Jackie's phone rang.
Delsa turned to her as she was saying, "Squad Seven, Sergeant Michaels."
Then back to Harris.
Harris saying, "Four o'clock in the morning somebody's knocking on the motel door. It wakes up Tenisha. She sees Orlando go over to the door, open it partway and now he's talking to a guy she thought was a light-skin brother. She couldn't see him good."
Delsa looked at Jackie, busy now making notes.
Harris saying, "She can feel the cold, the door open. So she calls to Orlando, 'Honey, I'm freezing to death.' The guy Orlando's talking to raises his head and says to her, 'You cold? You look hot to me.'"
Harris waited for Delsa still looking at Jackie.
Jackie saying into the phone, "How many?"
Harris said, "Frank, you hear what I said?"
"The guy told her she looked hot."
Harris said, "Yeah, but from his voice she could tell the guy was Mexican."
Delsa eased into saying, "Is that right?" in his quiet way.
Harris said, "What do you think?"
But now Jackie was off the phone. She said, "We just got a big-time double."
"How big?" Delsa said, the Mexican in the motel doorway gone.
"Anthony Paradiso, at his home on Iroquois, Indian Village, and a young woman."
Harris said, "Which Paradiso?"
"The old man."
Harris said, " Damn. I was hoping it was his kid." He looked at Delsa. "I bet you were too. You know who fat-ass Tony's gonna say did it, some quick-draw cop. Some cowboy they sued on a wrongful death and it cost the city money."
Delsa was looking at Jackie. "Who's the woman?"
"They don't have a name yet. Blond, mid-twenties, wearing a little pleated skirt. Response was from the Seventh, the OIC's your old buddy Dermot Cleary."
"Where were they found?"
"Didn't say. Three others in the house when the shots were fired."
"They still there?"
"Waiting for us," Jackie said.
7
They parked on the street. three figures now in dark coats leaving the car, Harris wearing a brown Borsalino, saying, "The advantage of the swing, Frank, you don't get a backache, or rug burns when you have to do it on the floor."
They walked toward the house all lit up, the driveway full of cars, Jackie Michaels saying, "White-boy Glenn brought one of those home-you have to be a trapeze artist to get laid in it, believe me. Glenn fell out on his head and that was the end of the Love Swing."
They ducked under police tape and the dark sedans in the drive became radio cars and it was a crime scene.
The sergeant from the Seventh Precinct, Dermot Cleary, Delsa's partner his rookie year, was waiting near the entrance. He said, "Two of 'em for you, Frank. Anthony Paradiso-a shame it isn't Tony Jr., the fuck, and a Kelly Barr, white female twenty-seven, resides on River Place off Franklin. They're in the living room."
Delsa said, "And three witnesses?"
Cleary, flipping open his notebook, stepped into the light above the double doors. Delsa saw one of the rose-colored panes of glass had been shattered.
"Montez Taylor, black male thirty-three, lives on the premises." Cleary looked up from his notes. "Dresses like a fuckin lawyer, pinstripe suit and tie. Says he's Mr. Paradiso's personal man. I said, 'What's that mean, you shine his shoes?' Montez refers to the old man as Mr. Paradise. Been with him ten years. Also on the scene, a Lloyd Williams, black male seventy-one. Lloyd admits he's a servant, the houseman, also lives on the premises. Says he was sound asleep, didn't hear any gunshots."
"How many?"
"Four. The old man and girl two each."
"The third witness?"
"If you want to call her that, Chloe Robinette, white female twenty-seven. Same age, same address as Kelly Barr. They live together. This is according to Montez. I only saw Chloe for a minute. She's in a bedroom upstairs, an officer with her."
"She tell you anything?"
"Like pulling teeth. Montez says she's in shock."
"Montez a doctor?"
"He's a talker, Frank. Montez sees it as a fucked-up home invasion. Says he scared the guy off before he could take anything."
"Where was he when the shots were fired?"
"Upstairs with Chloe. Montez says they're hookers, very high class. Nine bills an hour, if you can believe it."
Delsa looked at Jackie, at one time in Vice. "Kelly Barr and Chloe Robinette?"
Jackie shook her head. "Too high class to be in the files."
"He hears the shots," Delsa said, "runs out of the bedroom and sees this one-man home invader?"
"Going out the door, a black guy," Cleary said. "Frank, you can tell this Montez struts his shit. Only in this situation he has to act like he wants to help."
"He sound educated?"
"Take off the pinstripe suit," Cleary said, "he hangs on a corner. Not a big guy, middleweight, about your size."
"I thought the Village had a security patrol."
"They stopped by, see what was going on."
"Why this house?"
"It was a hit," Cleary said. "I don't buy that one-man home invasion shit either. Not a house this big."
"We don't know anything yet," Delsa said. "We don't know if the guy came in this way or smashed the glass on the way out. We don't even know for sure the girls are hookers. Montez could have his own reason for saying it."
"Take a look at the broad in the chair," Cleary said, "you'll know."
Delsa, buttoned up in dark navy, crossed the living room to view the dead, Jackie and Harris coming behind him. He motioned to a uniform in the arched entrance to the dining room. The officer came over. Delsa said to him, "That's Montez?"
"Yes sir, Montez Taylor."
A good-looking black guy sitting at the head of the dining room table smoking a cigarette, gray suit and gold tie on a dark shirt, legs crossed, his chair turned to watch the evidence techs working the living room. A woman's handbag was on the table, away from him.
Delsa asked the uniform if he knew what Montez was smoking. The uniform said no, he didn't. Delsa said he'd lay five bucks it was a Newport. Harris said he'd take it. Delsa said to him, "Get a tech to bag the cigarette butt," and now approached the chair facing the television set. A tech by the name of Alex was photographing the bodies. He stepped aside to give Homicide a close look at the old man and the girclass="underline"
Their faces masked with dried blood from gunshot wounds centered on their foreheads, mouths slack, eyes closed. The wound in the girl's chest had brought an eruption of blood over her bare breasts, her stomach, and stained the waist of her maize and blue pleated skirt, the hem folded up to show her sex, a dense patch of dark hair. The front of the old man's warm-up jacket was stained black.
Delsa said, "Their eyes were closed?"
"Haven't touched 'em," Alex said. "Had their heads back like that, not slumped over. I checked with Sergeant Cleary. They were looking right at it when they got popped."
"What's that on her chest, a tattoo?"
"Magic Marker. It looks like somebody drew a big M on her."
"The TV set was off?"
"Yeah, I checked that, too. We'll dust it good, the glasses, get elimination prints off the witnesses and test 'em for gunshot residue."
"What about the wounds?"
"The ones in the head are through and through, but I haven't dug 'em out of the chair yet. No casings on the floor."
"What about her skirt?"
"That's how it was. Like somebody folded up the hem to check out her pussy. The guys from the Seventh were commenting on it. You hardly ever see a mop like that on a young girl. They get their cooze waxed and it reminds you of Hitler."
Harris said, "I heard that kind referred to as a Charlie Chaplin."
"That'll work," Alex said. "I've seen all kinds, even heart-shaped ones."
Jackie said, "I'm gonna leave this one alone."
Delsa turned to her. "Why don't you check on Chloe? Find out if she's a prostitute. Hey, first call the M.E.'s office, ask if they want to send a pathologist, we know the time and manner. They'll send their death investigator and he can call the removal service. Okay?" He said to Harris, "Talk to the houseman, Lloyd Williams, and send Montez over."