“Did you ever mention the money to anyone else?”
She thought awhile, then answered. “No. That wouldn’t be wise, would it? To let strangers know about cash in a person’s home? No, I’d never tell that to anyone.”
“You’re sure about that, ma’am?” Rizzo prodded gently.
“Oh yes, Detective, quite sure. The only person I ever told was my niece, Carla.”
Rizzo and Ginsberg exchanged glances. Carla. They read the “BINGO” in one another’s eyes.
“So, Maryann, you’re positive? You can absolutely state you were in Mr. Cornwal’s apartment the evening before he was murdered?” Rizzo asked.
The young woman nodded. “Yes. You can check at the My Housemaid office on Cropsey Avenue. They’ll have my recorder sheets with all the job orders listed: times, dates, location, time spent at each job, everything.”
Ginsberg addressed the young housecleaner. “And you definitely washed down the countertop on that particular visit?”
“Of course. It’s right next to the refrigerator by the knife box, and it’s a work area. It gets messy. I washed it with Top Job, then rubbed it down with granite cleanser-polisher. Mr. Cornwal paid extra for that treatment. He liked the granite to sparkle.”
Rizzo looked down to the Prestige Appliance repair order in his hand. The last time Maury Schuller had serviced Cornwal’s appliance was fifteen days prior to the murder.
“Maryann, is there any way,” Rizzo asked, “fingerprints could have survived on that countertop for fifteen days?”
The girl grimaced. “No way. I cleaned that apartment three times these last two weeks. I don’t know anything about criminal stuff, but I know plenty about fingerprint marks. Everybody has these stainless-steel appliances and fancy counters. There are fingerprints on everything. And if I miss just one little spot, I hear about it from some rich creep. It’s like I was guilty of a crime or something. No siree. That counter was cleaned and polished to a T when I left Mr. Cornwal’s place.” She crossed her arms against her chest and gave a curt nod. “Guaranteed.”
Rizzo and Ginsberg, along with Assistant District Attorney Juanita Smalls, sat opposite Vince D’Antonio in his office.
“Okay, guys,” Smalls said. “Let’s organize it. Run it down, Joe.”
Rizzo flipped open his notepad, scanned it, then spoke. “Maury Schuller was known to the vic in his capacity as repairman. Schuller knew Cornwal’s general work schedule from prior dealings; we can figure he knew when he’d find Cornwal at home.”
“Why would he want him at home? Why not break in when the place was empty and just grab the cash?” Smalls asked.
“Neither female neighbor knew exactly where the cash was. Coulda been in a safe, a secret compartment in a wall, whatever. Schuller needed Cornwal present to tell him where it was and, if necessary, unlock a safe. Plus, he knows from his girlfriend, Carla, old lady Vanags’s niece, that those two women always kept an eye out for Cornwal. Schuller couldn’t afford to be out in that hall picking locks for any length of time.”
“So Schuller went in with the intention of killing Cornwal?”
“Had to. Cornwal could identify him — and Schuller told us he’d do anything to avoid going back to prison.” Rizzo shrugged. “And he meant it.”
“Okay. Go on, Joe.”
“So, Schuller makes some pretense, a follow-up check on the refrigerator service call, whatever, and Cornwal lets him in. Schuller appears to move toward the refrigerator, but instead heads for those knives he knows are there. He’s not wearing gloves and inadvertently leaves some prints. With the info from the maid, we know those prints had to be placed there between seven p.m., when she left the night before, and the time we arrived at the scene, ten a.m. Maybe the knife was lying on the counter-top and when Schuller picked it up, he touched that polished granite. Schuller’s a big guy, intimidating. Armed with that knife, he forced Cornwal to get the money and then killed him.”
“And you figure he had the skill set to pick that rear service-door lock?” Smalls asked.
“The guy’s a career criminal, did a long stretch of state time. That’s like graduate work at Felony University. The service door was wiped down; no prints. Schuller knew if he left any there, he wouldn’t be able to explain them away. He got careless in the apartment because he had legit prior presence to explain any forensics. Just for the hell of it, we can check with Attica and get a list of his cellmates. I say we hit on some really talented B and E men.”
“Go on.”
“We have a clear path to Schuller through Carla Alksnis. Her aunt admitted mentioning the cash to Carla. Carla tells her boyfriend Maury, and his eyes light up. ‘I know that guy,’ he woulda said, ‘I can waltz myself right into his place.’ ”
“What else?”
“We did a little checking into Carla when she first alibied Maury. She’s not Bonnie Parker, but she’s no virgin either. Between the two of them, they have about fifteen hundred bucks in banks. We get warrants and search their apartments, guaranteed we find stacks of cash — small, beat-up bills. Let them explain that.”
“Plus,” Ginsberg said, “when we spoke to Schuller, he was wearing a wrist watch and two rings. You stab somebody twelve times in the chest, you get bloodied. Maybe he was smart enough to toss the clothes he wore, but the jewelry? We seize that and the lab guys will pull Cornwal’s trace blood off it. You know it’s impossible to get rid of every residue of blood.”
Smalls sat back in her seat, considering it. “Sounds like we have some big ‘ifs’ here, guys.”
Ginsberg shrugged. “You want slam dunk, tune in to NCIS. I think it’s on tonight.”
Smalls gave a laugh. “Yeah. Okay.” She thought for a moment. “We can come at it from Carla. Lean hard on her, Murder Two, twenty-five to life, et cetera. Then let her lawyer start suggesting alternatives.”
“Works for me,” Rizzo said. “She pulls Schuller’s alibi, he’s toast.”
“Okay, then,” D’Antonio said. “We pick them both up separately, let them get a quick glimpse of each other in the precinct, then hustle them off to different rooms. See who starts pointing fingers first.”
“What about Karen Vanags, Joe? You think she was in on this for a taste?” Smalls asked.
“No. There’s absolutely no basis to suspect her. We checked; she’s very well-off. She’s educated and refined. I’m thinking, if Schuller and his mutt girlfriend hadn’t hit Cornwal, they might have targeted Auntie Vanags sometime in the future.”
“Probably would have gotten around to her regardless,” Ginsberg said.
“Okay,” D’Antonio said. “Joe, Mark, I know I leaned on you to get this done. I appreciate your efforts, so here’s the payoff: You can pick up the female. I’ll send Nick and Mo and some uniforms to collar the gorilla, keep you two out of harm’s way.”
“Gee, Vince, that’s very generous of you,” Rizzo said sarcastically.
D’Antonio smiled. “Let me finish. I’m also sending Angie down to the courthouse to swear out search warrants. While she’s working, you guys grab some coffee and donuts.” His smile broadened. “My treat.”
Three days later, Rizzo sat in the plush easy chair opposite where Rita Sora perched demurely on her sofa. They sipped bourbon.
“So, Rita, here’s the deal,” Rizzo said. “Me and Mark owe you big time. You tipped us to the fact Cornwal’s cash was out on the grapevine, and that led us to Mrs. Vanags’s niece, Carla. They found Cornwal’s cash in her apartment. Forty-two grand in small bills.”