beads.”

“I think we're talking about the same woman. How did you find her?”

“Through a friend.”

“Did the Jacobs woman give you a phone number?”

“Yes, but I don't have it anymore. She worked for the city, I think. I could call her there but I couldn't leave a message except to say Amy called.”

“Did you ever meet the birth mother?”

“No. That wasn't how it worked.”

“May I ask why you opted to adopt a baby through this woman instead of going through a lawyer or an adoption service?”

“This was faster and easier. She had access to several pregnant women. It worked for my friend.”

“What did you pay her for her services?”

“Ten thousand dollars. But there was a problem.”

“Tell me about it.”

“We paid five thousand up-front. That was to cover expenses. The second five was to be paid when we got the baby, but we never did.”

“What happened?”

“Ms. Jacobs called and said he had been born, that he was healthy and beautiful and we could pick him up in a few days, after he left the hospital.”

“Where were you going to pick him up?”

“At an apartment in Manhattan. I don't remember the address but my husband might. It was down in the Village. We would meet at noon and we would take possession of the baby and give her five thousand in cash. I made a withdrawal all in hundreds and I had it in an envelope. I had bought a layette and we had a deposit on a crib and furniture. We were going to drive up to New York that morning.” She stopped. “I'm sorry,” she said, her voice thick. “It's a terrible memory. It's so painful to remember, even now, that darling little boy.”

“What happened?” Jane asked softly.

“She called while we were having breakfast. We were so excited. I could feel my heart thumping. We'd wanted a baby for so long.” She stopped and Jane waited. “She called. She said a tragedy had occurred. The baby had died of crib death. I just— I nearly collapsed.”

“I apologize for making you relive such a terrible situation, Mrs. McCall. Did anything else happen? And what about the money you'd paid?”

“My husband grabbed the phone from me. He said I turned white as a sheet. All I remember is that he started asking her questions and after a minute or so he was shouting at her. I think in distress I become numb and he becomes angry.”

“Did you get your money back?”

“Eventually I think we got most of it. She sent it in bills in a registered envelope.”

“Do you recall the date that you were to meet her?”

“I know the baby was born October twentieth. I'm not sure how long after that we were supposed to pick him up. Maybe six or seven days later.”

“Did you ever see her again, Mrs. McCall?”

“Never. It was too upsetting. You know what, Detective Bauer? I did some reading on crib death after that happened. That kind of thing doesn't usually happen till a baby is a month or more old. I've wondered all these years if she lied to us, if she found another couple who were willing to pay more and she gave our baby to them.”

“I don't know the answer to that,” Jane said.

“Would that have been against the law, for her to do that?”

“I'm not an expert, but it may be a gray area. I couldn't give you an opinion. Is your husband around? I'd like to know where that apartment was.”

“He's not home yet. This is a late night for him. I'll ask him when he gets back. Shall I call you?”

Jane gave her the number. “Were you able to adopt another baby?”

“We didn't have to.” The voice changed, becoming upbeat. “I got pregnant. After all those years, I got pregnant, right around the time of the disaster. I gave birth nine months later, almost to the day.”

Jane poured some Stoli over ice and sipped it. Prob-ably Jackie Warren's baby had been designated for the McCalls. If Amy McCall's theory was correct, that Rinzler had switched to another couple to make more money, Rinzler had made no record of having done that. A copy of the “bonds” sheet lay on her lap. The letters at the end of the phone number were ADM, Amy and Douglas McCall.

The vodka relaxed her, or at least she relaxed as she sipped it. Hack had given it up when he was a captain. He drank Scotch now and wine with dinner. Jane would never be a captain or a lieutenant or a sergeant. She had her college degree; she didn't want to study for another test, wait in line to be selected while others were placed ahead of her to even out perceived injustices. She had jumped from third grade to first grade after the last case, making the money better, although not as good as the job she had been offered with an insurance company, but she could live on it. And she loved what she was doing.

34

T
HE SECOND NUMBER
on MacHovec's sheet was in California. It was probably too early to call but she gave it a try. The name Sean had come up with was Frank DiLiberto. Mrs. Brusca had made a point of saying they didn't want the baby going to Irish Catholics; it had to be Italian. She dialed the number.

A woman answered, immediately sounding guarded at Jane's introduction. “Where did you get my name?” she asked.

Jane explained it had come up in the investigation of a woman who had placed babies for adoption.

“I thought that was all private.”

“Some documents were obtained with a warrant. We were able to locate you through that information. Did you and your husband try to adopt a baby about eight years ago?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“We're looking into the activities of the person who was placing the baby.”

“Ask me your questions.”

“Who was that person?”

“Her name was Erica Rinzler.”

Interesting, Jane thought. Rinzler had used her own name for this one. “Can you tell me what happened?”

She related a story similar to the McCalls', half the payment up front, the birth of the baby girl on October 19, a flight to New York several days later, and then the call at their hotel.

“She said a terrible thing had happened, that the baby died of crib death, you know, SIDS. We were devastated. We had waited months for this baby, we had cried when we heard she was born, and then we flew across the country to pick her up and this happened.”

“I'm sorry for your loss, Mrs. DiLiberto. What were the arrangements to pick up the baby when you arrived in New York?”

“She said she'd bring her to the hotel in the afternoon. We sat in the room all morning waiting for her call or for her to show up and then she called to say the baby had died. I was beside myself. I couldn't believe such a thing could happen. My husband was a basket case. It was the worst moment of our lives.”

“Mrs. DiLiberto, did Ms. Rinzler pay you back what you had already paid her?”

“She did, every cent. The envelope came about a week later.”

“Who made the connection between you and Ms. Rinzler?”

“I'd rather not say.”

“I promise you no one is going to get in trouble. You and your friend are not the focus of our investigation.”

“It's a woman I've worked with for many years. She was just as devastated as I was when this happened.”

“I need a name, Mrs. DiLiberto.”

“Her name is Ellie Raymond.”

Had to be, Jane thought. That's why Rinzler used her real name; she was Ellie's friend. Raymond lied about everything and I made the mistake of believing her. “Thank you, Mrs. DiLiberto. I appreciate your help.”

Jane hung up. She hadn't bothered to get the woman's first name, but it didn't matter. The letters at the end of the phone number on the “bond” sheet were JFD. Maybe another Jane, or a Jennifer, or a Jamie.

She was tired and angry. Ellie Raymond had known what was going on and eight years after her friend's death, she hung on to the secrecy to protect her memory. The babies had died; Jane was sure of that now. It wasn't a bait and switch to make more money. They were dead and that was why Rinzler stopped visiting Stratton and her pregnant clients. She didn't want to be seen in Alphabet City and she wanted out of the baby-selling business.

Jane found Ellie Raymond's phone number and dialed it.

“Hi,” the pleasant voice said when Jane identified herself. “What's up?”

“Plenty,” Jane said tartly. “I have just talked to Mrs. DiLiberto.”

“Oh shit.”

“Exactly. I need some answers from you and there are a couple of ways we can go. You can give them to me over the telephone or I can fly—”

“OK. I get the picture. Ask your questions. I'll answer as truthfully as I can.”

“What was Erica Rinzler's job on the side?”

A sigh. “There were girls in New York who got pregnant and didn't know if they wanted abortions or wanted to keep the babies or wanted to give them up for adoption. She intervened in some of those cases and—”

“Which cases did she intervene in?”

“What difference does that make?”

“It makes a difference.” She wanted Raymond to say it out loud.

“White girls, Asian girls. White and Asian babies are the ones in greatest demand. She talked to them—she was an expert counselor; I can tell you that from personal experience—and if they said they'd like to give their babies up for adoption, she arranged it.”

“With whom? Who did she work with?”

“She never told me. She came out here once to visit—that's when she met Jennifer DiLiberto—and we talked about it. It sounded very benign, Detective Bauer. All Erica was doing was putting people who needed each other together. What's so wrong with that?”

“Nothing. But it didn't end there. I want every name you can give me.”

“I can't give you any names. She didn't tell me. She just outlined what she was doing. I knew Jen had wanted to conceive for years and I introduced her to Erica. Those are the only two names I know.”

“What did Erica tell you happened to the baby designated for the DiLibertos?”

“She said it died the night before Jen and Frank were to pick it up. She said the person caring for the baby woke up and found it dead and called Erica. Erica was almost in tears when she talked to Jen.”

“How did it die?”

“She said crib death. That's all I know. You can make me swear under oath but I can't tell you what I don't know.”

“How long was Rinzler involved in this business?”

“A couple of years. She didn't make much. The birth mother got most of it and she had to pay the nurse who watched the babies between the time they got out of the hospital and the new parents took them. And there were legal costs too. Erica did it because she was able to make people happy.”

You believe that, you believe in the tooth fairy, Jane thought. “And you think that Erica didn't commit suicide?”

“I know she was very down because that little baby died. But Erica was a survivor. It seemed out of character for her to go to a hotel and shoot herself. And where would she get a gun? She didn't move in those circles.”

“Did you tell Mrs. Weissman what you know?”

“Not a word. I don't know what she knows, but she didn't hear it from me. I talked to her, yes, but just to give my condolences.”

“Did she tell you anything?”

“No. She asked me if there was anything of Erica's I wanted and I said, ‘Give me a string of beads, any beads. Just to remember her by.' ”

“Thank you, Mrs. Raymond. We may be in touch again.”

The ice had melted in the glass. She drank the rest and pushed it out of the way. The conflict she had placed Ellie Raymond in was one she had gone through herself many times. Would she lie to protect her mother? Her father? Hack? Of the three of them only Hack did the kind of work that might lead to indiscretions. If her father had taken a couple of pencils from his workplace, that was the extent of his dishonesty. Her mother had stayed at home, occasionally working part-time when it suited her, never earning very much. But Hack, by virtue of his connections and rank, was placed in situations that required regular doses of integrity and offered opportunities that might enrich him illegally. She knew she would leave him if she found out he had done such a thing. But would she lie to save him? It was one of several unanswerable questions in her life and she knew that that question would never arise.

This evening had worn her out. By the time Douglas McCall telephoned at ten-thirty, she had almost forgotten who he was and why he was calling. An affable man, he gave an account of the events of the aborted adoption that almost matched his wife's. He described Alice Jacobs, including her clothing and hairstyle, so clearly that Jane was convinced the woman was Erica Rinzler.

“Do you recall the address where you were supposed to pick up the baby?” she asked.

“It was Horatio Street in the Village.” He gave her the number. “I went over there one day.”

“Tell me about it.” This was an unexpected dividend.

“Yeah, I was in the city on business one day about a month or two after . . . what happened. I took a cab down to Horatio Street and walked around. There are a lot of old buildings in that part of town but this one had been well-maintained. It was apartment three-C and I managed to get inside the front door when someone came out. There was no name on the bell downstairs, just some letters. I went upstairs and rang the bell. A guy came to the door, a young guy, early twenties. It was noon when I got there but he'd been sleeping, looked like he'd had a hard night. I asked him if he worked with Alice Jacobs and he said I must have the wrong address. That was it. I don't know why I did it, I just felt something had been left unfinished. Amy didn't believe the baby died, and the more I thought about it, the more I agreed with her. There was something sleazy about that whole operation, although if it had gone through and we'd gotten the baby, I wouldn't have noticed it.”

“Thank you for your recollections, Mr. McCall, and your candidness. I appreciate it.”

“No trouble. You trying to make a case against the Jacobs woman?”

“We're investigating her activities. At this point, I can't say more than that.”

Like the DiLibertos, the McCalls presented a concrete case. Almost certainly, they had contracted to adopt Jackie Warren's baby. Exhausted, Jane left the glass and the papers where they lay. Muttering a few obscenities, she went to bed.