Third Victim (7 page)

“Gee. I wish I had known. We could’ve hung out.”

“That would’ve been nice, but I was kind of tied up.”
Literally.

“Maybe some other time,” he said in an easygoing manner. “Could be fun.”

You have no idea.
I watched my hunk wander around the basement looking for clues.
Alas, so close and yet so far.

“Hey. What are these?” Lido had found his way over to a workbench, which was littered with small chucks of colored stones.

There were small tools on the workbench. “This looks like a carving tool.” I slipped on a glove and examined some of the stone fragments. It was plain to the eye that some of the surfaces had been shaped. “Someone’s a craftsman.” I inspected the small chisels, which were likely used to sculpt the stone.” All that’s missing is …” My head pivoted as if an inexplicable force was drawing it. Several small cardboard boxes were stacked against the basement wall. The top two had been unsealed and the lids closed with the flaps crossed and interlocked. They contained colored stones and seemed to be of the same composition as the fragments lying on the workbench. Poking up but hidden behind the boxes was a wooden handle. “I found something.” I grabbed the wooden handle and lifted it to reveal a rectangular iron hammer. It was a formidable tool and weighed two or three pounds. Gus came over and cast a searchlight beam at my discovery. The hammer looked clean except the crevice in the area where the handle articulated with the steel mallet, and there I saw what looked like dried blood.

Chapter Fourteen

“The rabbi has gone out,” one of the worshipers said.
There was just a handful of men gathered before the altar, reading from prayer books. “I think he went to meet with a contractor to get the kitchen back into shape.”

“Do you know when he’ll be back?” Lido asked.

“I’m not his secretary. He comes. He goes. It’s a free country, no? The faster the damage is repaired, the sooner everyone will come back to worship. Look at us,” he lamented as he cast his gaze at the meager handful of men sitting near the altar. “We usually have twenty men or more, but because of the bombing …”

“Do you know anyone here who works with sculpting tools?”

He looked confused, then said, “Oh. Yes.” He motioned for us to follow him toward a built-in closet. After opening the door, he reached into a small box and grabbed a handful of stone-carved four-sided tops. “Rabbi Tubman used to work in the jewelry trade. He makes the children dreidels for Hanukkah. They’re lovely, no? And because they’re made of stone, they’ll last forever, a real keepsake for the young ones.” He handed one to each of us.

“Nice craftsmanship,” Lido extolled.

“Who has access to the basement?”

“Everyone. There’s no lock on the door. We use it for storage.”

“Does the rabbi carry a cell phone?”

“Yes, for emergencies. Why, did you find the
mamzer
who did this terrible thing?”

“Not yet,” Lido replied, “but we have new questions for the rabbi. Do you have his number?”

“Not with me, but it’s written on the wall next to the phone in the …” He grinned weakly. “In the kitchen.”

“Do you know who the rabbi visited in the hospital last night?”

He shrugged. “This you’ll have to ask him.”

Lido handed the dreidel back to him. “He said that it was a congregant with a terminal condition.”

He seemed to be confused. “I can ask the others, but offhand …”

“Yes. Please ask. Thanks.”

He trudged away dutifully. I watched as he interrupted the other men. “Gus, run upstairs and see if that phone number is still on the wall, would you? We need to get Rabbi Tubman back here immediately. You stay here and wait for him. I’ll run the hammer over to the crime lab so that we can determine if it was the weapon used on John Doe and if the blood on it is his. I don’t like the fact that there are holes in the rabbi’s alibi. Question everyone here. Let’s see if we can’t get some meaningful answers.”

Lido winked at me. “You got it, skipper,” he said in an eager voice.

Skipper?
I waved him away. “Hop to it, Gilligan.”

Chapter Fifteen

“I finally got a hold of the rabbi,” Lido said as I placed the cold cell phone to my ear.
“He was difficult to reach, but he’s on his way back now.”

“I just left the crime lab. We’ll have an answer on the blood match in a couple of hours. As soon as the hammer has been thoroughly processed for prints, it’ll be sent over to Tully so that he can determine if it caused the damage to John Doe’s face, as we suspect it did.”

“Do you want me to wait for you, or should I dig right in on the rabbi?”

“Have at him. Find out why there was blood on the sculpting hammer and verify his alibi. I’m on my way over to Broadway to interview one of the producers at the Al Hirschfeld Theater. I want to talk to the man who hired Koufax for a role in
Pervy Pumps
. Did any of the men know about an ailing temple member?”

“Negatory, squadron leader. No one knew of anyone about to buy the farm.”

It appeared that Lido was keen on military jargon. “Squadron leader?”

“Sorry about that. A friend of mine gave me a stack of old war videos. I’ve been binge watching.”

If binge watching period war films was the worst of his shortcomings, I could certainly live with that. “No worries, partner. I just finished rereading
Don Quixote
. Okay if I call you compadre?”

It took a moment for him to respond and I sensed reticence in his reply. “Let’s go easy on the medieval Spanish and I’ll drop the military references. It’s just a phase I’m going through anyway.”

“Deal! I’m here. See you later.” I pulled into a spot across the street from the theater.

It was a brutal and blustery day in New York. I pulled my coat taut while I waited for the light on Forty-Fifth and Eighth to change, then raced across to the Al Hirschfeld Theater. My ears and cheeks were already red by the time I hit the lobby.

Victor Darhansoff was a bull of a man with a barrel chest and slick gray hair pulled into a ponytail. He had an Eastern European accent, but I was unable to pin down where he was from. All those Slavic countries sound the same to me. Slovakia, Slovenia, and Herzegovina—honestly, it’s an effort just trying to pronounce them. He had a hand as large as a first baseman’s mitt, which engulfed mine when he greeted me. “Your hands are like ice, Detective Chalice.”

“It’s ridiculously cold out there.”

“Yes. They said an arctic front is moving south. Personally, I prefer to blame the Canadians. Don’t ask me why,” he chuckled.

I didn’t. “Thanks for meeting with me.”

“Why wouldn’t I? A beautiful lady detective wants to question me … I’m intrigued. Come with me,” he said and led me toward the stairway. He was charming in an old-world manner. Chivalrous was the word that came to mind.

The theater doors were open and I was able to see the interior, the ornately decorated architecture, and the gorgeous red velvet curtain framed with a thick gilded border. “This is one of my favorite theaters,” I told Darhansoff as we ascended the stairs together.

“It
is
grand,” he exalted. “In its day, it was the most impressive theater on Broadway—dressing rooms for two hundred actors. Lansburgh designed it. Are you familiar with his work?”

“Not really.”

“If you ever get to LA, take note of the theaters in the downtown area. Lansburgh designed all of them, The Palace and The Orpheum just to name two of his more notable projects. By the way, have you seen
Pervy Pumps
?”

“It’s on my bucket list.”
Along with a fantastic husband, ten million dollars, and world peace.

“Well, then you can cross it off.” He reached into his jacket pocket and offered me a pair of tickets. “Come as my guest. It’s a delightful production.”

I glanced at the tickets. They were for the upcoming Saturday evening performance, orchestra seats. “I really can’t. It’s against—”

He paused me with a raised hand. “Say no more. You can pay me full face value,” he said and handed the pair of tickets to me. They were stamped Gratis.

“You’re a wily one, Victor Darhansoff.”

“Please, I’d much rather see a hardworking cop enjoy herself than give them away to the entitled brats of some filthy rich theater patron, who’ll sneak out during the intermission so that they can score some ecstasy on Ninth Avenue. We hold seats just for this purpose and it’ll thrill me no end to tell Lord and Lady Pompous that I have nothing available for the Saturday evening performance.”

It was an inappropriate way to begin an interview, but Darhansoff was not a suspect and I rarely bent the rules. Besides, I found his argument very compelling. “Thank you. I’ll take my mother.”

“Your mother?” he asked with a raised eyebrow before nodding with approval. “All the more commendable. I see that I made the right choice.” We reached the top of the stairs and he ushered me through a door that read Private. “It’s small but cozy up here and the steam heat in these old theaters is the stuff of legends. I have to keep my window cracked all winter long.”

He wasn’t kidding. His office was maybe the dimension of a billiard table. He had a small desk facing the exterior wall, two chairs, and a small bookcase, atop which sat a cappuccino machine.

“I
will
make you a hot drink,” he insisted, and rubbed his hands together eagerly as he approached the machine.

“That’s nice of you. I won’t say no.”

“Strong?”

I replied with a grin, “Give me all you’ve got.”

I watched as he measured a double shot of espresso and steamed the milk. “On the phone you said you were interested in an actor named Koufax, is that right?”

“Yes. Leonard Koufax. My information tells me that he auditioned for a role in your play.”

“Who hasn’t?” he chuckled with a hearty rumble. “I remember his audition. He was very good.”

He handed me the steaming brew. I nestled the cup in my hands, drawing warmth from it. “This is lovely. Thank you.”

“Well, taste it,” he demanded. “It’s not just to warm your hands. If that were the case, I could’ve simply warmed a stone for you.”

“Warmed a stone?”

“Ah,”
he emoted with revelation. “You young people, you don’t know about hardship. Growing up in Europe that was the only way to stay warm at night. My mother would heat stones on the fire, wrap them in cloth, and put them in bed with us.”

“That
is
sobering. I didn’t grow up in an affluent home, but we always had heat in the winter.” I sipped the cappuccino. “Oh, that’s so good. You’re a master.”

“Nonsense. I excel at nothing, but I take pride in my coffee, and I’m happy to see you enjoy it.”

“So what can you tell me about Leonard Koufax?”

Darhansoff sat down at his desk and turned his chair to face me. We were practically touching knees in the small office. He looked up while he searched his memory. “He had a good grasp of the role. Projected adequately … perhaps a bit unpolished with his dance steps.” He directed his gaze at me. “I should inquire—why are you asking about him?”

“I’m a homicide detective, Mr. Darhansoff.”

“So reading between the lines … a victim or a suspect?”

“A possible victim.”

“A possible victim?” He gritted his teeth and seemed to be weighing the implications. “That sounds particularly grizzly. I won’t delve any further.”

“Ordinarily would someone like that be offered a role? I mean, based on your comments.”

“There’s both a simple and a complicated answer to that question. I’ll give you both.”

“Okay.”

“I could audition actors twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year and never run out of applicants. Those good enough for starring roles are one in a thousand, and an understudy has to be just as good, a star in his or her own right, just one that burns with slightly less intensity than the actor awarded the lead. Competition is so fierce—if you’re asking if his was a one-in-a-thousand audition, the answer is no.” He paused. “Did I offer Koufax a part? Yes.”

“Why yes?”

“Because, Detective Chalice, he came with a very strong recommendation, one I could not say no to. So yes, I offered him a position as an understudy.”

“And where did this very strong recommendation come from?”

“Walk down the block and when you see the marquee on The Golden Theater you’ll see his name. He’s a Broadway legend, Rory Singer.”

Chapter 16

“He’s up in his room,” Lido said as I walked through the front door of the chabad.

“Up in his room? Why, did you give him a time-out? Is he an eight-year-old?”

“I think he’s locked the door.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I wish I were. He said that he needed a little time to reflect before he sat down to talk with me. I doubt he’s going out the window, so I figured I’d give him a few minutes.”

“Well, his time is up.” I pulled off my gloves and unzipped my coat. “It’s certainly starting to look as if he’s hiding something.” My scarf felt toasty warm around my neck, so I left it on. “As the Brits say, ‘Let’s go knock him up.’”

“The British say that?”

“Yup.”

“Strange language.”

“You mean
English
?”

“Don’t be cynical.”

If you insist.

“I wouldn’t throw that expression around too loosely if I were you.”

“And why not?”

“Because of the obvious connotation. I mean, if you were to tell some guy you just met, ‘Why don’t you stop by and knock me up.’ I mean a guy could get the wrong impression.”

“Fear not. My carry has a full clip just in case I need to ward off any confused suitors. Anyway, guess what?”

“You scored theater tickets?”

Well, actually …
Lido and I had only been working together a few weeks and I had already assessed that he wouldn’t have batted an eyelash over the serendipitous gift I’d received from Victor Darhansoff, still … “I was waiting for you to take me.”