Murder in Greenwich Village (21 page)

“And running out of money, and he can't call Judy.”

MacHovec pulled a map out of a drawer and opened it on his desk. “Here it is.” He showed it to Jane.

Smithson came over for a look. “You're right. Queens Plaza, just over the bridge. We can get there in half an hour or so. Forget the sergeants. We get Manelli, we've got something.”

They ran it by McElroy, whose spirits rose visibly as he heard the story. “You need backup. I'll call the One-oh-eight. Hang on till they tell us where to meet them.” He reached for the phone.

36

SMITHSON GOT ON the FDR and drove north. They exited and took the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge over the East River to Queens. Just off Queens Boulevard, they found an unmarked vehicle and a sector car waiting for them a block away from the auto repair shop on Van Dam Street. The sector cops explained that the repair shop had a chunk of land behind the structure, typically inhabited by four dogs and broken-down cars and trucks awaiting repair or destruction. It was bounded by a chain-link fence that was so rusted and loose in the overlapping sections that a man could easily squeeze through. The grease-soaked earth held the skirt and bottom rail of the fence secure enough, but any athletic person could easily vault over the top rail, although he might sacrifice a shirt in the venture.

The sector cops moved to cover the back, and Smithson, Jane, and the two Queens detectives drove to the shop and went to the front door. The Queens detectives remained outside while Jane and Smithson went in, shields raised.

An unhappy man with the name Roger embroidered on his pocket looked at them with distress. “How can I help you?” he asked, his face almost contorted.

“We're looking for a man who may be staying here, Salvatore Manelli. Ring a bell?”

Roger made sounds under his breath. “He was here, yeah. I don't know where he is now.”

“How long was he here?”

“In and out for maybe a week. He needed a place to stay, and I like having a guy sleep on the premises. Keeps trouble away.”

“Where is he now?” Jane asked.

“He left this morning. I don't know where he is.”

“You got a number to reach him?”

“He used to live in the Village. I don't know where he lives now.”

“He say where he was going?”

“He just said, ‘So long,' and walked out. He usually comes back at night.”

“He friends with anyone here?”

“He talks to everybody, brings us lunch, plays with the dogs.”

“You pay him to stay here?”

“Pay him? I give him a cot to lie on, a TV in my office, a bathroom. I should pay him too?”

“Just asking,” Jane said.

“You gonna tell me what he did?”

“We just want to talk to him.”

“Hang around. He should be back tonight. You know what? Lemme look at the cot, see if he left his stuff.”

They followed Roger to a storeroom at the back of the building. An unmade cot was pushed against the wall and a few pieces of dirty laundry were stuffed in a corner on the floor.

“Looks like he's coming back,” Roger said.

“We'll stick around,” Smithson said. “He get phone calls here?”

“Sometimes. I need to get back to work.”

Jane and Smithson talked to the detectives out front. They agreed to let the sector cops go. One detective would stay near the front, one near the back. In the meantime, Jane and Smithson would interview the men working inside.

Automotive establishments like this one were often casual in their hiring practices, taking on men with records, men who had served time. Jane and Smithson made a list of the names to phone in to MacHovec for checking. One mechanic spoke freely of his background, which included a bit at the military camp at Rikers when he was a teenager. Now twenty-seven, he assured the detectives he was straight, and grateful that Roger had hired him when he needed a job.

All the men had talked to Sal but none knew anything important about him. He had told them he'd had a fight with his girlfriend and had to find a place to stay till he could patch things up. He hadn't mentioned her name or where he lived, and he didn't seem to have a job.

Jane called MacHovec and gave him the list of names, although it was too late in the day for all of them to be checked out. Then she gave him the pay phone number, telling him everyone used it along with the phone on the wall.

“I'll get the list of calls but I won't look at it till I've done these other things. I take it Manelli's not there.”

She told him the story.

“Let's hope he comes back tonight.”

“Light a candle.”

The men left at five, and Jane and Smithson sat down with Roger. He had nothing new to contribute about Manelli.

“You have any idea where he spends his days when he's not here?” Smithson asked.

“He walks out the door and that's the last I see of him. Could be he hangs around Queens Plaza, but I don't think so. I think he takes the subway. Maybe he's trying to make peace with the girlfriend.”

After Roger left, they went into the room with the cot and the dirty laundry, put on rubber gloves, and looked carefully at the bed. They lifted the mattress, which disclosed nothing except a spring, and started going through some boxes that shared the space. The boxes had auto equipment that matched the outside markings.

Out back, the dogs were on leashes that gave them each about twenty feet of running space. The cop watching the back door remained inside. Roger had said that lights went on at nightfall, both front and back, and inside several lights were left on overnight. If Manelli returned, they would see him approach.

“Heads up,” the cop at the front door called. “This could be him. Guy coming down the street.”

Jane and Smithson backed into the work area, out of sight of the front windows. The street was entirely commercial, not a place where a couple would stroll on a spring evening. Jane had her right hand on her open holster.

“Looks like he's coming to the building.” A concrete driveway three or four cars wide ran from the sidewalk to the garage doors at the front of the building. To their left was the customer door.

There was no sound. Jane strained to hear a key in the lock. Nothing. Come on, Sal, she implored silently. She looked over at Smithson, who shrugged. Neither of them had any view of the front windows.

“How old a guy is he?” Jane asked.

“Thirty? Thirty-five?”

“It's not Sal. Sal's gotta be fifty or near that.”

“He's feeding the dogs,” the staticky voice said from the nearer detective's shoulder. “Looks like a wacko, long hair—ah, jeez, he's feeding the dogs bread. He must think they're pigeons.”

“Tell him to stay where he is,” Jane cautioned. “The dogs'll survive.”

The man stayed almost fifteen minutes, talking to the dogs and feeding them. When the bread was gone, he tossed the bag over the fence and wandered off.

“Litterbug,” the detective growled.

They went back to their posts.

Like many a stakeout, it was long and boring. No one had thought to go out for food and everyone was hungry. Finally the detective named Wally called the station house and asked for someone to go out and get dinner for four.

It took forty-five minutes and a check of the street before two pizzas and four Cokes arrived. One Queens detective went out a side door and picked it up while the cop who delivered it, wearing plain clothes, walked back to his car in a circuitous route.

As they ate, the sun went down. Lights went on behind the building and streetlights went on in the front. Stray cats walked by. From a distance two dogs barked and the four in the back joined in the chorus.

Then the phone rang. Jane dashed to the office, Smithson at her heels. It rang four times, and Roger's voice picked up and gave a canned speech. After the beep, a man's voice said, “Roger, it's Sal. I'm down in the Village. Something came up and I may not make it back tonight. If I don't get there, I'll see you in the morning.”

Smithson opened his cell phone and called the telephone company. While he was making his inquiry, Jane called McElroy.

“He called from a pay phone on Sixth Avenue in the Village,” Smithson said, hanging up. “You think he's crazy enough to go to the apartment?”

Jane relayed the message to McElroy.

“Leave the Queens detectives at the automotive place and get yourselves down to the Village. You know what this guy looks like?”

“I saw him the day Defino was kidnapped.”

“Well, if he tries to see the girlfriend, you pick him up. He may go up the fire escape. Call for backup while you're driving into the city.”

They took off. It was past rush hour and they got down to the Village in good time. Smithson parked, putting the plate in the window, and they headed for Judy Franklin's apartment. They spotted the car from the Six and went through the introductions. The detectives from the Six split up, one taking the back of the building. Manelli had seen Jane but not Smithson. They stood at the corner and looked down the dark street. There was some pedestrian traffic but no one was lingering in front of Judy Franklin's stairs. Jane and Smithson went to the building with one of the detectives from the Six, and up to the apartment.

Judy Franklin opened the door and then, angrily, tried to slam it shut. The detective from the Six stopped her easily, pushed the door open, and the three of them went in, Jane and Smithson running through the apartment looking for Manelli.

“He's not here!” Judy screamed, fury pouring out of her.

“When did he leave?” Jane asked, returning to the living room. “Where did he go?”

“He wasn't here. I haven't seen him since that day. Why don't you believe me? I'm not lying to you. Sal's gone. He's just gone.” She began to cry bitterly, berating Jane, the police department, anything she could think of.

“He was in the Village half an hour ago,” Jane said.

“How do you know?” Judy sniffed and wiped her face with a tissue.

“He was here.”

“He wasn't
here.
I haven't seen him since—”

“OK, I got it.” She turned to Smithson. “You think he knew where we were? You think he was trying to lure us down here?”

“Or lure us away from the place. Maybe the guy's got more brains than we gave him credit for.”

Jane took out her cell phone and called the automotive shop. When the beep sounded, she said, “Hey, Wally, Bill, this is Jane Bauer. Pick up.”

No one answered. Jane kept talking to keep the connection, but there was no response. She waited until she got beeped out, then closed her phone.

“Not there?” Smithson said.

She shook her head. “I didn't get their cell numbers, if they have them. They must have gone outside. Something's up, Warren.”

“Sal couldn't have ambushed two armed detectives.”

“We've got to get back there. I'll call the One-oh-eight and have them check out the shop.”

The sergeant who answered said he would send a sector car out immediately, and Smithson told the men from the Six to stay in case Manelli showed up.

Judy Franklin watched them as they spoke. “What will you do if you find him?” she asked softly.

“Turn him over to the DA,” Jane said.

“Oh, my God.”

Jane ignored her. “Let's get going.” They ran to the car.

37

“SHIT, I HOPE one of those cops doesn't shoot Manelli. He's all we've got.” Smithson had put the light on the roof and was tearing uptown on the FDR, using his horn liberally.

“That son of a bitch,” Jane said. “He really set us up.”

“But he was calling from the Village. He didn't just say it on the message.”

“And then he turned around and went back. What's he doing up there?”

“Call the One-oh-eight and see what's going on.”

They learned that the detectives had called in to report that Manelli—or someone who they thought was Manelli— had shown up and they had gone after him. So far, they had failed to make contact.

Smithson zipped across the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge, turned off the roof light and the headlights, and stopped the car before making the turn onto the street of their destination. They got out and turned the corner. Down the block they could see the flashing lights of two radio cars. They went back to Smithson's car and drove over, getting out of the car with their shields raised.

“Hey, Detectives. I'm Officer Dwayne Carlson. This place is empty and we can't raise the detectives who were here.”

“You call the owner?” Jane asked.

“He's on his way over. The patrol supervisor and the duty captain from the borough are also on their way over. This place is gonna be top-heavy with bosses in a few minutes.”

“Anything on the answering machine?”

“You Detective Bauer?”

“Yes.”

“Just a message from you.”

“Their car here?”

“Around the corner.”

“Then they're on foot. We have to find them. Manelli could be armed.”

Jane reported to McElroy. She had lost track of time. It was night, and there were many empty streets and dark lots behind businesses closed till morning.

“Call the Borough Detective Task Force office and request help,” McElroy ordered. “I'll get the boss to call and clear it. Then get a search party going. Keep me informed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Cops arrived in minutes and they started combing the area, through weedy fields and garbage-filled alleys between buildings. About a quarter of an hour later, one of the men around a corner called. “Hey, this way. I think we've got them.”

Jane and Smithson broke into a run. Bill and Wally, their hands cuffed behind their backs, were surrounded by cops from the precinct. One of them was about to use a key to uncuff Wally.

“Wait!” Jane shouted. “Don't touch those cuffs.” She pushed her way forward. “You guys OK?”

They said they were. She put a pair of gloves on and unlocked each cuff carefully in case a print had been left on it.

“Was it Manelli?” she asked when they were shaking their hands to get the circulation going.

“Manelli and another guy.”

“What other guy?”

“Could have been a cop,” Wally said. “Manelli asked him if he was the sarge.”

They had begun walking back to the shop. “You up to talking?”

“Sure. It was crazy, but I remember almost everything.”

“OK. Take your time. We can do this sitting down.”

On the way she called McElroy and told him what she knew. “I'll get back to you, Loot. The men are all right. Warren and I'll talk to them at the shop. I want everything they remember before they lose any of it.”

A lieutenant from the One-oh-eight was waiting at the shop, and Roger arrived at the same time the search party did. Amid the bedlam, Jane and Smithson took the two detectives into Roger's office, closed the door, and sat down with them.

“From the top,” Jane said.

“I saw him approach,” Bill said. “He didn't try to come inside. He was just looking to see if anyone was there. He walked around the front, the side, talked to the dogs in the back. I thought he might be like that first guy who fed the dogs, but this one fit the description. While he was out back, we walked out the front way, but he must have circled the building because he came up behind us, said he had a gun, and told us to keep walking.”

“How far did you go?”

“Quarter of a mile maybe, behind a big industrial building a few blocks from where we met up with you. Looked like he knew where he was going. You agree?” He looked at Wally, who nodded.

“That's when the other guy showed up.”

“What did he look like?” Smithson asked.

“We never saw him. He told us to stop, put our hands on our heads, and if we turned around we'd get a bullet. Where we were, he could've shot us and no one would've heard it. We stopped.”

“You said Manelli called him ‘sarge'?”

“Didn't call him that,” Wally said. “He asked him: ‘Are you the sarge?' like he'd never seen him before but he'd heard of him.”

“And the guy said?”

“ ‘Yeah. Do what I tell you.' ”

“Was he white?” Jane asked.

“We didn't see him,” Wally said. “He told us to lie face-down on the ground, hands behind our head, and then he told Manelli to cuff us and take our weapons.” Wally turned to his partner. “Did you get a look at him?”

“Not me.”

“Then what happened?” Jane asked.

“I heard them walking away. The guy who did the talking told us to stay where we were or he'd shoot us. I could hear them talking but I couldn't get anything. We stayed there, I don't know, maybe five minutes, and we heard what could've been a gunshot.”

Jane and Smithson exchanged glances. Then Smithson said, “We gotta look for a body.”

“Take it easy, guys,” Jane said. “Thanks. I'm sorry we got you into this.” She called McElroy, who was on his way. Then she and Smithson took two uniforms and went out in the direction Bill and Wally had come from.

They checked out alleys and areas behind buildings, much as they had done a little while earlier, walking around cars and trucks, crates stacked high in rows, and through weeds littered with discarded objects.

“What do you know about the guy we're looking for?” Officer Samson asked.

“He was involved in something ten years ago and he's one of the guys who kidnapped my partner a week ago Friday.”

“The detective working on a cold case?”

“That's the one.”

“How's he doing?”

“Going stir-crazy, but he's feeling much better. This son of a bitch Manelli and his pals were close to killing him when we found him. What's around the corner here?”

“More of the same. We should go behind this warehouse. There's a lot of open space.”

They shone their flashlights through the chain-link fencing, but saw nothing that looked like a body.

“There's a gate down here,” Smithson said. “Let me see if it's open.” He sprinted along the fence and called them to come.

The gate was open. Inside were several trailer trucks, two unattached cabs, and two smaller trucks. They walked between the vehicles, squatting and shining their lights under them.

“Over here,” Officer Samson called.

They joined him at the cab of one of the large trucks. He pointed his light out onto the empty concrete, weeds sprouting between the rectangles, at something that looked like a man's body lying on its stomach in the moonlight, a pool of blood seeping around it. All four of them ran toward it.

“That your guy?” the second cop asked, stopping a few feet away.

“That's him, Salvatore Manelli, dead with all his secrets.” Jane approached the body. After a good look, she opened her cell phone and started making calls.