kids found her. They came home from school together around three thirty, a boy of eight and a girl of ten, and they found their mother on the kitchen floor, her clothing partly removed, her body covered with stab wounds. They ran around the street screaming until the beat cop turned up.
"Finding anything?"
"Maybe," I said. I copied down the name of the first cop on the scene, added those of two detectives from the Six-One who'd gone to the Haring Street house before switching the case to Midtown North. I showed the three names to Antonelli. "Any of these guys still work out of here?"
"Patrolman Burton Havermeyer, Detective Third-Grade Kenneth Allgood, Detective First-Grade Michael Quinn. Mick Quinn died two, maybe three years ago. Line of duty. He and a partner had a liquor store staked out on Avenue W and there were shots exchanged and he was killed. Terrible thing.
Lost a wife to cancer two years before that, so he left four kids all alone in the world, the oldest just starting college. You must have read about it."
"I think I did."
"Guys who shot him pulled good long time. But they're alive and he's dead, so go figure. The other two, Allgood and Havermeyer, I don't even know the names, so they've been off the Six-One since before my time, which is what? Five years? Something like that."
"Can you find out where they went?"
"I can probably find out something. What do you want to ask 'em, anyway?"
"If she was stabbed in both eyes."
"Wasn't there an M.E.'s report in the file whats-his-name showed you? Fitzroy?"
I nodded. "Both eyes."
"So?"
"Remember that case some years ago? They pulled some woman out of the Hudson, called it death by drowning? Then some genius in the Medical Examiner's office took the skull and started using it for a paperweight, and there was a scandal about that, and because of all the heat somebody finally took a good look at the skull for the first time and found a bullet hole in it."
"I remember. She was some woman from New Jersey, married to a doctor, wasn't she?"
"That's right."
"I got a rule-of-thumb. When a doctor's wife gets killed, he did it. I don't give a shit about the evidence.
The doc always did it. I don't remember whether this one got off or not."
"Neither do I."
"I take your point, though. The M.E.'s report isn't something you want to run to the bank with. But how good is a witness to something that happened nine years ago?"
"Not too good. Still-"
"I'll see what I can see."
He was gone a little longer this time, and he had a funny expression on his face when he returned. "Bad luck case," he said.
"Allgood's dead, too. And the patrolman, Havermeyer, he left the department."
"How did Allgood die?"
"Heart attack, about a year ago. He got transferred out a couple of years back. He was working out of Centre Street headquarters.
Collapsed at his desk one day and died. One of the guys in the file room knew him from when he worked here and happened to know how he died. Havermeyer could be dead, too, for all I know."
"What happened to him?"
He shrugged. "Who knows? He put in his papers just a few months after the Icepick thing. Cited unspecified personal reasons for returning to civilian life. He'd only been in for two, three years. You know what the drop-out rate's like for the new ones. Hell, you're a drop-out yourself.
Personal reasons, right?"
"Something like that."
"I dug up an address and a number. He probably moved six times between then and now. If he didn't leave a trail, you can always try downtown. He wasn't here long enough to have any pension rights but they usually keep track of ex-cops."
"Maybe he's still in the same place."
"Could be. My grandmother's still living in three little rooms on Elizabeth Street, same apartment she's been in since she got off the boat from Palermo. Some people stay put. Others change their houses like they change their socks. Maybe you'll get lucky. Anything else I can do for you?"
"Where's Haring Street?"
"The murder
"Finding anything?"
"Maybe," I said. I copied down the name of the first cop on the scene, added those of two detectives from the Six-One who'd gone to the Haring Street house before switching the case to Midtown North. I showed the three names to Antonelli. "Any of these guys still work out of here?"
"Patrolman Burton Havermeyer, Detective Third-Grade Kenneth Allgood, Detective First-Grade Michael Quinn. Mick Quinn died two, maybe three years ago. Line of duty. He and a partner had a liquor store staked out on Avenue W and there were shots exchanged and he was killed. Terrible thing.
Lost a wife to cancer two years before that, so he left four kids all alone in the world, the oldest just starting college. You must have read about it."
"I think I did."
"Guys who shot him pulled good long time. But they're alive and he's dead, so go figure. The other two, Allgood and Havermeyer, I don't even know the names, so they've been off the Six-One since before my time, which is what? Five years? Something like that."
"Can you find out where they went?"
"I can probably find out something. What do you want to ask 'em, anyway?"
"If she was stabbed in both eyes."
"Wasn't there an M.E.'s report in the file whats-his-name showed you? Fitzroy?"
I nodded. "Both eyes."
"So?"
"Remember that case some years ago? They pulled some woman out of the Hudson, called it death by drowning? Then some genius in the Medical Examiner's office took the skull and started using it for a paperweight, and there was a scandal about that, and because of all the heat somebody finally took a good look at the skull for the first time and found a bullet hole in it."
"I remember. She was some woman from New Jersey, married to a doctor, wasn't she?"
"That's right."
"I got a rule-of-thumb. When a doctor's wife gets killed, he did it. I don't give a shit about the evidence.
The doc always did it. I don't remember whether this one got off or not."
"Neither do I."
"I take your point, though. The M.E.'s report isn't something you want to run to the bank with. But how good is a witness to something that happened nine years ago?"
"Not too good. Still-"
"I'll see what I can see."
He was gone a little longer this time, and he had a funny expression on his face when he returned. "Bad luck case," he said.
"Allgood's dead, too. And the patrolman, Havermeyer, he left the department."
"How did Allgood die?"
"Heart attack, about a year ago. He got transferred out a couple of years back. He was working out of Centre Street headquarters.
Collapsed at his desk one day and died. One of the guys in the file room knew him from when he worked here and happened to know how he died. Havermeyer could be dead, too, for all I know."
"What happened to him?"
He shrugged. "Who knows? He put in his papers just a few months after the Icepick thing. Cited unspecified personal reasons for returning to civilian life. He'd only been in for two, three years. You know what the drop-out rate's like for the new ones. Hell, you're a drop-out yourself.
Personal reasons, right?"
"Something like that."
"I dug up an address and a number. He probably moved six times between then and now. If he didn't leave a trail, you can always try downtown. He wasn't here long enough to have any pension rights but they usually keep track of ex-cops."
"Maybe he's still in the same place."
"Could be. My grandmother's still living in three little rooms on Elizabeth Street, same apartment she's been in since she got off the boat from Palermo. Some people stay put. Others change their houses like they change their socks. Maybe you'll get lucky. Anything else I can do for you?"
"Where's Haring Street?"
"The murder
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