Night Fall (18 page)

I didn’t know whether to get all choked up or to remind her that I couldn’t have gotten into trouble without her help and advice. I said to her, “Let me ask you something-aside from truth and justice, what is your motivation in pursuing this case?”

She replied, “Why would I need any further motivation? It’s truth and justice, John. Justice for the victims and their families. And if this was an attack by foreign terrorists, then it’s also patriotism. Isn’t that reason enough?”

The correct answer was yes and that’s what John Corey would have said about twenty years ago. Today, I just sort of mumbled, “Yeah, I guess so.”

She didn’t like that and said to me, “You need to believe in what you’re doing, and know why you’re doing it.”

“Okay, then I’ll tell you-I do detective work because I like it. It’s interesting, and it keeps my mind sharp and makes me feel smarter than the idiots I work for. That’s the extent of my commitment to truth, justice, and country. I do the right thing for the wrong reasons, but bottom line, truth and justice get done. If you want to do the right thing for the right reasons, go right ahead, but don’t expect me to share your idealism.”

She stayed silent for some time, then replied, “I’ll take your help on your terms. We can work on your cynicism another time.”

I don’t like it when people-especially women-invade my hard-won cynicism. I know what makes me tick. And I had a lot of ticking to do in the days and weeks ahead.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I walked with Kate back to the lobby of 26 Federal Plaza and said to her, “I need to make some pay phone calls. I’ll see you later.”

She looked at me and said, “You have that faraway look you get when you’re on to something.”

“I’m just a little logy from the pasta. Please don’t try to read me. That scares me.”

She smiled, gave me a kiss, and walked toward the elevators.

I went outside to a phone booth on Broadway and fished some change out of my pocket. I remember when you had to wait for a pay phone, but now, everyone has cell phones, even derelicts-homeless persons-and the phone booths are as empty as the confessionals at St. Patrick’s.

I dropped a quarter and dialed the cell phone of my ex-partner, Dom Fanelli, who was working out of Manhattan South.

He answered, “Hello?”

“Dom.”

“Hey, paisano! Long time. Where are you? Let’s grab a beer tonight.”

“Are you in your office?”

“Yeah, what’s up? Everyone would love to see you. Lieutenant Wolfe misses you. He’s got a new paperweight.”

“I need a favor.”

“You got it. Come on over.”

“I can’t. What I need-”

“You free tonight? I found a new place in Chelsea-Tonic. Incredible ass there.”

“I’m married.”

“No shit? When?”

“You were at the wedding.”

“Right. How’s Kate?”

“Kate is great. Sends her regards.”

“She hates me.”

“She loves you.”

“Whatever.”

It was hard to believe that this man had a brilliant mind when it came to detective work. But he did. I actually learned a lot from him. Like how to play dumb. I asked him, “How’s Mary?”

“I don’t know. What do you hear?” He laughed at his own joke, as he often does, and said to me, “All kidding aside, throughout my whole married life, I’ve never cheated on a girlfriend.”

“You’re a prince. Okay, what-”

“How’s it going at 26 Fed?”

“Terrific. Which reminds me-I saw Captain Stein the other day, and he’s still waiting for you to put in your papers and come over to the task force. The job is yours if you want it.”

“I thought I mailed those papers in. Oh, God! I hope I didn’t miss the chance to work for the FBI.”

“It’s a great job. Don’t you ever get tired of people murdering other people?”

“I’ll get tired of it when they get tired of it.”

“Right. Do you remember-?”

“Oh, before I forget. Those two Hispanic gentlemen who put some holes in you. I may have a lead on them.”

“What’s the lead?”

“Let me handle it. You have enough on your plate. I’ll call you when we’re ready.”

“If you think of it.”

He laughed, then said seriously, “Every time I think of you lying there in the street, bleeding to death-”

“Thank you again for saving my life. Thank you for getting me on the Anti-Terrorist Task Force, where I met Kate. Am I forgetting anything?”

“I don’t think so. We don’t count favors, John. You know that. When you need a favor, I’m there, and when I need a favor, you’ll be there for me. So what can I do for you?”

“I forgot.”

He laughed and asked me, “Anything new with the Khalil case?”

“No.”

“That motherfucker is going to pop up when you least expect it.”

“Thank you. Look-” The phone clicked, and I put in another quarter. I asked him, “Do you remember Marie Gubitosi?”

“Yeah. Why? Great ass. That guy Kulowski or Kulakowski was popping her. Remember? He was married, and his wife found out and-”

“Yeah. Listen, I need to find her. She’s married now-”

“I know. Married some guy who’s not on the job. She lives in… I think Staten Island. Why do you need to find her?”

“I don’t know until I find her.”

“Yeah? Why do you need
me
to find her? You could find her in less than an hour. And why are you in a pay phone? What’s up, John? You in trouble?”

“No. I’m doing something on the side.”

“Yeah? What side?”

I looked at my watch. If I planned to make the three o’clock ferry to Staten Island, I needed to cut Fanelli short, but that’s easier said than done. I said to him, “Dom, I can’t talk over the phone. We’ll have a few beers next week. Meanwhile, get me a make on Marie, and call me back on my cell phone.”

“Just hold a second. I have power at the Wheel.”

He put me on hold and I waited. The Wheel is the personnel department at One Police Plaza, and I’m not sure why it’s called the Wheel, and after two decades on the NYPD, I’m not going to sound like a rookie and ask. I should have asked twenty years ago. In any case, if you know someone there-and Dom Fanelli knows someone everywhere-you can skip the red tape and get an answer real fast.

Fanelli came back on the line and said, “Marie Gubitosi is not actually off the job. She’s on extended maternity leave, as of January ’97. Married name is Lentini. Married a wop. Mama’s happy. I’m trying to remember what happened with Kowalski and his wife when the wife found out-”

“Dom, give me the fucking phone number.”

“They would only give me a cell number. No address. Ready?”

He gave me her number, and I said, “Thanks. I’ll call you next week.”

“Yeah. Maybe sooner if you manage to get into deep shit. You gotta tell me what this is about.”

“I will.”

“Watch yourself.”

“Always do.” I hung up, fed the phone, and dialed the number. After three rings, a female voice answered, “Hello?”

“Marie Gubitosi, please.”

“Speaking. Who’s this?”

“Marie, this is John Corey. We worked in South together.”

“Oh… yeah. What’s up?”

I could hear at least two kids screaming in the background. I said, “I need to talk to you about an old case. Can you meet me someplace?”

“Yeah, right. Get me a baby-sitter, and I’ll drink with you all night.”

I laughed and said, “Actually, my wife can sit.”

“You mean your lawyer wife will baby-sit? What’s she charge?”

“We’re divorced. I have a new wife.”

“No kidding. Can I tell you-the first one was stuck-up. Remember that retirement party for Charlie Cribbs?”

“Yeah. She was a little off that night. Look, why don’t I just come over now, if it’s convenient? Staten Island. Right?”

“Yeah… but the kids are crazy-”

“I love kids.”

“Not these two. Maybe I can help you over the phone.”

“I’d rather talk in person.”

“Well… Joe… my husband, doesn’t want me getting involved again with the job.”

“You’re on extended leave, Marie. You’re not off the job. Let’s make this easy.”

“Yeah… okay… hey, didn’t you get out on three-quarter?”

“I did.”

“So, how are you back?”

I didn’t want to answer that, but I had to. I said, “I’m with the ATTF. Contract agent.”

There was a silence, then she said, “I was on the task force less than six months, and I only worked two cases. Which one are you interested in?”

“The other one.”

Again, a silence, then she said, “I’m getting the feeling you’re not on official business.”

“I’m not. The case is closed. You know that. I got your name from another guy on the job. I need to talk to you. Off the record.”

“What guy?”

“I can’t say. And I won’t say your name either. I’m at a pay phone, and I’m out of change. I need about half an hour with you.”

“My husband’s a route delivery guy. Comes home unexpectedly. He’s big and jealous.”

“That’s okay. I can explain. And if I can’t, I’ve got a gun.”

She laughed. “Okay. I could use some adult company.”

She gave me her address in Staten Island, and I said, “Thanks. I’m going to try to catch the three o’clock ferry. Meanwhile, maybe you can dig out your pad. July 1996.”

She didn’t respond to that, and said, “I’m twenty minutes from the terminal by cab. Stop and get me a package of Pampers.”

“Uh…”

“The package that has Elmo on it.”

“The-?”

“Custom-fit cruisers. Size four. There’s a Duane Reade on your way. See you.”

I hung up and got out of the phone booth.

Elmo?

I hailed a cab on Broadway, flashed my NYPD dupe shield, which is a lot more recognizable than Fed creds, and said to the gentleman wearing a turban, “I need to make the three o’clock Staten Island ferry. Step on it.”

The cabbie probably hadn’t seen too many American movies and replied, “Step?”

“Speed. Police.”

“Ah.”

This is a Manhattan taxi driver’s wet dream, so the guy ran a few lights on Broadway, arriving at the Whitehall ferry terminal at five to three. He refused payment, but I gave him a five anyway.

For some reason that no one in the universe could explain, the city-owned commuter ferry was now free to foot passengers. Maybe it costs a hundred dollars to get back.

The ferry was tooting its horn, and I ran through the terminal and got aboard. I snagged a ferry schedule and walked through the lower cabin. There were lots of empty seats at this hour, but I went up the stairs and stood on the forward deck. Sunshine, blue water, brilliant sky, tugboats, seagulls, skyline, salty breeze, very nice.

As a kid, I used to ride the ferry in the summer with my friends. It was five cents. We’d get to the other side, buy an ice cream, and ride back to Manhattan. Total cost, twenty-five cents; not a bad deal for a big-time adventure.

Years later, I’d take dates on the ferry at night, and we’d stare at the Statue of Liberty, all lit up, and the incredible skyline of Lower Manhattan with the Twin Towers of the new World Trade Center rising floor by floor, year by year, and the Brooklyn Bridge with its necklace of lights. It was very romantic, and a cheap date.

The city has changed since then, mostly, I think, for the better. I can’t say the same about the rest of the world.

I stared at the Statue of Liberty awhile, trying to work up some long forgotten childhood patriotism.

Well, maybe not forgotten, but certainly not fully awake at the moment, as I realized over lunch with Kate.

I turned my attention to the approaching shoreline of Staten Island, and I thought of my brief conversation with Marie Gubitosi. She could have blown me off by saying, “I don’t know anything, and what I do know I’m not telling you.”

But she didn’t say that, so she knew something, and maybe she’d share it. Or maybe she just wanted company and a pack of Pampers. Or maybe she was on the phone right now with the OPR, who’d record our conversation and take me away. In any case, I’d know soon enough.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I got off the ferry at the St. George terminal, walked to the taxi stand, and gave the driver the address in the New Springville section.