The Night, The Day (12 page)

chapter 17

S
tephanie Gifford rummaged frantically
through the front-hall closet. It was 8:35 in the morning and her son had insisted she find his Yankees cap for him to wear to school. The Yankees were having another great year, and Dan Jr. was among their staunchest fans. For the past month, regardless of the weather, the 6-year-old donned the navy-blue jacket and hat his father had gotten him at an early summer game. “It’s not here and you’re going to miss your bus,” she said to her son.

“But Ma, I can’t go without it,” Dan Jr. responded, his eyes about to tear.

She rubbed the back of his head. “We’ll ask your father, he’ll get you a new one.”

“But I had it yesterday.”

“Well, where did you put it?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

She knew how this was going to play out. They would search until they found the cap, he would miss the bus and she would have to drive him to school, winding up late for her own job. Since her separation from his father, she’d found it more and more difficult to say no to him. It was that guilt thing, trying every which way to keep him happy under the circumstances.

She also realized that his attachment to the baseball cap was his way of staying connected to his father. Even though Dan Sr. hadn’t spent much time at home before the separation, at least the boy knew that his father had been sleeping in the house. Now, with Gifford’s upcoming drug trial, father and son were seeing each other once a week at best.

“You sure you didn’t leave it at a friend’s?” she asked.

“I’m sure.”

She stuck her head back in the closet. “Why don’t you go check upstairs?”

He looked at her, as if to say,
That’s a dumb idea, we already looked there
.

“Please go up and check again.”

Without answering, he begrudgingly started toward the stairs.

Just like his father
, she thought.

“Wait a minute,” she said, “I know where it is.” She grabbed her keychain and ran out to her car. As she exited the house, she saw the school bus pull away from the end of the block, and released a frustrated groan.

A minute later, she came back into the house with the hat in her hand. “You fell asleep on the way home from the pizza place last night and I carried you in. The hat must’ve fallen off in the car.”

He took the hat and put it on his head. “Thanks, Mom.”

“You’re welcome.” She couldn’t help but just love him in that cap. She looked at her watch. “Come, I’ll drive you to school.”

The two of them got into the car and she pulled out of the driveway. As she turned the corner from her street onto the main road, she noticed through the rearview mirror an unfamiliar car coming out of her street and turning in the same direction. This was strange to her, considering that she lived on a dead end and knew all her neighbors’ cars, none of which resembled this brown sedan. She drove about a half-mile and turned another corner. A few other cars were now behind her, and she was about to discard her paranoia when she saw the sedan again, three cars back.

She stepped on the gas and made a sharp right.

“Ma, what’re you doing? School’s the other way!”

“I know, honey,” she said with feigned calmness. “Just taking a little detour.”

The boy shrugged.

She sped up to the next corner, screeched a left, then a quick right back onto the road to the school. A few seconds later, with fresh traffic behind her, she heard a screech from another car, looked in the rearview mirror, and saw the brown sedan emerge once more.

She kept her cool, so as not to scare Dan Jr., and pulled up to the school. As she kissed him goodbye, she saw the sedan drive past them.
Two men
.
Cops
. She was sure of it. After all these years married to an assistant DA, she could smell them. She figured they knew they were made and that replacements would soon follow.

“You okay, Ma?”

“Sure,” she said, trying to be believable. “Why not?”

The boy gave her a strange look.

“I just got new brakes,” she explained. “Wanted to try them out.”

“They work good,” he said, wearing a wise-guy grin.

“Yes, they do.” Her heart was pounding. “Now, go to school. We’ve had enough dilly-dallying for one day.”

They kissed again, hugged, and Dan Jr. got out from the car. She watched him walk into the school with the other kids, waved to the security guard, then pulled away. She searched for the sedan. It was gone.

There was no doubt in her mind they were cops. She figured they were courtesy of her husband, that something dangerous was going on. She decided to head back home before going to work. She was going to be late anyway and there was something there she needed.

She pulled into her driveway and instinctively looked around once again. She saw nothing, but figured it was only a matter of time before a new car appeared. She thought of calling Dan, asking him what this was about. But she knew what he would say: “There’s no reason to worry, it’s only a precaution.” He always downplayed that aspect of his work. He downplayed a lot of things. She had learned in her Al-Anon meetings that this was typical of alcoholics.

She ran upstairs into her bedroom and opened the closet. The box she wanted was on the top shelf and she needed to pull over a chair to reach it. She and Dan had kept it there so that Dan Jr. wouldn’t be able to get at it. She took the box down and began turning the combination – her wedding date.

She lifted out the gun and held it in her hand. A silver-plated .38 that Dan got her about three months after he was promoted to major crimes, one week before his first trial. He had taken her to the range and trained her well. Since their separation, she had continued practicing, figuring one day she might need it.

She opened the cartridge, checked the bullets and put the gun in her bag. If the cops were watching her, then she and her son could be in danger. And if that was true, she couldn’t depend on the cops.

chapter 18

D
an Gifford had just finished
packing his briefcase and was about to leave the office for the evening, when an unfamiliar man appeared in his doorway.

Gifford was surprised; although the secretaries and clerks had departed hours ago, the security guards should have informed him that he had a visitor.

“Can I help you?” Gifford asked, keeping his calm. The stranger was a burley-looking sort, balding, with a face that was marred from what must have been a terrible case of adolescent acne. But the cheap gray suit was the real giveaway.

Gifford had been working with cops long enough to figure that this guy was either “on the job” or served some other such function yielding him enough clout to get past security.

“Daniel Gifford?”

“Name’s on the door.”

The stranger approached Gifford’s desk, reached into his pocket and pulled out an ID. “Richard Schwartz, federal agent.”

Gifford made no effort to conceal his displeasure. It was past 10:30 in the evening and Schwartz had caught him off guard. “And what exactly is it that I can do for the FBI, Agent Schwartz?”

The FBI agent appeared unflinching, as if he had anticipated a less than warm welcome. The turf wars, power games, mistrust and mutual lack of respect between feds and locals had a rich heritage. He glanced at the chair in front of Gifford’s desk.

“I wouldn’t bother to sit, Agent Schwartz,” Gifford said, eyeing his watch. “It’s very late, you don’t have an appointment and – to be quite honest – I’m anxious to get home.”

“Then I guess I’ll get right to the point. My office received a call from some bigwig at the Israeli consulate today. It seems two of your guys were rousting two of their guys.”

“Rousting? I would hardly characterize a mere conversation as ‘rousting.’ And since when is the FBI interested in this sort of thing? I thought complaints from international diplomats were matters for the State Department.”

“Normally,” Schwartz responded, as though he expected this question. “This situation is sort of… unusual.”

“Unusual? How so?”

“Let’s just say that these two Israeli gentlemen are working with the bureau on a very delicate matter.”

“The details of which you are, no doubt, unable to provide.”

“You know how it works.”

Gifford contemplated for a moment. “Tell me,” he said, “how did you get to
me
?”

“Easy, the Israelis got your plate number.”

Gifford wasn’t surprised. In fact, when he had driven past the Israelis’ car, he knew exactly what he was doing, hoping that whatever was going on would eventually come back to him. And here it was. “You’re right, Agent Schwartz, I do know how it works. And let me tell you how I work. First, you are presently in the offices of the elected district attorney of Queens County, and these offices pursue crimes as we see fit. We serve the people of this county, not Uncle Sam and his emissaries.”

“I understand all that, Mr. Gifford, and allow me to tell you what else I understand. First, your men were in Nassau County, not Queens County –
that’s
out of your jurisdiction. Second, you aren’t investigating any crime. Third, once we ran your plate and got your ID, your picture was very familiar to those Israeli gentlemen. You’ve been seen entering and leaving that building. We also did some investigating and we know about your problems. There’s a shrink on the first floor. Put one and one together and…” Schwartz stopped himself.

Gifford waited for more.

“Now, if you want my take on things,” Schwartz continued, “I’d guess your intelligence background makes you paranoid, not a bad thing to be in your line of work. So, I figure you spotted these guys, got curious, maybe thought they were after you or something, and so you launched a little independent investigation of your own. Just let me know when I’m getting warm.”

Gifford wasn’t rattled. He had already guessed that Schwartz knew all this. “What exactly is it that you want?” he asked.

“Look, Gifford, I’m not here to quarrel with you, only to tell you that this situation has nothing to do with you or your offices. I believe it would be best if you backed off and left it alone.”

“It being…”

“I can’t say.”

The two men stared at each other.

“I’ll certainly consider what you believe would be best,” Gifford said.

“Do that.”

The staring continued.

“And one more thing,” Schwartz said. “This whole situation is not for public knowledge. If that shrink, or anyone else in that building, were to get wind of our presence, it would compromise a federal investigation and it would have serious national and international consequences, to say nothing of the effect on your career.”

Gifford didn’t enjoy being threatened, but he realized that it was best he keep quiet until he knew what he was dealing with. “If you don’t mind, it’s late and I’m tired,” he said.

Schwartz simply nodded, turned on his heel and carried himself out of the office.

Gifford finally sat down in his chair, thinking about what had just transpired. He waited a few minutes, then picked up the phone and dialed Bobby Marcus’ home number. Marcus picked up on the third ring.

“It’s me,” Gifford said.

“Surprise, surprise. Who else would it be this time of night?”

After sharing the details of the meeting with Schwartz, Gifford said, “I want you to get everything you can on this guy. I want to know what he’s working on, where he lives, who he sleeps with, everything. And I don’t want him to get wind of it.” Gifford knew he was asking a lot of Marcus and that his tone betrayed his determination. He felt somehow violated by Schwartz and wanted to return the favor.

“Consider it done,” Marcus said.

chapter 19

E
lizabeth Rosen wore a curious
expression. She was accustomed to watching her father shave in the morning but never at night. Martin, oblivious to his daughter’s presence, struggled to steady his hand while he stroked the blade. He couldn’t recall ever having felt so nervous about a dinner date.

“Daddy, why are you shaving now?” Elizabeth asked.

“Ouch!” Martin yelped as the blade drew blood. He reached for a tissue and brought it to his cheek.

“You okay, daddy?”

He examined the wound in the mirror; it appeared superficial. “I’m fine, princess, just a little cut.” He ran water over it, but the bleeding continued. He opened the medicine cabinet and began searching for his styptic pencil. “I’m shaving because I have a special appointment tonight.”

“Why’s it special?”

He knew he should have anticipated that question. “Because I’m seeing a special friend and I want to look nice. Just like sometimes you want to look nice when you go to see your friends.” He found the styptic pencil, opened it, and moistened the tip.

She thought about his response and said, “Do girls ever shave?”

He hesitated, wondering how to answer that. It occurred to him that his patients were often easier to deal with than a 4-year-old. “Yes, they do,” he began, “but usually only their legs.”

“Their
legs?
” She laughed. “Do any girls shave their faces?”

“None that I know,” he said.

“But some do,” she reacted, as if she knew this to be a fact.

“I suppose so,” Martin said, wondering what was coming next. Whenever these things got started, there was no telling where they might lead.

“When I get bigger, I’m going to shave my face just like you!”

In his mind, Martin chastised himself:
What a great psychologist you are!

A lump formed in his throat as he placed the razor on the sink, rinsed his face, picked her up and hugged her. “When you grow up, you’re going to be very special,” he said, trying not to say anything stupid. “I’m happy that you love me so much that you want to be like me. That’s a good thing. But there’ll be a few things that you might
not
want to do, and shaving your face may just be one of them.”

“No, I’m going to, just like you!” She was adamant. “I’m going to do
everything
you do.”

He carried her into his bedroom, put her down on the bed, looked into her eyes and said, “If that’s what you want. But just remember, if you should change your mind, it’s okay with me.”

“I’m not going to change my mind.”

He simply kissed her on the forehead, smiled, then opened the closet to choose his clothes.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, princess?”

“What time will you be home?”

“Probably after you’re asleep.” He placed a pair of khakis on the bed with a light blue pinpoint oxford button-down shirt. He then reached for a reddish-brown Harris Tweed blazer. The weather report had promised a nippy night.

“Will you come in and kiss me goodnight?”

“Don’t I always?”

“I don’t know. I’m asleep.”

He took her head in his heads, kissed her again and said, “Well I
always
do, and I
always
will.”

“Even when I’m married?”

“When you’re married, I may not always be there to kiss you goodnight, but you’ll always be my little princess.”

“I don’t want to get married.”

“That might be another thing you’ll change your mind about.”

“No I won’t.”

“We’ll see.”

“I really won’t.”

“Why not?” He knew he shouldn’t have gone there the instant the words slipped from his tongue.

“Because I want to stay with you.”

“You will
always
be with me, even if you marry someone else. You see, it doesn’t matter where you are or who you live with. When you love someone, they’re always with you.”

A moment of silence descended as they each digested the exchange. Martin continued dressing and Elizabeth sat on the bed, watching, seeming to have run out of questions. He thanked God – or whomever he usually thanked at times like this – though he knew his reprieve was only temporary. There would be more to come, of that he was certain. But he wasn’t so sure how much longer he could get by with such clumsy answers.

For now, all he could do was turn his thoughts to the evening that awaited.