“Doctor Voodoo puts the date of death between October twenty-nine and November one. October thirty-first was a Friday night. Not a good time to plan on killin’ anybody ’cause street traffic is heavier than durin’ the week. Plus, it was Halloween-the little kids would be out in the daytime, the older kids at night, trick or treatin’ and throwing eggs at one another. November first was a Saturday, plenty of pedestrian traffic day and night. The last outgoing phone call from Lauria’s apartment was to his bank on the thirtieth at eleven a.m. So I’m going with Thursday, October thirtieth, some time after the incoming phone call at eight-o-five p.m.” He paused for a moment. “We should do a weather check, see when it was raining. Let’s assume that fancy raincoat wasn’t just a fashion statement. Let’s assume the killer wore it ’cause it was actually raining.”
Priscilla stood. “I’ll go online, get the weather for those few nights. Bet it rained on the thirtieth.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll call Mike, get an ETA on the Mallard file. Then we can take a look at his finances and check out his place for a match on that coat. The rest of today, we’ll take a look at that cat-house in the Six-
Oh, see where that goes. Plus, we still need to follow up on that prescription fraud case. I got a feeling we can clear that one soon. While you’re on that weather, I’ll order those additional phone records for Lauria. And I wanna call Mark Ginsberg at home, see how those street robbery cases went down with that kid Doyle. I heard it was clean, the kid copped, but I need to hear the details from Ginsberg myself.”
Priscilla stretched her arms and neck muscles. “Okay. And I gotta say it’s real good to have you back, baby.”
“See, it’s like my grandfather always said, Cil.” Rizzo leaned forward, winking at her. “Every little gal needs a man in her life.”
Priscilla smiled sweetly, then bent slightly, sliding a top side drawer from Rizzo’s desk. Slowly and deliberately, she dumped the messy contents onto his lap.
“Get your grandfather to help you clean that shit up, Joe,” she said, smiling and returning Rizzo’s wink.
THE MAGIC Massage Emporium stood in a double storefront in the Brighton Beach section of Brooklyn, a few blocks from the New York City Aquarium.
Rizzo and Jackson stepped into the dimly lit interior and crossed to the small reception area. An attractive middle-aged woman at the counter smiled as they approached. Rizzo flipped his shield case open, briefly displaying its contents.
The woman’s smile broadened.
“So,” she said cheerfully, “now they are to send the mean-looking police and the pretty one, too?” Her words held a distinct Russian accent.
Rizzo glanced over his shoulder at Priscilla, then back to the woman.
“Yeah,” he said, leaning both forearms on the countertop. “Now that you mention it, she does look sorta mean.”
The woman gave a genuine laugh, bending and placing her own forearms onto the counter, positioning her face level to Rizzo’s.
“I am Nadia,” she said, her beautiful violet eyes shimmering in the dim lighting. “How is it for me to be of ser vice for you, Sergeant?”
“Well, Nadia, I’m Sergeant Joe Rizzo, this here is Priscilla Jackson. Detective Priscilla Jackson. Are you the owner of this establishment?”
“Ah, Sergeant,” she said, moving her face a bit closer to his, her musky perfume dancing around his nostrils. “That is very complicated in America, yes? In America, only sometimes the lawyers can figure it out who is owner.”
“But-it’s possible-you may be one of ’em,” Rizzo said with a smile.
Nadia shrugged. “Is possible,” she answered pensively.
“Yeah. Well, who can I speak to who can help me out?”
Her eyes twinkled. “It is to be my plea sure, Sergeant. I will help you out.”
Priscilla sounded a derisive laugh from behind him. “You need me to go get you a bottle of wine here, Joe?”
He glanced over his shoulder at her and winked, then turned back to Nadia, producing a photo of Robert Lauria. He laid it down on the counter, turning it to face the woman and sliding it closer to her.
“Take a look, Nadia,” he said. “Then tell me.”
She looked at the photo, then raised her eyes to Rizzo. “I do not like to discuss the business of peoples, Sergeant. This man, this man in the picture, he is an American, no? He has all the rights, no?”
“Yes, he does,” Rizzo said pleasantly. “Now how about you weigh his rights against your business license, take another look at that picture, then tell me.”
Nadia bobbed her head. “Ah, yes,” she said. “I remember him now. His name is Robbie. He has been here three or four times a year, since around time we open.”
Rizzo smiled. “And when was that?”
“Three years, almost. Two and half.”
“What’s his story?” Priscilla asked.
Nadia glanced at Priscilla, still smiling, then cupped her chin in the palm of her hand and moved her eyes back to face Rizzo. He caught the sweet scent of peppermint permeating from her mouth when she spoke.
“Very nice man, very nervous,” she said sweetly. “Always want same girl. If she not here, he leave and come back tomorrow. If she busy, he wait for her.” Nadia let her smile deepen and her violet eyes widen. “She give very good massage, I think,” she said to Rizzo playfully.
“Yeah, I bet,” he said. “Who is this girl, what’s her name?”
“Name Bogdana. Is Ukrainian name.” Nadia glanced at Priscilla. “Means ‘given by God,’ ” she told her.
“He ever come in here with anyone else?” Priscilla asked. “A buddy, maybe?”
“No. Alone all time. Nice man, very quiet. Not like some to come to here. Have respect for place. Nice man. But always come alone.”
Rizzo interjected. “Anybody else ever work this counter, Nadia?”
“Just is me or Efim only.”
“Efim?” Rizzo asked. “Is that a male?”
“Yes, is male.” She smiled. “Like you.”
“Is he here?”
“Yes, in back, with the meal before he start to work. I leave now soon for the day.”
Rizzo nodded. “I’d like to speak to him, and to the girl. What was her name? Bogna?”
“Bogdana,” she said. “Yes, she is too here. I will get them. But you tell me, okay? Why are you asking these about Robbie?”
“Well,” Rizzo said, “I’ll tell you all about that. After I talk to the two of them.”
Nadia straightened up and turned to leave. “Okay, Sergeant. I will get them.” She paused at the doorway leading to the rear, turning over her shoulder and smiling warmly at Rizzo.
“Be nice please to Efim,” she said. “He is husband to me. Very jealous.”
She fluttered her lids and then left the room.
Rizzo turned and looked at Priscilla.
She shook her head, her lips pursed.
“Women,” she said. “Jesus H. Christ.”
THAT EVENING, seated on the recliner in his home, Rizzo opened the FedEx package which had arrived at the house late that afternoon. Marie had obtained a copy of the play.
Rizzo smiled at the handwritten note from his daughter that accompanied it. Although he had not asked her to, he was glad Marie had gone the extra mile and FedExed the package to him.
“Good kid,” he muttered, opening the bound copy and beginning to read the three-act play.
The story was set in modern-day Atlanta, Georgia, and centered around an old-money family headed by an aged patriarch. His two sons, his wife, and the daughter of a family friend who was romantically involved with both brothers rounded out the cast of characters. The father’s emotional, physical, moral, and legal corruption drove the plot. The older son was complicit in the business and personal ambiguities of the father. This, and the idealism and alienation of the younger son, combined with the ultimately tragic love triangle and the quiet desperation of the unhappy matriarch, completed the drama.