crossed my mind, but I wasn’t about to share it just yet.
Été was pricey, therefore an expense-account restaurant. If Ferris was there and used a credit card, the size of the bill and the number of entrées ordered should indicate whether Ferris dined alone. If he used cash, that fact alone should tickle someone’s memory. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was a start.
“Anything else?” I said.
“We interviewed his boss, guy named Torricelli, and a couple of his coworkers,” Toal said. “The usual crap. No known enemies. Did his job. Nose to the grindstone kind of guy. Spoke to Ginny. Pretty much the same story.”
“So, your theory is?”
“Well, like I told you initially. Lot of passion went into the killing, and the force of the blows tells me it’s a guy. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Ferris bought it in a known trannie hooker area. The way I see it, he ventured into the dark side one too many times. Wouldn’t surprise me if he took his he/she sweetie to dinner, tried to break it off, and the guy went nuts. Happens!”
It did happen, I had to give Toal that.
“Did you interview the neighborhood regulars?”
“I left that up to Swede, here. Some things I’m just not good at.”
I turned to Swede. “And?” I said.
“Showed Ferris’s picture around, and came up with zilch. It’s like a sisterhood down there. They protect each other.”
“So, you’re . . .?”
“Like I said. Nowhere.”
Swell! Now my list of suspects possibly included a guy in an evening dress. As I scrolled through my mental checklist, my cell phone rang. It was Luce.
“How come I’m the only one in the NYPD to have your cell phone number?” she asked.
“I didn’t want anyone bothering me.”
“Well, you certainly know how to screw up a birthday party.”
“You gotta admit it was kind of fun. Just like the old days.”
“That it was,” Luce said. “Reminded me of the night at Crotty’s Pub where you turned one of New York’s Bravest into a battering ram. How many saloons did I have to scrape your sorry ass out of?”
I smiled at the memory.
“Too bad I’m a changed man, eating healthy and living right.”
“If only,” she said.
“What’s up?”
“Braddock’s been trying to reach you. Called you at home and you weren’t there. Then he called me.”
That was surprising. Gerry Braddock was my former boss, and someone who considered me a punishment from God.
“What does he want?”
She told me.
CHAPTER
19
W hen I arrived at the Kings County Hospital morgue in Brooklyn, Ollie, Jeanmarie, and Ginny were leaving. Jeanmarie saw me and walked toward me very slowly.
She stopped inches from me. The skin pulled tight around her face, her eyes flat and unforgiving.
“My poor Liam is dead because of you, you bastard,” she said.
Some things never change.
Ollie took her arm and tried to pull her away. “Let’s go home now and prepare to bury our son,” he said. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself. There’re people watching.”
And there were, even at this hour. Swede was right. There was a run on death.
Jeanmarie wrenched her arm away.
“Get away from me, you worthless bastard,” she said. “Let them see a mother’s grief.”
Ollie reacted as if he had been slapped. Jeanmarie turned her anger back to me.
“They wouldn’t let me see my son’s face,” she said, spitting the words out. “And it’s on you, Steeg. It’s all on you!”
I didn’t see it that way. This was on Liam and his choice of business associates.
Ginny walked up, mumbled a few words in Jeanmarie’s ear, and led her and Ollie to a waiting cab. After they left, she walked back to me.
“I need a drink, Steeg,” she said. “Now!”
We found a bar on Linden Boulevard. Ginny ordered a Jim Beam, straight up.
“Tell me what happened,” I said.
“The call came about six. I answered. Jeanmarie was preparing dinner and Ollie was taking a nap. It was a cop. Figured it had to do with
Été was pricey, therefore an expense-account restaurant. If Ferris was there and used a credit card, the size of the bill and the number of entrées ordered should indicate whether Ferris dined alone. If he used cash, that fact alone should tickle someone’s memory. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was a start.
“Anything else?” I said.
“We interviewed his boss, guy named Torricelli, and a couple of his coworkers,” Toal said. “The usual crap. No known enemies. Did his job. Nose to the grindstone kind of guy. Spoke to Ginny. Pretty much the same story.”
“So, your theory is?”
“Well, like I told you initially. Lot of passion went into the killing, and the force of the blows tells me it’s a guy. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Ferris bought it in a known trannie hooker area. The way I see it, he ventured into the dark side one too many times. Wouldn’t surprise me if he took his he/she sweetie to dinner, tried to break it off, and the guy went nuts. Happens!”
It did happen, I had to give Toal that.
“Did you interview the neighborhood regulars?”
“I left that up to Swede, here. Some things I’m just not good at.”
I turned to Swede. “And?” I said.
“Showed Ferris’s picture around, and came up with zilch. It’s like a sisterhood down there. They protect each other.”
“So, you’re . . .?”
“Like I said. Nowhere.”
Swell! Now my list of suspects possibly included a guy in an evening dress. As I scrolled through my mental checklist, my cell phone rang. It was Luce.
“How come I’m the only one in the NYPD to have your cell phone number?” she asked.
“I didn’t want anyone bothering me.”
“Well, you certainly know how to screw up a birthday party.”
“You gotta admit it was kind of fun. Just like the old days.”
“That it was,” Luce said. “Reminded me of the night at Crotty’s Pub where you turned one of New York’s Bravest into a battering ram. How many saloons did I have to scrape your sorry ass out of?”
I smiled at the memory.
“Too bad I’m a changed man, eating healthy and living right.”
“If only,” she said.
“What’s up?”
“Braddock’s been trying to reach you. Called you at home and you weren’t there. Then he called me.”
That was surprising. Gerry Braddock was my former boss, and someone who considered me a punishment from God.
“What does he want?”
She told me.
CHAPTER
19
W hen I arrived at the Kings County Hospital morgue in Brooklyn, Ollie, Jeanmarie, and Ginny were leaving. Jeanmarie saw me and walked toward me very slowly.
She stopped inches from me. The skin pulled tight around her face, her eyes flat and unforgiving.
“My poor Liam is dead because of you, you bastard,” she said.
Some things never change.
Ollie took her arm and tried to pull her away. “Let’s go home now and prepare to bury our son,” he said. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself. There’re people watching.”
And there were, even at this hour. Swede was right. There was a run on death.
Jeanmarie wrenched her arm away.
“Get away from me, you worthless bastard,” she said. “Let them see a mother’s grief.”
Ollie reacted as if he had been slapped. Jeanmarie turned her anger back to me.
“They wouldn’t let me see my son’s face,” she said, spitting the words out. “And it’s on you, Steeg. It’s all on you!”
I didn’t see it that way. This was on Liam and his choice of business associates.
Ginny walked up, mumbled a few words in Jeanmarie’s ear, and led her and Ollie to a waiting cab. After they left, she walked back to me.
“I need a drink, Steeg,” she said. “Now!”
We found a bar on Linden Boulevard. Ginny ordered a Jim Beam, straight up.
“Tell me what happened,” I said.
“The call came about six. I answered. Jeanmarie was preparing dinner and Ollie was taking a nap. It was a cop. Figured it had to do with
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