It's A Shame (23 page)

“Why is all this happening to us?”
I asked looking up to the heavens. No answer.
No surprise
.

“He didn’t do it Grace, and that
will
be proven,” Dean offered up trying to defuse the situation. “I’ll do everything in my power to get this resolved. Just hang in there.” He looked at me apologetically.

On to the next catastrophe
, “What about the girl in Brooklyn, did they find her?” I asked

“No. They let their only suspect go, seems he had an airtight alibi.”

“Fucking great.” I stood up and slowly walked towards where Cole stood and wrapped my arms around his midsection. He squeezed me and kissed the top of my head.

Thank God I have people in high places. If I had to rely on the cops,
led by Captain Kangaroo here, Cole would be on his way to prison.

Chapter
23

The next morning
, Cole left with his attorney to file paperwork, which was essentially entering a plea of ‘not guilty’. It was a strategy that, his attorney suggested, would postpone the formal charges. I walked over to the counter and made my second cup of coffee. I didn’t sleep well and I was having hell’s own time trying to focus on anything. Cole said he would call after he got to work…yes, even through this melee; he also needed to go in to his office and run his multibillion-dollar company. I’m just totally floored by his strength.

I was sitting at the breakfast bar when Michelle
, using her key to my apartment, opened the door and came in. Without a word, or a glance in my direction, she walked over to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup. After she added her two drops of cream and one teaspoon of sugar, she came over and sat down across from me.

“Hey, before I forget,
the other day, the day the…um, the finger was found, did you try to unlock the door and come in?”

“No,
why?”

“Nothing,
I’m off my rocker.” I wasn’t about to tell her what I thought I heard, but
I
know someone inserted a key into the lock, fully expecting me to be out, and when they heard me inside they scrambled off. Right after, I might add, I found the latest gift from our personal crazed maniac…no that wouldn’t do. She’d surely have Dean post a sentry outside my door.

She eyed me
, and I could tell she knew I was holding something back.

“Anyway,
what brings you over to the dark side?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes on
queue, just as I expected.

“
I’ve got a little surprise for you.” She paused long enough for me to grasp what she was saying. I looked up to find her eyes on me. A smug smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, like she was trying to pace herself.  “I found out something that just might interest you.” She sat there smiling like the Cheshire cat. It was totally disturbing. “I was in the bedroom listening to Dean talking on his phone and overheard him say that the UC he’s got working downstairs, posing as building security, came across something that might just help us find what we are looking for.” She looked around the room, as if she expected someone to be hiding.

Now this news
piqued my interest.

“Yeah
, what?” I asked her.

“Heard
the UC, that’s undercover cop, in case you didn’t know…”

I rolled my eyes and smirked
…

“Okay smartass, well,
the UC found out that that asshole Pat, the one we believed harassed you, the one you think is creepy, the one we think was following Lauren Buckley… well, get this, he was the one who left the last two packages at our doors.”

“What!?” I was asto
unded, my mouth hung open.

“Yeah,
got your interest now, don’t I?” She tilted her coffee cup up and drained its contents then walked over to the counter to make a second cup.
How this woman doesn’t have a throat full of blisters is beyond me.

When she walked back
to the dining room table, she looked directly at me and smirked. “Shut your trap, before some ginormous fly swoops in and shits in it.”

S
he saw my horrified expression and beamed, quite proud of her comic prowess.

“
All right, Lisa Lampinelli,” I countered. “Get to the point.”

She actually stuck her tongue out at me.

“Very mature.”

“Do you want to hear this or not?”

“Of course I do.”

“Well…he, the door guy Pat, did something to the tapes of the security footage. Something like looped…roll a loop, or something like that.  Anyway, he made it so the cameras would be looking at a portion of tape over and over again, until he had enough time to leave the boxes.” Her eyes widened again when she saw me bring my hand up to my mouth.

“
At this point, they don’t know if he is working for someone, or he is the guy they’re looking for. He’s a person of interest.”

“Oh, he’s a person of interest alright.” The wheels
in my head were spinning.

“
Like I said, they can’t prove he had anything to do with the first package, but come on. Do we look like idiots to them or what? Anyway, I overheard Dean tell the UC to ‘
stand down, don’t break cover, that they needed more on him than they had’.
He asked him some more questions, but I couldn’t hear what Dean was saying because he walked into the living room, but I watched him write something on his pad. Then I waited for him to go into the shower and took a little peak at his notes and guess what I have?” She waited a second before blurting out the rest. “An address…and guess what again…the motherfucker lives in Brook-lyn.” She was literally singing.

S
he waited for my reaction, and my gasp was her cue. She continued.

“Brooklyn,
the lovely borough where they found that dead girl, the one with the missing fingers.” She was obviously more than proud of her detecting skills. “I think we got us a, what the hell do those assholes say,…” she looked up as if the answer were written on the ceiling, “…a viable…”

“Suspect?” I blurted
out.

“Yeah,
that’s it. Suspect!” Did I say she was beaming? Well, that was an understatement. The damn bitch was floating!

I just stared at her
…this was too weird.

“I think we have the
starting point for
OUR
investigation,” she whispered as she looked towards the door. It was almost as if she were expecting someone to burst in and drag us out in cuffs.

“
There’s no one here, Shelle,” I whispered back, looking under the table for emphasis. “I think… that maybe you been watching too many murder mysteries.”

I
calmly got up and walked to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water.

“Want one?” I asked as I held the bottle up.

“Are you fucking with me?” Her mouth hung upon in surprise, and she looked defeated.

“Of course I am… where do we start?”
I couldn’t hold my excitement in any longer. I walked back to the breakfast bar and sat down giving her my full attention.

She
glowed quite proud of herself.

“We go here…” she pulled ou
t a folded up piece of paper and tossed it onto the countertop. When it landed short of my reach, I stood up.

“Here.”
She leaned over and flicked it closer to me with her fingernail.

I looked down
and saw her handwriting across the top of the torn off piece of paper.

Pat Ricchicardo, 1724 17
th
Street, Brooklyn.

Wonderful, I just love Brooklyn…
NOT
.

After
quickly changing into jeans, a tee shirt and a pair of running shoes, I took my license from my wallet and my cell phone, placing both in my back pocket, and lowered my sunglasses over my eyes. We both rode the service elevator down in silence, and exited out the back door of the building, walking around the corner to 78
th
Street where we hailed a cab to take us downtown.

We
jumped out of the cab on Broadway and ran down the steps to the D train, heading towards Park Slope.  Michelle had already verified that Pat was at work until 8:30 pm, and the cops were watching him, waiting for him to screw up, so there was no chance he would catch us near his home.

We exited the train and took the long stairway
down from the ‘L’ to the sidewalk below, and stood there like two lost tourists. We looked around, totally clueless as to which direction to take until we spotted a small Italian deli and went in to ask for directions to
18
th
Street—another idea of Michelle’s—she had potential to become a brilliant detective someday. 

The
sweet little Italian woman pointed the direction we needed to go, and told us it was a ten-minute walk. We both got a coffee for the walk, which according to the little woman meant we would need to also take a biscotti—truth be told she forced it on us—’
you too skinny, need a little fat on you bones, this is good…just made myself dis morning...you will like. Eat…Eat…Manga.

We thanked her
and, with coffee and biscotti in hand, made our way out the door.

The streets were
bustling with people; shopping, walking, exercising, pushing baby strollers—presumably to the Park—which according to the little woman with the biscotti was three blocks over from our
friend’s
address.  Yup, we couldn’t wait to meet up and hang with our old friend Pat.

We turned onto his nice little suburban street
, and stealthily walked right past number 1724, scoping it out from the corner of our eyes.  It was a brick row house, with dark curtains and a screen door that hung a little crooked on the frame.  The small yard, with its weathered gnome figure standing front and center, was neat and clean, and the driveway leading to the back of the house was empty.

T
here were two garage doors at the end of the driveway. The one on the left had Junk piled high, and looked like the door was broken.  The other garage door was closed. The closed garage door had little square windows that looked to be blackened, either dark curtains or paint. There were two large plastic garbage cans standing neatly on a cement platform, adjacent to the driveway.

We circled the street
, like we owned the neighborhood, as we strategized our next move. I’m not sure if our ‘Brooklyn’ attitudes were convincing, but we tried.

On our second pass
, we noticed there was a car double-parked on the street two doors down from 1724. Both doors on the passenger side were wide open, and we watched an older woman, being helped into a car by a young woman, who appeared to be her daughter. There were two little kids jumping around and shouting in the backseat. The younger woman warned them, loudly, to behave as she gently coaxed the old woman into the front seat. They drove off without paying us any mind.

Michelle stopped and leaned on me, looking to anyone who may be watching us
, like she was fixing her shoe.

“What do you want to do?”
she whispered.

“I want you to stop whispering.”
I whispered

“Funny.”

“I don’t have a clue.”

She wriggled her finger inside her sneaker while
continuing to lean on my shoulder.

“I think we should walk down the driveway to the back of the house.”

“
Brilliant move detective.” When she looked up at me I laughed. “Okay, we’ll stroll down the driveway looking like two thieves in the night…let’s do that.”

“Don’t be a smartass.” She punched
me in the arm. “It’s empty. See. No cars.”

She pointed towards the rear of the driveway.

“Okay, fine,” I acquiesced. She was, after all, was my fearless leader. “Wait, what exactly are we looking for?” I asked.

“The missing girl
, right?” She hopped on one foot.

“You mean you don’t know? Don’t we have a plan?”

“Of course we…I have a plan.”

“And?” I crossed my arms, waiting patiently. “ T
his was your idea Shelle, you tell
me
what we are looking for.”

“The missing girl.
Or anything that will nail that crazy fucker.” I cringed as she brought her hand up to her throat and ran her fingers over her raised scar.

“
Okay, stop looking so nervous. Like you said, the street is empty and we know he’s at work…”

“Okay, okay.”

Michelle reached into her back pocket and pulled out her phone along with a crumbled piece of paper. She put the phone to her ear and held the paper up, as if trying to match the address to what was written.