Donnie had brought a messenger bag. He emptied the jewelry case into it and looked around for more. There was no reason to be circumspect. The long con was gone. What else did the guy have?
Donnie searched the closet. A metal petty cash box looked promising. Inside was a cash envelope, the type the bank issued, full of bills. He reached in, jerked them out. They were hundreds.
Jackpot.
Donnie shoved the money in his pocket and hurried to the front door. He listened before opening it a crack. There was no one there.
Stairs or elevator? What difference did it make? The doorman had seen him already. He’d seen him go in, now he’d see him go out. If they didn’t find the body for a while, they’d think it happened after he left. Hell, the pizza was gone, just a couple of crusts in the discarded box. It would look like they’d eaten long before it happened.
Donnie rode down in the elevator, breathing in and out, trying to calm himself.
Come on, method actor, you’re a pizza delivery boy. This is a piece of cake. What does a pizza delivery boy do? Oh, yeah. That’s right. He sorts his tip money.
Donnie jerked a roll of bills out of his pocket just as the elevator doors opened. He was halfway across the lobby before he noticed they were hundreds. Donnie hunched over, hiding the denominations from the doorman as he pretended to count his tips.
45
When Carlo got back to the office, Mario was going over the account of Martin Kendrick, who had no idea why he was there. Mr. Kendrick was a steady customer who had borrowed small amounts of money over the years, and had always paid it back on time if not sooner. Mario was looking up the instances in which Martin Kendrick had been early with his payments, and giving him credit in each case. This totally baffled Mr. Kendrick, who couldn’t help feeling he had done something wrong.
Martin Kendrick had a right to be confused, because he was actually there for no good reason, at least not involving Mario’s accounts. He was there solely to provide Mario with an alibi for Yvette’s murder. Mario didn’t need an alibi, but he always liked to have one. It was kind of like insurance. If he had one, he wouldn’t need one.
Carlo barged in and said, “You wanted me, boss?”
Mario looked up and smiled. “Yes, yes. We’re almost done here. Good work, Mr. Kendrick. I need more customers like you. Would you mind waiting outside for a moment? I need to talk to Carlo here.”
From his expression, Kendrick expected to be whacked. His hand was shaking as he opened the door.
“So, how did it go?” Mario said.
Carlo shrugged. “Smooth as silk.”
“Did he recognize you before you put him out?”
“Didn’t have to put him out. Guy was out when we got there.”
“Are you sure?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“You’re sure he wasn’t faking?”
“Believe me, he was out. He looked like he’d been drugged. Hell, I thought he was dead.”
Mario nodded. “Did you make the phone call?”
“No. I came here.”
“Make the phone call.” Mario rolled his eyes and jerked his thumb at the corridor. “I’d like to send this guy home before he bores me to death.”
Carlo left Mario to wrap up his non-meeting with Martin Kendrick, and went out to make the call. Working pay phones were scarce, but Carlo had scoped one out that afternoon on the corner of Thirty-sixth and Ninth. It was still working, no sure thing for a street phone. Carlo got a dial tone and called 911.
“I’d like to report a domestic disturbance on Park Avenue.”
46
The first cops through the door were uniformed officers responding to a domestic disturbance call. The doorman hadn’t heard anything, and no one had complained to him, but he rang the apartment and got no answer, so the cops went up to check it out.
They were surprised to find the door open. The rookie cop was about to barge right in, but his partner stopped him. She was an old-timer and attached to protocol. She rapped loudly on the door, yelling into the apartment, “Police!”
When they were met with silence, she pulled her service weapon and eased through the door sideways, gun up.
Her partner followed, smirking at her for drawing her gun in a Park Avenue penthouse.
He got quite a shock when they reached the bedroom.
Herbie didn’t move. He stayed exactly as Carlo had posed him, breathing shallowly, the gun still in his hand.
Yvette didn’t move, either, but she wasn’t going to.
That was all the cops needed to see. The naked tableau told the story.
The rookie reached his hand out for the gun.
“Don’t touch that!”
He looked at her in surprise. “Why not?”
“It’s a crime scene. Don’t contaminate it.”
“The guy’s alive. You gonna let him keep the gun?”
“No, and I’m not going to touch it, either.”
She whipped a handkerchief out of her pocket and lifted the gun gently from Herbie’s fingers. She set the gun on the dresser, out of Herbie’s reach. “Cuff him. I’ll call it in.”
“Cuff him? He’s out cold.”
“Okay, I’ll cuff him and you call it in.”
The rookie made the call. “Got a homicide here. Husband in custody, wife DOA. Domestic disturbance gone bad.” He hung up to find his partner smirking at him. “What’s so funny?”
“Domestic disturbance gone bad?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Like a domestic disturbance could be good.”
Herbie was barely stirring when the detectives from the crime scene unit arrived. He was in their way, so they let the patrol officers run him in. With little help from their stumbling, incoherent suspect, they dressed him in sweats and running shoes and took him out to the car. They borrowed a gurney from the EMTs so they wouldn’t have to carry him.
They took him downtown and booked him for murder, which ordinarily would have earned him a chat with an ADA, but he was still too out of it to be Mirandized. He’d have to sleep it off. So they did what they always do with prisoners in his condition.
They threw him in the drunk tank.
47
Judge Buckingham glowered at the defense table where David Ross sat alone.
“Mr. Ross, where is your attorney?”
“I don’t know, Your Honor.”
“Did he inform you that he could not be here?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Or that he would be late?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Have you heard from Mr. Fisher this morning?”
“No, I have not.”
“Did you ask that another attorney appear in his stead?”
“I didn’t know he wouldn’t be here, Your Honor.”
“That was not my question. Did you ask for another attorney?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“How about Mr. Glick?”
“I have not heard from him, either, Your Honor.”
“Have you attempted to call him?”
“No, Your Honor. And in any case, Mr. Fisher has taken over for him. Mr. Glick would not be prepared to resume questioning at this point.”
“That’s not what I asked, either. It is not your place to assess how this courtroom should be run. That is my business, and I will thank you to remember it.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Judge Buckingham sat up straight on the bench. “This is unacceptable. Herb Fisher knew he was to be here. Herb Fisher is not here. Herb Fisher is in contempt of court. Issue a bench warrant for his arrest, and haul him in here. I expect to see him at two o’clock sharp to show cause why he should not be held in contempt of court.”
Judge Buckingham banged the gavel and stalked from the courtroom.