Until I Saw Your Smile (43 page)

“I might,” Donna said, “but you're only a phone call away, right?”

“Right,” Joe said. He smiled sweetly at her. “This might work.”

Unbelievable.
“So you'll stay married, right?” Matthew asked.

“What do you think, Joe?” Donna asked. “Do you think we should?”

“I think he's right.” Joe counted out five twenties and slid them across the table. “For your trouble.”

Matthew slid back the money. “You'll need it for a night out in Little Italy, Joe.”

“Oh, you have to have something,” Joe said. “You've helped us. Take your girl out on us.”

Matthew collected the money. “Thank you.”

Joe and Donna left the booth, both of them shook Matthew's hand crisply, and they left Angela's shop hand in hand.

“Wow,” Matthew whispered as Angela brought over a plate of cookies. “Were you listening?”

Angela sat next to him. “Yes.”

He picked up a cookie. “Can you believe those two? Sixty-two years of marriage, and
now
they want to sleep around.”

Angela rubbed his leg. “I'm glad you talked them out of it.”

“I really shouldn't have taken any of their money,” Matthew said.

Angela held out her hand.

Matthew put the money in her hand.

Angela folded the money. “You gave them a marriage counseling session. You earned this money. I read that some of these marriage counselors make up to one hundred thousand bucks a year. You need to add marriage counseling to your list.”

A flat fee for counseling?
“What if it takes five hours to counsel them?”

“You're right,” Angela said. “Charge a hundred an hour.”

Matthew added the fee to his list, but again he had no takers.

I charge too little for divorces
and
too much for marriage counseling.

He lowered the counseling fee to fifty dollars an hour.

He still had no takers.

Chapter 31

T
he second Sunday morning in March was Panic Day, and Matthew panicked the moment he started reading Friday's copy of the
Daily Eagle
.

The story started on the bottom of the front page with a headline (“Williamsburg Man Arrested in Blizzard Attacks”) and the mug shot of a scruffy-looking man named Robert Warrick. Police had arrested him on suspicion of committing several assaults on women in Lindsay Park over a three-day period.

He looked over at Angela, who was staring out the front window at the last of the snow mounds glistening and melting in the sun.

He rose on unsteady legs and took the paper to the counter. “Did you see this story?”

Angela nodded.

Of course she did.
“Do you think this might be the same guy?” Matthew whispered.

“I didn't see his face,” Angela said. “He was wearing a ski mask.”

This is the first time I've heard about a ski mask.
“It might be worth talking to the police about.”

“I've got nothing to tell them,” Angela said.

“Maybe he left some DNA,” Matthew said.

“I burned my clothes,” Angela said.

More new information.
“You burned . . . your clothes.”

“Yes.”

“Why would you do that if he only tried?” Matthew asked.

“He didn't rape me, Matthew,” Angela whispered. “He . . . came
on
me just before I kicked him.”

Even more new information. Either she's remembering more or she finally trusts me enough to reveal more.
“What about the stairs? Those crime techs are very good. They might be able to find something on the stairs.”

“I scrubbed the stairs and walls with bleach,” Angela said, “and anything else he may have left behind I've already swept away.”

She tried to make it
all
disappear.
“Did he say anything to you?” Angela left her stool, holding her hands in front of her. “I don't want to do this.”

Matthew followed her to the kitchen. “Did he say anything?”

Angela washed her hands. “Yes, but I don't want to do this right now.”

“What did he say, Angela?” Matthew asked.

Angela's body shook. “ ‘Dis da way you like it? You gonna like what I got to give you.' ”

Wow.
“He said it just like that?” Matthew asked.

Angela nodded.

“So he might be originally from Williamsburg,” Matthew said. “You can't fake that accent.”

Angela nodded.

“A white guy.”

Angela nodded. “Yeah.”

“And you kicked him in the balls,” Matthew said. “I wonder if he still has some damage down there.”

“I hope he does,” Angela whispered.

“We might be able to check that,” Matthew said.

Angela turned. “We?”

“I mean, that can be checked,” Matthew said. “The police can check that.”

Angela swallowed. “Matthew, what if it
is
him?”

Then you'll be able to confront him in court and really start to heal.
“What if it is?”

“I mean, if it
is
him,” Angela said, “and I had said something four years ago, those women wouldn't have gotten attacked.”

Matthew held her close. “This guy may have been at it for many years. Your testimony now could be crucial in putting him away.”

“I'm sure they have enough evidence.” She stepped back and wiped her eyes. “They made an arrest, didn't they? They wouldn't have arrested him without evidence.”

“You can never have too much evidence.” He dug his phone out of his pocket and put it in her hand. “Call the Ninetieth Precinct.”
I hope they answer today.
“Give your name and address, and then tell whoever answers that you have information on a similar attack that occurred during the 2010 blizzard.”

Angela looked at the phone. “It might not be the same guy, Matthew. Maybe the guy who attacked me is already in jail somewhere. That's what I've always hoped.”

“Whether he is or he isn't,” Matthew said, “at least you can let them know what happened to you.”

Angela gripped the phone. “Dr. Penn has wanted me to do this for years.”

“I'm scared.” She shuddered. “I'm really scared.”

“And I'm still the only man behind you,” Matthew said.

She looked into his eyes. “I know.” She handed back the phone. “I don't know the number.”

Matthew scrolled through his contact list, found the 90
^th
, and hit SEND. He put the phone in her hand.

Angela took a deep breath and exhaled. “Yes, I'd like to speak to someone about . . . My name is Angela Smith, and I was attacked in my coffee shop on Driggs Avenue during the 2010 blizzard.” She held her left hand out to him.

Matthew held it tightly with both of his hands.

“I read a story in the paper today,” she continued. “Yes, I saw his picture in the paper, but I don't know if it's the same guy. He was wearing a black ski mask, so I couldn't see his face.” She listened a moment then covered the phone. “They're transferring me to a detective.”

She uncovered the phone. “Hello.” She closed her eyes. “Yes, it was a black knit ski mask with three holes, two for the eyes and one for the mouth.” She opened her eyes. “Big, maybe . . . six-three, six-four, maybe close to two-fifty or more. He, um, attacked me from behind, so I didn't get a good look at him.” She listened for a minute. “Smith's Sweet Treats and Coffee on Driggs.” She sighed. “Right. The coffee shop across from La Estrella
.
Could you come over after I close at eight?” She nodded. “Okay, I'll see you at eight.” She closed the phone and handed it to Matthew. “A detective will be here around eight. Could you watch things for a few minutes?”

“Sure,” Matthew said.

She ran up the stairs.

Matthew served several customers, but he didn't wish them a Happy Panic Day. When Angela returned, she wore her signature smile.

“You okay?” Matthew whispered.

“I'm a little lighter,” she said. “Can you take me out to dinner tonight?”

“I'd love to.” He kissed her cheek. “You're doing the right thing, Angela.”

“I know. I just wish I had done the right thing sooner.” She looked at the tip jar. “Did you get some tips?”

“I hadn't noticed.”
I was too busy watching the kitchen for your return.

She peered into the tip jar. “You did.”

“What did you do differently?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” Matthew said. “Maybe your customers are getting used to me.”

She kissed his cheek. “It might be all our kissing. I think my customers are your customers now.”

Matthew looked out into the dining area. “You think?”

She hugged him. “I
know.
”

“So I should keep flirting with you and kissing you and hugging you down here whenever I can,” Matthew said.

“Yes.”

Matthew smiled. “You may need to get a bigger tip jar.”

Chapter 32

D
etective Sidney Novak arrived alone before eight. Novak was in her mid-fifties, had reddish-gray hair, and wore black slacks and a brown leather jacket.

“We're almost closed, Detective,” Matthew said. “Angela's finishing up the kitchen.”

“And you are . . .” She took out a small notepad.

“Matthew McConnell,” he said. “I'm Angela's business partner, lawyer, and boyfriend.” Matthew seated Novak in his booth, then sat across from her.

“You're the infamous Matthew McConnell,” Novak said. “Barbara doesn't like you very much, does she?”

“Nope,” Matthew said.

Novak looked around. “The attack happened here in the dining area?”

“On the back stairs,” Matthew said, “but I'll let Angela tell you about it.”

Angela came out of the kitchen, poured Novak a tall cup of house blend, and brought the cup to her. “Hello,” she said quietly.

Novak nodded and took a sip. “Thank you.”

Angela locked the front door and joined them, taking Matthew's hand under the table.

“Miss Smith,” Novak said, “thank you for calling.”

“I don't know if I'll be any help,” Angela said. “It happened four years ago.”

Should I be here for this?
“If you'd rather talk to Detective Novak alone, I can start mopping out here.”

Angela gripped Matthew's hand. “I want you with me.”

“I will stay then,” Matthew said.

Novak took another sip of her coffee. “As her lawyer?”

“No,” Matthew said. “As her friend.”

“Okay,” Novak said. “First, I need to see where the attack took place.”

“It happened . . .” Angela slid out of the booth. “In the back.”

They walked around the counter into the kitchen.

“I had different doors back here then,” Angela said, pointing at the two steel doors.

“How were they different?” Novak asked.

“The back door had little glass inserts on the upper half, twelve, I think,” Angela said. “It was all wood below.”

“What kind of lock did you have on your old door?” Novak asked.

Angela sighed. “It was only a single deadbolt, and there was only one chain.”

Novak wrote it down. “Take me through the attack.”

Angela looked toward the stove. “I locked the front door and turned off the shop lights as I always do and came back here.” She looked at the floor. “I saw broken glass here.” She pointed to the floor near the door. “But since the deadbolt was still locked and the chain was up, I thought maybe a bird had knocked out a pane of glass. That had happened before. I keep my windows clean.” She fumbled with her hands. “I was pretty tired that night. A lot of people were stocking up on coffee and sweets before and during the snowstorm. I got a broom and a dustpan and started sweeping up when the door going upstairs . . .” She pointed at the stairway door. “That one. It was a cheap wood door then, and it was never locked.” She swallowed. “That door flew open . . . and he came out.”

“Did he have a weapon?” Novak asked.

“No,” Angela said.

Novak skipped back in her notes. “You described him as six-three, six-four, and maybe two-fifty, wearing a black ski mask. Can you describe what else he was wearing?”

“He was wearing dark jeans, snow boots, a big puffy jacket, and black leather gloves,” Angela said.

“Then what happened?” Novak asked.

“He dragged me by my hair and neck up the stairs to the landing and closed the door behind him,” Angela said.

“Show me,” Novak said.

She opened the stairway door, the light blinding. “I didn't have that light here then. It was pretty dark.”

Novak shielded her eyes. “Go on.”

“He . . . he pinned me into the corner of the landing with his body,” Angela said. “He had one hand on the back of my neck, and he . . .” She closed her eyes. “He pulled down my pants.”

“Did he say anything to you?” Novak asked.

Angela opened her eyes and started shaking. “He said, ‘Dis da way you like it? You gonna like what I got to give you.' ”

Novak wrote rapidly. “He said that exactly.”

“I won't ever forget it,” Angela whispered.

“You're absolutely sure,” Novak said.

“Yes,” Angela said.

Novak underlined the quote.

Novak jumped on that piece of information.
Matthew had trouble feeling his hands.
Warrick had to have been here four years ago.

Novak stepped around Angela and looked up the stairs, taking several more notes. “What happened next?”

“I felt him . . . I felt his penis against me,” Angela said, her voice shaking. “He, um, he came before he could . . . before he could rape me.”

“He didn't rape you,” Novak said.

“No,” Angela said. “He didn't.”

“You're sure.” Novak stared into Angela's eyes. “You're absolutely sure.”

“I'm sure,” Angela said, sighing. “Because that's when I kicked back with my right heel and hit him hard in the balls.”

Novak blinked. “You're sure you kicked him there.”

Angela nodded. “He dropped to the landing, screaming and holding his . . . package, and that's when I pulled up my pants, kneed him in the nose, and ran out into the snow.” She looked at Matthew. “I drove my knee into his face. I had forgotten that. I broke his nose. No wonder there was so much blood on the landing. All this time I thought it was mine.”

“You broke his nose and you're just now remembering it?” Novak asked.

Angela focused on Novak. “I have PTSD because of the attack.” She looked at Matthew. “It's about time I admitted it, huh?”

Matthew nodded.
She junked his junk
and
fractured his face. I love this woman! She doesn't need a Taser or a hammer.

Novak wrote it down. “You've been diagnosed.”

Angela nodded. “By Dr. Kenneth Penn. He comes to see me or I call him to come see me. I haven't been out of my shop much since the attack. Matthew has been helping me get outside again. I've been having flashbacks since the blizzard we had recently. I still don't remember everything that happened four years ago, but Dr. Penn says that eventually I will.”

Novak tapped her notepad with her pen. “What happened next?”

Angela stepped off the landing into the kitchen. “I ran this way and tore open the back door. I broke the chain I pulled so hard. Then I ran out into the snow trying to find help, but I couldn't find anyone. I was outside for hours, I don't know how many. I watched from the back alley to see if he was still inside, and eventually I came back in.”

Novak stepped into the kitchen. “We'll need to get some crime techs out here in the morning.”

“I don't know if it will do any good,” Angela said. “I scrubbed the landing with bleach.”

“We might still be able to find some of his blood and maybe even some of his semen,” Novak said. “It might have had time to soak into the wood before you cleaned it.”

“Will they . . . will they disrupt my business?” Angela asked.

“I can meet you with the techs back here,” Novak said. “We'll try to be discreet. Do you still have the clothes you were wearing?”

“No,” Angela said. “I burned them all.”

Novak nodded. “Did you burn your shoes, too?”

“I threw them out,” Angela said. “They were ruined.”

Novak shook her head slightly. “Why didn't you report this?”

“I was . . . I was ashamed,” Angela said, pulling on her fingers. “I was afraid. I was angry for not protecting myself. And since I wasn't raped or really hurt, I tried to forget about it. When I read the story in the paper, I decided to let you know.”

Novak closed her notepad. “You should have reported this four years ago.”

Angela nodded. “I know. I . . . excuse me.” She ran up the stairs, slamming the apartment door behind her.

“Is she all right?” Novak asked.

“What do you think?” Matthew asked. “Of course she's not okay.”

“Is she on any kind of medication?” Novak asked.

“No.” He looked at the ceiling when he heard the toilet flushing upstairs.

“Should she be?” Novak asked.

He stared at Novak. “I'm not her psychiatrist.”

“I know that,” Novak said.

Matthew left the kitchen for the dining area.

Novak followed him to the booth. “Do you know if Dr. Penn prescribed anything for her?”

Matthew sat. “She's not taking anything.”

Novak sat across from him. “We'll need her to come down to look at a lineup.”

“I don't know if she's capable of that yet,” Matthew said. “She won't close the shop, and she can barely walk three blocks away from here without panicking. But if Warrick was wearing a ski mask and attacked her from behind, a lineup would be useless.”

“She obviously got at least a glimpse of him, right?” Novak said. “And if we
don't
have her do a lineup, the defense will say she never identified him in a lineup.”

True.
“She might recognize his voice.”

“After four years? I doubt it.” Novak sipped her coffee. “All the guys we had in the lineup were from Williamsburg, and they all sounded alike to me.”

Matthew nodded. “Do you think this is the same guy?”

“I can't say for sure,” Novak said, “but it's looking like it. The man hasn't changed his script. He waits for a snowstorm. He uses a similar method of entry, usually through an old back door. He breaks into a store, most often in a back alley, locks up behind him, and the victim thinks she's safe. He says almost the same exact words to each victim. We think he's been at it since 2006.” She sipped some coffee. “But in these recent attacks, he only simulated the rapes.”

Matthew blinked. “He didn't rape them?”

Novak shook her head.

“Because . . .”
Holy shit!
“Because Angela junked his junk.”

“An interesting way to put it,” Novak said. “It may be the reason, it may not be.”

“Have you checked?” Matthew asked.

“I wouldn't touch Warrick if you paid me a billion dollars,” Novak said. “He's slimy.”

“You have to check,” Matthew said. “Maybe some hospital has a record of his injury, or he has to take Viagra or something.”

Novak nodded. “It's a possibility.” She wrote down the information.

“What about his nose?” Matthew asked.

“That thing's been broken so many times he can probably fold it all the way to his ears,” Novak said.

“Does Warrick have a public defender?” Matthew asked.

“You aren't thinking of defending him, are you?” Novak said.

“No, of course not.”
What a stupid question to ask me!

“Warrick has somehow retained Avery Filardi,” Novak said. “He's taking Warrick's case pro bono
.
”

She has to be kidding. Filardi normally represents a much higher class of thug, mostly corporate types.
“Why would Filardi agree to represent Warrick?”

“Who knows?” Novak said. “Filardi loves the spotlight, and this could be a spotlight case. You know how he likes to put his Botoxed face on TV.”

Why would any lawyer take a case he couldn't win unless he
could
win it somehow?
“What did Warrick plead?”

“Not guilty,” Novak said. “Filardi is already pushing to get Warrick's charges reduced to breaking and entering and
menacing
in the third degree.”

“Menacing?” Matthew said. “That's bullshit.”

“I know,” Novak said.

Matthew shook his head, sighing. “Menacing, not rape.”

“You're a lawyer,” Novak said. “What's Filardi up to?”

“If I was him, and I'm not,” Matthew said, “I'd probably push Warrick's inability to get it up. It would go something like this: How can my client be a rapist if he can't physically get it up?”

“He doesn't have to get it up for it to be considered rape,” Novak said.

“I know that,” Matthew said. “And you know no jury in Brooklyn will accept menacing after what he's done. If the other women were as shaken up as Angela still is, their testimonies should put him away for life.”

“That's what we're hoping, provided we can keep these women interested in testifying,” Novak said. “They each want to put it behind them, much like Angela has done. We had to dig one of the victim's clothing from her garbage, and she had already washed them. All of them are still scared of the guy. That's why we need as much physical evidence as we can find. When would be a good time for us to return tomorrow?”

“We open at six,” Matthew said.

“We'll see you then,” Novak said. “If she remembers anything else, let me know.” She handed him her card.

“I will.”

Matthew mopped the dining area, turned out all the lights, went up the apartment, and found Angela balled up on the couch. She stared blankly at the window, her arms grasping her knees. “Angela, none of the other women was raped.”