The Cold Room (18 page)

‘Aslan has to separate himself from those women,’ I insisted. ‘He has no other choice. First, there are potential charges of involuntary servitude out there. Then there’s the issue of what these women know about Jane’s murder. I have good reason to believe that Jane was killed at work, but I have no way to find her employer. The other women could fill that gap and many others. They have to go.’

With nothing better to do, Linde and I decided to drive back to Domestic Solutions, to sit on the building in the hope that somebody would show up. We were on route when Lieutenant Millard hailed us on the radio.

‘You might wanna check out a van fire on Kent Avenue and South Fifth Street, if you remember that intersection. According to the uniforms on the scene, the blaze was deliberately set.’

Although the fire was out, the Econoline was still pouring smoke when I pulled up behind a Fire Department pumper. The van itself was a charred shell, its interior, front and back, utterly destroyed. But the license plate was still attached to the rear bumper, and still readable.

‘I ran the tags,’ one of the uniformed officers on the scene told me a few minutes later. ‘The vehicle is registered to a company called Domestic Solutions.’

I thanked him for the information, just as if I didn’t already know it, before I led my new partner off to the side and explained that we were standing less than two hundred yards from where the body of Jane Doe was originally discovered. Then I took him on a tour of South Fifth Street, down to the mound of rubble. The pothole was still there and the taller weeds still flattened, but someone had gotten to the chain link fence, prying it away from its supports. It was now possible to squeeze through and approach the East River.

I did just that, but I didn’t stop at the river. Instead, I climbed onto the rickety pier behind the Gambrelli warehouse, then walked its length, stepping carefully over broken boards and exposed nails, until I was left gazing out over the waters of the East River. The tide was pulling hard toward the harbor and the surface of the river was deeply furrowed by the five-knot current. Around the footings of the Williamsburg Bridge, patches of white-water threw up a dancing spray that caught the angled rays of the evening sun. Linde was standing next to me, his silky-straight hair fluttering in a steady breeze that smelled of all the lives and deaths concealed beneath the gray waters before us.

‘This is where Jane was meant to go,’ I explained. ‘Good-bye and good riddance.’

‘For whatever it’s worth,’ Linde said, ‘I hear you.’

‘That’s good, Hansen, because there are quite a few things that need doing, and I think you’re the kinda guy who can get them done.’

‘Oh, yeah,’ he answered, ‘I’m your fella. What’d you have in mind?’

I turned from the river and began to make my way back to the Caprice. ‘I want you to track all the evidence taken from the Eagle Street scene, the blood, the tire impressions, any fingerprints that turn up, any trace evidence found on Barsakov’s clothing or his body. And I want you to secure Domestic Solutions’ phone records. Personally, I don’t think they’ll help us, but we gotta look’

‘Is that it?’ Linde was grinning.

‘No. Find out the name of Barsakov’s lawyer and give him a call. See if you can track Barsakov’s movements after he left the Nine-Two. And one more thing. I want the name of Aslan Khalid’s sponsor, Konstantine Barsakov’s, too. They couldn’t have gotten into the country legally without sponsors. Now, your boss has the juice to get the names, Hansen. Let him make a personal phone call.’

I lapsed into silence as we picked our way between the fire department and police vehicles surrounding the Econoline. There was nothing to be gained by talking to the fire marshals, or to anyone else. The fire had begun in the van’s interior, which could not have happened unless it was deliberately set.

‘You understand,’ I said as I started the Caprice, ‘I’m counting on you to expedite these matters.’

He nodded once, then broke into a huge grin, revealing a pair of deep grooves in either cheek. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘stop me if you’ve heard this one. Ole is sitting in his back yard one Sunday, in a religious mood after coming back from church. So he looks up at the sky and asks God why He made Lena so soft and round and cuddly. “I did that so you’d love her,” a voice rumbles from on high. For a moment, Ole is overcome with awe, but he finally says, “Then why, Lord, did you have to make her so stupid?” A second later, God’s voice again rings in Ole’s ears. “I made her dumb, Ole,” God explains, “so she’d love you.”’

Hansen told the joke well, rendering Ole’s dialogue in a thick, Scandinavian accent, but I didn’t laugh. I didn’t have to. Linde was roaring with delight. He didn’t need my help.

New York was enjoying a second day of sunny skies and cool temperatures when I pulled to a stop in front of Blessed Virgin on the following morning. My intention was to take another shot at Father Stan, playing up the institutional aspect of the confessional seal. There’s nothing in the gospels, I would argue, about secrecy, or even the ritual of confession. The confessional seal comes not from Jesus, but from men whose greater aim was to preserve the Church. Surely, God’s judgment is more sophisticated, less absolute. How could it not be so when the great Commandments, themselves, are open to interpretation? The fifth commandment says, Thou shalt not kill. The seventh says, Thou shalt not steal. There’s no wiggle room in either one, yet the Catholic Church finds killing and stealing, under certain conditions, to be without sin.

It was a decent argument, exactly what was needed to move Father Stan, if he could be moved. Or so I thought as I walked into the crowded outreach center. Sister Kassia was seated in a chair to my left, holding a toddler on her lap, a girl. The nun whispered a few words into the girl’s ear, then put her down before leading me outside.

‘Have you found them?’

The question surprised me, though it was the obvious question to ask. ‘No, I haven’t. I’m here to see Father Manicki.’

Sister Kassia smiled, a smile that must, at one time, have struck terror into the hearts of fourth graders. ‘Father Stan isn’t here, detective. He’s at a retreat house on Staten Island. I don’t know what you said to him, but he packed up shortly after you left yesterday.’

‘Well, that’s the problem with having a conscience, Sister. He knew I’d come back and he didn’t want to face me.’

Sister Kassia shook her head, then walked me into the deep shadows cast by a towering maple tree. As it was twenty degrees cooler in the shade, I didn’t complain.

‘Your outlook is typical of the irreligious,’ she told me. ‘In your view, Catholicism is just another set of arbitrary beliefs.’

‘It’s not that . . .’

‘Oh, yes it is.’ She brought her hands together and folded them at her waist. ‘When Father Stan took his vows, after years of prayer, meditation and study, he embraced the doctrines of the Roman Catholic Church, one of which is the seal of the confessional. And you should keep in mind that among the vows he took was a vow of obedience. Tell me, have you ever taken a vow?’

I reached out to run my hand over the trunk of the maple, the bark rough and cool against my fingers. ‘When I became a cop, I took an oath to uphold the laws of the State and the Constitution of the United States. Is an oath the same as a vow? I don’t know. But I can tell you this. For cops, it’s not about absolutes. We draw our own lines.’

I went on to repeat the argument I’d made to Hansen Linde. Aslan had to put distance between himself and the women, even if he decided to stick around. No, I didn’t think he’d commit mass murder, but he would move them along at the earliest opportunity. Maybe he would send them back to Poland. Maybe he would sell them to somebody who ran a brothel in Bolivia.

Ignoring the last part, Sister Kassia asked, ‘And how soon would that earliest opportunity be?’

‘Saturday afternoon, when Aslan picks them up at their jobs.’

‘In that case, Harry, you have a serious problem. Father Stan has already arranged to have his masses covered on Sunday. He won’t be back until Sunday night, at the earliest. But if it’s any comfort, I’ve no doubt that he’s examining his conscience right now.’

‘In the hope of finding a loophole?’

Suddenly, the door to the outreach center opened and a woman exited, holding the hand of a small child, a little boy. The woman glanced at Sister Kassia, then immediately looked away. As she walked up the block, the boy turned to wave goodbye. The gesture was small, no more than a cupping of his fingers, and he seemed, to me, both confused and resigned. Sister Kassia returned the wave, her expression wistful.

‘When I became a nun,’ she said, ‘my intention was to submit to the will of God. I thought it would be easy. Just follow the rules. Now I know enough to look to my conscience for guidance. As for the rules, I obey the ones my conscience tells me to obey.’ She paused to smile the brightest smile I’d yet seen her display. ‘Father Stan, he thinks I’m incorrigible because I once proposed diverting a small sum of money from the general fund to the outreach center. Really, he was shocked. But I think he’s coming around now. I think he’s coming to understand that rules have consequences, too.’

I leaned my back against the tree. ‘Let’s hope it’s not too late when he does, because I don’t have another way to go.’

‘What about finding Aslan?’

‘That’s not impossible, but it won’t do me any good. Aslan won’t talk unless I hurt him more than I’m willing to hurt him. And I don’t have enough evidence to charge him with the Barsakov homicide either.’

‘Well, you need to think of something, Harry, because it’s just as I told you on the first day you walked in here. The minute you discovered their existence, you became responsible for the women and their children. You can’t blame Father Stan. They’re your burden now.’

I called Adele shortly after leaving Blessed Virgin. I had a big decision to make, one that could easily backfire, and I needed to speak to someone I could trust. That wouldn’t be my new partner, Hansen Linde. Linde was Sarney’s boy and he would do Sarney’s bidding.

Though a bit distracted at first – she was sitting with her mother in a doctor’s office – Adele seemed glad to hear from me. When I told her about the priest, she honed in on my dilemma. It was Thursday. Thirty-six hours from now, Aslan would pick up the women at their jobs. With Father Manicki out of play, at least until Sunday night, I had two choices. I could do nothing at all and hope for the best. Or I could find Aslan, put pressure on him and . . . and hope for the best.

‘Sitting around and hoping isn’t my strong point,’ I told her. ‘I’m taking plan B.’

‘What happens after you run him down? Assuming you do run him down.’

‘Ah, for a minute there I thought you were thinking positively.’

Adele laughed. ‘Answer the question.’

‘What I’ll do, assuming I find Aslan, is make it personal.’

‘I think you went down that road when you arrested Barsakov.’

‘Then I’ll make it even more personal.’

‘And what do you hope to accomplish?’

I took a minute before answering. I was sitting in my car outside the Nine-Two, an hour before I was due to report. I had no particular reasons for being early, but I was too restless to sit at home. ‘I’m hoping, if I press the right buttons, Aslan will take a swing at me. That’ll give me an excuse to hold him in custody over the weekend.’

‘And if he doesn’t rise to the bait?’

‘Then I’ll make up an excuse.’ I gave it a couple of beats, then said. ‘Dominick Capra, do you know anything about his personal life?’

‘I know he has a daughter.’

‘How old?’

‘High school age. Why?’

‘When I spoke to Capra the other day, he blew me off. Told me not to call again. I’m gonna call him back anyway, and make a personal appeal. I think he can help me with the name of Aslan’s sponsor.’

I didn’t have to spell it out. Adele’s silence was enough. Even if Capra was willing to cooperate, and even if he furnished the name of Aslan’s sponsor, the jump from the sponsor to Aslan was far from assured. Nevertheless, it was a card in my hand and I intended to play it.

And play it I did, after Adele and I hung up. Like the priest, Capra should have blown me off before I got started. Instead, he listened while I turned his own words against him. What had he called it? Sharecropping for the new millennium? Well, these particular sharecroppers were about to be sold on the black market, at which time they would cease to be sharecroppers and become actual slaves.

‘How do you know this?’ Capra asked.

‘Because,’ I readily lied, ‘when I asked Aslan about the women, he told me that I shouldn’t worry about them.’ I took a breath and imitated Aslan’s thick accent as best I could. ‘ “For these women, American justice will be thing of past.” Tell me, Dominick, do you have kids?’

‘You’re fuckin’ with me, Harry.’

‘I’ve seen these women. They’re in their late teens and early twenties. Some of them have children.’

‘You know that for a fact?’

‘I saw a child at Domestic Solutions and there were car seats in the van they used to transport their workers. Look, Dominick, I’m not asking for the moon here.’

‘Then exactly what are you askin’ for?’

‘Anything in Aslan’s file that might lead me to him, especially the name of his sponsor.’

It was Capra’s turn to pause. ‘I don’t know, Harry,’ he said after minute. ‘I’ll think about it. See, the thing is, I know that somebody’s computer is gonna be flagged if I use my own computer to pull the file up. Now, there’s a hard copy, too, and maybe no one’s lookin’ at it too hard. But maybe someone is. I mean, I got my family to think about.’

TWENTY-ONE

S
ergeant Sabado favored me with his customary scowl, which I eagerly returned, forcing him to look away as I climbed to the squad room on the second floor, then found my cubicle. Hansen Linde was in his chair, awaiting my arrival. He greeted me by displaying a printout that must have been six pages long.

‘The phone records for the warehouse, going back three months. We should have a lot of fun with these.’